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STUDIES ON LOCKE:

SOURCES, CONTEMPORARIES, AND LEGACY


ARCHIVES INTERNATIONALES D’HISTOIRE DES IDÉES

INTERNATIONAL ARCHIVES OF THE HISTORY OF IDEAS

197

STUDIES ON LOCKE:
SOURCES, CONTEMPORARIES,
AND LEGACY

In Honour of G.A.J. Rogers

Edited by

Sarah Hutton • Paul Schuurman

Board of Directors:
Founding Editors:
† †
Paul Dibon and Richard H. Popkin
Director:
Sarah Hutton (University of Wales, Aberystwyth)
Associate Directors:
J.E. Force (University of Kentucky, Lexington, USA);
C. Laursen (University of California, Riverside, USA);
Editorial Board:
M. Allen (Los Angeles); J.-R. Armogathe (Paris); J. Henry (Edinburgh);
J.D. North (Oxford); M. Mulsow (New Brunswick); G. Paganini (Vercelli);
J. Popkin (Lexington); G.A.J. Rogers (Keele); Th. Verbeek (Utrecht)
Studies on Locke:
Sources, Contemporaries,
and Legacy

In Honour of G.A.J. Rogers

Edited by

Sarah Hutton
and

Paul Schuurman

123
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Contents

Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii
John Cottingham

Editors’ Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi
Sarah Hutton and Paul Schuurman

List of Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii

Abbreviations: Writings of Locke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xix

1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1


Victor Nuovo

2 Hobbes, Locke and the State of Nature . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27


Tom Sorell

3 The Sovereignty of the People . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45


Stuart Brown

4 Locke’s Account of Abstract Ideas—Again . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59


Michael Ayers

5 Descartes and Locke on the Nature of Matter: a Note . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75


Shigeyuki Aoki

6 Personal Identity and Human Mortality: Hobbes, Locke, Leibniz . . . . 89


Luc Foisneau

7 Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance and Powers: The


Metaphysics of Moral Subjects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
Martha Brandt Bolton

8 John Locke, Thomas Beconsall, and Filial Rebellion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127


Mark Goldie
v
vi Contents

9 Some Thoughts Concerning Ralph Cudworth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143


Sarah Hutton

10 Circles of Virtuosi and “Charity


under Different Opinions”: The Crucible
of Locke’s Last Writings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159
Luisa Simonutti

11 Vision in God and Thinking Matter: Locke’s Epistemological


Agnosticism Used Against Malebranche and Stillingfleet . . . . . . . . . . . . 177
Paul Schuurman

12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury . . . . . . . . 195
John Milton

13 Toleration and its Place: A Study of Pierre Bayle in his


Commentaire Philosophique . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225
Ian Harris

14 Rousseau Juge de Locke or Reading Some Thoughts on Education


after Émile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245
Sylvana Tomaselli

15 Locke’s “Things Themselves” and Kant’s “Things in Themselves”:


The Naturalistic Basis of Transcendental Idealism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261
Yasuhiko Tomida

List of Publications by G.A.J. Rogers∗ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283
Foreword

John Cottingham

In the anglophone philosophical world, there has, for some time, been a curious
relationship between the history of philosophy and contemporary philosophical in-
quiry. Many philosophers working today virtually ignore the history of their sub-
ject, apparently regarding it as an antiquarian pursuit with little relevance to their
“cutting-edge” research. Conversely, there are historians of philosophy who seldom
if ever concern themselves with the intricate technical debates that fill the journals
devoted to modern analytic philosophy. Both sides are surely the poorer for this
strange bifurcation. For philosophy, like all parts of our intellectual culture, did
not come into existence out of nowhere, but was shaped and nurtured by a long
tradition; in uncovering the roots of that tradition we begin see current philosoph-
ical problems in a broader context and thereby enrich our understanding of their
significance. This is surely part of the justification for the practice, in almost every
university, of including elements from the history of philosophy as a basic part of
the undergraduate curriculum. But understanding is enriched by looking forwards as
well as backwards, which is why a good historian of philosophy will not just be con-
cerned with uncovering ancient ideas, but will be constantly alert to how those ideas
prefigure and anticipate later developments. By engaging in a dynamic dialogue
with the past, we gain a fuller sense of who we now are, and in this sense the history
of philosophy has a vital role to play in the “examined life”, by helping to develop
that critical self-awareness which Socrates identified as the goal of all philosophical
inquiry.
For these, and many other reasons, the vigorous growth of scholarship in the
history of philosophy in recent years is greatly to be welcomed, and, in Britain,
G.A.J. Rogers has played a very significant part in fostering a climate favourable to
such growth. It is therefore is a pleasure and a privilege for me to have been asked
to write a short foreword to this volume honouring his work. As Chairman of the
British Society for the History of Philosophy from 1991-5, I was able to see at first
hand what a vital role John Rogers played in the work of the Society; its annual con-
ferences and other activities not only kept the history of philosophy strongly alive in
the UK, but strengthened a host of valuable links between British scholars and those
working in Continental Europe, North America and the rest of the world. One great
joy of working in the history of philosophy is its genuinely international dimension.
The radical disparities of methodology and style, which still to a considerable extent

vii
viii Foreword

divide contemporary “analytic” and “continental” practitioners seem to melt away


once one goes back a century or more, so that when philosophers from diverse
backgrounds leave behind Quine and Derrida, and sit down to hear papers on Kant or
Descartes, they are able to tread common ground. The several different nationalities
of the contributors to this volume testify to that catholicity in the study of history
of philosophy, which is such a welcome contrast to the cliquishness found in some
other areas of philosophical research.
To expatiate on John Rogers’ own particular contribution to the history of ideas
would greatly exceed the space allowed for a brief forward of this kind. He has, of
course, made the early-modern period especially his own, and, within that period,
the philosophy of Locke has been his abiding interest; all the papers in this collection
reflect the first focus of interest, and many of them the second. The seventeenth and
eighteenth centuries are periods of particular richness for our philosophical culture,
not just because the ideas developed then laid the foundations for modernity, but
because of the striking continuities that linked the ideas of the early-modern writers
with those of their classical forebears. The period that followed the Renaissance had
a peculiar intellectual richness, since its philosophers broke strikingly new ground
while at the same time being steeped in the newly revived ideas of antiquity. With
an ease and familiarity that has long since ceased to be possible for us moderns,
they were able to work out their new ideas while drawing on the philosophical
frameworks of Stoicism, Epicureanism, Platonism and Aristotelianism. That ex-
traordinary fertility of early-modern thought, in its reference back in time as well
as its prefiguring of the future, is, again, captured in many of the essays printed
here. Another feature of the collection, which also reflects John Rogers’ own work,
is the range of philosophical areas covered—political, religious, ethical, scientific,
epistemological; in our own more fragmented philosophical culture, it is not without
nostalgia that we look back on a period when philosophers like Locke could write
seriously and systematically in so many branches of inquiry that have now become
the preserve of specialists.
A final feature of this volume which deserves mention, and which is also a fitting
tribute to its honorand, is the meticulous precision and detail with which the various
texts and sources are treated. Our modern academic environment is one of complex
Byzantine struggles for the allocation of funding and resources, and in-fighting its
professional corner the history of philosophy has strong ammunition in the high
standards of scholarship for which its practitioners are rightly known. Of crucial
importance in this connection has been the establishment of the British Journal
for the History of Philosophy as a major international quarterly; this has been an
invaluable scholarly vehicle for those working in the subject during the past two
decades, and the role of John Rogers has of course been absolutely central here. Not
only has his vision and administrative efficiency been vital from the early days of
the launch of the journal, but also (as noted by Michael Ayers in his essay in this
volume) many scholars have cause to thank John Rogers for the help and guidance
they have received as a result of his editorial labours. Though the BJHP constitutes
a continuing visible sign of John’s service to the history of philosophy, the present
volume is a more special and particular tribute to his work, and I am sure that the
Foreword ix

reader will find, in the richness and variety of the papers gathered here, ample ev-
idence of the flourishing current state of the subject, to which he has himself so
signally contributed.

University of Reading, England John Cottingham


November 2007
Editors’ Introduction

Sarah Hutton and Paul Schuurman

This collection of new essays on John Locke (1632-1704) reflects the fact that he
was very much a responsive philosopher. His groundbreaking work in epistemol-
ogy, philosophy of science, political philosophy, theory of education and theology
was produced in response to his predecessors and in friendly or polemical dialogue
with contemporary thinkers. Locke, however, is a figure who is often studied in
isolation from his contemporaries and in terms of his contribution to particular the-
matic developments in the history of philosophy and political thought. His legacy
is fragmented by the separate disciplinary categories by which work is classified
nowadays (epistemology, political thought, religious toleration and history of educa-
tion) and his legacy is also divided by the chronological boundaries which separate
seventeenth from eighteenth-century history. The present collection of essays views
Locke not in isolation from his times, but alongside those thinkers to whom he
responded, or who were engaged either directly with him or with the same sets of
problems. Abandoning the traditional compartmentalization of his writings, we em-
phasise Locke’s links to his contemporaries and near contemporaries. A major em-
phasis of the collection is the relationship between Locke and seventeenth-century
philosophers, Descartes, Hobbes, Cudworth, Bayle, Malebranche and Leibniz. Also
represented here are members of his circle, like Pierre Coste and William Popple.
And coverage is given to some of the early reactions to his philosophy, from the neg-
ative assessment of one of his earliest critics, Thomas Beconsall and the reception of
aspects of his thought by two very different eighteenth-century thinkers, Rousseau
and Kant.
As Victor Nuovo reminds us, Locke was educated in the classics. Among clas-
sical philosophies, Stoicism is the one which appears to have strongest affinities
with Locke’s philosophy. Nuovo’s opening essay examines the evidence for the im-
pact of Stoicism on Locke’s thought. He identifies a number of characteristically
Stoic themes in Locke’s philosophy (the relationship of God to nature, the origin of
knowledge and, above all, moral rationalism). But he also shows areas where Locke
differs fundamentally from the Stoics, such his theory of the law of nature, and his
subordination of reason to revelation. He argues that although Stoic metaphysical
and moral rationalism can be viewed as an instrument of modernization, Locke’s
use of Stoicism was constrained by its Christian premises, and that this had the
effect of reducing his foundational role in enlightenment thought.

xi
xii Editors’ Introduction

The philosopher who dominated the English philosophical landscape throughout


his life was Thomas Hobbes. In the first of two essays on Locke’s political thought,
Tom Sorell challenges the received view that Hobbes and Locke differ deeply and
systematically, and, indeed that Locke formulated his concept of the State of Nature
in opposition to Hobbes. With an acknowledgement to Peter Laslett he suggests
that the likely target for Locke in Two Treatises, was Robert Filmer. He goes on
to discuss difficulties in Hobbes and Locke’s divergent conceptions of the state of
nature, arguing that Locke’s conception of the state of nature as the state of perfect
freedom is contradictory, and that there is something utopian about of Locke’s view
that reasonableness is natural.
Stuart Brown discusses the development of the consent theory of government
(the commonplace “that governments derive their rightful powers from the people”)
as a European constitutional idea, by examining the specific seventeenth-century
contribution to its history. As background to Locke’s Two Treatises of Government,
he uses the examples of the Jesuit, Juan de Mariana and the Levellers, to illustrate
how “the myth of the people’s consent” developed into political theory of contract
theory of government. Richard Overton, who argued that “power is a property of
individuals,” was one of the first to try to formulate a philosophical basis for the
theory. Locke’s development of contract theory of government in Two Treatises
makes a further distinction between the consent every individual must give in order
to join political society and “the majority consent of the people as a corporate body.”
His emphasis on the distributive character of the sovereign power of the people is
democratic a modern sense.
Michael Ayers focuses on a specific element of Locke’s epistemology: abstract
ideas. His essay is a reply to two critical articles by Jonathan Walmsley in which
Ayers crisply defends his original view about Lockean abstraction as partial consid-
eration against Walmsley’s rival interpretation of abstraction as mental separation.
Ayers argues that to have the abstract idea of a triangle actually before the mind, is to
perceive or imagine a particular or determinate triangle, while considering it simply
as triangle. Ayers extends his discussion to the earlier drafts of Locke’s Essay , and
considers possible sources for Locke’s account of abstract ideas, most notably the
Port-Royal Logic by Antoine Arnauld and Pierre Nicole.
Alongside Hobbes, the other shaping influence on seventeenth-century philoso-
phy in Locke’s youth, was René Descartes. Shigeyuki Aoki’s essay deals with an
aspect of the relationship of Locke’s philosophy to Descartes’, Locke’s rejection of
the Cartesian conception of matter. Aoki focuses on a particular aspect of Locke’s
case against Descartes that has been overlooked, namely Descartes’ identification
of extension with the essence of matter. He shows how Locke used a combination
of a priori and a posteriori arguments to reject Descartes’ identification of matter
with extension, and argues that Locke’s persitent attack on various aspects of the
Cartesian system amounted to an alternative empiricist philosophy that provided an
epistemological basis for the development of natural science.
Although Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz’s attempt to engage Locke in philosophical
dialogue was ultimately frustrated, his Nouveaux Essais sur l’Entendement Humain,
with its titular echo of Locke’s Essay could be viewed as the dialogue he would like
Editors’ Introduction xiii

to have had with Locke. In the first of two essays on Locke and Leibniz, Martha
Brandt Bolton compares Locke and Leibniz’s conceptions of powers and potential-
ities in substances. In a detailed analysis she argues that they agreed that “causality,
action, and power cannot exist without a more complex structure that constitutes
thinking.” But, insofar as Locke admits the possibility of the spirit existing without
thinking, for example during sleep, there is the problem of how, and by what power,
it can be brought back into thinking, since the state of thoughtless sleep seems to
deny the presence of the very power that is supposed to end the state of non-thinking.
Against Locke, Leibniz’s argues “(a) activity is essential to a substance; a substance
is never without perceptions, although it is often unaware of them; (b) everything
that occurs in a substance comes to it from its own depths; that is, a substance has no
“passive” powers, if this means that it has modifications caused by another (created)
substance; (c) in nature, there are not even bare inactive faculties, let alone inactive
substances.” Although she appreciates Locke’s stand on the structure of substance
as “sober, well-considered,” she concludes that Leibniz’s account can do something
that Locke cannot: it can “explain how a substance underwrites and unites several
powers, and specifically active powers.”
Luc Foisneau discusses the theory of personal identity in Locke and Leibniz,
demonstrating that Hobbes is an important point de repère for both. He credits
Locke with presenting the modern problem of personal identity through his con-
junction of the theory of the person and the theory of identity. For his part, it was in
response to Locke that Leibniz developed his ideas on the principle of individuation
and on the basis of the identity of the human person. Foisneau discusses ways in
which Hobbes may be said to provide some of the basis for Locke’s theory. Locke’s
definition of the person as a juridical term is, he argues, indebted to Hobbes’s
definition of the natural person. Leibniz, on the other hand, made self-conscious
use of Hobbes when, in Nouveaux Essais sur l’entendement humain, he called into
question Locke’s radical distinction between personal identity founded on unity of
consciousness, and physical identity founded on the unity of substance. Notwith-
standing their difference on the identity of the moral person, Hobbes’s concept of
a natural person with its close coupling of the natural and the moral dimensions of
human personality, may be said to anticipate the objections which Leibniz made
against Locke.
Mark Goldie introduces the first published critique of Locke’s Two Treatises
of Government. Hitherto overlooked, this was published in 1698 in The Grounds
and Foundation of Natural Religion by the sometime Oxford fellow and Anglican
clergyman, Thomas Beconsall. The critique is remarkable, first for its early date
(as critiques of Two Treatises go) and because, notwithstanding the anonymity of
Locke’s book, Beconsall recognised the link with Locke’s Essay Concerning Hu-
man Understanding. Beconsall focuses on law of nature. Although he convicts
Locke of irreligiousness, his critique does not register the theological concerns
raised by Stillingfleet. In defence of patriarchalism, Beconsall charged Locke with
subverting the authority of fathers over sons and took Locke to be an advocate of
uncontrolled emigration which, he claimed would have economically debilitating
consequences.
xiv Editors’ Introduction

Differences in epistemology and philosophical style have resulted in Cambridge


Platonists and Locke being treated as mutually antithetical. Taking as her starting
point Locke’s highly positive evaluation of Ralph Cudworth in Some Thoughts
concerning Education, Sarah Hutton argues that Cudworth’s philosophical horizons
were more modern than might first appear from the space he devotes to ancient phi-
losophy in his work. The essay focuses on Cudworth’s interpretation of Protagoras,
and argues that, beneath its classical exterior, there is more affinity between Locke
and Cudworth than is normally acknowledged.
Locke was a sociable philosopher. As Luisa Simonutti reminds us, he enjoyed
participating in discussion groups or intellectual salons (such as the “Lantern” group
at the house of his friend, Benjamin Furly). He was also responsible for founding
some of his own, such as the so-called “Dry Club”, taking care to set out rules for
their governance. The purpose of such regulation was to ensure the free exchange
of ideas, so that, they might serve as fora for exploring topical issues. She argues
that religious issues, especially Socinianism, were a major subject of discussion in
the with William Popple and members of the “Dry Club”. Since Locke’s views can
be shown to anticipate his late writings on the same issues, it is likely that these
discussions were an important stimulus for developing his ideas. The discussions
continued even after Locke moved to live at the home of Lady Masham during his
final years. As the hub of correspondence and calling point for friends and acquain-
tances, her home constituted a “virtual salon” of Lockeans.
In his paper on Locke and Malebranche, Paul Schuurman shows how Locke’s
epistemological agnosticism about God, mind and matter drove both his attack on
Malebranche’s Vision in God and his defence of the possibility of thinking matter
against Stillingfleet. Focusing on the Locke’s argumentative strategies he argues
that there are similarities between these debates. In addition, there may be a direct
connection between the content of Locke’s arguments in favour of the possibility of
thinking matter and of his arguments against the Vision in God. For Malebranche
there was a clear connection between these two issues: denial of the Vision in God
opens the door to agnosticism about the essence of matter, which in its turn leads to
the error about thinking matter. Locke denied the Vision in God and he was agnostic
about the essence of matter and he refused to deny the possibility of thinking matter.
As the French translator of Locke’s Essay Pierre Coste was a key transmitter
of Locke’s philosophy to a European audience. John Milton’s essay examines the
uneasy relationship between Locke and his translator which is revealed in Coste’s
correspondence after Locke’s death. Coste’s closeness to Locke (they did after all
live in the same household during Locke’s final years), did not, it seems amount
to friendship. Although Coste wrote a very flattering “Eloge” immediately after
Locke’s death, John Milton demonstrates that his private view of Locke was far
from amicable, which may explain why he never honoured the deathbed request
by Locke that he translate one of his other works after his death. This work is not
named in Coste’s account, but Milton advances a plausible hypothesis that the book
in question was Locke’s Two Treatises of Government.
The subject of Ian Harris’s paper is, Pierre Bayle the protestant champion of
religious toleration who is often compared to Locke. Focusing chiefly on Bayle’s
Editors’ Introduction xv

Commentaire philosophique Harris argues that Bayle’s the view of liberty of con-
science was shaped by his metaphysical beliefs. Among these, he draws attention
to the importance of epistemological certainty as the ground of toleration, thereby
reversing the usual emphasis on Bayle’s scepticism. He also highlights the positive
role Bayle accords the state as protector of religion and morality. He argues that this
difference from Locke may be accounted for in terms of Bayle’s different personal
experience of the institutions of church and state as a Hugenot in France and in exile.
Jean Jacques Rousseau aspired to be a thorough Lockean, and his early educa-
tional writings clearly show a debt to Locke, in spite of his criticisms of him. Nev-
ertheless, Rousseau dismissive of Locke’s Some Thoughts on Education. Refuses
to take him at his word, Sylvana Tomaselli demonstrates the influence of Locke on
Rousseau’s philosophy of education in less obvious ways. By focusing on the moral
and political purpose of Some Thoughts she shows similarities between them, in
spite of differences. Notwithstanding his denials, she argues that “Rousseau wrote
with Locke in hand.”
A less obvious dimension of Locke’s European legacy was his impact on Kant,
explored here by Yasuhiko Tomida who examines the parallels and differences be-
tween “things themselves”, “affections”, and sensible “ideas” in Locke and Kant’s
“things in themselves”, “affections” and sensible “representations”. For Locke, sen-
sible ideas are the product of affections that are caused by corpuscular “things in
themselves”. Similarly, in Kant’s framework sensible representations are given to
us by things in themselves that affect our senses; but it makes no sense to talk about
these unknown things in themselves as being in space, hence there can be no causal
relation between things in themselves and our representations. Yet Tomida makes a
convincing case for the profundity of Kant’s debt to Locke by focusing on Kant’s ad-
mission of similarities between Locke’s distinction between primary and secondary
qualities and his own distinction between space and all other modifications of body
(the former being the subjective condition for the latter), including both primary and
secondary qualities.
Broadly speaking, by setting Locke’s thought in the context within which it was
produced, the essays presented in this volume seek to give a rounded picture of
his contribution to the intellectual culture of his time. However, the collection as a
whole aspires to be neither comprehensive in its coverage of Locke and his immedi-
ate context, nor uniform in its treatment of the various topics discussed. Rather, the
particular topics have been selected as representative of Locke’s philosophy and its
context. Different approaches highlight different features of his thought and intel-
lectual milieu, which, when taken together will, we hope, serve to complement one
another. Furthermore, in their central focus on Locke and their diversity of style and
content, these essays are designed to be a fitting tribute to John Rogers, to whose
work Locke is central, and who has done so much to promote the cause of the history
of philosophy in its widest sense.1

1 The editors wish to thank Ferdinand Delcker (Erasmus University, Rotterdam) for his assistance
in preparing this volume.
List of Contributors

Shigeyuki Aoki is Research Fellow of the Japan Society for the Promotion of Sci-
ence at Nagoya University. After spending one year at Keele University, were he
studied under the supervision of John Rogers, he recently finished a dissertation on
Locke’s theory of ideas at Kyoto University.

Michael Ayers is Emeritus Fellow of Wadham College and Professor of Philoso-


phy at the University of Oxford. Throughout his career he has published both in
systematic philosophy and on its history. He is a Fellow of the British Academy and
member of Academia Europaea.

Martha Brandt Bolton is Professor of Philosophy at Rutgers University. She is the


author of articles on a variety of topics in early modern philosophy including the
epistemic and metaphysical doctrines of both Locke and Leibniz.

Stuart Brown was Professor of Philosophy at the Open University where he is now
an Emeritus Professor. He has published on the history of philosophy, especially on
Leibniz. He was a founder and one-time chair of the British Society for the History
of Philosophy.

Luc Foisneau is a Senior Research Fellow at the French National Centre for Scien-
tific Research. He is the author of Hobbes et la toute-puissance de Dieu (2000) and
he is the general editor of the Dictionary of Seventeenth-Century French Philoso-
phers (2008).

Mark Goldie teaches in the Faculty of History in the University of Cambridge and
is a Fellow of Churchill College. He has published on British political, religious, and
intellectual history, 1650-1750. These include a source collection, The Reception of
Locke’s Politics, 6 vols (1999).

Ian Harris lectures in intellectual, literary and political history in the School of
Historical Studies at the University of Leicester. He is author of The Mind of John
Locke (1994, 1998), and at present is working on Edmund Burke.

xvii
xviii Contributors

Sarah Hutton holds a chair at Aberystwyth University and is director of the inter-
national Archives of the History of Ideas. Her publications include, Anne Conway .
A Woman Philosopher (CUP 2004). She has also edited Ralph Cudworth’s Treatise
Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality (CUP 1996).

J. R. Milton is Associate General Editor of the Clarendon Edition of the Works of


John Locke, and Professor of the History of Philosophy at King’s College London.

Victor Nuovo is Charles A. Dana Professor of Philosophy Emeritus at Middlebury


College and Senior Research Fellow at Harris Manchester College, Oxford. He is
an editor of the Clarendon Locke Edition.

Paul Schuurman is Lecturer at the Erasmus University Rotterdam, has published


on Locke and Descartes, and is currently editing the Encyclopaedia of Locke and his
Times and, with John Rogers, Locke’s Drafts for the Essay, vol. III for the Clarendon
Locke Edition.

Luisa Simonutti is Research Assistant for the National Research Council, Istituto
per la Storia del Pensiero Filosofico e Scientifico Moderno (Milan) and Lecturer
at the Department of Philosophy,University of Ferrara. She has published on early
modern (political) philosophy.

Tom Sorell is John Ferguson Professor of Global Ethics in the Department of Phi-
losophy, University of Birmingham. He has published on Hobbes, Descartes, moral
theory and various topics in applied ethics.

Sylvana Tomaselli is a Fellow of St John’s College, Cambridge. She has written


on Montesquieu, Adam Smith and Mary Wollstonecraft. With John Rogers, she
co-edited The Philosophical Canon in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries,
Essays in Honour of John W. Yolton (1996).

Yasuhiko Tomida is Professor of Philosophy at Kyoto University. He has publish-


ing extensively on Locke and his two most recent books are The Lost Paradigm of
the Theory of Ideas (Hildesheim: Olms, 2007) and Quine, Rorty, Locke (Hildesheim:
Olms, 2007).
Abbreviations: Writings of Locke

Correspondence The Correspondence of John Locke, 9 vols., ed. E.S. de


Beer (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976—)
Drafts Drafts for the Essay concerning Human Understanding,
vol. I, ed. Peter Nidditch and G.A.J. Rogers (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1990)
ELN Essay on the Law of Nature, ed. W. von Leiden (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1974)
Essay An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, ed. P.H.
Nidditch (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975)
LL The Library of John Locke, compiled by J. Harrison and
Peter Laslett (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971)
Paraphrase and Notes A Paraphrase and Notes on the Epistles of St Paul, ed.
Arthur W. Wainwright (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1987)
Reasonableness The Reasonableness of Christianity, ed. J.C. Higgins-
Biddle (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999)
STCE Some Thoughts concerning Education, eds John W. and
Jean S. Yolton (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989).
TOL Epistola de Tolerantia, ed. Raymond Klibansky (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1968)
Two Treatises Two Treatises of Government, ed. Peter Laslett (sec-
ond edition corrected (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1970)
Works The Works of John Locke (London: Thomas Tegg, 1823;
repr. Aalen: Scientia, 1963)
WR Writings on Religion, ed. Victor Nuovo (Oxford: Claren-
don Press, 2002)

xix
Chapter 1
Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy

Victor Nuovo

Introduction

To begin with, Locke was not a Stoic philosopher, at least not a self-conscious one.
There is no evidence that he made any attempt to recover Stoic principles through
a careful study of ancient sources that were available to him, one comparable to the
study he made of the New Testament in search of the fundamental principles of the
Christian Religion, or that, having once recovered Stoic principles, he endeavoured
to conform his philosophical theories to them. Nevertheless, there are major aspects
of Locke’s philosophy that appear characteristically Stoic and that, when brought
clearly into view, make him seem almost but not quite a Stoic philosopher. Almost,
but not quite: this may serve as a motto for my essay. Being not quite one thing
suggests not just privation but being something else as well. This other may consist
of contrary philosophical positions. No modern philosopher who was schooled in
antiquity, as was Locke, could escape being somewhat eclectic. In Locke’s case,
however, the other consisted of something very different, that was not philoso-
phy, even though it was regarded by many who professed it as a form of wisdom,
something which when reduced to dogma often seemed antithetical to philosophy
generally and to Stoicism in particular, even while it claimed to represent what all
philosophers knowingly or not aspired to. That significant other is Christianity as
delivered in the Scriptures. Locke was a Christian, who was confident of his faith,
and who held his Christian beliefs in higher regard than mere philosophical opinion,
including his own.
My essay falls into three parts. The first part will focus upon philosophical
themes in Locke’s thought that are characteristically Stoic, in particular the fol-
lowing: God and nature, the origin of knowledge and the growth of reason, good
and bad, the passions, the grounds of morality and the law of nature. Locke’s
philosophical opinions concerning these themes will be compared with their Stoic
archetypes, and, since it is not my intention to make him out to be a complete
Stoic, special attention will be paid to those instances where Locke departs from
Stoic orthodoxy: in his opinions about God and creation, about the origin of our
ideas of good and bad and about moral obligation. However, these differences
are far outweighed by Locke’s profound affinities with Stoic rationalism. Locke’s

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 1


and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 1–25.
2 Victor Nuovo

reliabilist and developmental theory of reason and cognition constitutes a revival of


Stoic theory. To be sure, it is original and idiosyncratic, yet its pedigree remains.
However, reason is, for Locke, not merely the indispensable and only means to
our human pursuits of truth; it is also, and just for this reason, the divinely or-
dained key that provides us access to revelation, to things above reason, which
without reason cannot be vouchsafed or understood. Locke’s Stoic rationalism, then,
together with his departures from Stoic orthodoxy, sets the stage for the second
part of this essay. Here my main purpose is to provide a clear and comprehen-
sive account of Locke’s Christian worldview and the beliefs that it encompassed.
The first part of this essay falls under the heading of Reason, and the second,
Reason Enlarged. This should remind the reader of Locke’s grand assertion con-
cerning reason and revelation, that reason is natural revelation and revelation rea-
son enlarged.1 These are headings, of which Locke might have approved, for the
terms, as he uses them, suggest not only a continuity between reason and rev-
elation but a synthesis of them. The third part of this essay is more reflective
and evaluative than expository. It adds nothing new to what precedes it. Some
brief historical comments on the role of Stoicism with respect to Christianity and
modernity may clarify my purpose. Locke’s encounter with Stoicism occurred at
a critical moment in history when Stoic philosophy, long domesticated as part of
the Christian intellectual tradition, re-emerged as an instrument of modernization.
Metaphysical naturalism and moral autonomy, which are basic marks of moder-
nity, have their roots in Stoicism. Stoic moral rationalism had a more immedi-
ate role to play. Christian scholars, most notable among them, Justus Lipsius and
Hugo Grotius, employed it as a means to counteract sectarian dogmatism. Locke
is loosely connected to this group of Christian humanists. In this connection, his
role as a major founder of liberal Protestantism, or indeed of liberal evangelical-
ism, becomes apparent. It is arguable that by joining reason to revelation Locke
fashioned a momentous synthesis that is still a source of intellectual capital from
which Christian philosophers may continue to draw. This is what, I think, Locke
hoped for. On the other hand, it is arguable, from the standpoint of modernity
and the Enlightenment, that the effect of this conjunction of reason and revela-
tion was a fettering of reason and a diminishment of its potential. Accordingly, the

1 Essay IV. xix. 4, p.698: “Reason is natural Revelation, whereby the eternal Father of Light, the
Fountain of all Knowledge communicated 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. So that he that takes away Reason, to
make way for Revelation, puts out the Light of both, and does much what the same, as if he would
perswade a Man to put out his Eyes the better to receive the remote Light of an invisible Star by a
Telescope.”
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 3

heading of this final section identifies two evaluative options: Reason Enlarged or
Diminished?2
Before proceeding, I offer a brief account of the Stoic sources available to Locke.
He owned numerous copies of the works of Cicero and Seneca.3 The former, al-
though not a Stoic, was an important transmitter of Stoic ideas, and was sympathetic
to many of them, especially ethical ones. Locke especially valued the latter’s De
Officiis, which offers a compendium of Panaetius’ moral doctrines. He also owned
two editions of Epictetus’ Enchiridion, several copies of Diogenes Laertius’ Lives
and of Plutarch’s Moralia and Gellius’ Noctes Atticae.4 Hence he had immediate ac-
cess to the main Latin and Greek sources. Among the Patristic transmitters of Stoic
ideas, he owned copies of the works of Lactantius and Origen.5 Among more or
less contemporary sources he owned an English translation of Guillaume Du Vair’s
Moral Philosophy of the Stoicks and a Latin edition of Justus Lipsius’ De Constan-
tia.6 Hugo Grotius’ De Jure belli ac pacis was a modern source of Stoic natural
law theory.7 Manuscript sources show that Locke read extensively in Seneca and
Cicero. One undated manuscript, in Locke’s hand, contains chronology of almost
all of Cicero’s writings.8 Locke also owned a copy of the first edition of Spinoza’s
posthumous works. The latter is arguably the most creative of modern Stoics.9
Locke’s earliest writings on the law of nature show that he consciously connected
the doctrine of the law of nature to Stoic sources and adopted Stoic terminology in
defining it.10

2 There is a third option: Locke’s achievement may be viewed as a corruption or profaning of


revelation. Whether this is so is a question for theologians to consider and is beyond the scope of
this essay, which is historical and philosophical.
3 LL; Cicero, items 711–720, 721a–q; Seneca: 2612–16, 2616a. In an early notebook, Locke made
extensive notes from Seneca’s De Ira, especially Bk. III (there are 22 citations), plus several from
Seneca’s Epistulae Morales, MS Locke e.6, fos. 7, 8, 9, 10.
4 Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers (henceforward DL) 2 copies, LL 969, 970;
Plutarch, Moralia 2356–58, 2358a–b, 2359, 2360.; Aulus Gellius, Noctes Atticae 4 copies, 1231,
1232, 1232a–b.
5 Lactantius, LL, 1651, 1651a; Origen: LL, 2140.
6 Du Vair, LL, 1003d; Lipsius, LL, 1763.
7 Grotius, De Jure, 2 copies, LL, 1329, 1329a.
8 “Ciceronis Scripta secundum ordinem temporis digesta,” MS Locke c. 31, fos. 139–46.
9 Susan James, “Spinoza the Stoic,” in The Rise of Modern Philosophy, ed.Tom Sorell (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1995), 289–314; also Paul Kristeller, “Stoic and Neoplatonic Sources
of Spinoza’s Ethics,” History of European Ideas 5: 1–15. See A.A. Long, “Stoicism in the Philo-
sophical Tradition,” in The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, ed. Brad Inwood, (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2003), 365–92. Long cautions that Spinoza should be regarded as at
best a partial Stoic and not at all as a self-conscious one.
10 ELN 108f.
4 Victor Nuovo

Reason

God and Nature


Stoicism is a sort of naturalism, although the particular variety of naturalism that
it espouses differs fundamentally from modern naturalism. The Stoics conceived of
nature as a finite unified system, a living body that manifests not only intelligence
but also design. It exists self-contained in an infinite void of space.
Stoics admit two principles of nature: an active and a passive one, the former
indwelling and infusing the latter with its active intelligent substance (a sort of
natura naturans), and causing the emergence of manifold beings organized in a
totality that is a perfect expression of the intelligent creative agent operating within
it.11 Stoics equate the active principle of nature with God, or Zeus, whose creative
power is entirely subject to right reason, his primary attribute, by which he rules the
universe and exercises providential care over everything in it. This personification
of the divine seems to be more a matter of speaking than a real attribution. Stoics
conceived of God as a material being. Thus it is represented as the creative fire (pur
technikon), not to be confused with its familiar and grosser counterpart, or, deriva-
tively, as spirit, a combination of rarefied fire and air that infuses everything and
accounts for their expansive and contractive functions, and from whose substance
all other grosser kinds of matter and material things proceed and are vivified, or
again as pure energy or light endowed with the most sublimeintelligence.12 Finally,
the Stoic God is not a transcendent being. It is not exalted and exists by itself only in
those intervals between an infinitude of world cycles, when the process of generation
has been reversed and the manifold world is returned to its primitive inchoate state,
in which the active principle remains indwelling.13
Locke’s God, by way of contrast, is a transcendent person, who created the world
out of nothing at a particular moment in time, not by virtue of the necessity of his
nature but according to his good pleasure. Thus, God’s actions are expressions not
only of power, wisdom and goodness, which are not fully fathomable, but of his
inscrutable will which endows all that he does with a transcendent authority that
is supposed to be unlike anything in the world.14 The primary motive of Locke’s
theology is biblical, that is, so far as the manifold representations of God in the
Scriptures have been more or less refined by philosophical reflection, and codified

11A.A. Long, “The Logical Basis of Stoic Ethics,” Stoic Studies (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 2001), 137.
12 A.A. Long and D.N. Sedley (eds.), The Hellenistic Philosophers (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press, 1987) vol. I, § 44, 268–72; § 46, 274–79. Recently, John M. Cooper has argued
that some Stoics, Chyrsippus in particular, have supposed God to be an indwelling immaterial
body. “Stoic Autonomy,” in his Knowledge, Nature and the Good (Princeton: Princeton University
Press, 2004), 204–46. esp. 220f.
13 Cicero, De natura deorum (hereafter ND) II, 118; Loeb Classical Library, 235. Hereafter all
texts from Loeb Classical Library are abbreviated as LCL.
14 “Supposed,” because divine authority bears a striking resemblance to the authority and power
of an absolute monarch.
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 5

into Christian doctrines that are conveniently read into biblical texts by learned ex-
positors. Yet, notwithstanding this, Locke did not think it inappropriate to substitute
the term “Nature” for “God,” which he did without embarrassment, although rarely
and only on suitable occasions, for example, when discoursing about aspects of
natural existence that testify to the existence and attributes of God. In Essay I. iii.
3, he writes, “Nature, I confess, has put into Man a desire of Happiness, and an
aversion to Misery: These indeed are innate practical Principles which (as practical
Principles ought) do continue constantly to operate and influence all our Actions.”15
This practice of using the terms “nature” and “God” synonymously was not a new
one for him; there are instances of it in one of his earliest writings, the so-called
Essays on the Law of Nature. Here also it is an occasional practice. In one instance
it is employed with a caution: Locke writes that “nature or (as I should say more
correctly) God” could have created mankind differently.16 The reason for the cau-
tion is that a Christian monotheist and voluntarist like Locke would not want it to
be thought that nature by virtue of some principle inherent in it could create itself
or that, as creator, God is bound by some necessity to create the world just the way
it is. If he had such scruples, which seems most likely, then why use the practice at
all? The answer lies in the indispensability to Locke’s scheme of things of natural
theology, and Stoic natural theology, as opposed to an Aristotelian variety, was for
him the article of choice.
Locke’s preference for Stoic natural theology is in no small way due to the im-
portant role that the doctrine of the law of nature plays in his moral and political
theory, and to the Stoic derivation of this law from divine reason.17 No doubt it also
had something to do with the way Stoic proofs linked natural history to theology,
by attributing the admirable contrivances of nature to the intelligent design of a
superior rational being, whose wisdom, power and goodness are evident from all
his works.18
In his long chapter on the existence of God, Locke emphatically denies the ma-
teriality of God, yet, curiously, he also expresses indifference to the hypothesis,
allowing its admissibility so long as God’s intelligence or cogitative nature was
unequivocally and irrevocably affirmed. The variety of materialism he opposes in
this chapter is not Stoic materialism, but Corpuscularism, which was the dominant

15 Locke, Essay, 67; see also Essay III. iii. 13, p. 415.
16 ELN, 199: Von Leyden notes that there are two manuscript versions of this remark: “natura vel
(ut rectius dicam) Deus” and “natura (vel ut rectius dicam) Deus”; see also pp. 123, 137. Locke’s
expression “natura vel Deus” means just the opposite of Spinoza’s “deus sive natura” and was
composed by him before he could have become aware of Spinoza’s formula. Locke’s caution is
reminiscent of Calvin’s remark, “I confess, of course, that it can be said reverently, provided that it
proceeds from a reverent mind, that nature is God.” Institutes of the Christian Religion, I. v. 5, ed.
J.T. MacNeill (Philadelphia, 1960), 1:58.
17 ELN, 109, 111.
18A primary source of such arguments, well known to Locke, is Book II of Cicero’s De Natura
Deorum.
6 Victor Nuovo

theory, or, as Locke styled it, “the Philosophy now in the World.”19 It served his
purposes well, giving him a rhetorical advantage over the unnamed materialists he
was zealous to refute. But as though to suggest that this paradigm is not the final
truth about matter, Locke alludes in a veiled and cautious manner to another philo-
sophical notion of primal matter and the origin of the visible world, one that he may
have learned of from Isaac Newton: according to this hypothesis, primal matter is
infinite space, a portion of which God made into the visible world by a process of
thickening.20
Which brings us to the idea of God as an indwelling spirit. Locke conceived of
God as sending forth from himself an ubiquitous creative divine Spirit capable of
operating in all things, illuminating the minds of intelligent creatures, providing for
their happiness and making available to them the opportunities as well as the means
to achieve it, yet always maintaining its self-identity, never ceasing to be itself. The
motto printed on the title page of the Essay expresses this sentiment. “As thou know-
est not what is the way of the Spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the Womb of
her that is with Child: even so thou knowest not the works of God, who maketh all
things.”21 The scepticism expressed here should be taken in a reverential rather than
in a dogmatic sense. Throughout his life, the idea of spirit fascinated Locke, and he
attempted to comprehend its nature even while he admitted the immense difficulty
of the task. The proposition that a creative spirit invigorates matter, which, when
considered abstractly by itself, seems to be a shared principle between Locke and
the Stoics, and although stated in different contexts, expresses the same abstract
metaphysical principle. Locke’s thoughts about spirit present his interpreters with
a confusing tangle of ideas, some drawn from Stoicism, for example, that there are
enduring spiritual beings that reside in realms above the terrestrial sphere, who in
their refined state are pure intelligences, and that the spiritual state is a corporeal one,
at least for angels and the resurrected spiritual bodies of the saints, although not for
God. Mention of the latter, of course, shows that Locke’s thoughts were intertwined
with biblical cosmology and eschatology.22 Like the Stoics, Locke believed that
the individual soul is a spiritual substance, and even though he did not hold that
individual souls are portions of the divine spirit, he also admitted the difficulty of
conceiving the creation out of nothing of a spiritual entity. Finally, like the Stoics,
Locke believed that the individual soul is mortal, although the authority he cites for

19 Essay IV. x. 18, p. 629.


20 For what follows, see Essay IV. x. 13–19, pp. 625–30. The hypothesis and its source were
identified by Pierre Coste, Locke’s sometime secretary and French translator; see Jonathan Bennett,
“God and Matter in Locke: An Exposition of Essay 4.10” in Early Modern Philosophy, ed. Christia
Mercer and Eileen O’Neill (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), 180f. In §§ 18, 19 Locke also
defends the doctrine of creation out of nothing.
21 Essay, title page, eds. 4 and 5 only; the text quoted is Ecclesiastes 11: 5.
22On the idea of spirit during the Hellenistic age, see Kirsopp Lake, “The Holy Spirit,” in The
Beginnings of Christianity, Part I, ed. F.J. Foakes-Jackson and Kirsopp Lake (London: Macmillan,
1933), 5: 97–111. The threads of thought, biblical and philosophical, popular and learned, that
made up the tangle in Locke’s mind are carefully delineated here.
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 7

this opinion is not some Stoic text but Genesis 2: 19.23 To say anything more on
this theme here would be to introduce topics that will be properly treated in the next
section of this essay.

Reason and the Origin and Growth of Knowledge


Locke conceived of the place of a human individual in the world in the same way
as the Stoics did. This becomes particularly clear when one compares their theo-
ries concerning the origin of knowledge and the growth of reason. The following
summary offers a convenient account of Stoic opinion on these topics.
The Stoics say: when a man is born, he has the controlling part of his soul like paper well
prepared for writing on. On this he inscribes each of his conceptions.
The first kind of inscription is that by way of the senses. For in sensing something as
white, they have a memory of it when it has gone away. And when many memories of
the same type have occurred, then we say that we have experience, since experience is a
multitude of impressions similar in type.
Of the conceptions, some occur naturally by means of the aforementioned modalities
and without conscious effort, while others come about by our instruction and attention.
These latter are called conceptions, but the former are preconceptions as well.
Reason, for which we are called rational, is said to be completed [lit. “filled up’] from
our preconceptions as well. A concept is an image in the mind of a rational animal; for when
the image comes to the rational soul, it is called a concept, taking its name from the mind.
For this reason, what comes to irrational animals are images only; while those which
come to us and to the gods are generically images but specifically concepts.24

Although this text is not one Locke is likely to have read, its convenience as a
basis of comparison makes its use irresistible.
In the first place, Locke and the Stoics agree (1) that the original cognitive state
of a newborn infant is, like a blank tablet, devoid of content.25 They agree also (2)
that the senses are the first sources of cognitive content, whereby a thing (e.g. some-
thing white) inscribes its likeness on the mind, which the memory then retains;26
(3) that recurring sensations or tokens of like things fuse, by experience, into a

23 See Reasonableness, WR, 92f.; also pertinent are Locke’s reflections on the material-
ity/immateriality of the soul in “Adversaria Theologica 94,” MS Locke c. 42, pp. 32–3, WR, 20–30.
The Stoic doctrine is that the individual soul is mortal, except in the case of those perfected in
wisdom, but that the latter and the soul of the world persist throughout a particular world cycle; see
DL, VII, 156–57; Plutarch, On Stoic Self-Contradictions, 1053, Moralia, LCL, Vol. XIII/2, p. 571f.
24 Aetius Placita, IV, 1–4, Doxographi Graeci, ed. Herman Diels (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1958); the
translation, with one exception, is by R.J. Hankinson, “Stoic Epistemology,” Cambridge Compan-
ion to the Stoics, p. 62; translation of the first sentence of the fourth paragraph is taken from Long
and Sedley (eds.), Hellenistic Philosophers, § 39E, 1: 238.
25 Essay II. i. 2, p. 104.
26 Essay II. i. 6, p. 106; also II. x, passim.
8 Victor Nuovo

type or preconception;27 (4) that the process is wholly natural and, with respect to
the acquisition of content generally, passive;28 (5) but that the mind is also active,
attending carefully to certain things and their qualities, and reflecting upon them,
thereby transforming confused images into concepts (ennoiai);29 (6) that reason is
a capacity that grows, and so it is said to be filled up or enlarged, until it reaches
completion, that is, until it is operationally mature.30 Thus not only knowledge, but
the capacity to reason also is the product of experience, and reason, as it grows or
is enlarged, gains the ability to see the reasonableness of things that before it might
not have expected could be so.
Our text does not mention any other activities of mind than abstraction or the
formation of general concepts, but other texts provide what is missing here, and once
again, there is broad agreement. Thus the mind, when reflecting on its concepts,
not only abstracts, but also combines, compares, adds and subtracts, fits them into
propositions and hypotheses, from which it draws inferences, and so forth. For the
sake of completeness, one may add to this list that Locke, like the Stoics, adhered
to a causal theory of perception, and that the perception of a thing is the criterion of
its existence.31
I have remarked that Locke and the Stoics are in agreement that the mind is
generally passive as a receptor of ideas. (See above, item (3)). But there is a subtle
difference between the two that must not be overlooked. If I understand them cor-
rectly, Stoics were more cognizant than was Locke that the acquisition of knowledge
is always a natural or organic process, which does not always involve conscious
effort, but in which the mind is never entirely passive. The Stoic idea of a catalep-
tic impression (katalêptikê phantasia) involves grasping or apprehending.32 Thus
Locke defines perception, “the first faculty of the Mind,” as thinking or what the
mind does with its ideas; the Stoics carry the process back one step further to the
very acquisition of ideas.33 In this respect, they seem to be more consistent nat-
uralists, a consequence, perhaps, of their belief that mind, as well as body, was a
material composition.
There is a notable difference between Locke and the Stoics with respect to ter-
minology. He displays a casual indifference to Stoic terms like “phantasm” and

27 Essay II. ix. 8, p. 145. This is a particularly interesting passage, for Locke observes that in
the minds of mature adults simple ideas are upon reception “alter’d by the Judgment, without our
taking notice of it.” This, I think, approximates the Stoic idea of a preconception.
28 Essay II. i. 25; xii. 1, pp. 118, 163.
29 Essay II. xii. 1, p. 163.
30 Essay II. i. 20, 22, pp. 116–17.
31 Reason and reasoning are not “a priori and independent of events.” Rather for Stoics as well as
for Locke, it may be said that “the primary contents of human rationality . . . are derived from direct
acquaintance of empirical events.” A.A. Long, “The Harmonics of Stoic Virtue,” Stoic Studies
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001), 206.
32 Here I follow R.J. Hankinson, “Stoic Epistemology,” 60, especially fn. 1.
33 Essay II. ix. 1, but see also II. ix. 2, p. 143), where Locke directs his readers to what they
themselves do when they see or hear or think.
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 9

“common notion,” yet this may have had less to do with any antipathy to Stoic
epistemology than with the fact that the meaning of the terms had become obscure.34
This indifference to terminology probably does indicate that Locke had no profes-
sional interest in Stoic epistemology, with which he was surely acquainted, and
whose affinities to his own thought he could not have failed to recognize, but he had
no need to acknowledge this.

The Foundations of Morality and the Law of Nature

In this section I treat a series of moral topics, or, better, a medley of them, for each of
the themes considered here mixes with the rest to constitute Locke’s moral outlook.
Here also my purpose is to clarify Locke’s more or less near Stoic affinities.
Good and bad and indifferent: Stoic theory of value divides things into three
classes: good, bad and indifferent.35 Stoics maintain that virtue is the only proper
good. Virtue is a unitary state of being, or a unitary disposition to act that has
multiple expressions, viz. the cardinal virtues of wisdom, justice, courage and tem-
perance. A virtue is a characteristic that is “transferred adverbially” to actions, for
example, speaking truthfully or drinking sparingly.36 The opposite of virtue is vice,
which comprises all actions and motives that are contrary to virtue as well as the
unsettled character from which they proceed. Happiness is a concomitant state with
virtue. Since virtue involves the perfection of reason, all the judgements of reason
would be correct, that is, the virtuous individual or sage would be guided in all her
judgements by right reason, and so would not be led astray by bad or debilitating
passions. The sage would know that the fears and hopes and anxieties of those less
perfect involve false judgements and so would not be affected by them. This perfect
state is not passionless. Stoic theory allows for good passions as well as bad ones.
A standard list of good passions (eupatheiai) mentions three: joy, caution and wish-
ing.37 Indifferent things include all states, circumstances and events connected to an

34 Essay I. i. 8, p. 47.
35 The summary of Stoic moral opinions that is provided in this section is not original. It is very
much dependent upon the expertise of a number of scholars, especially Michael Frede, Brad In-
wood, A.A. Long and the notes in Long and Sedley’s The Hellenistic Philosophers. For details of
their works on which I have relied see the notes and the bibliography.
36 Long and Sedley (eds.), Hellenistic Philosophers, 1:365.
37 DL VII, 116 (LCL 2: 221): these are rational states: elation of mind (as opposed to immediate
vain or sensual pleasure); rational avoidance (as opposed to fear) and rational desire (as opposed
to craving). See also Long and Sedley (eds.), Hellenistic Philosophers, 1:412, 419f. All three are
arguably characteristics of Locke: the joy or pleasure of new learning and in general of rational
pursuits (see Essay, Epistle to the Reader); Leo Strauss’s characterization of Locke as a cautious
man surely is apt, even if his use of it is doubtful; see his Natural Right and History (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1954), 206f; Locke’s persistent desire for heaven was, at least as he
understood it, a rational desire (Locke’s considered opinion about the power of choice asserts the
capability of an individual to suspend immediate desire for a greater good, viz. the joy of heaven;
see Essay II. xxi. 65–71, pp. 277–84.
10 Victor Nuovo

individual life that cannot either wholly or in part be brought under the hegemony of
reason: these include physical states such as health, or socio-economic conditions,
for example, one’s station in life, reputation, prosperity or wealth. Indifferent things
also include actions that have no immediate moral bearing: whether I stand or sit,
dine now or later, exercise or rest. Yet a distinction can be properly made among
all of these between what is to be preferred and what is to be rejected: among the
former, health, vigour, good reputation and regular exercise. The sage will always
make the right judgement concerning these actions and pursuits. It is by extending
ethical thought to such circumstances as these that Stoic ethics comes to embrace
the common life, recommending appropriate actions or prescribing rules or laws
of various generality. Of course, Stoics believe that we live in a world perfected
by reason, so that it may be said that everything happens for the best and nothing
happens by chance. Stoic determinism, however, is of a compatibilist variety. Events
are not determined by an unbroken chain of causes and effects, but by a sequence of
causes, among them, rational choice. Misfortune always offers to the individual the
opportunity to respond; there is always something that is “up to us.”38
Locke’s theory of good and bad seems irreconcilably opposed to Stoicism. He
traces our ideas of these principles to perceptions of pleasure and pain that often
accompany our perceptions of things in or outside of the mind, and on account of
which we judge these things to be good or bad. Good is whatever “is apt to cause
or increase Pleasure, or diminish Pain in us, or to preserve us the possession of any
other Good or absence of any Evil” and likewise, mutatis mutandis, for good and
bad.39 Locke’s account of the origin of our ideas of good and bad was not meant as
a mere description of how these common notions arise in experience. For, since the
conjunction or super-addition of pleasure and pain with or to certain perceptions is
divinely ordained and not just a natural consequence of a thing affecting us, there
must be something divinely normative in the affects as well as in our judgements
about them. Moreover, reflection reveals to us that pleasure and pain often accom-
pany things that are by design beneficial to us, for example, heat and cold cause
comfort or discomfort respectively in those very situations where they are beneficial
or harmful to us, and thus they serve in these different capacities to preserve us in
life.40 Hence, that there may be an alternation of the conjunction of pleasure and
pain to the same perceived object that in the first instance is beneficial and in the
second, harmful, should awaken the mind to the wisdom and goodness of the creator.
There is an even higher truth to be learned from the inconstancy and impermanence
of pleasure too often punctuated with pain.
Beyond all this [viz. what serves the preservation of life], we may find another reason why
God hath scattered up and down several degrees of Pleasure and Pain, in all the things
that environ and affect us; and blended them together, in almost all that our Thoughts and
Senses have to do with; that we finding imperfection, dissatisfaction, and want of complete

38 See Dorothea Frede, “Stoic Determinism,” The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics, 189, 192ff.
39 Essay II. xx. 2, p. 229.
40 Essay II. vii. 3, p. 129.
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 11

happiness, in all the Enjoyments which the Creatures can afford us, might be led to seek it
in the enjoyment of him, with whom there is fullness of joy, and at whose right hand are
pleasures forever more.41

Locke also allows that pleasure and pain are conjoined to moral actions and
higher attitudes of mind. In an entry written in one of his notebooks, dated 1692,
he comments on the varieties and degrees of pleasure that a rational being may
enjoy. Pleasures of the mind or contemplation are to be preferred to those ma-
terial or sensible pleasures, because they are more lasting. He observes that the
sum of corporeal pleasures, including those that “modestie speaks not openly of,”
take up no more than and probably less than a quarter of one’s time. And even
these enjoyments are, as it were, surrounded by or embedded in the satisfactions
of reflection. He then prescribes a better way for all whose “interest & businesse”
in life is “happynesse.” The pleasures that are connected with giving food to a
starving man, or to a friend, which give even greater pleasure, or saving the life
of a child, in short, in doing good works of love and charity, yield a greater hap-
piness, an “undecaying and uninterrupted” reward in heaven.42 Locke seems to
have wanted to combine in a single perception of pleasure the satisfaction that
a virtuous agent takes in doing good deeds, a joy that, according to Stoic the-
ory, accrues to self-governing rational agents through their virtuous actions, with
the consolation of the pilgrim Christian hoping for a heavenly reward, which is a
consummate pleasure to which no earthly pleasure can compare. The result is a
mismatch.
A brief comment about public morality and the pleasure principle provides a
useful conclusion to this discussion, for Locke supposed that public morality was
motivated by pleasure and advantage. In one place in the Essay, he attributes the
stability of public morality to the concurrence of virtue and public happiness. This
too is divinely ordained, for God “by an inseparable connexion, joined Virtue with
publick Happiness: and made the Practice thereof, necessary to the preservation of
Society; and made visibly beneficial to all, with whom the Virtuous Man has to
do,” so that virtue is everywhere praised, as are the rules of government, which are
supposed to be expressions of virtue. Here private interest and public esteem join to
form what Locke acknowledges, somewhat petulantly, is a most effective bond of
civil society.43
The Passions: Locke’s theory of the passions follows after Stoic theory in one
very important respect. He maintained that the passions are not mere emotions
or impulses to action, but are judgements, or thoughts that something is good or
bad and therefore is to be desired or avoided.44 These judgements represent the

41 Essay II. vii. 5, p. 130; see also II. xx. 1–3.


42 “Ethica,” MS Locke c. 42, p. 224, WR, p. 15f. Mention of an undecaying reward no doubt was
intended to evoke Matt. 6: 20.
43 Essay I. iii. 6, p. 69.
44 On the Stoic theory of emotions as value judgements, see Richard Sorabji, Emotion and Peace
of Mind (Oxford, 2000), ch. 2, pp. 29–54 and passim.
12 Victor Nuovo

coincidence of pleasure or pain with certain objects. Locke’s position on this theme
is clearly stated in Essay II. xx. There, for example, he defines sorrow as “uneasiness
of the mind, upon the thought of a Good lost” or of a “present Evil”; he observes
that fear arises from “the thought of a future Evil likely to befall us”; he defines
despair as “the thought of the unattainableness of any Good.” Love and hatred are
also judgements of value with respect to things that please or displease us. Our love
or hatred of an inanimate object is a function of their utility or disutility; love or
hatred of sensitive living beings arises “from a consideration of their very Being,
or Happiness.”45 Violent emotions were the effects of wrong judgements. Locke
also supposed that madness arose from wrong judgement.46 Hence he maintained
that the understanding must regulate desire by correcting its own misadventures
and miscarriages.47 This practice applies not only to matters of individual morality,
but to religion as well. His common charge that every man’s belief is his own or-
thodoxy is an instance of wrong judgement from which arise passions of pride or
arrogance.48 For the most part, Locke’s thoughts about the passions appear to have
been his own and not deliberately fashioned after Stoic models. Yet in one instance
at least, he may have borrowed a definition. His definition of Anger: “uneasiness or
discomposure of the Mind, upon the receipt of any Injury, with a present purpose of
Revenge,” has classical, if not strictly Stoic, antecedents.49
Locke’s contention that the will is not an independent faculty or separate agency,
distinct from the understanding, fits nicely here, and shows him to be in basic agree-
ment with the Stoics, in contrast to Plato and Aristotle who claimed that the soul
consisted of three parts, each with its distinct faculty, and with Augustine, who
subscribed also to a doctrine of a will divided against itself.50 Accordingly, Locke
adhered to an intellectualist view of voluntary actions. These are actions that follow
the “order or command of the mind,” and hence are preceded by choice or judge-
ments of good or bad, which are in turn determined by various passions, that is, by
modifications of desire or uneasiness.51

45 Essay, p. 230f.
46 Essay II. xx. 13, p. 161.
47Essay II. xxi. 62, p. 274f); also Of the Conduct of the Understanding, ed. Paul Schuurman,
(Diss., Keele, 2000), passim.
48 See, TOL, p. 58.
49 Essay II. xx. 12, p. 231. Seneca, de Ira, 2. 3. 4–5; see Richard Sorabji’s translation and discus-
sion in his “Stoic First Movements in Christianity,” in Stoicism: Traditions and Transformations,
ed. Stephen K. Strange and Jack Zupko (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004); see also
Seneca: Moral Essays, ed. John M. Cooper and J.F. Procopé (Cambridge, Cambridge University
Press, 1995), 19, 20, fn. 8, 44. See also above fn. 3.
50 For a full exposition of these distinctions, see Richard Sorabji, op. cit., and Emotion and Peace
of Mind (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000).
51 Essay II. xxi. 5, 28–30, 39, 54–5, 62; pp. 230, 248f, 257, 268f, 274f. Locke’s notion of uneasi-
ness seems to fluctuate between the Stoic (or more precisely Senecan) idea of a “first movement
of action” and a proper passion. On Stoic first movements, see Richard Sorabji, “Stoic First Move-
ments in Christianity.” Locke follows a separate path from the Stoics in developing his theory of
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 13

The Education of Children: Of all of Locke’s works, the one that shows the great-
est Stoic affinities is Some Thoughts concerning Education. It is, therefore, assigned
its own place in this essay. Stoic naturalism predominates throughout this work. In-
deed, there is a prevailing secularity manifest in Locke’s thoughts that confronts the
reader in the very first sentence. “A sound Mind in a sound Body, is a short, but full
Description of a Happy State in this World.”52 The expression “A sound Mind . . . ”
is from Juvenal, and in its context it may be read as recommending a self-governed
life lived within the frame of divine providence. We may count it, then, as a Stoic
idea. The love of heaven, however, does not go unmentioned in this work, and there
are, as I shall point out, other signs that Locke has kept religious expectation alive
in this work. Absent from it, however, is any consideration of evangelical themes:
temptation, sin, repentance, grace and forgiveness.53 A mortal life, then, in Locke’s
judgement, is something good in itself, and it provides sufficient opportunity for
satisfaction and delight to warrant living it and not grieving over what it might have
been.
The purpose of education is to enable a child to achieve a state of rational self-
control, so that it may properly attend to the great business of life, which is virtue
and wisdom.54 A sound body is not something good in itself, although it is a state
to be preferred just because it allows freedom of action, that is, action according to
nature. The proper means to achieve it produces not only health; rather they endow
the whole child, mind and body, with a predisposition to fortitude, by requiring it
to endure hardship, and temperance, by training it to resist desire.55 Such robust
physical training is preparatory for that moment when it reaches the age of discre-
tion, “when Reason comes to speak in them, and not Passion,” although even then
a child’s education continues through reading and discourse.56 It is in connection
with this early training that Locke acknowledges the Stoic affinities to his counsels:
to discipline the body through austerities such as exposing it to cold; eating plain
food, sparingly and only when hungry and not, as custom prescribes, at regular

free agency: whereas the Stoics attributed freedom only to the Sage, on account of the perfection
of his reason, Locke’s account is more clinical and descriptive: an action is free if and only if the
agent of the action has “has the Power of doing, or forbearing to do, according as the Mind shall
chuse or direct.” Essay II. xxi. 10, p. 238.
52 Yolton & Yolton, p. 83, italics mine. By secularity, I mean not that religion is assigned no place
in the education of children, but that the prospect of a happy and fulfilled mortal life is entertained,
and that such a life involves the cultivation of reason and virtue. This is consistent with the claim
Locke makes in The Reasonableness of Christianity that a mere mortal life is better than no being
at all, and that God did nothing unjust in ordaining that Adam’s progeny, although innocent of
his sin, should nevertheless inherit mortality, which counted for Adam as punishment but for his
progeny as a natural state. See WR, p. 94.
53 See Essay II. xxi 57, p. 271f, where Locke equates temptation with the effect on an individual
of physical deprivation, disease and violent torture.
54 Ibid., p. 255.
55 Ibid., pp. 103, 175.
56 Ibid., p. 167. See also Seneca Moral Epistles, no. xciv, LCL, 3:42f.
14 Victor Nuovo

intervals; drinking “no more than Natural Thirst requires,” sleeping on a hard bed
with the head uncovered even in winter and such like practices. He makes light of
these affinities, but is nonetheless serious in his commendation of the practices.57
The discipline he prescribes is entirely according to nature. The recommended
austerities are in no way intended to mortify the flesh, but to allow nature to exercise
its proper discipline on the body, thereby ensuring as much as possible a sound
body fit for a sound mind. Natural impulses are not to be suppressed, rather it is
the corrupting influence of custom that is to be hindered from deforming a child in
mind or body. Custom is often “soft and effeminate” and accordingly debilitating
and enfeebling and dissolute. In contrast, nature’s discipline is always reasonable,
and guaranteed to make one free, to be master of one’s self. The fault of custom lies
in false judgements about what natural impulses might mean in a rational life, and
rationality is clearly the intended goal of all of this.58
In the same way, with regard to the principles of behaviour, the goal in nurturing
a child is to let nature be its guide by protecting it or weaning it from custom. Good
nurturing requires that “every one’s Natural Genius” be allowed to reach its proper
end. The gracefulness and beauty of natural manners, which are never forced or
awkward, but “Genuine and Easie,” are contrasted with the affectations of fashion,
which never grow in the “wild uncultivated Wast,” but emerge only in poorly culti-
vated “Garden-Plotts.”59
Reason also must be allowed to develop naturally or, one might say, autonomously,
where it is guided by an unclouded perception of what is appropriate or fitting and
not by the artificial constraints of the schools or social affectations.60
Locke’s prescription of parental roles is designed to fit the progress of a child
from animality, when it is guided merely by the natural impulses of self love, to
rational personality. During childhood an individual is subject to the absolute rule
of its parents, who in turn are subject to restrictions in their exercise of it which
are consistent with natural experience and that follow from a developmental process
that is consistent with nature generally and with the nature of the individual. Most
importantly, parents must for the most part avoid harsh and violent measures, “I am
apt to think that great Severity of Punishment does but very little Good; nay, great
Harm in Education: And . . . Ceteribus paribus, those Children, who have been most
chastised, seldom make the best Men.” The “Fear and Awe” of Parental power that
holds sway when a child is very young and lacking judgement must give way, as its
rational capacities develop, to “Love and Friendship,” which joined to a cultivated
virtue and a sense of honour guarantee a sure result.61 Locke allows one notable
exception to this. Severe measures must be employed to counteract early signs of
injustice in a child’s behaviour towards others, and to counteract obstinacy and

57 Locke, op. cit., 87.


58 Ibid., pp. 90, 105.
59 Ibid., pp. 122f.
60 Ibid., p. 128.
61 Ibid., pp. 111, 115. 162.
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 15

rebelliousness. The aim in all such discipline is supposed to predispose the child
towards justice and liberality.62
As a means of cultivating virtue in a child, Locke recommends that parents em-
ploy a system of rewards and punishments, the most effective of which is praise or
blame. The goal of such discipline is to instill in a child a sense of honor and dis-
grace, to “relish” the one and to fear the latter.63 These are characteristics of a secular
morality, which Locke elsewhere demeans.64 Yet, in another place, he makes it very
clear that the true foundation of virtue rests upon “a true Notion of God,” which
“ought very early to be imprinted” on a child’s mind, and accompanying this a love
and reverence for God and a belief that God governs all things. Likewise, Locke
prescribes that children learn by heart the Lord’s Prayer, the ecumenical creeds and
the Ten Commandments. Finally, consistent with the practice of enlarging a child’s
reason by cultivating curiosity in it, Locke recommends reading the Bible as the
surest way to instill in it a proper notion of spirit.65
The Law of Nature: The classical theory of the law of nature has roots in Stoic
theology and anthropology. Gods and men are united in a commonwealth of reason.
Right reason, which pervades all things, may be personified as Zeus, the Lord and
Ruler of the universe. Yet since it is this same reason that is the ruling principle of
every rational being, reason rules not theonomously from above but autonomously
from within. Zeus is not a superior being, which is what Locke believed, but is nature
herself, a self-governing totality. Every rational being who chooses to act according
to nature’s law does so by its own authority, and its motivation to act is altogether
internal and rational.66
Locke’s theory of the law of nature differs fundamentally from the Stoic doc-
trine. According to his view, laws of nature are divine commands that derive their
authority from God’s transcendent power, by which he created us. Our motivation
to obey them derives also from his power and will to reward and punish, to exercise
the divine right of retribution. Yet Locke continued to claim that there was a law of
nature and conceived of it as a philosophical law, and he agreed that ancient Stoic
philosophers were most active and proficient in promoting it. He acknowledged all
this in his earliest work on the theme, the so-called Essays on the Law of Nature
(c.1663), and he never took any of it back.

62 Ibid., 138f, 170f. See also Cicero De Officiis, I. 20–59.


63 Ibid., pp. 119, 134.
64 See Essay II. xxviii. 11, 356, where Locke disparages the very view of rewards and punishments
that he advocates in Some Thoughts, grudgingly admitting their efficacy, but demeaning their moral
value. See also “Mr Locke’s Extemporè Advice. &c.” (aka, “Some Thoughts concerning Reading
and Study for a Gentleman”), Appendix III in STCE, 321: Here Locke asserts the excellence of
the morality of the Gospel, and recommends Cicero’s De Officiis as an instance of Pagan morality.
On Locke’s ambivalence towards Cicero and ancient Roman moral teaching, see Philip Mitsis,
“Locke’s Offices,” Hellenistic and Early Modern Philosophy, Jon Miller and Brad Inwood, eds.
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 45–61.
65 STCE, 212, 245.
66 DL, VII, 88. See also John M. Cooper, “Stoic Autonomy,” p. 225 and passim.
16 Victor Nuovo

A later and more pertinent treatment of the law of nature occurs in Locke’s
manuscript, “Of Ethick in General.” It appears to have been a preliminary draft
of what was originally intended to be the concluding chapter of the Essay.67 Locke
wrote it c.1686. A final chapter on this theme was a fitting conclusion for a work
that was originally intended to inquire into the foundations of morality and rev-
elation and which, notwithstanding the enlargement of its scope, never departed
from this practical intent. It seems highly plausible that Locke meant to represent
in this chapter his considered opinion on the subject. However, he never finished
the chapter and abandoned any plan of concluding his great book in this way. Why
he did so can only be conjectured. There is a prevailing view that Locke’s decision
not to carry through with his design marks a crisis in his thinking about morality
and the law of nature, one that was precipitated as he contemplated the task before
him. Wolfgang Von Leyden has observed that the manuscript ends just at the point
where one might expect Locke to have begun a derivation and demonstration of
the law of nature, of its authority and prescriptive rules.68 He supposed that Locke
found himself unable to proceed because he had settled into philosophical positions
that were either inconsistent with a theory of the law of nature or would prove a
hindrance to constructing one. First, by the time of writing, Locke had adopted
hedonist principles of human agency. In the second place, ambiguity of language
proved an obstacle to the expression of an adequate theory, although Von Leyden
admitted this was not to Locke’s mind an insurmountable obstacle.69 Finally, Von
Leyden supposed that Locke was stymied by his methodology. He had chosen to
follow a method that was purely descriptive and that lacked any capacity to discover
normative principles. This is the “historical, plain method” of ideas.70 Von Leyden’s
account of the causes of a crisis in Locke’s mind are unpersuasive. The last two ob-
stacles can be dismissed easily. As already noted, Locke supposed that ambiguities
of language can be addressed and corrected.71 Locke’s epistemological Reliabilism
can be employed to overcome the last obstacle. Like the Stoics, he believed that our
cognitive powers were designed by a benevolent providence and are therefore fit to
accomplish the moral purpose for which we were created. There are norms of nature
inherent in its design that guarantee the efficacy of the historical plain method and
that enable its user to make proper judgements about what is useful and morally fit.
There remains the hedonistic doctrine of motivation. What is noteworthy is that
in “Of Ethick in General” Locke unequivocally reasserts this doctrine as a mainstay
of the theory he is about to represent. Von Leyden was well aware of this. Where he

67 MS Locke c. 28, fos, 146–52. The text is printed in WR, pp. 9–14. On the approximate date
of composition I follow Von Leyden, ELN 69–72., 13ff with § 160 of Draft B of Locke’s Essay,
Drafts, p. 269.
68 Von Leyden, op. cit. p. 70. See also John Dunn, The Political Thought of John Locke (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 1969), 187–99.
69 Ibid, 73–4.
70 Ibid. 75–6.
71 The whole of Book III of the Essay, especially chapters x and xi.
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 17

seems to have gone astray is in supposing that Locke must have found himself at an
impasse because of the incompatibility of this doctrine with any projected theory of
the law of nature. There is no reason to believe that this should be so or that Locke
perceived it this way. It is evident, of course, that to make a hedonistic theory of
value a key part of one’s theory of the law of nature necessarily involves a departure
from the classical Stoic theory. If we can take Locke at his word, we may conclude
that he did not flinch from such a move. And we may credit his steadfastness to a
constructive eclecticism and a freedom from philosophical partisanship. Sometime
after 1671, which was when he composed Draft A and Draft B of the Essay, Locke
espoused a hedonistic theory of action. There is no trace of a hedonistic doctrine
of motivation in either draft. This theory was well established in his mind when he
completed the first edition of the Essay, which coincides with the writing of “Of
Ethick in General.” It was then and remained thereafter a fundamental part of his
moral theory.
To summarize, “Of Ethick in General” is a fragment of what was meant to present
a system of ethics that was supposed to encompass a theory of the law of nature. The
theory Locke presents, if judged according to Stoic criteria, is non-standard. Locke
was well aware of Stoic criteria from the time he composed Essays on the Law of
Nature, where he acknowledges their contribution.72 But although he held the Stoics
in high esteem for this, and although he had by this time schooled himself well in
their moral opinions, he did not judge them to be altogether authoritative for him.
In another text, composed about the same time as the Essays, Locke vociferously
rejects the Stoic idea of happiness.73
In “Of Ethick in General,” Locke begins by clarifying the fundamental themes of
his theory. First, that happiness and misery, or what is the same, pleasure and pain,
are “the two great springs of humane actions.” Second, that there is a viable idea of
the law of nature. Third, that no theory of the law of nature can be adequate unless
it adheres to ideas and principles derived from nature and the common life, and
therefore is consistent with the method of ideas presented in the earlier parts of the
Essay. Finally, a well-founded theory requires that the law of nature be prescribed by
a superior power, that is, by God, who has the right and power to reward or punish.
The first and last principles set Locke apart from classical Stoic theory. The sec-
ond and third are quite consistent with it. It is worthwhile, therefore, to examine
more closely the arguments that Locke put forward each of them.
Locke gives two reasons why we may believe that there is a law of nature. The
first is that every nation or society known to us acknowledges standards of right
and wrong, virtue and vice, so that “some kinde of morality is to be found every
where received.” Moreover, although the “rules and boundarys” of right and wrong
that make up these moralities are “very different,” there is enough perfection and
exactness among them to warrant concluding that the idea of morality is universal
and that it is not an invention of civil society or its magistrates, for standards of right

72 Essays on the Law of Nature, pp. 109, 111.


73 “Oratio Censoria Funebris, 1664,” ELN, 223.
18 Victor Nuovo

and wrong are found to prevail even where those who are supposed to uphold them
are silent. We may expect that by “perfection and exactness” are meant properties of
the various moralities that reason may vouch for. In sum, every nation and society
acknowledges some standard of right and wrong that is not comprised of merely
positive laws, that is to say, one that is inherently natural and moral.74
The second argument proceeds from the observation that morality generally is
regarded as the domain neither of priests nor theologians or even of lawyers but of
philosophers primarily, “whose profession it has been to explaine & teach” morality
“to the world.” This is clear evidence that there is a law of nature, that it has been
discovered and that it represents rules of action to which rational creatures ought to
conform.75
The gist of the third principle is this: our knowledge of the law of nature arises
from experience. It is a rational law for whose understanding the ideas and common
notions that constitute human reason are adequate instruments. It is noteworthy that
in “Of Ethick in General,” Locke is critical of philosophers for not paying sufficient
attention to the origin of moral ideas, that is, in not tracing them back to their natural
beginning but rather constructing a morality of virtue that consists more of artificial-
ities, of affectations rather than of real affects, so that the philosophical law seems a
mere law of fashion rather than a law of nature or a divine law.76
The fourth principle seems designed by Locke to set himself apart not only from
Stoics but from philosophers in general. In “Of Ethick in General” he criticizes
philosophers not only for not paying sufficient attention to the origin of moral ideas,
but also for failing to teach morality effectively, although both criticisms point
to the same error. The issue here has to do with motivation as well as principle.
Philosophers, Locke contends, ought to have “urged” the rules of morality “as the
commands of the great god of Heaven & Earth & such as he would retribute to men
after this life.”77 Moral Obligation for Locke does not derive from the recognition by
a rational agent that a certain action is right or wrong, but from the authority of the
divine ruler who prescribes it and the sanctions that apply to it. Such a notion would
seem to transport Locke’s theory beyond the boundaries of philosophy and locate it
within the domain of Christian theism. But it didn’t seem so to him. Philosophers
had failed, because they had not adequately enlarged their reason beyond mundane
considerations. Their failure was not a failure of reason, at least not according to
Locke’s understanding of reason. Hence, at this point in his text, Locke faced no
crisis that might have led him to abandon the philosophical theory he intended at
the outset.

74 Locke makes the same argument in ELN, 115.


75 WR, 9.
76 WR, 9, § 4. See also “Sacerdos,” a manuscript dated 1698, where Locke assigns the teaching of
morality to philosophers, who were to be guided only by reason. He makes the same criticism of
philosophers’ shortcomings that he does here. Note that it is not due to the incompetence of reason
that they failed, but their failure to perfect it in themselves. MS Locke Film 77, p. 93, WR, 17–18.
77 WR, 9.
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 19

Rather than hypothesizing that in the last phase of his intellectual life, Locke
turned from reason to revelation, it seems more consistent with his intentions to
assume that revelation was always within the horizon of his philosophical vision,
and that even some aspects of his philosophy, which seem prima facie less attuned
to his Christian motives, may have been regarded by him as serving this higher
purpose. Three, in particular, come to mind: Locke’s position against innatism, his
denial that the mind always thinks, and his hedonistic theory of motivation. The first
aligned Locke with the Stoics, the second did not. Could it be that Locke found
fault with the doctrine of innate cognition, not just because it seemed a redundant
theory and therefore “impertinent” to the issue of how we come to know things, but
because it might be used to foster belief that nature by itself is self-sufficient, or
less serviceable to advocates of a strong doctrine of providence?78 This may seem
far-fetched, but when one considers how, when coupled with Locke’s idea of the
enlargement of reason, it leads one almost naturally into revelation, the hypothesis
gains a measure of plausibility. Locke’s denial that the mind always thinks correlates
with his locating of personal identity in consciousness and his notion of a forensic
self and responsibility before God.79 His hedonism and biblical theism also enjoy a
curious compatibility. The idea of a god who commands and whose will is enforced
by severe punishments and excessive rewards is typically biblical. The pleasure of
heaven and the pain of hell are surely more than supplements to the august authority
of the divine lawgiver. These considerations seem always to have been present in
Locke’s thinking. The combination of Stoicism, hedonism and biblical monotheism
must seem strange, but it becomes a matter of the highest curiosity when we find
them not just idly present but seriously considered and combined in a mind so acute
and so well cultivated. In short, the Christian theological motives in Locke’s philos-
ophy were not late in coming, they were a present force from the beginning, in his
recorded earliest reflections. Because he was the sort of Christian he was, he found
much that was accommodating in Stoicism. But for the very same reason, he could
never be a Stoic.

Reason Enlarged
To understand Locke aright it is necessary to comprehend that he was a Christian
and a philosopher, and that his way of being a Christian had bearing on how he did
philosophy, so that he was properly a Christian philosopher. This seemed possible
to Locke, because he believed that there was a continuity between reason and rev-
elation, that reason was enlarged by a truth that it could not on its own discover,

78 “Impertinent” in the sense that it would be vain or silly to suppose that God would have im-
planted in us sensible ideas, for example, ideas of colours, when he has given us eyes to see them
in external objects. Essay I. ii. 1, 48; see also I. i. 5, 45.
79 Locke’s case against the doctrine that the mind always thinks is presented in Essay II. i. 10–19;
his reflections on personal identity and the forensic self are recorded in Essay II. xxvii. 9–26.
20 Victor Nuovo

but once received, it could find most reasonable to believe, a proper adjunct to all
that natural enquiry made known. In this section, I attempt to clarify just what sort
of Christian Locke was. This requires much more than providing a summary of his
Christian beliefs; one must enter into the Christian world that he inhabited and feel
the force of its attractiveness.
Locke was a Protestant whose religion was the Bible. He believed that Holy
Scripture, and not any dogma or creed or tradition, was the only infallible guide to
revealed truth; that its authors were specially chosen to give testimony to this truth;
that they were inspired by God, their minds directly infused with the knowledge that
they delivered to the world.80 He believed that the supernatural authority of the Bible
could be established by reason, and that its meaning could be made clear by using
the same rational critical means that one might employ in interpreting any ancient
text, although he denied that reason could on its own discover the truth it conveyed.
The discovery of it as well as the infallibility of its source were joint products of a
critical historical reading of the text, so that it could be said not only that Scripture
is its own interpreter but also that it comes armed with its own warrant.81
Nowadays, it is not supposed that the Bible presents its most critical readers with
a single or unified doctrine or worldview, unless it be approached from a normative
point of view informed with a priori principles capable of imposing harmony on an
aggregate of extraneous and incompatible parts. Locke would have disputed this,
although he would have readily admitted that Holy Scripture is a collection of texts,
written at different times and under different circumstances, compiled and edited
by different hands; that it displayed a variety of genre; that some parts of it were
abstruse, some plain, some immediately applicable, such as moral precepts, others,
prophecies and apocalypses, requiring long and careful study to comprehend and
even then not altogether yielding up their mysteries. As his writings about the Bible,
published and unpublished, show, Locke achieved a high degree of sophistication as
a biblical interpreter.82 He sought to enlarge his reason by becoming a scholar of the
Bible. The ease with which he moved among biblical texts, and the steady assurance
he possessed that he was dealing with an infallible guide to truth, are evident in
everything that Locke has written about the Bible.

80 Among Locke’s manuscripts is one dated 1696 in which Locke recorded the results of a com-
prehensive biblical study of the various modes of revelation: MS Locke c. 27, fos. 138–42, “Reve-
lation, Its several ways under the old Testament.”
81 On the infallibility of the Bible, see “Infallibility,” WR, p. 72; A Second Vindication of the
Reasonableness of Christianity (London: A. and J. Churchill, 1697) pp. 339, 334. On revelation
and its warrant, see Essay IV. xvi. 14; xviii. 10, pp. 667, 695. On the interpretation of Scripture, see
An Essay for the Understanding of St Paul’s Epistles by Consulting St Paul himself,” WR, 51–66.
See also my paper, “Locke’s Proof of the Divine Authority of Scripture,” Religion and Philosophy
in Enlightenment Britain, ed. Ruth Savage (Oxford, forthcoming), and my Introduction to John
Locke: Vindications of the Reasonableness of Christianity (Oxford, forthcoming).
82These include The Reasonableness of Christianity, A Paraphrase and Notes on the Epistles of St
Paul. Locke’s literary remains include notes and comments on biblical texts in various manuscripts,
commonplace books and interleaved bibles. A collection of these is available in John Locke, WR.
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 21

One benefit that Locke derived from the enlargement of reason through revelation
was the ability to consider deep speculative questions that were properly beyond the
limits of mere reason, those limits narrowly drawn by Locke’s empirical method.
Now he could consider such questions as the creation of the world out of noth-
ing, or the existence of spirits and their mode of cognition. These are not, strictly
speaking, biblical notions. It is a curious fact that revelation became for Locke a
warrant for philosophical and quasi-philosophical reflections about such matters as
the creation and fall of angels, the pre-existence of the human soul, its descent and
ascent; and divine infusion and truth as contemplation. In short, the appropriation
of biblical revelation made it possible for Locke to be not only a Stoic empiricist
but also a speculative Platonist. Revelation became his warrant for transcendental
reflections.83
Primarily, Locke viewed the Bible as an authoritative account of the history of
the world, beginning from the first creation and ending with the second coming
of Christ, a period that biblical chronologists estimated would comprise seven thou-
sand years, or a Sabbath of millennia. Viewing the Bible in this way, as a continuous
history, was one way of uniting its diverse parts. Chronology and the harmony of
the Scriptures was a major enterprise, in which Locke took great interest. 84
Locke believed that God created the world out of nothing probably in September,
about four thousand years before the common era.85 He offered a spirited defence
of the doctrine in Essay IV. x.86 For him, creation out of nothing was not a mere
abstraction, however, but a real event. How did he imagine it? One cannot be sure,
but there is an epic account of it that we can be certain Locke read and enjoyed.
He did so circa 1655, before or just after he completed his baccalaureate at Oxford,
indeed at just about the same time that he was reading Seneca’s De Ira. This is the
account of divine creation given in The Divine Weeks of Guillaume de Salluste, Sieur
du Bartas.87 Locke’s notes on Bartas are recorded in the same commonplace book
in which he wrote his notes on Seneca. They are interspersed among them.88 His

83 A fuller discussion of this theme with proper documentation may be found in my paper, “Re-
flections on Locke’s Platonism,” Platonism at the Origins of Modernity, ed. Douglas Hedley and
Sarah Hutton (Dordrecht: Springer, 2008).
84 The writings of the great Hebraist and biblical scholar John Lightfoot (1602–75) were most
often relied on by Locke; in particular, Lightfoot’s harmonies of the Old and New Testament
(Works, 2 vols., ed. George Bright (London, 1684). Especially applicable is Locke’s manuscript
“Chronologia Sacra,” probably composed in the late 1680s or early 1690s: MS Locke c. 27, fos.
258–63.
85This is recorded by Locke in his interleaved Bentley Bible as a note on Gen. 1: 1; he cites as his
source John Lightfoot. Bodleian Library 16. 25, p. 18.
86 See above, fn. 13.
87 Du Bartas (1544–90) was a soldier, diplomat and poet. He was also a Protestant of Augustinian
and Calvinist persuasion. Les Semaines was intended to be a history of the world, from creation
to consummation. He completed only the first “week” and a portion of the second. Locke read Du
Bartas in an English translation by Joshua Sylvester (1563–1618). He lists an edition of 1641.
88 MS Locke e. 6, fos. 10 and 12.
22 Victor Nuovo

citations include passages from the first day of the first week. There Locke would
have read that “this All did once (of nought) begin,” that creation was an absolute
beginning; and that before this “once,” God existed by himself in sublime majesty,89
in undifferentiated light;

Before all Time, all Matter, Forme, and Place;


God all in all, and all in God it was:
Immutable, immortal, infinite,
Incomprehensible, all spirit, all light,
All Majestie, all selfe Omnipotent,
Invisible, impassive, excellent,
Pure, wise, just, good, God raign’d alone at rest,
Himself alone selfes Pallace, hoast and guest.

Further, he would have read that creation was a free action, and not in any way
necessitated, rather it was willed in freedom: “Th’immutable divine decree, which
shall Cause the Worlds End, caus’d his originall”; “from th’ Ocean of his liberall
Bountie, He poureth out a thousand Seas of Plentie”; that God first called forth from
nothing all the stuff from which this world would be fashioned, and then created
light, so that in its brightness, the splendour of the world being formed might be
seen; and that in every respect the product of his easy labour manifested divine
wisdom, power and goodness. Thus, the created world is likened to a school, or
to a cloud, “through which there shineth cleere” the true Phoebus,” a Stage, where
“Justice, Knowledge, Love, and Providence, doo act their Parts,” or a great book
“printed all with God’s great Workes in Letters Capitall.” In this connection, it was,
in brief, natural revelation. Locke took special note of the creation of night, which
“tempers Dayes exceeding drought, Moistens our Aire” so that the earth will sprout;
eases our travails, and “buries our cares, and all our griefes appeases.” He would,
most likely, also have read in this same narrative that hosts of angels were created,
whether on the first day or long before it; that they were creatures of light, little
different in essence from God; that some of them in their pride rebelled “without
right or reason,” and were cast down into that place to “a lower Cell,” a place “where
God is not, and every where is Hell.”90
For the remainder of this sacred history we may turn to Locke himself. Although
the main focus of The Reasonableness of Christianity is on the messianic career
of Jesus of Nazareth and the presentation of the gospel by him and his Apostles,
its narrative encompasses the history of the world from Adam’s sin until the final
resurrection.91 Its entire content is summarized by St Paul’s dictum: “as in Adam

89 Not quite by himself, for God had in eternity had occasion to beget a son with whom he joined
to generate the Holy Spirit.
90I have quoted from a facsimile edition of a 1605 edition of Joshua Sylvester’s translation, Bartas,
His Divine Weekes and Works (New York: Octagon, 1977); pp. 2, 3, 6, 7, 19. 21, 22.
91 For a full exposition of the Reasonableness, on which this account is based, see my introduction
to John Locke: Vindications of the Reasonableness of Christianity (Oxford, forthcoming).
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 23

all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.”92 This text also highlights one of
the principal themes of the Reasonableness: the loss and restoration of immortality.
Another central theme, closely connected to the former, is justification by faith.
Justification by faith has both historical and moral significance for Locke. It is
a transaction between God and mankind, a settlement, whereby individuals, those
favoured by God’s grace and mercy, are rewarded for their faith, that is, for their
accepting something as true, prescribed for them by God. For this they receive a
reward, viz. a divine judgement or verdict that they are righteous or upright, notwith-
standing that they have not lived perfectly upright lives, that is, lives in perfect
obedience to the divine law. Locke takes a rigorist position in the Reasonableness.
The smallest offence brings condemnation. The reward has the added benefit that
those who receive it escape death, although not immediately. The divinely ordained
history of salvation must run its course.
Adam’s violation of a single commandment lost immortality for himself and for
all of his progeny. This dispensation of death prevailed from Adam until Christ, that
is until the messianic tasks, foretold by the Hebrew prophets, were fulfilled by Jesus
of Nazareth, and during which certain transactions between God and his Messiah
determined a good outcome.93 During this period, the divine law is variously re-
vealed and is the rule of covenants, viz. with Noah, the patriarchs and most fully
with Moses, whereby God, as it were, freely enters into a special relation with a
family or nation, whom he rules directly, not as an end in itself, but as a moment in
the history of salvation, a prelude to the messianic moment. The same law, however,
is also revealed by natural means to the rest of mankind, to whom the same rigorous
requirements apply. The Messiah initiates a new covenant, not one of works, but
of grace. This covenant establishes a new society of people who are justified by
their acceptance of Jesus as the Messiah sent from God. The gospel is an invitation
to all the world to enter the messianic kingdom by acknowledging the Messiah,
with the proviso that they repent of their moral imperfections or sins, which Locke
believed were the consequences not of an insurmountable depravity, but of frailty
and an acquired stubbornness, and that they endeavour thereafter to conform their
lives wholly to the divine law. Sincerity replaces perfect righteousness.
The advent of the Messiah and the subsequent propagation of the gospel intro-
duce a new and final historical age. The new society, the universal church of Christ,
which is not to be identified with any particular ecclesiastical institution, replaces the
people of Israel, as the principal bearer of divine revelation. The messianic age will
last until the end of history. Then will come the resurrection and the last judgement,
and the redeemed will enter a new spiritual state. The Messiah, now enthroned in
divine glory, is in his resurrected body the archetype of what the redeemed shall be

92 1 Cor. 15: 22; Romans 6 also seems to have guided Locke’s reflections here.
93 By his obedience and voluntary sacrifice, the Messiah is assured an everlasting kingdom. These
transactions are usually considered under the head of “Satisfaction,” whereby God’s justice and
honour are satisfied by the messianic sacrifice. For an account of Locke’s ambiguous stance on this
doctrine, see WR, pp. 32, 212–13, 271–72.
24 Victor Nuovo

like. The reward of those judged righteous, eternal bliss, is pleasure transfigured.94
The prospect of this reward, now perfectly assured, becomes the only enduring and
effective motive to live a virtuous life.95
Morally, The Reasonableness of Christianity represents the enlargement of rea-
son, so far as it offers what is supposed to be a proper comprehension of the divine
law, its rigor, and the principle of justification by faith whereby that rigor is re-
laxed. With respect to the content of faith, it is enough that one accept that Jesus
is the Messiah. But the enlargement of reason carries faith well beyond this. Locke
supposed that there were two sorts of faith: a justifying faith, which makes one a
Christian, and a consummate faith, whereby the whole gospel, the entire divine plan
of salvation, is comprehended.96 The exemplar of a consummate faith is St Paul,
who achieved this state by a direct and original revelation.97 So Locke believed, and
so it is not surprising that, towards the end of his life, he began a careful study of
all of St Paul’s writings, to comprehend the Apostle’s mind, and thereby himself to
progress towards the perfection of his own faith. In the light of this effort, it should
be clear that the attribution of theological minimalism to Locke is almost entirely
false. It applies only to that primary doctrine that makes someone a Christian, but
this is only the beginning, the threshold, as it were, of Christianity. The minimum
is soon surpassed, for the enlargement of reason towards the consummation of faith
is a duty that all Christians must fulfill to the best of their individual capacities. In
the hereafter, reason and reason enlarged will give way to something more perfect,
a “state of accomplishment and perfection”; reason will be replaced by contempla-
tion: all things will be open to view, to an “intuitive comprehensive knowledge.”
The redeemed shall have the cognitive power of angels.98

Reason Enlarged or Diminished?

The question posed by the title of this section is whether what Locke considered
to be an enlargement of reason by revelation was just what he claimed it to be, or
whether it was something else, perhaps just the opposite? It is arguable that Locke’s
interpretation of the Christian revelation represents not so much an enlargement of
reason as a diminishment of Christianity through rationalization, a playing down of

94 See Locke’s manuscript, “Resurrection et quae sequuntur,” MS Locke c. 27, fos. 213–14; WR,
232–37. See also Locke’s paraphrase and notes on 2 Cor. 3: 18 and 5: 1, A Paraphrase and Notes,
1: 279–80.
95 Reasonableness, WR, 204.
96 On the notion of a consummate faith, see A Second Vindication of the Reasonableness of
Christianity (London: A. and J. Churchill, 1697), 310f. See also my Introduction to John Locke:
Vindications of the Reasonableness of Christianity (Oxford, forthcoming).
97 On St Paul’s revelation, see 2 Cor. 12: 2–4, and Locke’s comment on it, Essay IV.xviii. 3, p. 690;
also An Essay for the understanding St Paul’s Epistles, WR, pp. 60–64.
98 See Locke’s paraphrase of I Cor. 13: 12, Paraphrase and Notes, 1: 238.
1 Aspects of Stoicism in Locke’s Philosophy 25

its transcendental supernaturalism. His claim, asserted in the title of his first the-
ological publication, that Christianity as delivered in the Scriptures is reasonable,
can be read in this way, but only if “reasonableness” is taken in a reductive sense. I
hope that what has been said in the previous section is sufficient to refute this. Locke
was no reductionist. His version of Christianity was mythically rich and eminently
supernatural. To his mind, reason was really enlarged by revelation, by truths beyond
its ordinary compass.
So the question may be asked again. Does Locke succeed in truly enlarging rea-
son by adding the Christian revelation to it? The answer, I think, is No, if the criteria
of reasonableness are Stoic naturalism and moral rationalism. In comparison with
the latter, the morality of the gospel must seem an oddity. Although the bible teaches
some virtues: justice, mercy, fidelity and charity, overall biblical morality is one of
law or commandments, and of obedience to the lawgiver. The dominant relation
is one of client and patron. Grace and justification are instances of patronage. The
patron, in this instance, is God, or his surrogate, the Messiah, who wields abso-
lute power. The messianic kingdom may not be of this world, but it is a kingdom
nonetheless, and until the end it is a kingdom engaged in a cruel and violent war.
Faith is a form of allegiance or loyalty. How odd to imagine that someone informed
by Stoic ideas should believe that this is appropriate material for the enlargement of
reason, for the perfection of the mind in this life, not to mention in a future life if
one be admitted at all.
What Stoicism can bring, indeed has brought, to the mixture of ideas that make
up the early modern worldview are thoughts that counteract the effect of Chris-
tian supernaturalism and absolutism. Stoic theology renders any notion of the will
of God otiose. The Stoic theory of rationalism makes not only all human persons
equal, but it renders them also equal to God. The Stoic theory of obligation posits
autonomy and rules out all heteronomy. These are philosophical ideas that do not
reach fruition in Locke’s thinking even though there is a foundation laid for them
by his borrowings from Stoicism. They are also key ideas of the Enlightenment. So
in conclusion, one must judge that Locke’s role as a founder of the Enlightenment
should be diminished, for the very reason that, in the end, the intellectual program
of this almost but not quite Stoic philosopher diminishes reason.
Chapter 2
Hobbes, Locke and the State of Nature

Tom Sorell

Hobbes and Locke differ over the state of nature. In Hobbes the state of nature is a
state of generalized insecurity. Each person runs the risk of losing everything, and
each person has the right of taking anything—another’s life, possessions—whatever
seems a help to his own self-preservation and prosperity. In Locke, as Simmons
points out,1 it is not easy to say all at once and briefly what the state of nature is.
Many different states of nature are recognized. Not all are violent. Not all discourage
productive labour. Not all permit wholesale violations in practice of natural law. Not
all exist in the absence of some sort of authority or order. Instead, there are a whole
range of states of nature, unified not by a set of inconveniences, but by the fact that
people stand outside a legitimate political order.
It is often thought that Locke’s theory of the state of nature (and of government)
not only differs systematically from Hobbes’s, but that it was arrived at in oppo-
sition to Hobbes’s. This seems unlikely, for reasons given long ago by Laslett.2
Locke could not be clearer that his target in the Two Treatises is Filmer. And though
Filmer’s theory of political power supports a kind of absolutism, as does Hobbes’s,
it is Filmer’s sort of absolutism, patriarchal absolutism, and not Hobbes’s, that is at
issue.3
Even if the Two Treatises are not directed at Hobbes, they are comparable to
Hobbes’s political writings in this respect: they can be understood as having a
message for people who believe they are under tyranny and want to escape it.
The message of Hobbes’s political treatises is that, unless it puts people at risk
of immediate death, they act unjustly if they try to escape or resist tyranny, since

1 A.J. Simmons, “Locke’s State of Nature,” Political Theory 17 (1989): 449–70.


2 See the introduction to his edition of Locke’s Two Treatises of Government (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 2004), 67ff. References to Locke are to this edition, by Book and section
number.
3 Filmer provides Locke’s main target. I do not mean to deny that at particular points Locke might
also have been disagreeing with Hobbes. So David Wootton may be right to say that, when Locke
denied that moral knowledge was grounded in self-interest, he had Hobbes in mind. See his Intro-
duction to his edition of Locke’s Political Writings (Indianapolis: Hackett, 2003), p. 17 and n. 3.
Wootton seems to agree that Filmer is the figure centrally positioned in Locke’s sights (p. 15).

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 27


and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 27–43.
28 Tom Sorell

they have bargained for submission. Anyway, it is imprudent to escape tyranny,


since one will land back in the state of nature, with all its dangers and depriva-
tions. Locke’s message, on the other hand, is that life under tyranny is a betrayed
trust, and that those who suffer it are in the state of nature already—not Hobbes’s
state of war, but in a state in which one is free to join another commonwealth
or none.
Locke’s message is more attractive than Hobbes’s not only because his liberal
state is more attractive to modern liberal readers than Hobbes’s illiberal one, but
because it is implausible that the state of nature must always, almost as a matter
of definition, be worse than any sort of government. Locke’s message is, however,
unstable in a way that Hobbes’s is not. This is because the capacity to judge when
the government has betrayed its trust through tyranny is held by Locke to reside in
the people, which may not have the right sort of unity for judgement, or the right
sort of insulation from individual irrationality, to embark on a justified rebellion. In
the same way as Locke’s theory allows a people more scope to judge that its trust in
government institutions has been betrayed, it gives people less reason than Hobbes’s
theory to leave the state of nature, or to form themselves into a state rather than a
community.
A different problem arises from Locke’s allowance for a variety of states of na-
ture, including states of nature that are relatively harmonious. Locke’s background
assumptions make relative harmony without authority unsurprising. People are sup-
posed to have practical rationality in the form of a good native grasp of the law
of nature, and in the state of nature many are supposed to be willing to observe
the law of nature and see that it is observed. It is mainly to make its observance
more efficient, more widespread and more consistent that people agree to pool their
individual powers of enforcement. They do not, as in Hobbes, give up the right to be
judges of what it takes to observe the law of nature and see it observed. It is rather
that they agree to be governed in their enforcement practice by the view of a major-
ity of a community even when it conflicts with the view they would have adopted
privately. This deference to the majority view is the kernel of law-abidingness, but
it is a plausible view of collective action only for the more or less like-minded. In
Hobbes, the meeting of many minds is not to be expected; instead unity is achieved
by the many delegating the right to judge to a few or to one. In Hobbes, public prac-
tical judgement is highly unified, or else no real departure from the state of nature.
What is more, the goal of public action in Hobbes—individual security from attack
and access to modestly gainful employment—is far less ambitious than the Lockean
one of protecting “property”, that is each person’s means of exercising freedom.
Because security is less controversial, judgements for its sake are less likely to be
disputed than judgements for the sake of a Lockean public good.
I start with Hobbes on the state of nature, and difficulties with his account that
are not present in Locke. Then I consider gaps and implausibilities in Locke’s ac-
count, and the relative merits of the two as responses to popular perceptions of
tyranny. The attractive liberalism of Locke’s account seems to depend on assuming
what Hobbes calls into question—human sociability and a disposition in humans
2 Hobbes, Locke and the State of Nature 29

to behave morally. Hobbes’s theory may be questioned, but he is right not to take
human sociability as a datum.

Hobbes’s concept of the state of nature plays more than one role in his writings.
Perhaps its most important role, and the one that is least noticed in discussions
of Hobbes and Locke, is that of repudiating Aristotle’s part-definition of man as a
political animal. Man is not naturally suited to life in the polis, or more generally a
society, according to Hobbes. We all know that people have many extremely widely
distributed anti-social impulses. Not only can they sometimes be violent, but they
are proud, competitive, and greedy. When they are not trying to outdo one another or
doing down one another, they can shrink from one another in fear. And this is how
people can be seen behaving when there are laws and they are enforced. If people
had nothing to fear from the state, they would behave even worse, as they have been
known to do when they loot and assault one another during periods of emergency.
In view of these widely observed facts about human behaviour, facts that Hobbes
thinks can be confirmed by reasoning from the elements of a scientifically analysed
human nature, societies do not exist naturally but artificially. They have to be made,
and, once made, kept going, by suppressing what is anti-social in human beings.
Or to put it another way, the state is only the artificial suppression of the state of
nature—how men are naturally disposed to act in groups.
Hobbes’s so-called science of politics is a set of precepts about how societies
should ideally be made if their primary purpose is the relatively uncontroversial one
of collective and mutual security. He is not unaware that other purposes of the state
are conceivable and that they have been proposed by earlier political philosophers;
but he denies that they can command wide enough assent to motivate many human
beings to come together into some sort of long-term union. He is not unaware that,
in fact, people are mostly born into societies without recognizable overall purposes,
and that some of these societies survive. But he thinks that when states do endure, it
is because their governments have a reasonable number of strictly enforced security-
promoting, and prosperity-permitting laws. Permanently enduring states, he thinks,
could be constructed if the things that actually made states last were system-
atized, and the relevant system is what his political writings, with some variations,
unfold.
Government for Hobbes is a way people have of organising themselves so as to
stifle permanently the causes of war in the state of nature. The key to this organisa-
tion is each individual’s laying down the right of self-government. Instead of each
deciding for himself what ends to pursue in general, each agrees to act only within
bounds determined by an agreed authority, who decides how general contention is to
be avoided. The means of avoiding general contention are communicated to each of
the many in the government’s binding laws. Citizenship consists of strict obedience
to these laws.
30 Tom Sorell

The sovereign power is supposed to be unlimited, permanent, and unitary. Hobbes


was no supporter of a separation of powers, still less of rolled-back government, and
he thought it was folly for a government to give up any powers or to cease to exercise
any. He believed that a sovereign authority in the form of a body of men was open to
a sort of divisiveness reminiscent of a war. So he seems to be in favour of a one-man
dictatorship, albeit an authorized dictatorship. That is the form sovereignty should
take, according to Hobbes. His conceptions of citizenship and sovereignty are alien
to those of us who are comfortable with liberal democracy, except perhaps in peri-
ods of emergency. In emergencies, liberal democratic governments are given great
latitude to act, while the great latitude to act of citizens is taken away. Freedom of
movement, property rights, freedom from arbitrary arrest—all of these may be legit-
imately curtailed or suspended in periods of emergency, it is widely thought, so long
as those with emergency powers assume more limited powers as soon as they can.
The liberal democratic conception assumes that emergency conditions prevail
only exceptionally, and that in these conditions both citizenship and government are
deformed. This brings us to the heart of the difference between a familiar conception
of citizenship and government, on the one hand, and Hobbes’s on the other. Hobbes
claims that government and citizenship are centrally to do with the prevention and
curtailment of an emergency waiting to happen, namely the violent contention that
human beings are disposed to engage in if nature is allowed to take its course. And
he thinks that authorized dictatorship, with its very great scope for limiting indi-
vidual freedom, is far less dangerous than war, and justified by what makes war
so necessary to avoid. In a sense he agrees with the liberal democrat in thinking
that only the prevention or curtailment of a major emergency justifies the concen-
tration of power and the limitation of freedom, but he thinks that this emergency
is permanently waiting to happen, and therefore that the concentration of govern-
ment power and the limitation of individual freedom are permanently justified. The
measures necessary for the prevention of public emergency must be available to a
sovereign—an authorized dictator—whenever he judges that he needs them, and,
from the stand point of Hobbes’s civil science, the sovereign ought to judge that he
needs these powers all the time.
Can the danger of the misuse of these emergency powers really be outweighed by
the dangers of extreme emergency? Hobbes’s reasons for thinking so are disputable
even within the terms of his theory. After sketching his argument for what I am
calling authorized dictatorship, apparently an argument from the inevitability of a
certain very serious sort emergency if dictatorship is absent, I shall accuse Hobbes
of inconsistency about the rationale for authorized dictatorship, its preferred form,
and its effects. Locke’s theory is not open to these criticisms, but it invites other
objections that may be more serious than those facing Hobbes.

II

To my knowledge, Hobbes does not use the word “emergency” in arguing for strong
government or what I have been calling authorized dictatorship. The crucial concept
2 Hobbes, Locke and the State of Nature 31

is that of war, which, in turn is coextensive with the concept of the state of nature.
Hobbes also speaks, though not in the best known of his political writings, of hu-
manly avoidable calamities. He says (De Corpore ch. 1, art. 7) that the greatest
avoidable calamities are “slaughter, solitude and the want of all things.” These arise
from war, and in particular civil war. War is any period of time in which many hu-
man beings living alongside one another show that they are willing to fight.4 Unless
people submit in the right way to a sovereign with unlimited power, they face war
with its greatest of all calamities; so they should submit. Submission means abiding
by a strong sovereign’s well-framed laws. So sovereigns should frame their laws
well i.e. with a view to preventing conflict; and subjects should obey those laws.
That, in a nutshell, is the message of Hobbes’s political philosophy. Why he
thinks that without strong government people will face slaughter, solitude and the
want of all things is that without government, in the state of nature, individual people
become their own judges of what is for the best, and will pursue goods dictated by
their own passions, whatever they are. These passions may not on their own lead to
violence; but the knowledge on the part of each individual, even moderate individu-
als, that some other individuals will resort to violence for anything they want, gives
even non-violent people a reason to strike out before they are attacked. In this way,
everyone, no matter how mild-mannered, has a reason to adopt an aggressive pos-
ture, and to act in the same way as those who are violent and acquisitive by nature.
Defensive mistrust in the meek leads to war just as readily as greed in people who
are confident that they will always prevail in a fight. And so general aggression is
reasonable. It is reasonable, at any rate, if it is never blameworthy to protect oneself,
and if the means of self-protection are up to each agent to choose.
Hobbes thinks that within a properly functioning state no-one is typically in
danger of violent attack. But that is because, in a well-functioning state, the many
delegate the business of protecting themselves to an agent they empower to see to the
collective security. Each citizen receives protection from a central authority whose
ability to enforce its threats of punishment on wrongdoers puts off would-be attack-
ers. The benefit of protection is the other side of the coin of submission, according
to Hobbes. It is true that submission is also the loss of freedom, or of the right of
self-government, but the other side of the supposed good of freedom is the risk of
insecurity and violent attack. Better, then, to trade freedom for security if one has
never submitted before, and better to keep on submitting, if one is being encouraged
to disobey authority, even for the sake of one’s rights.
What form of authority is the citizen to submit to? Any functioning authority is
better than none, according to Hobbes, but he thinks that there are problems with
forms of government that divide power, or that allow decisions taken today to be
reconsidered tomorrow. In these respects, monarchy—sovereignty in one person—is
better than democracy or aristocracy, where government is vested in an assembly.
Hobbes never pronounces absolutely in favour of monarchy, though he was inclined

4cf. e.g. Leviathan, ch. 13. All references are to the edition by Richard Tuck (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 90.
32 Tom Sorell

to prefer it in De cive, but his list of the disadvantages of assemblies always seems
to be longer than his list of the disadvantages of one-person rule. Whether vested
in one person or one body of people, however, sovereign power must be unlimited
and undivided. A division or separation of powers threatens to deprive the sovereign
power of reliable means to see to security, while limits on his power empower pos-
sible rivals, again with threats to the sovereign’s ability to keep the peace.
Hobbes concedes that submission to so concentrated a power goes against the
grain, and seems too big a price to pay, but he thinks that people exaggerate the
price of submission when the price of no submission is all the calamities that go with
war. “[A]ll men,” he says, “are by nature provided of notable multiplying glasses,
(that is their Passions and Selfe-love,) through which, every little payment appears
a great grievance.”5 If war brings with it solitude, slaughter and the want of all
things, then whatever price of preventing war exacted by any form of government
is worth paying, Hobbes claims. Concentrated power does not necessarily make
life under government worse than life under diluted power, since it is under diluted
power that popular disagreement can turn into armed factions, private armies and
civil war. In any case, he says, life under such concentrated power, with sovereigns
exercising their rights to the full, is unknown, and this explains why the history of
commonwealths is the history of relatively short intervals between wars.
Although submission to concentrated power—to a kind of dictatorship—is rec-
ommended by Hobbes’s political philosophy, it is not supposed to be a dictatorship
without consent. Before the creation of a commonwealth people agree amongst
themselves to lay down their right of nature—their right to see to their survival
and well-being as they see fit—and to let a man or body of men decide on matters
of survival and well-being for them all. The many agree amongst themselves—and
so consent—to give this man or body of men a nearly blank cheque. He is entirely
free to decide the means of security and to require action on the part of the many
in keeping with the means—so long as the means do not themselves take away the
conditions of security and well-being. Within these unconfining limits, what the
sovereign says goes. If the limits were more confining; if subjects could themselves
veto the sovereign’s choice of means, or unseat him at an election, or make his
choice of means cohere with a bill of rights, then, according to Hobbes, people
would not really be taking away the conditions of war—which Hobbes associates
with a plurality of passion-ruled practical judgements—for there would still be a
plurality of passion-ruled judgements about when people’s rights were being in-
fringed, or whether the means chosen for collective security were the correct ones.
For these reasons, entry into the commonwealth is supposed to require total absten-
tion from judgement on these matters on the part of the many. Private judgement of
good and evil is the second of the principal causes of break up of commonwealths,
according to Hobbes;6 and the way in which the many make themselves one or a real
union of people headed by the sovereign is precisely by letting his or her judgement,

5 Ibid., ch. 18, p. 129.


6 Ibid., ch. 29, p. 223.
2 Hobbes, Locke and the State of Nature 33

if the sovereign is an individual, or its judgement if the sovereign is an assembly,


rule them all.
Things are more complicated if one is born into a commonwealth one has no
hand in forming. In that case there will be customs about the extent of the sovereign
power, and customs about the extent of obedience, and these customs may not sup-
port dictatorship. Hobbes’s argument applies even here. It provides a theoretical
framework which allows people to see what the purpose of government is, and to
see whether the customs that a particular government operates by, and the laws
it introduces, interfere with or promote that purpose—which is collective security
and permanent freedom from war. The theoretical framework is supposed to make
submission to dictatorship seem the ideal way for the many and its government to
avoid war. The same framework is supposed to make social organisation approx-
imating to obedience under dictatorship seem more reasonable to live under than
others, if one’s overriding aim is to live in peace. The theoretical framework itself
is supposed to induce consent to the ideal. But in practice people will be obliged
to governments that fall well below the ideal, because they have a fearful power
over them. Submitting to a de facto ruler out of fear and instituting a ruler is, for
Hobbes, still to authorise someone or some assembly to be sole judge of the means
to collective security.

III

Hobbes’s argument for absolute submission depends on at least two claims: that war
is supremely awful, and that anything short of leaving all judgements about security
to a sovereign is warlike behaviour, or behaviour that invites war. Both claims are
disputable. The disputabilty of the second claim weakens the case for submission to
dictatorship; the disputability of the first weakens the case for absolute submission
full stop. The second claim is disputable, because it rests on general claims about
rationality that are disputable. The first claim is disputable, because Hobbes allows
many different things to count as war, not all of which are equally awful, and some
of which are liveable with.
Let me begin with war. Going by the account in ch. 13 of Leviathan, there are at
least three kinds of war that Hobbes thinks have actually occurred in history. One
is international cold war. Another is national civil war. The third is the life without
government of North American aboriginal people in the seventeenth century. The
first kind of war—international cold war—Hobbes thinks is historically pervasive.
As soon as there were commonwealths, there was a state of cold war between them,
a state of war that he thought had lasted until his own day and might be eternal. But
notice that this sort of war could not be presented as supremely undesirable, and
as threatening to take away all things. For international cold war was compatible
with local peace and with the local enjoyment of the fruits of peace. To take an
illustration close to home, when Hobbes fled England in 1640, anticipating the Civil
War, he made for Paris. Paris, and other parts of France could be a haven, even
34 Tom Sorell

though, according to Hobbes’s theory, the whole of England and France were parts
of a permanent global war-zone. Hobbes travelled frequently through this supposed
global battlefield on at least three European grand tours, apparently more fearful of
disease than armed attack.
Admittedly, the frame of reference for the effects of international cold war is not
the individual citizen of a given nation in the war, but the nation itself, personified
by the sovereign. International cold war threatens the sovereign with a national life
that is solitary, nasty, brutish and short. The person of the nation disappears with
conquest, and extreme isolation in the international community as well as impover-
ishment may precede conquest. It is in this way that Hobbes’s famous formula about
the state of nature applies to nations. It applies even if war—hot or cold—happens
not to disturb internal life, life at the level of the individual, too much. Nevertheless,
the case of international cold war illustrates some tensions in Hobbes’s theory of
war. First, it is important to Hobbes’s theory that the concept of war cover cold war,
the situation in which there is a widespread disposition to fight, and not just actual
fighting. But the disposition to fight has fewer unwanted effects than actual fighting,
and may justify less concentration of power and the exercise of less far-reaching
powers than actual fighting. For example, a cold war does not seem to justify a
permanent mass-mobilisation of troops, even if a permanent mass-mobilization of
troops prevents the cold war turning into a hot one. What cold war seems to justify
is the minimum measure necessary for preventing the outbreak of the hot war. The
permanent mass-mobilization may exceed this minimum. If it does, there is a sense
in which the sovereign over-reacts and misjudges the cold war situation if he calls for
the mass-mobilization. He makes a mistake even if he has been given a blank cheque
by his subjects in matters of protection. For there is such a thing as overspending
on a blank cheque, and the colder the war, the greater the chance of overspending.
Hobbes tends to argue as if the powers necessary for confronting a cold war are
the same as those for a hot war, and he is helped to this conclusion by bringing too
closely together hot war and cold, and by the bad argument that no authorized filling
in of a blank cheque is better than any other: if the sovereign has been given a blank
cheque, then what he thinks is reasonable expenditure is reasonable expenditure.
Let us now consider Hobbes’s second and third kinds of war. These are civil war
and aboriginal life without government, respectively. It is the third kind of war that
is supposed to come closest to the prepolitical version of “the state of nature,” the
situation in which a commonwealth would be instituted or constructed from scratch.
Hobbes thinks, and expects his readers to agree, that human life along these lines
is poorest in the things that civilisation provides: efficient agriculture, architecture,
transportation, science, including medicine, and so on. Surely, he argues, life in
even the most repressive European state is better than that. Surely, he is saying, no
European reader of his books would want to be reduced to the conditions of the
Americans. But, he adds, this sort of life is on the cards as soon as one throws over
government. Here one comes up against more implausibility in Hobbes’s theory of
war, the implausibility, namely, of Hobbes’s running together the effects of civil
war in a developed state with the inconveniences of the state of nature. Unless
the inconveniences of civil war are very great, they will not necessarily outweigh
2 Hobbes, Locke and the State of Nature 35

what Hobbes admits are the inconveniences of unlimited government. But for the
inconveniences of civil war to be as great as those of a prepolitical situation, either
the commodities of the civilised Europe of his time had to be very fragile, or the
destructiveness unleashed by civil war had to be total and immediate.
To my knowledge, Hobbes never produces an argument for the fragility of the
commodities, but he thinks he has an argument for the claim that with government
overthrown, people are reduced to the condition of those who have never had gov-
ernment. The argument is that the subjects of civilized Europe and the aborigines
of America have their humanity in common, and that the destructive consequences
of war are rooted in what human beings are like rather than in what Europeans or
Americans are like. The argument also assumes that government does not really alter
people but at most keeps under control the ingredients of war in their collective life.
As soon as the controls are taken away, natural human impulses reassert themselves,
and their effects are the same in Europe as in America, the same in 1651 as in 651.
Now this last claim is both implausible on its face, and inconsistent, I think,
with what Hobbes implies are the effects of his preferred organisation of common-
wealth. The claim is implausible on its face, because it underestimates the effects
of custom. For example, Hobbes’s theory implies that middle class people living in
the rich Home Counties around London in 2007 would feel no compunction about
arming themselves and looting one another’s homes if, for example, the Countryside
Alliance started to wage an armed guerrilla war in rural England and London, aimed
at toppling the Westminster government. It seems to me just as likely that the middle
class people of Surrey or Middlesex would find it very difficult to become looters
and vigilantes over night. They might carry on peaceably as long as possible, per-
haps going so far as to beef up the Neighbourhood Watch scheme to protect against
the depredations of lower class outsiders. But the insurrection in the rest of the
country would not necessarily be seized upon as a pretext for a local free-for-all. In
short, contrary to what Hobbes sometimes seems to imply, the habit of keeping the
peace may take some time to catch up with the fact of insurrection.
It might be thought that this objection is based on a misunderstanding, because
it mistakes an argument for what people have reason to do or what they can”t be
blamed for doing, for an argument about what they will do. Even if, out of habit so
to speak, the middle class of Surrey keeps on putting coins in the parking meters
while the Countryside Alliance sustains its rebellion, it is arguably unreasonable
for them to do so, and they are blameless if they do not do so. It might be said that
this is Hobbes’s argument. Hobbes may be saying that there is war when it is more
unreasonable to put the coins in the meter than not to, or to pay the council tax
than not to, or to refrain from looting one’s neighbours’ houses than not to. There
can be war in this sense even if custom prevails and the middle class of Surrey
remain unreasonably peaceable. This line of thought hardly gets Hobbes off the
hook, however, for whether it is reasonable for the average middle class person of
Surrey to turn violent depends on what other members of that middle class are likely
to do. If there is a strong custom of not disturbing the peace, if it goes against the
grain of most people to turn violent or predatory, then it may be better for everyone
to behave the same old way, i.e., in the customary, peaceable way. However one
36 Tom Sorell

looks at it, it seems implausible to claim that long standing traditions of obedience
and accommodation will not continue to operate even in the absence of a power able
to force shows of such behaviour.
Hobbes’s own theory implies that in a well-regulated commonwealth people will
not be kept in line only by the threat of punishment for breaking the laws. Hobbes
thinks that there has to be an elaborate system of public instruction of people in
their civic duties. Special days for learning civic duties have to be appointed, and
special institutions, including universities. The point of this instruction, evidently, is
to implant a disposition to behave in accordance with the sovereign’s decrees apart
from the fear of the sovereign’s punishment. People are supposed to refrain from
fraud, rape, and other unjust practices not just because there are laws against those
things and punishments, but because they understand that such practices damage
things that everyone has reason to find important: their own life and limbs, their
loved ones, and their riches and means of living.7 Once the instruction has taken,
it can keep people in line even if the coercive power behind the laws wanes. The
instruction starts a custom or tradition, which can continue to have a point even
when there is no-one around to enforce it.
A way of summarising the foregoing is by saying that the longer lived and better
entrenched the peace, the less the removal of government means a war that is bound
to be palpably awful. Perhaps the better established the peace, the colder the war
when the peace is disturbed. But the colder the war, the less awful the war. The
less awful the war, the less strong the justification for writing the sovereign a nearly
blank cheque. Submission to government may still make sense, but not submission
to unlimited government, with maximum room for manoeuvre. Or to put it another
way, the longer lived and better entrenched the peace is, the more remote a full-
blown public emergency. Collective human life is not everywhere and always an
emergency waiting to happen, and so a government does not always have to have
available to it emergency powers.8

IV
Hobbes seems to have a weak argument for giving governments unlimited powers;
he seems to have even weaker arguments for extensive powers concentrated in a
single agent. Once again the starting point is the natural condition of human beings.
He claims that there is no natural standard of right reason,9 and that people are
carried away by their passions even in the defence of their factual beliefs. What
is more, he thinks it is rare for people to be acquainted with science, let alone to
develop any. This means that people are likely to fall into error, and that they are
likely to be stubborn in maintaining their views when others disagree with them. In

7 Ibid., ch. 30, p. 236.


8 Necessary laws and the problem of giving up powers one needs to be able to reseize.
9 Leviathan, ch. 5, p. 33.
2 Hobbes, Locke and the State of Nature 37

these circumstances, two heads are rarely better than one, according to Hobbes. On
the contrary, the more heads, the more natural sources of controversy, and the greater
the need for enquirers to be willing to submit to the judgement of an arbitrator (Ibid).
In relation to matters of security and well-being, as opposed to the proofs of math-
ematical theorems or the proposal of hypotheses in physics, individual judgements
are likely to be even less authoritative. They are likely to be short-term, geared
too much to pleasure rather than other sorts of well-being, and selfish. They will
also lead people to go after things that cannot be shared, which will make them
fight over them. The remedy for all of this is a better standard of practical guidance
than the many conflicting ones supplied by the untutored practical judgements of
the many.
A better standard of judgment will be more dispassionate than natural practical
judgements, and it will be employed by a judge that unites the individuals who
make judgements in the state of nature. This is of course Hobbes’s sovereign. The
sovereign makes practical judgements on behalf of the many whom he rules, but
without being subject to the passions of each of the many. Of course, the sovereign
will be a natural person or a body of natural persons, and while he or they will
have passions of their own, they have reason not to indulge their own passions
at the expense of the safety or security of the many; for the cost of doing so is
disempowerment, and probably loss of life if the many take revenge for having their
safety compromised. In this respect the private interest of the sovereign is tied to the
public interest: the safety and security of the many.
Now the key to Hobbes’s preference for monarchy among the forms of sovereignty
is connected to the unity of the sovereign power, the reduction of many loci of
judgement to just one, and the coincidence of the public with the private interest.
For example, he says explicitly that whereas in a monarchy resolutions are only
subject to the inconstancy of human nature present in the individual sovereign, in an
assembly there is a second source of inconstancy as well: namely, the fact that the
number of people in an assembly is more than one. This means that there can be an
influential dissenting party that undermines any decision arrived at or that even gets
it overturned. Again,
. . . where the publique and private interest are most closely united, there is the publique
most advanced. Now in Monarchy, the private interest is the same with the publique. The
riches, power and honour of a Monarch arise onely from the riches, strength and reputation
of its Subjects. For no King can be rich, nor glorious, nor secure; whose Subjects are either
poore, or contemptible, or too weak, through want, or dissention, to maintain a war against
their enemies: Whereas in a Democracy, or Aristocracy, the publique prosperity conferres
not so much the private fortune of one that is corrupt, or ambitious, as doth many times a
perfidious advice, a treacherous action, or a Civill warre.10

For these and other reasons one-man sovereignty is better than sovereignty in the
form of an assembly. Since the command of the one-man sovereign is law, and since
there is very little that the sovereign can command unjustly, according to Hobbes, it

10 Ibid., ch. 19, p. 131.


38 Tom Sorell

is natural to take his argument to support dictatorship. Not dictatorship in the worst
of times only, but permanent dictatorship.
The argument is only as persuasive as its case for the subjectivity of practical
and theoretical judgement, and that case seems to depend on exaggeration. There
is no reason to think that the conclusions of arithmetical calculations or scientific
demonstrations are to be settled by an arbitrator when disputed; there is some reason
to think that Pythagoras’s Theorem or “The earth goes round the sun” is true whether
or not an arbitrator or anyone else agrees to it, whether or not it is disputed. In cases
like these, the claim that standards of truth or conclusiveness have to be declared or
constructed, and that they do not exist independently of conventions, seems false.
Nor is Hobbes’s case even plausible for all value judgements or judgements about
what people ought to do. On his own showing people can agree to peace, and in-
dependently of Hobbes, there can be agreement to the value of certain primary and
prudential goods. There is historical evidence in our own day of agreements between
states with very different cultural and ideological traditions. There is evidence of
people’s ability to negotiate these agreements without submitting to an arbitrator.
So Hobbes underestimates the scope for stable collective deliberation, and he makes
controversy look like incipient civil war rather than, as it sometimes is, a means of
testing positions for plausibility or agreement with the evidence. So he seems not to
do justice to the adage that two heads are better than one.

V
Now the Locke of the Two Treatises is open to very few of the criticisms that we
have been bringing against Hobbes. Locke does not think that human beings char-
acteristically disagree with one another, or naturally maintain their own side in a
disagreement just because it is theirs. Although he certainly claims that arbitra-
tion is important and morally necessary, that is not because he thinks that people
naturally lack any standard of judgement. He thinks that people standardly have a
capacity for reason, and that this can be exercised even in the state of nature. He
denies that in the state of nature people need be strongly disposed to fight, and
he keeps apart the state of nature from the state of war. He does not think that
the conditions for moral judgement and action in accordance with it arise only
after the formation of commonwealths; and he nowhere implies that life in the
state and life in the state of nature that one enters by rebelling are as different as
eighteenth-century Europe was from the back woods of Virginia during the same
period. Locke’s state of nature is not necessarily fearful. And his commonwealth
institutionalizes the division of powers that Hobbes thought was fatal for effective
sovereignty. Accordingly, Locke never comes close to making a case for authorized
dictatorship.
By the same token, however, Locke lacks a ready answer for a rebel who mag-
nifies the costs of government, or someone in the state of nature who asks why he
should leave it. Differently, Locke seems to be outlining a politics for people who,
2 Hobbes, Locke and the State of Nature 39

by being naturally rational and internalizing natural law, are naturally sociable (Two
Treatises, II §§ 77ff). This may be an acceptable account of what people must be
like if a benevolent God made them (presumably, in his image), but it is hardly a
modest foundation for politics. Hobbes starts with much less, makes much more
room for conflict, and, as a result, thinks that the ingredients of emergency are far
more prevalent than they are. Locke thinks that private judgements in the state of
nature are subjective enough to require “umpiring,” but unlikely to be subjective
enough to lead either to war or unjustified rebellion under arbitrary power. The truth
seems to me to lie between Hobbes and Locke, not in Locke himself.
Let us begin by asking why, according to Locke, people generally have reason
to leave the state of nature at all. In the state of nature everyone is free to protect
his life and property as he thinks fit, and to respond as he sees fit to transgressors of
natural law, both where he and where someone else is the victim of transgression (cf.
Two Treatises, II § 10). Although the transgression is only supposed to be punished
severely enough to deter the offender, and although a natural law that distinguishes
appropriate punishments exists, and is more accessible to individuals than a man-
made law (Two Treatises, II § 12), there is no general assurance of impartiality in
this or other matters in the state of nature without a delegation of the right to judge
to the community (Two Treatises, II § 13). In particular, it is not to be expected that
offenders will acknowledge the wrong they do or submit to even a proportionate
punishment (ibid.). Only when people join together and submit to a judgement of a
legislative power in matters of dispute-resolution and punishment do they introduce
impartial, proportionate, and reliably enforceable punishment. Jointly submitting to
a legislative power, people in a state of nature are turned into a civil or political
society (Two Treatises, II §§ 87-89).
Such submission makes sense if people are naturally keen on seeing the law of
nature upheld, rarely violate it themselves, but do not always see eye to eye about
what the law of nature requires in a particular case. It makes less sense if people are
mostly irrational and not inclined to uphold the law of nature when others break it,
and are quite willing to violate it themselves. There must be some irrational people
along these lines for punishment in the state of nature to have a point;11 but if they
are in a majority, then it is unclear why the state of nature is not a state of war.
Even if the irrational are in a minority, on the other hand, their irrationality needs
an explanation on Locke’s assumptions. How can there be human wrongdoers, if
human beings are made by God as reasonable beings, and have the law of nature
engraved on their hearts? How can some be more rational, better disciplined and
public-spirited than others if all are endowed with “like Faculties” (Two Treatises,
II §6)? The only room Locke appears to make for inequality is in upbringing. Since
human beings after Adam have to attain the use of reason and are not born rational

11 That there are such irrational people—that the violation of the laws of nature is routine, and that
moral disagreement is an everyday phenomenon—both of these things are insisted upon in Locke’s
Essay 1. iii. where the fact that moral precepts are disputed is a ground for Locke’s denial of their
innateness.
40 Tom Sorell

(Two Treatises, II §57), there is scope for failure ever to achieve it—through bad
parenting, say. This gives a natural history for a willing wrongdoer. But there is
some tension between, on the one hand, failure to achieve rationality—failure to
grow up to govern oneself by the law of nature–and, on the other hand, being free
(ibid.). Yet the state of nature is the state of perfect freedom (Two Treatises, II §4).
This yields a trilemma for Locke: either the state of nature is not the state of perfect
freedom, or else it is. If it is, either some people never attain freedom and therefore
cannot be parties to the state of nature, or else people are parties to the state of nature
and rational. But if they are parties to the state of nature and rational, how can they
violate the law of nature?
This question does not arise in Hobbes. His theory explains how the passions
naturally dominate and distort human valuations. Giving too much weight to the
self, the present and pleasure, people all too explicably do what the laws of nature
prohibit. When they are able to see that the consequence of acting this way can be
war, other, more wholesome passions—the fear of death and the hope of a decent
life—motivate peace-seeking and the submission to government that peace-seeking
requires. Life under government may in its turn have its costs, Hobbes concedes,
but these are as nothing when compared to the insecurity and poverty of the state of
nature.
Although civil government is supposed by Locke to remedy the inconveniences
of the state of nature (II §13), he does not make clear what exactly these inconve-
niences are. For some varieties of the state of nature—revolutionary periods, or nat-
ural disasters, it may not be hard to fill in the details. But what about a pre-political
state of nature among people who are a tribute to their Maker? The state of nature
is properly “men living together according to reason under no Superior authority”
(II § 19), which might take the form of a unanimous observance of the law of na-
ture and therefore might have no obvious inconveniences, or at least no man-made
ones. As John Rogers suggests, Locke’s state of nature has about it a utopian air.12
Certainly the state of nature does not by definition involve a willingness of those
who are in it to use force against one another without right. Nor does departing the
state of nature put an end to war: a government can be in a state of war with the
citizens when it perverts the civil law in order to victimize them (I Two Treatises,
I § 20).

VI

If it is hard to see why people should leave an idyllic state of nature, it is correspond-
ingly hard to see why the dissolution of government should necessarily be a disaster.
Locke’s main answer is that, when a community organizes itself under legislative,
and law-enforcement institutions, the pooled executive power of a community to
enforce the law of nature—specifically, the executive power to protect “property”

12 “John Locke’s State of Nature as a Utopian Ideal,” Anglophonia 3 (1988): 77–87.


2 Hobbes, Locke and the State of Nature 41

—stands the best chance of being impartially and efficiently deployed against
wrongdoers. But it is the executive power that is entrusted—and only conditionally—
to a government when a community becomes a state. No-one transfers the right of
judgement, as in Hobbes, and the right of judgement may be exercised by the irra-
tional in ways that lead people to think their trust has been betrayed by government.
When the routine burdens of life in the state—taxation, military service—seem too
great, the impression of a betrayed trust may not be slow to form. As for the extraor-
dinary burdens of life in the state—submitting to incessant security searches and
intrusive questioning, even detention, in times of terrorist threat—these can even
more clearly and quickly register as oppression, at least in a minority.
How does Locke’s theory, which is certainly on its guard against the reality of
betrayed trust, control for the illusion of betrayed trust, or for cases where, extraor-
dinarily, protections of life, liberty, and property are weakened or suspended? The
short answer is that Locke’s theory does not control for these things. Instead, human
nature or custom is relied upon to put a brake on the rebellious impulses of the
discontented. Thus, against the objection that no state will last for long if people are
able to withdraw their trust on seeing their “property” invaded, Locke insists in the
chapter entitled “The Dissolution of Government” that
People are not so easily got out of their old Forms, as some are apt to suggest. They are
hardly to be prevailed with to amend the acknowledg’d Faults, in the Frame they have been
accustom’d to (Two Treatises, II, §223)

It even goes against the grain, Locke immediately adds, for people to go in for
reform when everyone agrees that an opportunity for reform has arrived. Inertia
overcomes the appetite for changing how countries are ruled.
Locke replies in the same vein when he entertains the objection that his own
theory of the dissolution of the state will add to pretexts for rebellion. According
to Locke’s theory, as soon as a government passes laws which have the effect of
endangering people’s property, the government introduces a state of war—shows
that it is willing to use force without authority—and therefore loses legitimacy of
office. So, might people seize on the theory at every opportunity to claim that a
government has overstepped the mark? Locke’s answer is, “Not if actual rebellions
are anything to go by”:
Revolutions happen not upon every little mismanagement in publick affairs. Great mistakes
in the ruling part, many wrong and inconvenient Laws, and all the slips of humane frailty
will be born by the People, without mutiny or murmur (Two Treatises, II §225).

This sounds like sheer assertion, and seems no more or less compelling than
Hobbes’s remark about the multiplying glasses applied to every little cost of gov-
ernment.
Far from adding to the pretexts for rebellion, Locke says, his theory of the disso-
lution of states points the people not in the direction of no government, but toward a
new government. In any case, Locke’s theory implies that the rebels in cases of dis-
solution of government are not the people who withdraw trust, but the government
that betrays trust, since it is the government that by turning laws against the people
introduce a state of war. If anyone is cautioned by the theory against rebellion, it
42 Tom Sorell

is governments, for they are told that they have the people to answer to. On this
highly revisionary account of rebellion, Locke may be right, but he does not meet
the objection that in the ordinary sense of “rebellion” his theory might provide a
pretext for rebellion. This is the objection he is supposed to be confronting.
Locke is also in difficulty when it comes to the question of who should judge
that the betrayal of trust has taken place. What if the claim that this trust has been
broken is spread by “ill affected and factious Men” in cases where “the Prince only
makes use of his due Prerogative”?
To this I reply, The People shall be Judge; for who shall be Judge whether his Trustee or
Deputy acts well, and according to the Trust reposed in him, but he who deputes him, and
must, by having deputed him, have still a Power to discard him when he fails in his Trust.
If this be reasonable in particular Cases of private Men, why should it be otherwise in that
of the greatest moment; where the Welfare of Millions is concerned, and also where the
evil, if not prevented, is greater, and the Redress very difficult, dear and dangerous? (Two
Treatises, II § 240).

This reply suggests that the analogy between the private judger and the People is
unproblematic. But it is not. To the extent that the People—the community without
formal government—can produce a judgement, it is that of a majority, which, if it is
a small majority, may not be decisive enough to justify anything as momentous as
the dissolution of a government. It is because what is being decided in the case at
issue is unlike that of the typical private withdrawal of trust, and because the judger
has less unity than a private judger, that Locke’s answer is unsatisfactory.
It is possible, of course, that in Locke’s favoured case of deciding about the with-
drawal of trust—the case where flagrant arbitrariness and brazen invasion of prop-
erty have tried the patience of a people over such a long period that its wrongness is
unmistakeable—the people would have no trouble forming an undivided judgement.
The question is whether the favoured case is too easy a case. The current situation
in the Western world—where trade-offs between security and liberty are increas-
ingly being settled in favour of security—may look to sections of a community-like
movement toward a “police state”—not a Lockean tyranny, perhaps, but perhaps
something unsatisfactory enough to some to justify violent reaction. The more im-
pressive and recent the evidence of the threat to security, the more incursions on
liberty are borne willingly. But things change, and the spectre of the police state
seems to materialize for some people the longer the intervals between terrorist out-
rages. It is to Hobbes’s credit that he sees security from violent attack (rather than
the protection of property broadly speaking) as the undisputed good par excellence,
and that he thinks the costs of security become easier to bear, the more lives are
palpably threatened. By making the purpose of the state the protection of more than
life, Locke’s theory may have to reckon with more public resistance to the costs,
and therefore with more obstacles to unanimity when “the people” decide whether
trust has been betrayed. Locke shows little awareness of a problem in this area.
I suspect that there is a connection between Locke’s brisk handling of the “Who
is to Judge?” question, and what we have noticed is his relatively favourable view
of the state of nature. The connection is the thought that human beings are naturally
reasonable and able to agree over what counts as an incursion on “property” in the
2 Hobbes, Locke and the State of Nature 43

wide Lockean sense. Since they are able to agree, they are able to judge both laws
and the state of nature against the goal of protecting property. The state of nature
is ill-suited to protecting property, because of the lack of an umpiring mechanism,
and government institutions can be ill-suited to the goal, because of the way that
particular people subvert their umpiring capacity. But the source and workings of
the capacity for natural reasonableness are obscure in Locke. Even if one brings
in the doctrine that moral and political precepts are true by convention, the abil-
ity to arrive at the conventions is not unanalysable. Locke, in the Two Treatises at
least, gives no analysis. It is as if natural reasonableness is a descendent of Aris-
totelian natural sociableness—unexplicated but carrying a reasonably heavy burden
in Locke’s theory.13 Hobbes is better at anatomizing reasonableness, and better at
keeping idealizations out of the state of nature.

13 (Unanalyzed) Human reasonableness, along with God’s existence, seems to be among the givens
that make demonstrative moral knowledge possible. Cf. Essay IV. iii. 18.
Chapter 3
The Sovereignty of the People

Stuart Brown

It is a commonplace of contemporary European political culture that governments


derive their rightful powers from the people or, as it is variously put, that sovereignty
belongs to, resides in or emanates from the people.1 That this is so is suggested by
the frequent occurrence of such metaphors in the language of modern European
constitutions. For instance, the 1949 Grundgesetz of the Federal Republic of Ger-
many states that: “All public authority emanates from the people.”2 The 1947 Italian
Constitution says that “sovereignty belongs to the people.”3 The wording of the 1958
French Constitution is nearly identical.4 The 1978 Spanish Constitution elaborates:
“National Sovereignty resides in the Spanish people from whom emanate the pow-
ers of the state.”5 And the Greek Constitution of 1975 states: “The sovereignty of
the People is the foundation of Government. All powers are derived from the People
and the Nation.”6

1 This essay originated as a paper presented at a conference in Mussomeli, Sicily, in 1999. This
conference would not have happened nor would this paper have been written but for John Rogers,
to whom indeed the history of philosophy in Britain is greatly indebted in many other ways. It
seemed to me as appropriate a tribute as I could offer to John given the limited overlap of our
special interests. I offer it with some diffidence since such a broad topic really needs to be treated
in book form and my topic is in some respects dealt with more adequately by, for instance, Quentin
Skinner’s The Foundations of Political Thought, 2 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1978), about which I have more to say.
2 “Alle Staatsgewalt geht vom Volke aus.” Text and translation from Constitutions of the Countries
of the World, ed. Albert P. Blaustein and Gisbert H. Flanz (Bobbs Ferry, NY: Oceana, 1971–),
Germany, June, 1995. Italics added.
3 “La souvranità appartiene al popolo. . .” (Art. 1) Bold added. Text and translation from Consti-
tutions of the Countries of the World: Italy, March, 1987.
4 “La souvrainté nationale appartient au peuple . . .” (Art. 2). Bold added. Text and translation
from Constitutions of the Countries of the World: France, June, 1988.
5 “La soberanı́a nacional reside en el pueblo español, del que eman los poderes de Estado.” (Art.
1) Text and translation from Constitutions of the Countries of the World: Spain, March, 1991. Bold
added.
6 Article 1. Translation from Constitutions of the Countries of the World: Greece, December, 1988.

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 45


and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 45–57.
46 Stuart Brown

One could go on.7 The fundamental thought seems to be that all authorisation
has to begin somewhere with some person or persons in whom it resides naturally
and unproblematically and from whom it emanates by their freely giving it—and
to whom, therefore, it is said, echoing the words of the Italian Constitution, that
sovereignty “belongs.” Such ideas, though now taken up in many other parts of the
world, have a particular history and were already reflected in constitutional docu-
ments of the eighteenth century. Thus the American Declaration of Independence
of 1776 declares that governments derive “their just powers from the consent of the
governed.” The phraseology, however, is more reminiscent of the Declaration of the
Rights of Man of 1789, where we read:
The source of all sovereignty resides essentially in the nation. No body, no individual can
exercise authority that does not explicitly proceed from it.8

Rousseau’s Contrat Social (1762) is often cited as a philosophical source for this
doctrine. But Diderot seems to have been the first to say, in so many words, that
“There is no true sovereign other than the nation.”9 In the article on “political au-
thority” in his famous Encyclopédie Diderot writes that “the government . . . can
never be taken away from the people, to whom it belongs fundamentally, and as a
freehold.”10 But, though there may have been some originality of expression, nei-
ther Rousseau nor Diderot was the author of the underlying doctrines, which had
been establishing themselves, at least in radical and reformist circles, for some time
before. Indeed these ideas go back thousands of years.

The Myth of the People’s Consent


The doctrine of the sovereignty of the people has its roots in a myth about the origin
of political society—what I refer to, for short, as the myth of the people’s consent.
Like other aetiological myths, this one takes a variety of forms and has been elab-
orated in a number of different ways for different purposes. But here is a fictional
formulation that has many points of resemblance to several historical articulations11
of the myth:
Before the formation of political societies human beings existed in the state of nature. In
this state they were free and subject to the authority of no other people. They lived in
isolated but harmonious family groups, taking from the land no more than they needed.

7 For instance, the Belgian, Irish, Portuguese and Swedish Constitutions all contain similar articles.
8 Article 3. Quoted in translation from The French Idea of Freedom: The Old Regime and the
Declaration of Rights of 1789, ed. D. Van Kley (Stanford, CAL: Stanford University Press, 1994),
1. Italics added. J.K. Wright, in his contribution to Van Kley’s useful collection, explores some of
the background to the drafting of this article.
9 This is a translation of the formulation to be found in his Observations on the Nakaz (1774).
10Quoted from Denis Diderot’s The Encyclopedia: Selections, ed. and trans. Stephen J. Gendzier
(New York: Harper and Row, 1967), 187.
11 Some of these are considered in later sections of this essay.
3 The Sovereignty of the People 47

But this did not last and, for one reason or another, people came into conflict with their
neighbours and this led, if not to a state of war, to a constant fear of the threat of violence
and the loss of their livelihoods if not their very lives. As a result they freely agreed to
subject themselves to an authority who would maintain peace, resolve disputes between
them, establish laws and punish those who broke them. Thus the people, from whom all
political authority derives, came to confer that authority on the sovereign who retained a
proper claim on their allegiance so long as he or she fulfilled this agreed role.

I have called this story a “myth” for two reasons. One is that, though it seems rea-
sonable to suppose humans once existed in a pre-political state, we know very little
about it or how early political societies were formed. More significantly, however,
the story has had a hold on the minds of many people who did not have the slightest
empirical reason for believing it.12 It is not a mere speculation. It was indeed a
philosophical myth in that it embodied or at least came to embody important con-
ceptual or a priori claims for which evidence would actually be irrelevant anyway.
Amongst these claims are these two:
1) that the existence of authority—at least authority over people—is not a given but
has to be justified or derived from somewhere:
and
2) that, in the absence of the consent of the people, a sovereign may compel but has
no right to their obedience.
To try to justify claims like these would be to engage, not in any empirical in-
quiry, but in political philosophy. It should not be surprising, therefore, that many
of those who elaborated stories about the state of nature and how political societies
came into being would be counted as “philosophers.” One such elaboration resulted
in theories of the relation between sovereign and people as founded on a contract—
a contract that confers rights and corresponding duties on each party in relation to
the other: that not only limits the powers of the sovereign but even gives a sense to
the suggestion that a king could be in breach of his contract with the people. But this
elaboration and this suggestion are quickly accessible to a much wider group than
those mainly classified as philosophers and might readily be taken up, for instance,
by lawyers13 and any others for whom the idea of making and breaking contracts
were familiar. And so, at times of more widespread intellectual crisis, when the
ideas of philosophers may be taken up by a wider community of people, the idea
that sovereigns were bound by a contract with their people might achieve a currency
it would not otherwise have had. In these circumstances the distinction between
philosophers and non-philosophers becomes blurred.

12 It should be evident that I am not using the term “myth” here as some historians do, to mean
a widespread but false belief to be “exploded” by empirical enquiry. This disagreement is not just
about a word. Those who will insist on this other sense as the only proper one will also hold that
Hume’s essay “Of an Original Contract” gave the myth of the people’s consent the coup de grace.
13 In the English context lawyers were prominent in the Army Debates. So was the anonymous
person who wrote under the name “Eutactus Eudemius” and whose views are discussed below.
48 Stuart Brown

The story of the consent theory of government, were it told in full, would fill
several volumes. It was partly told by J.W. Gough in his admirable though now
dated monograph The Social Contract: A Critical Study of its Development14 and is
one theme of Quentin Skinner’s brilliant two-volume The Foundations of Modern
Political Thought.15 The two books represent very different approaches to the his-
tory of ideas. Gough’s book perhaps remains the most comprehensive account of the
history of thinking about the social contract generally or, more specifically, about
the idea that sovereignty is founded upon a contract between the government and
the people. Gough traces the sources of the idea in the Greek Sophists, in Roman
law and amongst the Stoics. He also traces its use by several medieval philoso-
phers, from Manegold of Lautenbach to the Italian Marius Salamonius and including
Aquinas and Nicolas Cusanus. Such range is achieved, however, at a price, one that
Skinner is unwilling to pay. Gough, like others who followed what Skinner calls
“the more traditional method of studying the history of political ideas,”16 does not
pay attention to “the more general social and intellectual matrix” out of which the
classic texts of the subject arose. Skinner holds that the history of political theory
will lack a “genuinely historical character” so long as the focus is on “those who
discussed the problems of political life at a level of abstraction and intelligence
unmatched by any of their contemporaries.”17 If, on the contrary, we succeed in
surrounding the classical texts with “their appropriate ideological context” we may
hope to obtain a more realistic picture of how political thinking was conducted in
earlier periods. At the same time it is “no less essential to consider . . . the context
of earlier writings and inherited assumptions about political society.”18 This is the
approach that Skinner sought to exemplify in his book.
Though their methodologies are different Gough and Skinner are in agreement
in acknowledging the influence of philosophers on the political ideologies of early
modern Europe. Both acknowledge, for instance, the importance of Aristotle and the
Stoics on different ways of thinking about the state of nature and both see the early
modern period as the time when the idea that the state is based on a contract came
into its own. Gough claims that although the contract theory was “widespread” in
the Middle Ages, “its modern history really begins in the sixteenth century, when
it acquired a wider publicity, and made a fresh start as a commonplace of practical
political controversy.”19

14J.W. Gough, The Social Contract: A Critical Study of its Development (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1936. Second edition, 1957).
15 Skinner, Foundations, op. cit. supra at note 1 .
16 Ibid., vol. 1, x. Skinner does not himself expressly criticize Gough but it is clear enough that his
objections to the traditional approach should be understood as applying to Gough and indeed most
other so-called historians of political theory of the previous generation.
17 Ibid., vol. 1, xi.
18 Ibid.
19 Ibid., 49.
3 The Sovereignty of the People 49

Gough presents the contract theory as having declined as a result of criticism in


the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. But, in an age of less rampant
philosophical empiricism, contractualist theories generally have undergone a very
considerable revival, as is evident, for example, from the reception, at least in the
English-speaking world, of the writings of John Rawls. Consent theories of govern-
ment are once again alive and well, if transformed a good deal, and are regarded by
at least some contemporary political philosophers as the most promising.20
The view that sovereignty is ultimately based upon the consent of the people
because of some contractual relationship is not, of course, the same as the view
that the people are sovereign. In contract theories the “people” do not necessar-
ily exist as a separate political body nor are they represented by a body to whom
the monarch might be held to account. Indeed on some theories, such as that of
Hobbes, the people are, apart from their incorporation into political society, a mere
collection of individuals, indeed a rabble. Usually the terms of the contract were
so represented as to make it easy to claim breaches on the side of particular sub-
jects and virtually impossible to substantiate a claimed breach against the king.
Nonetheless medieval theorists did usually admit the category of tyrant and might
even admit—though usually without emphasis—that it would be right to depose or
even assassinate a tyrant.21 These admissions assigned to the people at least reserve
rights of sovereignty and opened up at least the theoretical possibility of exercising
them.
These admissions, though once merely theoretical, became much more promi-
nent in sixteenth century Europe, when the issue of tyrannicide became as topical
amongst political theorists as it was contentious. A number of thinkers, known as
the monarchomachi, insisted on the limited powers of monarchs and in some of their
writings it is possible to detect the beginnings of a doctrine of the sovereignty of the
people. Several of these European thinkers had an acknowledged influence on the
English scene. But one may be selected for particular attention.

Juan De Mariana : an Early Consent Theorist

The Spanish Jesuit, Juan de Mariana (1535-1624) was the author of one of numerous
works produced in the turbulent sixteenth century that were intended to provide
instruction in the art of kingship.22 His book was appropriately entitled De Rege

20 For instance, Harry Beran, in The Consent Theory of Political Obligation (London, New York,
Sydney: Croom Helm, 1987).
21For instance, Aquinas gave his approval in principle to tyrannicide in his Commentary on the
Sentences of Peter Lombard (Book II, dist. 44, qu. 2, art. 2).
22 The work was undertaken at the request of the then tutor to the Spanish infanta and it is idealistic
in recommending, for instance, that a king should be “like a father to his people.” But Mariana was
also concerned to warn that a king would not be safe on his throne if he forgot that he ruled with
the consent of the people.
50 Stuart Brown

et Regis Institutione.23 At the time a particular notoriety attached to the chapter


on tyrannicide, where Mariana appeared not only to condone the assassination of
the French king Henry III but even referred to the assassin as “an eternal hero of
France.”24 A closer examination of his text shows that he did not actually endorse
tyrannicide, as his critics claimed, but was only reporting the opinion of “many
people,” since he was at that stage presenting the arguments that support tyrannicide
in certain circumstances.25 He also presented strong arguments against killing even a
tyrant—arguing, with historical examples, that those who overthrow their rulers are
likely to bring about even greater evils than those they seek to remedy.26 Nonetheless
it was his considered view that, if certain procedures are followed, the people may
be right in ridding themselves of their ruler. This is where he brings in his version
of the myth of the people’s consent.
Mariana pictured political society as having emerged in several stages. Initially,
men wandered alone like beasts without fixed homes or laws. The dangers of such
a life made them appoint someone of outstanding justice and honesty to be their
king. Initially kings ruled according to their discretion, subject to considerations of
natural law, but later it proved necessary to introduce laws which restricted their
powers. Thus Mariana writes:
. . . my view is this: the regal power, if it is lawful, ever has its source from the citizens; by
their grant the first kings were placed in each state in the seat of supreme authority. That
authority they hedged about with laws and obligations, lest it puff itself up too much, run
riot, result in the ruin of the subjects, and degenerate into tyranny.27

If a king persists in breaking these laws and disregarding these obligations then the
people—to whom Mariana also refers as the commonwealth or the republic—should
not ignore it and, in principle, can take back the “rights to rule’ they have transferred
to the king:
Assuredly, the republic, whence the regal power has its source, can call a king into court,
when circumstances require and, if he persists in senseless conduct, it can strip him of his
principiate.28

Mariana’s idea was, in effect, that the king should first receive a formal caution and
be given an opportunity to mend his ways. But though, in this respect, he may have
been original—anticipating modern disciplinary processes—the underlying thought
that the power of the sovereign is derived from the people was not novel. Mariana

23Juan de Mariana, De Rege, et Regis Institutione (Toledo, 1599), trans. G.A. Moore as Of the
King and the Education of the King (Washington, D.C.: Country Dollar Press, 1947).
24De Rege, I ix, 69; The King, 144. Mariana sought to distance himself from this opinion by
adding the diplomatic words “as it seemed to very many.” This was not enough, however, and he
was required to delete the offending words “eternum Galliae decus” from subsequent editions.
25 Ibid.
26 De Rege, I ix, 75; The King, 147.
27 De Rege, I viii, 88; The King, 156.
28 De Rege, I ix, 72f.; The King, 146.
3 The Sovereignty of the People 51

largely followed Aquinas philosophically and similar ideas were voiced in more
moderate tones by other Spanish political theorists of the time.29 It has been claimed,
however, that the implicit voluntarism of the idea that government is based upon a
contract was tempered, for scholastic writers, by the Aristotelian view that political
society was natural whereas Mariana anticipated the explicit voluntarism of later
contractual theories.30 It is possible, by emphasising certain passages and ignoring
others, to read Mariana as a much more modern writer than he actually was: as more
individualistic, voluntaristic, mechanistic and secular in his theory than, on balance,
he intended.
Mariana assumes the existence of certain constitutional arrangements31 in the ab-
sence of which it would make no sense to refer to a court to which the “republic” can
call the king. Moreover he does not defend his claim that the people, in transferring
to the king “the rights to rule,” nonetheless “reserved a greater power to itself.”32
Such arguments would cut no ice with a defender of absolutism. At the same time
they were to prove congenial to those who wished to defend the right to depose an
unsuitable monarch. Thus Oliver Cromwell, when obliged to defend the execution
of Charles I, appealed to the principles of Mariana in what a historian of the times
described as “a long discourse of the nature of royal power.”33
Cromwell also appealed to the principles of the French-educated Scottish hu-
manist, George Buchanan, who had written to justify the deposition of Mary, Queen
of Scots. Buchanan offered an account of the origin of political society which is
comparable to Mariana’s, in which a basically “free people” created monarchs for
their own protection.34 Buchanan also made much of the idea that monarchs are
bound by laws and that tyrants who are in breach of them release their people from
their obligations of obedience.35

29See, for instance, Bernice Hamilton, Political Thought in Sixteenth Century Spain: A study of the
Political Ideas of Vitoria, De Soto, Suárez, and Molina (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963). Suárez
and Molina were also Jesuits. The involvement of the Jesuits in radical political thinking is well
explained by Skinner.
30 See, for instance, Guenter Lewy, Constitutionalism and Statecraft during the Golden Age of
Spain: A Study of the Political Philosophy of Juan de Mariana, S.J. (Geneva: Droz, 1960), espe-
cially ch. III.
31 Lewy and others have argued that Mariana assumes specifically Spanish institutions, such as the
Cortes, which effectively limited the absolute power of the king. See Manuel Colmeiro, Cortes de
los antiguos reinos de Leon y de Castilla: Introduccion (Madrid: Rivadeneyra, 1883).
32 De Rege, 73; The King, 146. His next sentence alludes to two areas where the Cortes enjoyed
privileges, in relation to levying taxes and making “permanent laws.”
33 Gilbert Burnet, History of my own Time (1724), ed. Osmund Airy, 3 vols. (Oxford, 1897), 1: 71.
34 De Jure Regni apud Scotos (Edinburgh, 1579), 96.
35 In his Rerum scoticum historia (Edinburgh, 1582), Buchanan claimed that “government is noth-
ing more than a mutual compact between the people and their kings.” (History of Scotland, trans.
James Aikman [Glasgow, 1827] Book XX, § 37.)
52 Stuart Brown

The Myth of Consent in Early Modern England

The period of the Civil War in England and its aftermath was a time of intense
debates36 about political matters. Cromwell himself had taken part in these de-
bates, which provided the stimulus for much political pamphleteering and at least
some original philosophical theorizing. Though the contract theory could be used
in service of absolutism, as Hobbes’s Leviathan showed, it became something of a
commonplace of mid-seventeenth century English radicals who favoured a limited
monarchy or even a republic. Numerous pamphlets appeared on the subject of the
origin and purpose of government whose authors sought to maintain that the people
are the source of all just powers.37 For instance, a Gray’s Inn lawyer writing under
the pseudonym “Eutactus Philodemius’ wrote a pamphlet on The Original and End
of Civil Power 38 in which he sought to maintain that the people “are the original of
all just powers.” This claim is one the author sought to amplify in these terms:
When they are said to be the Original of all just Powers, thereby is to be understood, Their
Act of Consent is the Source and Fountain from whence all Forms of Power and Government
flow.39

The author first appealed, in support of this claim, to “an old and true rule, OMNIS
POTESTAS FUNDATA IN VOLUNTATE.” But he went further, maintaining that
“All Soveraignties [sic] and Royalties are virtually in the People, though they are
formally in him whom the People set up over themselves’ (ibid.). His claim was that
sovereignty was fundamentally a power that God had conferred on each individual
and which therefore exists prior to political society in a dispersed form. When the
people consent to be subject to a civil power they bring together this power and
“concentrate” it on one or more persons. But they do not thereby alienate their
“proper Rights and Interests.”40
This author’s theory about the “broken and scattered Rayes” of power dispersed
amongst the community is unlikely to convince anyone who is not already disposed
to accept his conclusions. A more promising line of argument was developed by one
of the leaders of the radically republican Levellers, Richard Overton (fl. 1642-63),
who sought to trace the origin of political power as a kind of property possessed by
individuals. In doing so, he provided a philosophical basis for a doctrine that was
significantly closer to what would nowadays be understood as the sovereignty of the
people.

36 See, for instance, Puritanism and Liberty: Being the Army Debates (1647–9) from the Clarke
Manuscripts with Supplementary Documents, ed. A.S.P. Woodhouse (1938; 3rd edition, London:
Dent, 1986).
37 I discuss only two examples here. Others include the anonymous A brief discourse . . . on the
nature, rise and end of civill government (1648) and J. Lilburn’s Regall tyrannie discover’d (1647).
38 London, 1649. Reprinted in Pamphlets on Religion and Democracy: 16th to 19th Centuries
(San Francisco, 1940), 180–219.
39 Original and End of Civil Power, 4 (Pamphlets on Religion and Democracy, 189).
40 Original and End of Civil Power, 5 (Pamphlets on Religion and Democracy, 189).
3 The Sovereignty of the People 53

Overton was the author of a large number of pamphlets, of which one of the
most theoretical was written from Newgate Prison in 1646. It was directed against
the House of Lords in particular but entitled more broadly as An arrow against
all tyrants and tyranny . . . . Despite its brevity, the full title advertising this work
claimed that in it were discovered “the original, rise, extent, and end of magisterial
power.” Overton argues that sovereign power is not originally in the king—who in-
deed is no more than “supreme excecutioner of the laws”41 —but ultimately derives
from the people. For, he claims: “To every individual in nature is given an individual
property by nature not to be invaded or usurped by any.”42 Every self, to be a self
distinguished from other selves, must have such a property in their own person.
“Mine and thine cannot be, except this be.” Otherwise put, “every man by nature
[is] . . . a king . . . in his own natural circuit and compass.”43 This “self-propriety”
is the root of all (legitimate) political power. For each person possesses in their
own “natural circuit and compass” an innate and unique authority. No one can have
any right to encroach upon the “natural circuit and compass” of another unless that
person has given his “free consent.”
Overton holds that individuals become subject to a political power because, for
their safety and good, a number of them agree to place their trust in another and so
they consent to be governed. If, however, those to whom power is entrusted betray
that trust, then it reverts to the hands of those who gave it. As Overton makes clear
in another pamphlet:
While the betrusted are dischargers of their trust it remaineth in their hands, but no sooner
the betrusted betray and forfeit their trust but (as all things else in dissolution) it returneth
from whence it came, even to the hands of the trusters. For all just human powers are but
betrusted, conferred and conveyed by joint and common consent; for to every individual in
nature is given an individual propriety by nature, not to be usurped or invaded by any (as
in mine Arrow against Tyranny is proved and discovered more at large); for every one as
he is himself hath a self propriety—else he could not be himself—and on this no second
may presume without consent; and by natural birth all men are equal, and alike born to like
propriety and freedom . . . .44

Overton, in arguing that political power is a property of individuals, was one of the
first to try to put what was later to be called “the sovereignty of the people” on a
philosophical basis. This project was one that was to be taken further by John Locke
in the second of his Two Treatises of Civil Government, described by him as An
Essay Concerning the True Original, Extent and End of Civil Government.

41 The English Levellers, ed. Andrew Sharp (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 63.
42 From the opening paragraph of the work. See The English Levellers, ed. Andrew Sharp, 55.
43 Op. cit., 55.
44From An Appeal from the Commons to a Free People (1647), repr. in Puritanism and Liberty,
327.
54 Stuart Brown

John Locke on Political Power

Locke wrote his Two Treatises in the early 1680s around the time of the so-called
Exclusion Crisis, when he was associated with the unsuccessful attempt to prevent
James, Duke of York, from being recognised as heir to the throne. Like Mariana
and Buchanan, he insisted on limits to the rights of rulers and defended the right of
the people, in certain circumstances, to resist and even overthrow their monarch.
Though it is uncertain what Locke’s immediate sources were, the German nat-
ural law theorist Samuel von Pufendorf is a likely European candidate.45 Locke
also quotes a good deal from the Anglican divine Richard Hooker, though this
may have been because he expected his readers to regard Hooker as an author-
ity46 and not necessarily because he was himself much indebted to him. Nonethe-
less Locke presents the consent theory as if it were the traditional one. His First
Treatise attacked Filmer’s theory that “princes . . . have a divine right to absolute
power,” which he claimed was a relative novelty. Failing the divine right theory,
he argued, we need to return to the old consent theory of government. As he
puts it:

. . . governments must be left again to the old way of being made by contrivance, and the
consent of men . . . making use of their reason to unite together. (Two Treatises I, § 6)

Locke, in other words, presented himself as following in a tradition of thinking about


civil government that had been interrupted in “this last age” (Two Treatises I, § 3)
by the credence given to the idea that the authority of kings derived directly from
God and did not depend at all on the consent of the people.
Locke seems to have had both treatises in manuscript form some years before
they were published. In 1683, when there was a purge of Whig radicals after an
unsuccessful plot against Charles II, Locke fled to the Netherlands, leaving his
manuscripts behind him. He did not return to England until after the Revolution that
deposed James II and put William and Mary on the throne. His Two Treatises were
therefore not published until 1690, by which time justifying allegiance to William
would have seemed to be at least as important a part of his project as defending the
right of the people to depose their government. For this reason, he expressed the

45 Locke recommended Pufendorf inter alios as suitable study for the education of a gentleman.
Among Locke’s English predecessors Philip Hunton (author of A Treatise of Monarchie, 1643)
and George Lawson have been suggested as possible influences. See Gough, Constitutionalism, 91
and 145 and A.H. Maclean, “Lawson and Locke,” Cambridge Historical Journal 9 (1947): 69–77.
See also David Wootton, “From Rebellion to Revolution: the crisis of the winter of 1612/3 and the
origins of Civil War radicalism,” English Historical Review 105 (1990): 654–69. It is also likely
that Locke knew some of the radical literature from mid-seventeenth century England that I have
already referred to. His project, if not the details of his arguments, belongs to the same tradition.
46 “I thought Hooker alone might be enough to satisfy those men, who relying on him for their
ecclesiastical polity, are by strange fate carried to deny those principles upon which he builds it.”
(Two Treatises II, § 239)
3 The Sovereignty of the People 55

hope, in his Preface to the Reader, that what he had written would be sufficient to
justify allegiance to William—as he put it, “to make good his title, in the consent of
the people, which being the only one of all lawful governments, he has more fully
and clearly than any prince in Christendom . . ..”
In his Second Treatise, Locke offered a consent theory at two levels, distinguish-
ing between the consent every man must give in order to be incorporated into politi-
cal society and the majority consent of the people as a corporate body. In the state of
nature “the people” are simply a collection of individuals. It requires the agreement
of each individual for that individual to quit the state of nature and become a member
of the body politic:
Men being, as hath been said, by nature, all free, equal and independent, no one can be . . .
subjected to the political power of another, without his own consent. (Two Treatises II, § 95)

Political power, according to Locke, resides originally in the people individually and
indeed each one must give his consent in order to become part of political society
and be bound by its decisions. Each one needs to resign what he calls the “executive
power of the law of nature”—for instance, the right to punish by retaliation those
who harm them—which each one has in the state of nature. Each one needs to be
incorporated into the body politic by transferring this power to the people, conceived
as a corporate entity. Talk about “the consent of the people” in a second, and perhaps
the more important sense, is talk about a decision of the corporate entity. A majority
decision determines the will of the people and is binding on all those who make up
the society:
When any number of men have so consented to make one community or government, they
are thereby presently incorporated, and make one body politic, wherein the majority have a
right to act and conclude the rest. (Two Treatises II, § 95)

Locke seems to think there is something naturally right about a majority, since a
body has to move where the “greater force” carries it (Two Treatises II, § 96) and
the body politic will naturally move in the direction wanted by the greatest number
of individual wills. The consent of the people, in this sense, is the consent of the
majority. When individuals consent to be part of a political society, they consent to
be bound by the majority will. In one passage, indeed, he writes that they owe “no
obedience but to the public will of the society.” (Two Treatises II, § 151) Thus Locke
sees political power or authority as residing in each person in the state of nature, as
being transferred to “the body of the people” who then, by a majority, entrust their
collective political power both to a specific form of government and also to an actual
government:
. . . political power is that power which every man, having in the state of nature, has given
up into the hands of the society, and therein to the governors, whom the society hath set
over itself, with this express or tacit trust, that it shall be employed for their good, and the
preservation of their property. . . (Two Treatises II, § 171)

If the legislative acts in breach of the trust put in it, then it forfeits the right to make
laws and the power conferred by the consent of the body of the people reverts once
more:
56 Stuart Brown

into the hands of those that gave it, who may place it anew where they shall think best for
their safety and security. And thus the community perpetually retains a supreme power of
saving themselves from the attempts and designs of anybody, even of their legislators . . .
etc. (Two Treatises II, § 149)

Thus Locke developed his own version of the European myth of the consent of
the people or, put more abstractly, of the notion that sovereignty emanates from
the people. Like Mariana, Buchanan and many others, though unlike Hobbes, he
insisted that the people retained their sovereignty and that meant retaining their
collective right to overthrow a government that abused its trust. Even an absolutist
like William Barclay accepted that a king who allowed his country to be annexed by
another would have alienated his kingdom and lost his sovereignty: “. . . this act sets
the people free and leaves them at their [own] disposal.”47 Locke agreed, of course,
but went much further in limiting the proper powers of government and the range of
laws it could introduce without being in breach of its trust. For instance, he stipu-
lated that “. . . these laws ought also to be designed for no other end ultimately than
the good of the people . . ..” (Two Treatises II, § 142). Moreover, since sovereignty is
always held in trust from the people, if there is any doubt as to whether a government
has breached its trust, it is the people who must decide. To the question “who shall
be the judge whether the prince or legislative act contrary to their trust?” Locke
confidently answered:
. . . the people shall be the judge; for who shall be the judge whether his trustee or deputy
acts well, and according to the trust reposed in him, but he who deputes him, and must,
by having deputed him have still a power to discard him, when he fails in his trust? (Two
Treatises II, § 240)

I should conclude by acknowledging that the doctrine of the sovereignty of the


people, in the formulations I have discussed here, is democratic only in a very
broad sense. What makes Locke’s theory (and that of some of the English radicals)
democratic in our sense, at least in direction, is the importance it attaches to the
idea that political power ultimately resides in the people distributively and not, as
with Mariana and perhaps the philosophes, only as a collectivity. If political power
ultimately resides in the people distributively, then it is natural to attach importance,
as Locke does, to elections and majorities. Locke, of course, did not dream of a
universal franchise of all adults.48 But, even though he himself did not develop it,
his political theory is democratic in tendency.

47 Quoted and translated by Locke in Two Treatises II, § 238.


48 He assumed, for instance, that politics is only for men, the interests of women being looked
after by their fathers or husbands. His rationale was that “the rule [as between husband and wife]
naturally falls to the man’s share, as the abler and the stronger.” (Two Treatises II, § 82) Locke
remained a man of his time. It was not until the nineteenth century that the untenability of assuming
that the interests of women would naturally be represented by men was exposed, by John Stuart
Mill, in his Considerations on Representative Government (1861).
3 The Sovereignty of the People 57

Concluding Remarks

In this essay I have attempted to shed a little light on the question whether, and
if so, how philosophers have contributed to the intellectual and cultural identity of
Europe.49 I have tried to show how a philosophical tradition of thinking about the
origin of civil government helped to shape a political culture in which it began to
make sense to talk of the sovereignty of the people. Philosophers do not, it seems
to me, have much influence when it comes to converting the ideas of a minority
culture into the kind of consensus which is constitutive of a common culture. They
do nonetheless have a seminal role to play. Without some kind of theoretical back-
ground such as philosophers have sought to provide it would make no sense to talk
of sovereignty “belonging to”, “residing in” or “emanating from” the people, as we
have seen that several European constitutions do.
If a consensus about the sovereignty of the people is now constitutive of mod-
ern European culture it does not follow that it is uniquely European or that it is
in that sense constitutive of European identity in contrast with that of the peoples
of any other part of the world. The consensus is by no means uniquely European.
Nonetheless it did not arise out of nothing and, I have been trying to show, has its
roots in European political history. It is, one might even say, part of the European
contribution to world culture.

49 This was the brief given to contributors to the Mussomeli conference in 1999 at which a version
of this essay was presented.
Chapter 4
Locke’s Account of Abstract Ideas—Again

Michael Ayers

John Rogers’ contribution to the study of early-modern philosophy has taken two
forms, scholarly and practical. Much of his scholarly work has been focused on
or around the thought of John Locke, and his many organizational achievements
include the central role in founding and editing a journal that stands with the best
in the world. It may therefore be deemed appropriate both that the present piece
should be about Locke, and that it has been stimulated by my rereading of two good
articles, published in the British Journal for the History of Philosophy a few years
ago,1 the author of which, Jonathan Walmsley, in both cases records his gratitude to
John for editorial help received.
I should start by explaining that Walmsley and I are agreed on the important point
that, for Locke, an “idea,” as “whatsoever is the Object of the Understanding when a
Man thinks,” is an “image” in that it is an object of sense or imagination, and never a
purely intellectual concept or idea such as was postulated by Platonists, Aristotelians
and Cartesians. “Sense” here includes “internal sense” or reflection, and the opera-
tions of (external) sense and reflection together constitute “experience.”2 This was
a fairly radical move away from the traditional assignment of reflexive awareness
of the mind and its operations to pure intellect. Those who purport to find evidence
that Locke’s ideas are at least sometimes more like intellectual conceptions (or like
“concepts” in a Kantian or even present-day understanding of what a concept is)
generally rely on two main arguments. One appeals to ideas of reflection, which
is simply to ignore or misconstrue what Locke says about reflection.3 The other
appeals to a certain kind of reading of his account of abstraction, which is the topic
of the present paper, although that reading will be alluded to only incidentally.

1“Locke on Abstraction: A Response to M.R. Ayers,” BJHP 7 (1999): 123–134; and “The Devel-
opment of Lockean Abstraction,” BJHP 8 (2000): 395–418.
2 Essay II.i.4: “The other Fountain, from which Experience furnisheth the Understanding with
Ideas is the Perception of the Operations of our own Minds within us, as it is employ’d about the
Ideas it has got; . . . And though it be not Sense, as having nothing to do with external Objects; yet
it is very like it, and might properly enough be call’d internal Sense.”
3 E.J. Ashworth, “Locke on Language,” in Vere Chapell (ed.), Locke (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 196–7.

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 59


and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 59–73.
60 Michael Ayers

In the first of the articles in question Walmsley criticizes a view that I had ad-
vanced that to have the abstract idea of (for example) a triangle actually before the
mind, as in geometrical thought and reasoning, is to perceive or imagine a particular
or determinate triangle, while considering it simply as a triangle. That is to say,
it is not to imagine or have an actual image before the mind of a shape that is
barely triangular, “neither Oblique, nor Rectangle, neither Equilateral, Equicrural,
nor Scalenon.” Walmsley’s main criticism, advanced with some indignant force, is
that Locke plainly and unequivocally asserts just what I deny is his view. Accord-
ing to Walmsley, in the passage from which I here quote (Essay IV.vii.9), Locke is
“explicitly stating that the particular abstract idea of a triangle is an imperfect image
of a general triangle that omits certain features peculiar to particulars of this class.”
Notoriously, however, this passage requires careful treatment if we are not to read it,
with Berkeley, as Locke’s account of abstract ideas self-consciously self-destructing
before our eyes, for after “scalenon” Locke adds “but all and none of these at once,”
a point that Walmsley ignores. It therefore seems reasonable to take Locke to be
saying, in this odd and rhetorical passage,4 that universal or abstract reasoning,
for example about triangularity in general, is not the among the earliest intellec-
tual achievements of children,5 since it requires an idea, formed on the basis of
experience of particular triangles, that in a way represents or embraces all possible
triangles and yet in another way represents or embraces none of them in particular.
That reasonable interpretation avoids the supposition that Locke is telling us that
to have an abstract idea is to imagine (have an actual sensory image of) something
that both has and lacks every possible determination of triangularity. Indeed, on
that reasonable interpretation Locke is not expressly telling us what it is to have an
abstract idea before the mind at all,6 and it is noteworthy that, despite Walmsley’s
gloss, Locke says nothing here about “images” or “imagining.” It is true that he adds
that the general idea of a triangle is (or should Locke have said “is of”?)7 “some-
thing imperfect, that cannot exist.” What this seems to mean is that there could not
be a particular triangle (and everything that exists is particular) that possessed only
triangularity and properties deducible from triangularity.8 Yet, again, that is not to

4 Walmsley objects to my description of this passage as rhetorical, but that is what it undoubt-
edly is.
5 The immediate point of the argument is that abstract “maxims” do not figure in the first thoughts
or reasonings of children, since they only gradually acquire the correspondingly abstract ideas.
6 As noted by R.I. Aaron, John Locke, second edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1954),
196.
7 “Is” or “constitutes” is appropriate only if we understand the “idea of x” (in accordance with
the traditional notion of a concept or idea taken objectively) to be x as it is conceived of. “Is of”
(roughly = “represents”) is appropriate if we take the idea to be whatever mode of thought does the
representing (the idea taken formally). Since the “idea of a triangle” in the latter sense undeniably
can exist (we can indeed think about triangles as such), it must be that what “cannot exist” is a
triangle as a triangle is abstractly conceived of.
8 The thought that “one has reason to suspect that such ideas are marks of our imperfection” (as
if God and, perhaps, angels would be able to think all truth by having an adequate idea of every
4 Locke’s Account of Abstract Ideas—Again 61

assert that to have the abstract idea actually before the mind is to form an image of
just such an impossible particular triangle, but is entirely compatible with the view
that I ascribe to Locke: namely, that when we think and reason about triangles in
general we consider some particular or determinate perceived or imagined triangle
in a partial way, focusing on its property of being triangular and employing that both
as the object of our reasoning and as the standard that determines the class of things
represented and being reasoned about. I would suggest that it is by the latter sort of
achievement, on Locke’s account, that the child who has learnt to do geometry has
advanced beyond infantile ideas of particulars.
John Mackie, expressing an interpretation partly similar to my own, called such
focusing “selective attention.”9 I have used the expression “partial consideration,”
which seems clear enough and was employed by Locke himself. Admittedly, Locke
used it in a different context, in an argument that is about the difference between
space and body rather than about universal thought. Nevertheless, one of the ex-
amples he uses in explanation of “partial consideration” is that of considering one
property of a thing while ignoring another, even when it is impossible for the former
to exist without the latter:
A Man may consider Light in the Sun, without its Heat; or Mobility in Body without its
Extension, without thinking of their separation. One is only a partial Consideration, termi-
nating in one alone; and the other is a Consideration of both, as existing separately. (Essay
II.xiii.13)

Locke is arguing that body is divisible, space indivisible. Space is only “divisible”
in thought in the sense that we can consider one part of a space without regard for
other parts—we cannot conceive of (imagine) its actual division by the separation
of its parts. The example serves the argument in so far as no one would conceive (or,
if they tried, could clearly conceive) of the mobility of body as existing separately
from its extension. In spite of this example, however, Walmsley suggests in his first
article that the passage is simply irrelevant to the understanding of Locke’s theory
of abstraction, since it is concerned with the “unique problem” of the differentiation
of the inseparable parts of space that calls for “a unique solution in the form of
partial consideration.” Indeed, he suggests that the fact that partial consideration is
here distinguished from mental separation supports his supposedly straightforward
interpretation of the theory of abstraction, since that theory is often expressed in
terms of separation of one part of a complex idea from others. From Walmsley’s
point of view, Locke might as well have declared explicitly that abstraction is not
partial consideration.

particular thing, without ever needing to generalize) is also hinted at in Essay III.iii.2. But it is
particularly relevant to the context of IV.vii.9, namely Locke’s attack on “maxims” and formal-
ism, and so, at least incidentally, on the Platonic-scholastic-Cartesian view that universal ideas are
copies of (or, for such as Malebranche, are) divine ideas.
9 J.L. Mackie, Problems from Locke (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1976), 109–112.
62 Michael Ayers

After that first article, however, Walmsley came across early versions of this pas-
sage, in a journal note (1676)10 and in Draft C (1685), that expressly and firmly
assimilate “abstraction” and “partial consideration,” both being opposed to mental
separation. He does not, however, take these passages as an indication of how Locke
thought and maybe continued to think about abstraction. On the contrary, in his sec-
ond article, “The Development of Lockean Abstraction,” Walmsley constructs an
ingeniously plausible story of how, in the course of writing the drafts of the Essay,
Locke developed a more determinate, worked-out theory of the objects of universal
knowledge and reasoning, moving from a Hobbesian nominalist position, through
a somewhat indeterminate recognition of the role of ideas corresponding to general
terms, to a final endorsement of an account of abstraction as mental separation as
distinguished from partial consideration. So Lockean abstract ideas, according to
this account, eventually became just the kind of things that earned Berkeley’s scorn.
I will come back to that story of progress (if that is what it is supposed to be),
but would like now to consider the end-product as allegedly set out in a passage in
the Essay that might be taken to deliver the killing blow on behalf of Walmsley’s
interpretation, namely II.xi.9, a passage that Walmsley thinks I have simply ignored:
The use of Words then being to stand as outward Marks of our internal Ideas, and those
Ideas being taken from particular things, if every particular Idea that we take in, should
have a distinct Name, Names must be endless. To prevent this, the Mind makes the particular
Ideas, received from particular Objects, to become general; which is done by considering
them as they are in the Mind such Appearances, separate from all other Existences, and
the circumstances of real Existence, as Time, Place, or any other concomitant Ideas. This is
called ABSTRACTION, whereby Ideas taken from particular Beings, become general Rep-
resentatives of all of the same kind; and their Names general Names, applicable to whatever
exists conformable to such abstract Ideas. Such precise, naked Appearances in the Mind,
without considering, how, whence, or with what others they came there, the Understanding
lays up (with Names commonly annexed to them) as the Standards to rank real Existences
into sorts, as they agree with these Patterns, and to denominate them accordingly. Thus the
same colour being observed to day in Chalk or Snow, which the Mind yesterday received
from Milk, it considers that Appearance alone, makes it a representative of that kind; and
having given it the Name Whiteness, it by that sound signifies the same quality wheresoever
to be imagin’d or met with; and thus Universals, whether Ideas or Terms, are made.

Walmsley asserts that it is “quite plain” that “Locke was not putting forward a partial
consideration account here,” and that Locke’s “theory” was “one of mental separa-
tion.” He bases this claim on the phrases “separate from . . . any other concomitant
Ideas”, “precise,11 naked Appearances,” and even “taken from.” However, is it all
so plain? What is plain, since the verb “consider” appears three times, is that Locke

10 Bodleian Library Locke MS f.1, p. 293; R.I. Aaron and Jocelyn Gibb (eds), An Early Draft
of Locke’s Essay: together with Excerpts from his Journals (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1936), 79:
“I think noe body says that abstracting (i e considering light alone) light from heat in the sun is
separating light from heat, one is only a partial consideration of one only the other is a consideration
of both & lookeing on them as existing separately.”
11 Walmsley suggests that even the word “precise” carried overtones, at that time, of actual sepa-
ration. Locke was probably just following Port Royal (and more general) usage, however—in the
Logic “precision” is employed as a synonym for “abstraction” (“abstraction ou précision”).
4 Locke’s Account of Abstract Ideas—Again 63

is putting forward a “consideration” account. Abstract ideas are considered separate


from concomitant ideas, are considered alone, and are precise and naked because
the mind uses them “without considering” their particular associations. Now “con-
sider” (as is reflected in Locke’s phrase “partial consideration” itself) was commonly
employed to mean something like pay attention to or take into account, as when
the Port Royal Logic states in its explanation of abstraction that geometers, so far
from postulating lines without breadth, “consider length without paying attention to
breadth.”12
But is the “consideration” of II.xi.9 of the same kind as the “partial considera-
tion” of body of II.xiii.13—that is, for example, consideration of body’s mobility
without its extension? Well, why not? For a further use of the term “partial” we
may turn to another account of abstraction in the chapter “Of General Terms” (Es-
say III.iii), where Locke is attacking Aristotelian forms and “this whole mystery of
Genera and Species.” He appeals to the way in which abstract ideas are formed from
experience: “And he that thinks general Natures and Notions are anything else but
such abstract and partial Ideas of more complex ones, taken at first from particular
Existences, will, I fear, be at a loss where to find them” (III.iii.9). All this surely
suggests that “partial consideration” has to be at least the first step in abstraction,
and that the difference between Walmsley’s view and mine must relate to what
follows partial consideration. Is it Locke’s view, as Walmsley supposes, that such
partial consideration leads on to the formation of actual images correspondent to
the considered “parts” of the complex ideas, entirely cut away from any other ideas
(even from necessarily concomitant ideas)? Did Locke think, for example, that we
can and do form images of determinable properties involving no determinate prop-
erty, and that just such an image must be before the mind when we perceive some
necessary truth about triangles in general, whether axiom or theorem? It is clear that
Locke assumed that we can consider a determinate (e.g., isosceles) triangle barely
as triangular, mentally abstracting from its determinate form. But did he also think
that we can, do, and, if we are to engage in universal reasoning, must form actual
images of barely triangular figures, lacking more determinate form? I will come
back to my reasons for believing that he thought no such thing, but I want first to
discuss a prominent feature of the chapter on general terms that Walmsley thinks
settles the issue in favour of his interpretation.
Because of the central role of the verb “consider” in the explanation of abstrac-
tion at Essay II.xi.9, the terms that imply the “separation” of the abstracted idea
from others can easily be read, and are arguably most naturally read, as a matter

12 “Car les Géometres ne supposent point qu’il y ait des lignes sans longueur ou des surfaces sans
profondeur; mais ils supposent seulement qu’on peut considerer la longueur sans faire attention à la
largeur.” (La Logique ou l’art de penser, Paris 1662; facsimile edition, B. von Freytag Löringhoff
and H.E. Brekle, Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt: Friedrich Fromann Verlag, 1965), p. 47. There is also
“considering as,” so that at Essay II.vii.7, in dealing with (for a concept-empiricist) awkwardly ab-
stract concepts (in the modern sense of “abstract”), Locke proposes that “whatever we can consider
as one thing, . . . suggests to the Understanding, the Idea of Unity,” with similar treatment for the
idea of existence.
64 Michael Ayers

of selective attention—selective attention is, after all, selective. As will be seen, I


do not think that that is the whole story, although it is a large part of it. But first
I want to consider the suggestion that such a reading is ruled out by other parts of
the account of abstraction in Book III, Chapter iii, “Of General Terms.” Children,
Locke tells us, note a resemblance between particular individuals with whom they
are acquainted, and of which they have ideas, whereupon
they frame an Idea, which they find those many Particulars do partake in; and to that they
give, with others, the name Man, for Example. And thus they come to have a general Name,
and a general Idea. Wherein they make nothing new, but only leave out of the complex Idea
they had of Peter and James, Mary and Jane, that which is peculiar to each, and retain only
what is common to them all.

Similarly, the idea of a genus is formed from ideas of its species by “leaving out but
those particulars wherein they differ, and retaining only those wherein they agree.”
In this way more and more comprehensive terms are introduced, right down the
tree of Porphyry to “Being, Thing, and such universal terms, which stand for any of
our Ideas whatsoever.” All this talk of leaving out and retaining, Walmsley argues,
makes it quite plain that Locke is postulating indeterminate images, since ideas are
images for Locke—a point on which Walmsley rightly takes it that we are agreed.
Walmsley does not, however, explain what Locke thought it would be like to have
an image that is barely of a being.
Several things need saying here. First, given Locke’s very natural (if unsatisfac-
tory) guiding model for the relation between more general and less general ideas–
that is, the simple-complex model—it simply follows that if more general ideas are
in some sense formed from less general ideas, and ultimately from ideas of partic-
ulars, they will be formed by, in some sense or other, “leaving out” elements of the
less general ideas, and “retaining” others. That is so whether ideas actually before
the mind (the ideas between which we “perceive” relations) are taken to comprise
the “immediate” objects of sense and imagination only, or whether all universal
ideas are supposed to be the products and objects of a quite different and superior
faculty, intellect. This point can be underlined by considering the close analogy
between what Locke has to say about abstraction and the account of abstraction in
the Port Royal Logic, a work with which Locke was palpably familiar, and of which
he owned both the French and Latin versions, acquired a few years after the writing
of Drafts A and B in 1671.13 The Logic tells us that we achieve understanding by
means of abstraction when a thing has various attributes, but we consider just one of
them, setting aside the others (in the Latin version, cognoscimus per Abstractionem,
quando res varia attributa habet, nos tamen illorum unum, reliquis praetermissis,
consideramus). The examples are interesting. I have the idea of myself thinking,
but I can consider within this idea the idea of a thing thinking, an idea that can
represent, not just me, but all thinking things. More relevantly to Locke’s argument,
it is said that if I consider an equilateral triangle as it is drawn on paper before me,

13The copies listed in Locke’s library catalogue are both editions of 1674, when he may have read
Latin more fluently than French. Locke recorded that the French version was acquired in that year.
4 Locke’s Account of Abstract Ideas—Again 65

it appears with other determining circumstances, and my idea will represent for me
just this triangle. But if I pay attention to certain of its properties, withdrawing my
mind from the consideration of others, it can represent all equilateral triangles, or
all triangles, or all rectilinear figures—“and so, by degrees, I can ascend to naked
extension” (sicque possum ad nudam extensionem gradatim ascendere).14
Arnauld, as a good Cartesian, was one of those who saw such properly directed
ascent Platonically, as analytic progress from sense experience to the simplest prin-
ciples of all rational thought and understanding of the world. For Locke the end-
products of analytic abstraction are typically just the simple constituents of ex-
perience. The ideas of being, unity, substance, power, cause and the like, on the
other hand, the constituents of the most general “eternal truths” or “maxims,” he
usually represents as constructions that are not so much “in” the ideas acquired in
experience and considered in thought as in one way or another suggested by them.15
But the two philosophers assign a closely similar role to abstraction, understood
as the consideration of parts of complexes without considering the other parts. The
considered parts may not be capable of existing on their own—or, as the Logic has
it, there may only be a distinction of reason between what is considered and what is
not considered.
Nevertheless, the question remains, if ideas are for Locke essentially sensory
(that is, broadly, are sensations or images), how can he adopt such a conception of
abstraction without abstract ideas ending up as abstract, partial images? On the other
hand, how could he have been consciously adopting the “separation” model ascribed
to him by Walmsley, where “separation” is not focused consideration of one part of
a complex separately from the other part, but “a Consideration of both, as existing
separately.” Was he really saying that, in order to reason about triangles in general,
we need to have before the mind a representation of the triangularity of some triangle
as existing separately—as literally cut off from any more determinate attributes,
such as being obtuse or scalenon, that the perceived triangle may possess? It is
understandable that some commentators have here reached, if not for a clearly un-
Lockean, quasi-Platonic or rationalist notion of intellect and its purely intellectual
ideas, then at least for the view that it is a mistake to read Locke simply as an

14 Logica, sive ars cogitandi, I. v. (London, 1724). Chapter vi states that some ideas can be used
either to represent one particular thing or many—in the French of the edition I have to hand (see
note 12), “comme lors que quelqu’un conçoit un triangle sans y considerer autre chose sinon que
c’est une figure à trois lignes et trois angles, l’idee qu’il en a formée luy peut servir à concevoir
tous les autres triangles” (49–50). This is in effect the view I am attributing to Locke. Note that the
general idea is here not only identified with the idea that can equally serve as the idea of a particular
triangle (but with just certain features or elements considered), but is also treated as a distinct idea
“formed” by abstraction. Both ways of thinking of abstract ideas are present in Locke’s Essay.
Elsewhere, in his debate with Malebranche on the nature of ideas, Arnauld makes his view clear
that a diagram serves to prompt the formation of a purely intellectual concept “even though it is
accompanied by an image in the brain” (Des vrayes et des fausses idées, Cologne 1683).
15 Cf., e.g., Essay II.vii.7–10.
66 Michael Ayers

imagist (or “sensationist”), and that his “abstract ideas” should be interpreted as
abstract concepts rather than as sensory images.16
According to Richard Aaron, for example, Locke progressed in the Drafts and the
Essay through three types of theory, the first two of which, although replaced, left
significant traces in the final account. A “first crude thought” was that a universal is a
particular idea or image that represents many other particulars; secondly, feeling the
need for an explanation of which particulars the chosen particular idea represents,
Aaron’s Locke came to interpret the latter as “something abstracted from that partic-
ular image”—something not a particular image, but still of the nature of an image;
thirdly, he arrived at a conception of a general idea as the precisely understood,
fixed meaning or essence in the mind, marked by a general term—no mere image
but “what we decide [the general term] to mean, using experience as a guide.”17
John Mackie, with acknowledgement to Aaron, develops a related line of interpre-
tation. He understands abstraction in terms of selective attention, but explains the
possession of abstract ideas that is the consequence of selective attention in terms
of capacities for recognition.
Aaron’s account of three distinct theoretical “strands” all present in the Essay
strikes me as fantasy. The allegedly disparate strands are aspects of the same model.
Nevertheless, I believe that both he and, rather more clearly, Mackie were onto
something. To set out what I think that is, I must reformulate an argument advanced
in Locke that Walmsley found to be probably confused and at best opaque, a judge-
ment that I am now inclined to accept. I will now try to express my interpretation
more clearly.
Walmsley and I are agreed, I think, not only that Locke was an imagist, but that
when he talks, for example, of all the ideas the understanding has, or of people
having or lacking this idea or that, he freely operates with a dispositional notion of
an idea, and of having an idea. Locke is explicit that the only way to have a truth in
the mind that is not consciously before the mind is to have it stored in the memory:
that is, it must once have been consciously before the mind, and perceived (Essay
I.ii.5). The same goes for ideas, “the parts, out of which . . . Propositions are made”
(Essay I.iv.1 and 20). Now abstract ideas, apparently as part of the process Locke
calls “abstraction,” are “laid up” by the understanding “with names commonly an-
nexed to them.” I take it that this means that a general name is associated with the
memory of a particular feature of some experienced object or resembling objects,
a feature that the mind had considered apart from all other features of the object
or objects as well as from the circumstances in which the feature was perceived.
The name is thenceforth applied to that feature (or to whatever has that feature)
“wheresoever to be imagin’d or met with.” Whatever is “laid up” with the name
“triangle” annexed to it therefore has to be an idea of what it is to be a triangle,
and of nothing else. But for the idea of a triangle to be actually present for the

16Cf. Yasuhiko Tomida, “Separation” of ideas reconsidered: a response to Jonathan Walmsley,”


Locke Studies 5 (2005): 39–56.
17 John Locke, 197–207.
4 Locke’s Account of Abstract Ideas—Again 67

purpose of being committed to memory, I would suggest, nothing more is required


than that the subject (or “mind”) perceives or imagines a triangle of some deter-
minate form or other, and then “considers” it purely as a triangle, without regard
to its particular form or other properties—which does not mean that a pure, inde-
terminate triangle is considered “as existing separately” from that form or those
properties.
Whether the “naked” triangularity (or whiteness or whatever) that is “laid up” is
or is not an image is a question that simply does not arise, since it is not something
actually before the mind: it is the (dispositional) memory of a perceived or imagined
property. Here it is worth paying close attention to a well-known passage in the
chapter “On Retention,” as expanded in the second edition. After mentioning that
an idea of sensation or reflection may be kept “for some time actually in view,”
Locke continues:
The other way of Retention is the Power to revive again in our Minds those Ideas, which
after imprinting have disappeared . . . And thus we do, when we conceive of Heat or Light,
Yellow or Sweet, the Object being removed. This is Memory, which is as it were the Store-
house of our Ideas. . . .<But our Ideas being nothing, but actual Perceptions in the Mind,
which cease to be any thing, when there is no perception of them, this laying up of our Ideas
. . . signifies no more but this, that the Mind has a Power . . . to revive Perceptions, which it
has once had . . . And in this sense it is, that our Ideas are said to be in our Memories, when
indeed, they are actually no where, but only there is an ability in the Mind . . . to revive them
again . . .> And thus it is . . . that we are said to have all those Ideas in our Understandings,
which though we do not actually contemplate, yet we can bring in sight, and make appear
again, and be the Objects of our Thoughts, without the help of those sensible Qualities,
which first imprinted them there. (Essay II.x.2: sentences added to the second edition are
indicated.)

In the light of this passage, one could take a line rather like Aaron’s and say that
what is “laid up” is not a determinate image, but just enough remembered content
to determine the meaning of the general term in question. Or one could say, like
Mackie, that Locke is offering an account of the psychological process involved in
the acquisition of those recognitional capacities that permit the use of general terms.
Neither comment is inapposite, but neither commentator moves on to a satisfactory
explanation of the positive function of Locke’s account of abstraction within his
theory of knowledge. Both relate it, quite properly, to the issue between nominalism,
conceptualism and realism with respect to universals and universal properties. But
neither relates it at all clearly to the combination of intuitionism and empiricism
that is the driving force in Locke’s argument. If knowledge is, as Locke asserts,
the “perception” of a relation between ideas, just what are the ideas actually be-
fore the mind in universal reasoning and the actual perception of universal truth?
Aaron seems to think that, with the identification of the alleged “third strand” of
Locke’s thinking about general terms, there is no problem with the suggestion that,
for Locke, the entities between which we “perceive” relations are not objects of
sense or imagination, but abstract “meanings.” Mackie, with his emphasis on recog-
nitional capacities, says little or nothing about intuition and its objects. Walmsley,
if I understand him, ascribes to Locke the bizarre view that universal knowledge,
belief and reasoning requires the perception or presumption of relations between
68 Michael Ayers

indeterminate images. My own understanding of Locke’s account has been, and


remains, that what is before the mind in universal reasoning is for Locke simply
the same kind of thing as what was before the mind in the process of abstraction
involved in the acquisition of the general terms in question: that is to say, deter-
minate objects of sense or imagination, “partially considered” with respect to the
features marked by those terms. Actual or particular abstract ideas are the same sort
of thing both before their “laying up,” or commitment to memory, and after their
“revival” or recall (or, for that matter, their recognition in reality). They are “parts”
of determinate ideas—features or aspects of determinate objects of experience or
imagination. They are characteristically to be found “in” perceived things: “what is
known of such general Ideas will be true of every particular thing in whom . . . that
abstract Idea is to be found” (Essay IV.iii.31).
To repeat a point that I made in Locke, this reading is strongly supported by a
number of passages in the Essay that assume that the objects of general reasoning
can be, and often usefully are, objects of current sense-perception. The Lockean
child can perceive a relation between ideas received in sensation even before speech,
knowing, for example, “that Sweet is not Bitter.” And the child comes to know the
truth that three and four make seven “upon the same Grounds, and by the same
means, that he knew before, That a Rod and Cherry are not the same thing.” The lat-
ter, at least, as it is surely safe to presume, is by perceiving a relation between ideas
of sensation—that is, between objects of sense experience.18 But the most telling
examples concern geometrical reasoning. It is true, Locke tells us, that “[Mathe-
maticians’] Demonstrations, which depend on their Ideas, are the same, whether
there be any Square or Circle existing in the World, or no,” since they “concern
not the Existence of any of those Figures” and so “depend not upon sense” (Essay
IV.iv.8). That is to say, we can reason as well about possible, imagined (and per-
fect) circles and squares as about actual, perceived (and probably imperfect)19 ones.
Nevertheless Locke more than once suggests that there are advantages in adverting
to reality in mathematical reasoning. One reason is that people may be confused
by different names for the same figure, “but as soon as the figure is drawn, the
Consequences and Demonstration are plain and clear” (Essay IV.iv.9). Another is
that the employment of sensible figures in demonstration supplies greater clarity
and stability than imagined figures:
Diagrams drawn on Paper are Copies of Ideas in the Mind, and not liable to the Uncertainty
that Words carry in their Signification. An Angle, or Circle or Square drawn in Lines, lies
open to the view and cannot be mistaken: It remains unchangeable, and may at leisure be

18 Locke’s explanation of arithmetic in Essay II.xvi postulates a basic understanding of addition


drawn from experience (most simply, the apprehension of what it is to add one more thing to a
set of things), together with the ability to count employing numerals, when the complexity of the
case calls for calculation. In the quoted remark he is probably thinking that the child can directly
perceive the evident difference made by adding three things to four, but he may be alluding to the
basic capacity to perceive the difference involved in adding one more, which, together with the
memory of the series of “names or signs,” makes counting possible.
19 Cf. Essay IV.iv.6.
4 Locke’s Account of Abstract Ideas—Again 69

considered, and examined, and the Demonstration be revised, and all the parts of it may
be gone over more than once, without any danger of the least change in the Ideas. (Essay
IV.iii.19)

Conversely, Locke argues that the employment of diagrams in demonstrations of


certain truths lends a sort of additional authority to sensitive knowledge:
And though mathematical demonstrations depend not upon sense, yet the examining them
by Diagrams, gives great credit to the Evidence of our Sight, and seems to give it a Certainty
approaching to that of the Demonstration it self. For it would be very strange, that a Man
should allow it for an undeniable Truth, that two Angles of a Figure, which he measures by
Lines and Angles of a Diagram, should be bigger one than the other; and yet doubt of the
Existence of those Lines and Angles, which by looking on, he makes use of to measure that
by. (Essay IV.xi.6)

All this seems to make it pretty clear that Locke sees the potential objects of ge-
ometrical reasoning as comprising ideas of sense as well as of imagination—that
is, figures not only as constructed by the imagination, but also as perceived by the
senses.20 Sensible particulars can be made use of in determining universal relations.
The same goes for a priori reasoning generally (Locke seems to assume) and it is just
unfortunate that we can’t draw diagrams in ethics “because of the many decompo-
sitions that go to the making up the complex Ideas of these [moral] modes” (Essay
IV.iv.6–9). (He might have added, of course, that they involve ideas of reflection,
indeed not easily presented in physical form.) What makes the reasoning universal
is that the perceived objects are abstractly considered in some respect, and employed
as representatives of a corresponding class.21

20 Walmsley comments at one point (“Locke on Abstraction,” 128): “Locke does not say that we
use different ideas of particular things at different times, as Ayers asserts. If Locke had a theory of
abstraction where different ideas of particular things can be general at different times, it seems
plausible that he would have said so. It also seems plausible that he would not have insisted
that these abstractions are ‘single numerical things’.” Well, diagrams, and perceivers’ ideas of
them, are single numerical things, and geometers do not all and always use the same diagram
of a triangle—any diagram can serve to demonstrate a general truth. If Locke had believed that
geometrical thought could not have diagrams as its direct objects, it seems plausible that he would
have said so.
21 An extreme version of this kind of view of the role of perceived diagrams as objects of in-
tuition finds expression early in Draft A, before Locke had moved entirely from his previously
comprehensive knowledge-empiricism to an improved explanation of knowledge of necessities as
capable of being acquired through the consideration of imagined as well as perceived cases: “the
foundation [of geometry] being all laid in sense viz. sight, the certainty thereof however looked
on as the greatest we can or expect to have can be noe greater than that of discerning by our eyes,
which the very name Demonstration how highly soever magnified for its certainty doth signifye”
(sect.11, Drafts p.22). Later (sect.27, Drafts p.51), it is said that “certain knowledge or demonstra-
tion makes itself clearly appeare and be perceived by the things them selves put togeather before
our senses or their clear distinct Ideas put togeather and as it were lyeing before us in view in our
understandings.” Draft A casts a good deal of light on the origins and nature of Locke’s empiricist
intuitionism. For some discussion, see M.R. Ayers, “The Foundations of Knowledge and the Logic
of Substance: the Structure of Locke’s General Philosophy,” in Vere Chappell (ed.), Locke: Oxford
Readings in Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1998), 29–34.
70 Michael Ayers

I suggested in my book that Locke was saying just this in several passages in
which he insisted that general ideas are in themselves particular. For example, he
attacked the view that all reasoning must involve at least one general proposition:
As if we could not reason, and have Knowledge about Particulars. Whereas, in truth, the
Matter rightly considered, the immediate Object of all our Reasoning and Knowledge, is
nothing but Particulars. Every Man’s Reasoning and Knowledge is only about the Ideas
existing in his own Mind, which are truly, every one of them, particular Existences . . . So
that the Perception of the Agreement, or Disagreement of our particular Ideas, is the whole
and utmost of all our Knowledge. Universality is but accidental to it, and consists only in
this, That the particular Ideas, about which it is, are such, as more than one particular Thing
can correspond with, and be represented by. (Essay IV.xvii.8)

Locke’s argument here requires that abstract ideas are particular in just the same
sense as he is claiming the premise of a syllogism can be particular, and that claim
is not the truism that if one thinks the premise, the thought will be a particular
mental act. Nevertheless, Walmsley argues that this passage is compatible with the
view that the particular ideas before the mind are fully separated abstract images
(e.g., presumably, such things as an image of a shade of yellow that has no exten-
sion, or an image of indeterminate triangularity). That may just be so, assuming yet
more confusion on Locke’s part, but (apart from the intrinsic absurdity of the view
being attributed to Locke) put the passage together with Locke’s view of the role of
geometrical diagrams, and such an interpretation is implausible.
Another, more famous passage seems most reasonably interpreted as emphasiz-
ing the point that there is nothing intrinsic to ideas before the mind in virtue of
which they are used as general signs—universality is a purely relational property of
ideas, conferred by the use to which they are put.
General and Universal belong not to the real existence of Things; but are the Inventions
and Creatures of the Understanding, made by it for its own use, and concern only Signs,
whether Words or Ideas. Words are general, . . . when used, for Signs of general Ideas;
. . . And Ideas are general, when they are set up, as the Representatives of many particular
Things: but universality belongs not to things themselves, which are all of them particular in
their Existence, even those Words, and Ideas, which in their signification, are general. When
therefore we quit Particulars, the Generals that rest, are only Creatures of our own making,
their general Nature being nothing but the Capacity they are put into by the Understanding,
of signifying or representing many particulars. For the signification they have, is nothing
but a relation, that by the mind of Man is added to them. (Essay III.iii.11)

Walmsley’s interpretation is again, perhaps, just possible, but the “partial consider-
ation” interpretation fits what Locke says better than does any understanding of the
passage that takes abstract ideas to be intrinsically different from ideas of particu-
lars, as Walmsley’s seems to do.22

22 For another opinion that, despite what Locke says here and at IV.xvii.8, abstract ideas are inde-
terminate and “general in themselves and of their own nature,” see Vere Chappell, “Locke’s Theory
of Ideas,” in V. Chappell (ed.), The Cambridge Companion to Locke (Cambridge: Cambridge Uni-
versity Press 1994).
4 Locke’s Account of Abstract Ideas—Again 71

All this, of course, raises the general question of what are denoted by Locke’s
expression “particular ideas,” and of how the class of “particular ideas” is related to
that of “ideas of particulars.” Now in general, at least in the context of his discussion
of universal knowledge, it makes more sense to take Locke’s “ideas” to be ideas
taken “objectively.” They are things (qualities, etc) as they appear to the senses or
to reflection (“appearances” in that sense), or as they are imagined.23 To perceive a
relation between the idea of the angles of a triangle and the idea of the angle on a
straight line is to perceive a relation between two objects of thought, not two acts
of thought. On that understanding of what an idea is, a particular idea is a particular
object of thought. (Even a rampant Platonist would presumably regard the act of
cognizing a real universal as a particular act of thought.) So on that understanding,
a particular idea is the idea of a particular. On the other hand, a “particular idea” does
not have to be the idea of a particular existent thing, since it may be the idea of an
imagined thing. So it is the idea of a particular only in the sense in which a picture of
an imaginary horse is the picture of a particular horse, even if, as we might put it, it
is not the picture of any (actual or existent) horse in particular. The imaginary horse
is “particular” in that its picture includes particularities—for example it is grazing
or jumping, is piebald or dun, and so forth (although the question whether it has a
black patch on its other side, for example, may have no answer).24
Walmsley, however, brings to bear an interesting point drawn from Draft B. In
passages that are antecedents to those in the Essay that insist on the particularity of
all ideas, Locke expresses that point in ways that might seem simply to assume that
simple ideas or combinations of simple ideas are elements of thought that can stand
alone, as mental particulars, so to speak, even if the qualities they are ideas of could
not possibly exist alone. Walmsley discusses a passage from section 59:
There is one thing more to be remembered about these simple Ideas that though that Idea
v. g. of blew or bitter which exists in any ones understanding be but one single numericall
thing, yet as it agrees to & represents all the qualities of that kinde where soever existing it
may be considered as a Specific Idea & the word that stands for it a Specific word compre-
hending many particular things. Soe that the Idea of white in the minde which stands for all
the white that any where exists. & the word white stands for that Idea, though both these
in their existence be but particular things, yet as representatives or in their significance are
universalls.25

Walmsley, if I understand him, believes that this passage fits seamlessly in with the
later explanation of abstraction, which he takes to be an explanation of how it is
that representative simple ideas can stand absolutely alone in the mind. While I find

23 “Image,” as it should be recognized, also enjoys the ambiguity between act of thought and
intentional object or content.
24 Hobbes remarks in this connection, “philosophers err, who say the idea of anything is universal;
as if there could be in the mind an image of a man, which was not the image of some one man,
but a man simply, which is impossible; for every idea is one, and of one thing.” (De corpore I.v.8)
Locke differs from Hobbes in allowing a relational sense to “universal” as applied to ideas, and in
laying somewhat less stress on the role of names, which Hobbes regards as essential.
25 Drafts, p. 163.
72 Michael Ayers

that implausible, at least the passage shows that a conception of the particularity
of general ideas was a part of Locke’s thinking before he had associated generality
with “abstraction,” however understood. To judge the significance of that, however,
raises the whole question of the development of Locke’s account of abstraction, and
I will end by sketching, very briefly, an alternative to the latter part of Walmsley’s
story.
I take it that the crucially relevant questions are those of why Locke felt the need
to set out an account of abstraction by the time of Draft C (in which Draft he also
repeated, with some emphasis, the earlier Journal note’s identification of abstraction
with “partial consideration”), and of why he then changed the “partial considera-
tion” passage before the first edition of the Essay, removing the term abstraction.
Walmsley’s view, as I understand it, is that Locke saw the need for an account
of abstraction, that explained how there could be single simple, or less than fully
determinate, ideas serving as representatives of many particular ideas and as the
objects of universal reasoning. Having arrived at the notion that abstraction involves
the formation of bare images of the properties in question, indeterminate in all other
and irrelevant respects, he came to realize, as he had not in writing Draft C, that he
could no longer identify abstraction with partial consideration, since his notion of
abstraction was better understood precisely in terms of the “separation” that he had
contrasted with, and opposed to, partial consideration: that is, consideration of the
separated properties “as existing separately.”
Here is another possibility, one that, although to an extent speculative, seems to
me very much more likely than Walmsley’s speculation. Locke realized, some time
after 1671, that there remained unanswered questions about general ideas, not so
much with respect to their role as standards and representatives, already set out in
Draft B, but with respect to what they are. He was not, of course, disposed to give
up his empiricist thesis that all the objects of thought, including universal thought
and knowledge, can be explained in terms of ideas of sense and reflection, together
with memory and operations on those ideas. He could therefore have no recourse to
a separate faculty of intellect and purely intellectual notions. But the naı̈ve assump-
tion (or what reads as a naı̈ve assumption) in the early Drafts that all ideas, both
simple ideas and ideas possessing various degrees of complexity, can stand alone
in the mind as the objects of essentially sensory intuition understandably appeared
unsatisfactory to him. It is likely that both the need for an explanation and the form
of an explanation were suggested by his reading of other philosophers, above all by
his reading, in 1674 or soon after, of the Port Royal Logic, of the influence of which
there are many other signs in the Essay, not least in the late-coming Book III. Early
consequences of this turn of thought were the references to “abstraction” inserted
in Draft A, no doubt some years after 1671, and the reference in the 1676 Journal
note. These were further developed in (or before) Draft C, both with the account of
abstraction that was the antecedent of Essay II.xi.9, and with a revised version of the
Journal’s argument for distinguishing space from body. With respect to the latter,
however, Locke came to feel that, since his official account of abstraction, as he
wished to use the term, included both commitment to memory and the employment
of abstract (i.e. abstractly considered) ideas as representatives in universal thought,
4 Locke’s Account of Abstract Ideas—Again 73

it would be inappropriate to employ the term for the kind of partial consideration
of an indivisible whole that was involved in the measurement of space. Such partial
consideration was indeed involved in the process he now described as abstraction,
but there was more to the process than that. So he removed the reference to abstrac-
tion from the equivalent passage in the Essay, II.xiii.13. At the same time, however,
he retained in that passage an example of partial consideration in Draft C that more
clearly than any other example in the whole passage linked it to the kind of separate
consideration of a part of a complex idea involved in what he now officially called
“abstraction”: namely, the consideration of “the mobility of body without its exten-
sion, without thinking of their separation”—without thinking of them, as he goes
on to say, “as existing separately.” 26 This last gloss distinguishes the conception of
mental “separation” he was opposing to partial consideration from the conception
employed just before, in section 11. For there, having remarked that “solidity cannot
exist without extension,” he had said that they are nevertheless “wholly separable in
the Mind one from another.” What Locke said about abstraction makes coherent
sense if, and only if, what he had in mind as “separating” was simply this latter
notion of considering distinct ideas separately, without thinking of their objects “as
existing separately.”

26 Walmsley offers no comment on this example, beyond the rather hopeful suggestion that no
conclusions can be drawn from it. But if Locke really did intend a sharp contrast between “abstrac-
tion” and “partial consideration,” the example (not in the 1676 journal note, but included in Draft
C, presumably consciously) evidently calls for explanation.
Chapter 5
Descartes and Locke on the Nature
of Matter: a Note

Shigeyuki Aoki

G.A.J. Rogers has written extensively on Locke’s thought in natural philosophy. It is


this aspect of Locke’s philosophy that he first worked on, and further explored in a
series of seminal papers.1 A frequently occurring theme in Rogers’s work is Locke’s
substantial contribution in defence of the experimental philosophy in England, as
opposed to the a priori, “armchair” natural philosophy of Descartes:

the Essay was taken to supply the philosophical bedrock of Newtonian science. . . . New-
ton’s work had to be defended against the charge that, unlike its continental rival, the
Cartesian system, it was insecurely based in metaphysics. The Essay was seen as fulfill-
ing for Newton’s physics the role of the Discourse on Method played for the science of
Descartes.2

This project of establishing “the system of Locke and Newton” looks of great sig-
nificance to me. Yet I find one piece of the jigsaw missing in Rogers’ argument–
Locke’s rejection of the Cartesian conception of matter, i.e. the Cartesian identifi-
cation of extension with the essence of matter.3 As I shall show in the course of
this essay, the nature of matter and the consequent question over the existence of a
vacuum were a subject of hot debate before and during Locke’s time, and thus we

1 The following are particularly relevant: “Boyle, Locke and Reason,” Journal of the History of
Ideas 27 (1966): 205–216; “Descartes and the Method of English Science,” Annals of Science 29
(1972): 237–255 ; “Locke’s Essay and Newton’s Principia,” Journal of the History of Ideas, 39
(1978): 217–232; “The Empiricism of Locke and Newton,” reprinted in Locke’s Enlightenment
(Hildesheim: Geolg Olms, 1998): 93–111; “The System of Locke and Newton” in Contemporary
Newtonian Research, ed. Z. Bechler (Boston: Reidel, 1982), 215–238.
2 Rogers, “The System of Locke and Newton,” 222.
3 Rogers surely recognizes the importance of this topic, though apparently he has not provided
detailed analyses on this. See Rogers “Boyle, Locke and Reason,” 209–210; “The System of Locke
and Newton,” 229–230; “Descartes and the Mind of Locke. The Cartesian Impact of Locke’s Philo-
sophical Development” in Locke’s Enlightenment, 29–30. Perhaps the most elaborate analysis is
given in “Descartes and the Method of English Science,” 250–255. Here, he discusses Boyle’s
rejection of a priori methodology at length, but the discussion leaves the problem of the Cartesian
extension unmentioned.

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 75


and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 75–88.
76 Shigeyuki Aoki

find diversity, not to say confusion, among English corpuscularian philosophers.4


Locke developed a series of radically critical arguments against Cartesian extension
and this aspect of Locke’s philosophy is what I wish to explore and analyse in this
essay.
It will take the following course. First, I will introduce the textual information
with regard to Locke’s reading of Descartes. Next, I will lay out Descartes’ epis-
temological and metaphysical arguments for equating extension with matter in his
Principles of Philosophy. Thirdly, I will briefly outline the theory of matter in Eng-
land before Locke. Lastly, I will show how Locke criticised Cartesian extension and
offered his own alternative.

Locke’s Reading of Descartes

Locke is known to have read Descartes seriously around 1660. A famous phrase,
which has often been quoted in this connection, is from Lady Masham, who wrote
that it was Descartes who first gave him “a relish of philosophical studies,” espe-
cially with regard to intelligible philosophy.5 For too long the detail of that reading
has been unexamined, but thanks to recent studies on Locke’s early manuscripts,
we are now in a better position to grasp the nature of Locke’s reading of Descartes.
According to Rogers, who consulted the manuscript sources,
what is most interesting in it is that the notes that Locke took are mostly, though not ex-
clusively, from the Principia Philosophiae and not either the Discours or the Meditationes.
Furthermore the entries are almost all of a purely factual kind, recording Descartes’s words
on some part of his physical theory, not his epistemology or metaphysics.6

A similar observation was made by J.R. Milton, who gives us more detailed infor-
mation on Locke’s reading of Descartes.7

4 As is well-known, the debate over the existence of a vacuum has a long history going back to the
tradition of ancient atomism. Locke’s position, in line with that of Boyle and Newton, is clearly
atomism in that he accepted the existence of a vacuum. For the most comprehensive account of
the history of vacuum from the ancient to the modern period, see Andrew Pyle, Atomism and its
Critics (Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 1995), esp. 437-440, 459-464 for the roles played by Descartes
and Locke in the history.
5 Maurice Cranston, John Locke: a Biography (London: Longman, 1957), 100. The whole passage
is published by R.S. Woolhouse, “Lady Masham’s Account of Locke,” Locke Studies 3 (2003):
167–193.
6 Rogers, Locke’s Enlightenment, 4.
7 J.R. Milton, “Locke, Medicine, and the Mechanical Philosophy,” British Journal for the History
of Philosophy 9 (2001): 226.
5 Descartes and Locke on the Nature of Matter: a Note 77

The influence of the Principles is also obvious in Locke’s posthumously pub-


lished Elements of Natural Philosophy.8 There is a striking similarity in the order
of exposition, although there are also considerable differences: Locke carefully es-
chewed commitment to Descartes’ a priori metaphysics of nature. For one thing,
Locke never subscribed to the idea that the laws of nature can be established a
priori, without referring to the empirical findings. We find him rather emphasising
the essential role of experience. For example, Locke introduced Newtonian universal
gravitation as follows:
It appears, as far as human observation reaches, to be a settled law of nature, that all
bodies have a tendency, or gravitation towards one another. . . . Two bodies at a distance
will put one another into motion by the force of attraction; which is inexplicable by us,
though made evident to us by experience, and so to be taken as a principle in natural
philosophy.9

Thus, according to Locke empirical support was necessary to establish the law of
nature. Although the exposition looks quite similar to Descartes’ Principles, the
Elements in fact contain several anti-Cartesian remarks in favor of the experimental
philosophy.10

Descartes’ a Priori Inquiry into the Nature of Matter—Extension as


the Essence of Matter

As is well-known, through methodical doubt Descartes discards what he has be-


lieved about the senses since infancy and establishes the certainty of the Cog-
ito. Descartes calls the thinking subject within himself a mind, or thinking sub-
stance,11 which is distinguished from a body, or corporeal substance. These two
are really distinct since we can clearly and distinctly conceive one without the
other.12

8 The work is now included in the third volume of in The Works of John Locke, reprint of 1823
edition (Aalen, Germany: Scientia Verlag, 1963).
9 Works, 3: 304–5, My italics.
10 Similar remarks emphasizing on the importance of experience are found elsewhere in the El-
ements. cf. The Works, 3: 306, 313, 318. In addition, we notice that several important Cartesian
themes have no places in the Elements. Such themes include: Descartes’ equation of extension
with body, its consequential theses—plenism or no voids in nature, and the vortex theory.
11 Principles, I.48 (CSM, 1: 208; AT, 8.1: 22–23.) Quotations from Descartes are from John Cot-
tingham, Robert Stoohoff, Dugland Murdoch (ed.), The Philosophical Writings of Descartes, 3
vols. (Cambridge: CUP, 1985–1991) with the standard Cottingham, et.al pagination (CSM), fol-
lowed by Adam and Tannery pagination (AT).
12 For Descartes’ view on a real distinction, see Principles, I.60 (CSM, 1: 213–214; AT, 8.1:
28–29.)
78 Shigeyuki Aoki

Up to this point Descartes clearly makes use of a priori argumention.13 In fact,


according to him, our sense experience does not tell us the real nature of material
things; it just tells us what is beneficial or harmful to our existence.14 But how
can we acquire knowledge without sense experience? Descartes answers that the
true source of knowledge are “common notions or axioms”, which God implanted
in human beings from the time of birth (examples being “It is impossible for the
same thing to be and not to be at the same time”, “He who thinks cannot but ex-
ist while he thinks,” and many others.) These are listed as eternal truths, which
Descartes thinks we cannot fail to know once the occasion for thinking about them
arises.15
Thus, in Descartes’ philosophical system pure intellect plays a vital role in arriv-
ing at various truths. All we have to do, is to look inside our mind to find the seeds
of several truths and derive propositions in accordance with the criterion of clear
and distinct perception (God guarantees that we do not err as long as we perceive
clearly and distinctly16 ). With these Cartesian conditions for truths in mind, let us
take a closer look at his arguments relating to the nature of matter.

13 There is a wide range of the literature on a priori and a posteriori characters in Descartes’
philosophy of science. Desmond M. Clarke gives a nice survey of four possible interpretations
on Descartes’ actual method and his alleged methodology in Descartes’ Philosophy of Science
(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1982), 9–14. Clarke, through the examination of
Descartes’ scientific works and correspondence, even goes so far to claim that Descartes was
“consistently empiricist.” However, the question still remains as to how far Descartes was em-
piricist; in fact, Clarke himself concedes that “[Descartes] certainly does construct more or less a
priori arguments—that matter is extended, and divisible, and that empty space is impossible, is an
obvious example of such a priori reasoning (ibid, 62).” My answer to the question is that Descartes
employed an a priori method in obtaining or deriving fundamental concepts and laws of nature,
and allowed the use of experiments to narrow down possible explanations. Descartes famously
uses a metaphor of a clock to illustrate that the outward phenomenon can be explained by way of
different causes, while the general ways of the operation are limited within the laws of mechanics
known a priori. See Principles, IV.203–204 (CSM, 1: 288–289; AT, 8.1: 325–327.) This line of
interpretation is in line with more recent literature: Margaret J. Osler, “Eternal Truths and the Laws
of Nature: the Theological Foundation of Descartes’ Philosophy of Nature,” Journal of the History
of Ideas 46 (1985), 352–359; Daniel Garber, “Descartes and Experiment in the Discourse and
Essays,” in Essays on the Philosophy and Science of Rene Descartes, ed. Stephen Voss (New York:
OUP, 1993), 293–4; Stephen Gaukroger, Descartes’ System of Natural Philosophy (Cambridge:
CUP, 2002), 68–71. For a criticism of such “weakened version of the traditional view” see J.L.
Bermudez “Scepticism and Science in Descartes”, Philosophy and Phenomenological Research
57 (1997): 751–2. However, his discussion of fundamental principles of physics is limited to Med-
itations and fails to examine Principles.
14 Principles, II.3 (CSM, 1: 224; AT, 8.1: 41–42).
15Principles, I.49 (CSM, 1: 209; AT 8.1: 23–24.) For a discussion of the role of eternal truths in
Descartes’ laws of nature, see Osler, “Eternal Truths and the Laws of Nature,” 352–354. For what
Descartes means by “innate,” see Clarke, Descartes’ Philosophy of Science, 52–3.
16 Principles, I.30, 33, 43, 44 (CSM, 1:203–204, 207; AT, 8.1: 16–18, 21).
5 Descartes and Locke on the Nature of Matter: a Note 79

First Argument

Modal Distinction between Shape, Motion, etc. and Extension

Descartes offers at least two different a priori arguments to identify the nature of
matter. The first argument focuses on the nature of modal distinction between shape,
motion, etc. and extension. According to this argument, there are particular modal
relations between qualities of a corporeal substance, and in the end all the other
qualities are reduced to extension. Descartes lists a number of qualities of corporeal
substance, or matter, such as extension, size, shape, motion, position and divisibility
of its component parts,17 but he argues that matter has only one principal quality:
each substance has one principal property which constitutes its nature and essence, and
to which all its other properties are referred. Thus extension in length, breadth and depth
constitutes the nature of corporeal substance, and thought constitutes the nature of thinking
substance. Everything else which can be attributed to body presupposes extension, and is
merely a mode of an extended thing; and similarly, whatever we find in the mind is simply
one of the various modes of thinking. For example, shape is unintelligible except in an
extended thing; and motion is unintelligible except as motion in an extended space; while
imagination, sensation and will are intelligible only in a thinking thing. By contrast, it is
possible to understand extension without shape or movement, and thought without imagi-
nation or sensation, and so on; and this is quite clear to anyone who gives the matter his
attention.18
In this argument, extension is considered as the essence of matter, since all other
qualities of matter are referred to extension, i.e. they all presuppose extension. As a
proof of this, Descartes argues that the other qualities would be made unintelligible
without extension. For example, shape is a property of something extended and
therefore presupposes extension, but without being extended something could not
have a shape. In the same manner, size and divisibility are qualities of an extended
thing, and without extension they would be made unintelligible. As for motion
and position, they both presuppose an extended space; being in motion and in a
particular position only makes sense in an extended space. Hence, the argument
says that for size, shape, motion, position and divisibility, each of them may be
merely regarded as “a mode” of an extended thing. They are all modally reduced to
extension.19
Thus, Descartes thought that the nature of matter could be identified a priori by
examining our intellectual ability to grasp qualities of matter. Clear (and distinct)
perception plays an important role in this modal distinction, as Descartes says,

17 Principles, I.48 (CSM, 1: 208; AT, 8.1: 22–23).


18 Principles, I.53 (CSM, 1: 210–211; AT, 8.1: 25). My italics.
19Descartes introduces a modal distinction at Principles, I.61 (CSM, 1:213–214; AT, 8.1: 29–30).
What the distinction says is that we can clearly perceive a substance (e.g. corporeal substance as
something extended) without its modes, but not vice versa.
80 Shigeyuki Aoki

“This is quite clear to anyone who gives the matter his attention.”20 In Descartes’
metaphysical system, not only the two classes of substances but also their respective
natures are identified by way of clear and distinct perception of the pure intellect.

Second Argument

Thought Experiment to Strip Matter of its Non-essential Qualities

The second argument that we are going to examine is closely linked to the first,
but, not identical.21 According to the second argument, other qualities of matter
than extension could be eliminated to be non-essential to matter through thought
experiment and thus they could be proven irrelevant to the nature of matter:
we shall perceive that the nature of matter, or body considered in general, consists not in its
being something which is hard or heavy or colored, or which affects the senses in this way,
but simply in its being something which is extended in length, breadth and depth. For as
regards hardness, our sensations tell us no more than that the parts of a hard body resist the
motion of our hands when they come into contact with them. If, whenever our hands moved
in a given direction, all the bodies in that area were to move away at the same speed as that of
our approaching hands, we should never have any sensation of hardness. And since it is quite
unintelligible to suppose that, if bodies did move away in this fashion, they would thereby
lose their bodily nature, it follows that this nature cannot consist in hardness. By the same
reasoning it can be shown that weight, colour, and all other such qualities that are perceived
by the senses as being in corporeal matter, can be removed from it, while the matter itself
remains intact; it thus follows that its nature does not depend on any of these qualities.22

One might wonder whether what Descartes has shown here with regard to hardness
is a result of an actual experiment or a thought experiment. I am inclined to the latter
view, for it is hardly likely that Descartes actually performed such an experiment.
Instead, here we find Descartes appealing again to our intellectual grasp of the con-
cept of matter (he says it is quite unintelligible to suppose that matter would lose its
nature if it lost hardness). In parallel with this, we find a striking contrast between
the intellect and the senses. In fact, the passage as a whole tries to persuade us
that bodily qualities perceived through senses—hardness, weight, color, etc—could
be removed by various thought experiments.23 Thought experiments are employed

20That we have a clear and distinct understanding of matter as being extended is expressed more
explicitly at Principles, I.63 (CSM, 1: 215; AT, 8.1: 30–31).
21 Both arguments stand on the idea that our intellectual or intuitive grasp of matter reveals that the
notion of corporeal substance as something extended is the most basic and irreducible. However, I
think they are not identical in that the former explicitly resorts to our intellectual grasp while the
latter implicitly does it through the illustration of the thought experiment.
22 Principles, II.4 (CSM, 1: 224–225; AT, 8.1: 42). My italics.
23 One could naturally doubt if Descartes is really able to remove weight, coluor and all other such
qualities “by the same reasoning.” Principles II.11 (CSM, 1: 227; AT, 8.1: 46). could be read to
supply such details. There Descartes argues that we sometimes see stones that are so transparent
as to lack color and fire so light as to lack weight; but each of them is still a body and so color
and weight cannot constitute the essence of matter. I guess we can turn these empirical claims into
5 Descartes and Locke on the Nature of Matter: a Note 81

to clear our prejudiced sense judgments and grasp the essence of matter by the
pure intellect.
Descartes equates corporeal substance with extension. Once we accept that cor-
poreal substance is something extended, we are compelled to deny the possibility of
a vacuum since there is no real distinction between the extension of a space and the
extension of a body.24 The consequence of this is his famous plenism (the impos-
sibility of a vacuum). In the next section, I will briefly discuss two natural philoso-
phers, Henry Power and Robert Boyle, who worked in support of the experimental
philosophy of the early Royal Society. Their reactions to Cartesian extension and
plenism merit our attention since they typically show ambivalent attitudes toward
Descartes among English natural philosophers before Locke.25

Reactions to Cartesian Extension: Power and Boyle

It is widely known that natural science or “natural philosophy” in England began


to flourish with the formation of the Royal Society. However, in spite of its uni-
fying motto “nullius in verba,”26 the fellows of the early Royal Society did not
subscribe to a homogeneous Baconian idea of experiment. There was not only a
rich diversity among the fellows but also a lack of a firm philosophical bedrock on
which to found their empirical findings. The nature of matter in Power and Boyle
exemplifies this.
Henry Power’s Experimental Philosophy (1664), as the title itself indicates, was
one of the principal works of natural history in defense of experimentalism. It aimed
to broaden the reader’s mind to the micro-world with many descriptions of minute
things—fleas, bees, flies, lice, mites, etc—through the microscope. Although assum-
ing a strong experimental character, it nevertheless shows an ambivalent attitude to-
wards experiment. In the preface of the work, Power specifically mentions Descartes as
well as Boyle for supposing the nature of fluidity to consist in the motion of the parts.27

thought experiments by gradually shifting to extreme cases (until there are absolutely “no colour”
and “no weight”).
24 Principles, II.16 (CSM, 1: 224–225; AT, 8.1: p. 49).
25See Robert H. Kargon, Atomism in England from Hariot to Newton (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1966), 54-62, 69–92, for a discussion of Hobbes and other less-known figures such as Petty, Digby,
Cavendish and Charleton.
26R.S. Woolhouse, Locke (Sussex: Harvester Press, 1983), chapter 4 gives a nice survey of the
philosophers around the early Royal Society.
27 See Henry Power, Experimental Philosophy, in Three Books: Containing New Experiments
Microscopical, Mercurial, Magnetical. (reprinted with an introduction by Marie Boas Hall, New
York: Johnson, 1966), Preface, p. 11: “And indeed, if the very nature of fluidity consist in the
Intestine motion of the parts of that Body call’d fluid, as Des-Cartes happily supposed, and Mr.
Boyle has more happily demonstrated, Why may we not be bold both to think and say, that there is
no such thing in the World as an absolute quiescence?”
82 Shigeyuki Aoki

More importantly in our context, Power appeals elsewhere in the Preface to Carte-
sian extension:
Now as Matter may be great or little, yet never shrink by subdivision into nothing; so, is
it not probable, that Motion also may be indefinitely swift or slow, and yet never come to
a quiescency? and so consequently there can be no rest in Nature, more than a Vacuity in
Matter. The following Observations seem to make out, that the Minute particles of most
(if not all) Bodies are constantly in some kind of motion, and that motion may be both
invisibly and unintelligibly slow, as well as swift, and probably is as unseparable an attribute
to Bodies, as well as Extension is.28

Several Cartesian propositions are prominent in this passage: extension as the prin-
cipal attribute of matter, and consequently denial of a vacuum. Here, Power argues
that as long as matter retains some extension and is never annihilated even after
subdivisions, motion in the same way will never be entirely lost. Motion is as insep-
arable from matter as extension. Power’s appeal to the essentiality of extension to
prove his case concerning motion is clearly Cartesian.29
Thus, Power is susceptible to Cartesian a priori propositions in spite of his al-
leged experimentalism. To be fair to Power, it must be said that his Experimental
Philosophy is mainly concerned with factual investigations, rather than with theo-
retical ones. So it is unfair to accuse him of incomplete theorizing about the essence
of matter. And yet, Power’s discussion of the nature of matter deserves our attention,
since it shows us that the concept of matter was a controversial topic and was being
formulated then.
Next we will look at Robert Boyle, who was then the central figure of the ex-
perimental philosophy in England.30 The difference between Power and Boyle is
that unlike Power, who was an ardent admirer of Descartes, Boyle eschewed such
an explicit commitment to Cartesian metaphysics. Boyle always keeps a certain dis-
tance from Cartesianism and reserves a judgment on the Cartesian notion of matter.
Such a reserved attitude is already found in his writings around the 1660s,31 and he

28 Power, Experimental Philosophy, Preface, 10–11.


29 Moreover, Power draws on Descartes’ law of conservation of momentum to justify the claim that
motion is inseparable from body: “Hence wil unavoidable follow some other Principles of the ever-
to-be-admired Des-Cartes . . . As the parts of Matter can be transfer’d from one Body to another,
and as long as they remain united, would remain so for ever : so Motion may be translated from one
Body to another; but when it is not transfer’d, it would remain in that Body for ever.” Experimental
Philosophy, Preface, p. 14. The corresponding law is found at Principles, II.37 (CSM, 1: 240–241;
AT, 8.1: 62–63).
30 Since epistemological considerations are the main focus of this essay, such external or social
factors as studied by sociology of scientific knowledge (SSK) fall outside the scope of the present
discourse, though, of course, I do not mean to undervalue it. For an influential account of Boyle’s
three technologies or knowledge-producing tools (p. 25.), see Steven Shapin and Simon Schaffer,
Leviathan and the Air-Pump (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1985), 25, 30-35, 55-79.
31 For example, as Rogers has argued Boyle is “agnostic on this metaphysical question” of whether
or not a space is empty by accepting Descartes’ definition of matter. Boyle says such a ques-
tion is “rather a metaphysical, than a physiological, question” in his New Experiments Physical-
Mechanical, touching the Spring of the Air (1660). See Rogers, “Boyle, Locke, and Reason,” 209.
5 Descartes and Locke on the Nature of Matter: a Note 83

continued to espouse that agnostic stance until the 1680s. Here is a passage from his
Free Enquiry into the Vulgarly Received Notion of Nature (1686):
I have refus’d to declare myself, either Pro or Contra, in that Dispute. Since the decision of
the Question seems to depend upon the stating of the true Notion of a Body, whose Essence
the Cartesians affirm, and most other Philosophers deny, to consist only in Extension, ac-
cording to the three Dimensions, Length, Breadth, and Depth or Thickness: For, if Mr.
Des Cartes’s Notion be admitted, ’twill be irrational to admit a Vacuum, since any Space,
that is pretended to be empty, must be acknowledg’d to have the three Dimensions, and
consequently all that is necessary to Essentiate a Body. And all the Experiments, that can
be made with Quicksilver, or the Machina Boyliana (as they call it,) or other Instruments
contriv’d for the like Uses, will be eluded by the Cartesians, who will say, that the space
deserted by the Mercury, or the Air, is not empty, since it has Length, Breadth, and Depth,
but is fill’d by their Materia Subtilis, that is fine enough to get freely in and out of the Pores
of the Glasses, as the Effluvia of the Loadstone can do. But though, for these and other
Reasons, I still forbear (as I lately said I have formerly done,) to declare either way in the
Controversie about Vacuum . . .32

As Boyle was well aware, Descartes’ denial of a vacuum is tightly interwoven with
his metaphysics. Boyle preferably wanted to step away from this sort of metaphysi-
cal debate.33 However, as also noted by Boyle himself, there was some danger that
his experimental findings could be nullified by Cartesians’ elusive arguments that
the space left by the mercury is still full of matter, whose essence consists only in
extension. Thus, it looks as if Boyle definitely lacked a well-grounded alternative
conception of matter.34 This is the “blank” that, I believe, Locke was to fill in with
his epistemological and metaphysical arguments in his Essay concerning Human
Understanding.35

Later in his Origin of the Forms and Qualities (1666), Boyle echoes the same strand of state-
ment: “The most Ingenious Des Cartes has something concerning some Qualities; but though for
Reasons elsewhere express’d, I have purposely Forborn to peruse his System of Philosophy . . .
Besides, that his Explications, do many of them depend upon His peculiar Notions, (of a Materia
Subtilis, Gloubuli Secundi Elementi, and the like) and These, as it became so Great a Person, he
has so Interwoven with the rest of his Hypothesis, that They can seldome be made Use of, without
Adopting his whole Philosophy.” (The Works of Robert Boyle (London: Pickering & Chatto, 1999),
5: 299.)
32 The Works of Robert Boyle, 10: 534.
33 Boyle’s strategy was, in effect, to change the subject of the debate by giving a new meaning
to the term “vacuum”. See Shapin and Schaffer, Leviathan and the Air-Pump, p. 46. Hobbes’
objection to Boyle’s experimentalism and Boyle’s reaction is discussed in chapter 4 and 5, esp.
111-112, 173-74.
34 Boyle has just a few words on his concept of matter in his Origin of Forms and Qualities: “I
agree with the generality of Philosophers so far, as to allow, that there is one Catholic or Universal
Matter common to all Bodies, by which I mean a Substance extended, divisible and impenetrable.”
The Works of Robert Boyle, 5:305.
35 Locke’s famous “under-labourer” metaphor supports this reading of Essay. Nicholas Jolley gives
a similar interpretation in Locke: his Philosophical Thought (New York: OUP, 1999), 56–57.
84 Shigeyuki Aoki

Locke’s Empirical Inquiry into the Nature of Matter—Solidity


as “Most Intimately Connected” Quality of Matter

Unlike Power and Boyle, who either subscribed to Cartesian extension or refrained
from entering into a metaphysical debate, Locke undertook a full-scale criticism of
Cartesianism as well as offering a systematic alternative to Descartes’ philosophical
system. Reading the Essay, it seems obvious to me that Locke responded point-by-
point to matters raised in Descartes’ Principles.
Before examining Locke’s criticisms of Descartes, a preliminary comment on
the nature of Locke’s arguments might be useful. Just as Descartes’ empiricism is
sometimes emphasized in the literature, Locke’s a priori argument is often men-
tioned. For instance, Aaron commented that “His [Locke’s] examination of ideas is
a curious mixture of psychology and logic, together with the introduction of some
metaphysics.”36 I will argue that Locke employed a priori or conceptual arguments
to deny Descartes’ modal distinction, and that he employed a posteriori arguments
in place of Descartes’ thought experiments, to identify solidity, not extension, as the
key attribute of matter.
Locke starts his rejection of the first argument, the modal distinction, with the
following reference to Descartes:
There are some that would persuade us, that Body and Extension are the same thing . . .37

Locke enumerates several bodily properties in the ensuing passage: solidity, exten-
sion, divisibility (separability) and mobility of parts. However, just because solidity
presupposes extension, it does not follow that they are the same thing. So the Carte-
sian claim that body and extension are the same thing, cannot be right.
they confound very different Ideas one with another. For I appeal to every Man’s own
Thoughts, whether the Idea of Space be not as distinct from that of Solidity, as it is from
the Idea of Scarlet-Colour? ’Tis true, Solidity cannot exist without Extension, neither can
Scarlet-Colour exist without extension; but that hinders not, but that they are distinct Ideas.
Many Ideas require others as necessary to their Existence or Conception, which yet are very
distinct Ideas. Motion can neither be, nor be conceived without Space; and yet Motion is
not Space, nor Space Motion: Space can exist without it, and they are very distinct Ideas;
and so, I think, are those of Space and Solidity. Solidity is so inseparable an Idea from
Body, that upon that depends its filling of Space, its Contact, Impulse and Communication
of Motion upon Impulse. And if it be a Reason to prove, that Sprit is different from Body,
because Thinking includes not the Idea of Extension in it, the same Reason will be as valid,
I suppose, to prove, that Space is not Body, because it includes not the Idea of Solidity
in it . . .38

Locke’s distinction between body and mere extension is based on the observation
that solidity is an essential part of body but not of extension. Locke’s use of solidity

36 Richard I. Aaron, John Locke (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971), 78.


37 Essay II. xiii. 11.
38 Ibid.
5 Descartes and Locke on the Nature of Matter: a Note 85

marks a key point in a series of his criticisms, so I want to add some considerations
on Locke’s idea of solidity.39
Solidity, according to Locke, is that which “hinders the approach of two Bodies,
when they are moving one towards another.”40 In this way Locke loosely admits
that solidity is the same as impenetrability. However, Locke says later that strictly,
impenetrability is “more a consequence of Solidity, than Solidity itself”; the genuine
notion of solidity consists in its role of filling pure space,41 and as a consequence
of a solid body filling pure space, it will exclude all the other solid bodies. This
exclusion or resistance, Locke argues, makes it possible for bodies to interact with
each other. Locke says, “Upon the Solidity of Bodies also depends their mutual
Impulse, Resistance.”42 Thus, Locke thinks that solidity is so essential a quality of
body that without it two bodies would penetrate each other. This will be made clear
to us if we consider that bare extension without solidity could no more hinder the
approach of other bodies than a ghost in a commonplace film could.
What does this amount to? If Locke is right in claiming that the idea of exten-
sion does not include the idea of solidity in it,43 I think this will, in effect, destroy
Descartes’ idea of modal distinction. Remember, modal distinction entails that ex-
tension constitutes the essence of matter since all other qualities of matter presup-
pose extension. However, as Locke demonstrates, extension cannot be the essence
of matter even if all other qualities (including solidity) presuppose extension—in
addition to extension, solidity is essential to body. Otherwise, we would have to
accept the unacceptable consequence that bodies are incapable of resistance and
communicating impulse.
Thus far, we have examined Locke’s a priori or conceptual arguments against
the Cartesian position. Now it is important to understand how Locke conceived of
the role of such a priori theorizing. In rejecting Descartes’ plenism, Locke merely
shows the possibility, not the actuality of a vacuum. For example, Locke appeals to
God’s power to annihilate body in order to show that space without body is possible,

39 Locke’s treatment of solidity has received undeservedly little attention from scholars. For ex-
ample, Rogers, though taking up various aspects of Locke’s critical attitudes against Descartes,
hardly discusses the issue of solidity (Locke’s Enlightenment, 25–31, 46–60, 83–91.); the same
can be said of Jolley’s exposition (Locke: his Philosophical Thought, 19–27, 32–38, 49–50, 55–57,
80–95). More recently, R.S. Woolhouse has given a detailed analysis, though with little interest in
the methodological issue, on Locke’s conception of solidity in contrast to Descartes (“Locke and
the Nature of Matter,” in Christia Mercer and Eileen O’Neill (ed.), Early Modern Philosophy (New
York: OUP, 2005), 142–60).
40 Essay II. iv. 1.
41The difference between solid body and pure space devoid of solidity is repeatedly stated by
Locke. cf. Essay II.iv.3,5; II.xiii.11–14,21–26.
42 Essay II. iv. 5. A similar statement is found at Essay, II. xiii. 11, from which I quoted above.
43 One probable objection to Locke’s argument is that Descartes’ pure extension includes impen-
etrability in it. See Daniel Garber, Descartes’ Metaphysical Physics (Chicago: Chicago University
Press, 1992), 144–155. However, Locke would surely object that extension and solidity are cer-
tainly distinct ideas.
86 Shigeyuki Aoki

i.e. we can conceive such pure space.44 Moreover, the next passage is illustrative in
that it shows a contrast between a priori and a posteriori inquiries as understood
by Locke:45
And indeed the necessary motion of one Particle of Matter, into the place from whence
another Particle of Matter is removed, is but a consequence from the supposition of Plen-
itude; which will therefore need some better proof, than a supposed matter of fact, which
Experiment can never make out; our own clear and distinct Ideas plainly satisfying us, that
there is no necessary connexion between Space and Solidity, since we can conceive the one
without the other.46

The point of this passage is this: the Cartesian supposition of plenism, which is a
natural consequence of Descartes’ conception of matter, cannot be necessarily true
since by conceptual analysis it becomes obvious that a vacuum is possible (by “clear
and distinct ideas” we can conceive pure space). Thus, a priori or conceptual anal-
ysis just guarantees the possibilities. In contrast, in investigating the actual nature
of matter we need experiment or actual sense experience. This brings us to the role
of sense experience and also that of clear and distinct perception in Descartes’ and
Locke’s philosophical systems.
In Descartes’ system sense experience does not play any crucial role in determin-
ing the nature of matter. Instead, we need to attend carefully to the common notions
or axioms (innate propositions such as “It is impossible for the same thing to be and
not to be at the same time” and “He who thinks cannot but exist while he thinks”),
discover the certainty of the Cogito as the starting point of philosophizing, and then
clear and distinct perception (whose reliability is guaranteed by God) will lead us
to the real distinction between mind and matter, and the modal distinction between
extension (thought) and other qualities of matter (mind).
Locke rejects all of this. He rejects those allegedly innate principles at length
in book I of his Essay,47 and he also rejects the privileged status of the Cogito
as the first truth (although he does not deny its truth). In some places Locke even
seems to imply that the Cogito can be reduced to the certainty of particular sense

44 Essay II. xiii. 21[bis].


45 See also Essay II. xiii. 26, where Locke says “To conclude, whatever Men shall think con-
cerning the existence of a Vacuum, this is plain to me, That we have as clear an Idea of Space
distinct from Solidity, as we have of Solidity distinct from Motion, or Motion from Space.” As is
obvious from this passage, Locke holds the view that conceptual analysis alone cannot settle the
problem over the existence of a vacuum. For a similar view that the role of Lockean imagination
is to open up possibilities, see James G. Buickerood, “Empiricism with and without Observation:
Experiments secundem imaginationem in Experimental Philosophy and Demonstrative Science
in Seventeenth-Century Britain,” in Robert C. Leitz III and Kevin L. Cope (ed.), Imagining the
Sciences: Expressions of New Knowledge in the “Long” Eighteenth Century (New York: AMS
Press, 2004), 327. I owe this reference to the editor.
46 Essay II. xiii. 21[bis]. My italics.
47 It is noteworthy that Locke takes up the same proposition, “It is impossible for the same thing
to be and not to be at the same time,” as the typical example of his target of criticism. See Essay
I.ii.4.
5 Descartes and Locke on the Nature of Matter: a Note 87

experiences.48 Locke bases the first and most certain source of knowledge on the
discerning faculty of human beings. For example, children know white is not black
much earlier than they know those axioms or Cogito.49
Locke also rejects Descartes’ use of clarity and distinction. Locke surely makes
heavy use of these concepts throughout his Essay. However, Locke rejects the Carte-
sian thesis that clear and distinct perception alone can establish anything at all about
the existence or nature of substances.50 In Locke’s epistemology, the existence and
nature of external things can only be known through sense experience.51 Our simple
ideas of sensation are real and adequate, answering exactly to the qualities of bodies
in the external world.52
Then, in his attempt to establish that solidity is the essence of matter, Locke
appeals to experiment or actual sense experience instead of Descartes’ thought ex-
periment:
There is no Idea, which we receive more constantly from Sensation, than Solidity. Whether
we move, or rest, in what Posture soever we are, we always feel something under us, that
supports us, and hinders our farther sinking downwards . . . This of all other, seems the Idea
most intimately connected with, and essential to Body, so as no where else to be found or
imagin’d, but only in matter: and though our Senses take no notice of it, but in masses of
matter, of a bulk sufficient to cause a Sensation in us; Yet the Mind, having once got this
Idea from such grosser sensible Bodies, traces it farther; and considers it, as well as Figure,
in the minutest Particle of Matter, that can exist; and finds it inseparably inherent in Body,
where-ever, or however modified.53

It should be remarked that when Locke mentions “essential,” we should not take it to
mean that we grasp the essence of matter a priori by means of pure intellect. On the
contrary, Locke is explicitly appealing to our plain sense experience and showing
that we constantly receive solidity from bodies. Therefore, “essential” in this context
means “most intimately connected” through sense experience. Moreover, although
Locke says “the Mind . . . finds it inseparably inherent in Body, whereever, or how-
ever modified,” this should not be taken to suggest some a priori or conceptual oper-
ation, either.54 Locke clearly says that “having once got this Idea from such grosser

48 Against the total skeptics who even doubt the existence of themselves, Locke argues that hunger
or pain will make them realize the existence of themselves. See Essay IV.x.2; and also IV.ix.3.
49 Essay I. ii. 15–16, 25; I. iv. 2–3; II. xi. 1,3; IV. ii. 1; IV. vii. 4, 9–10.
50Essay IV.vii.13–14. See also Rogers, Locke’s Enlightenment, 27–29 for Locke’s view on the
Descartes’ proof of the existence of God.
51 Essay IV. xi. 1–7.
52 Essay II. xxx. 2; II. xxxi. 2. See also II. i. 25; IV. iii. 15.
53 Essay II. iv. 1.
54 The wording here well reminds us of the conditions Locke required for primary qualities in
drawing his famous distinction between primary and secondary qualities at Essay II.viii.9. I guess
that the arguments concerning solidity at this book II, chapter iv of Essay, had deep implications
for Locke’s primary qualities. Peter Alexander, in Ideas, Qualities, and Corpuscles (Cambridge:
CUP, 1985), 119 argued that Locke’s use of “inseparable” makes a conceptual point on matter as
such, and that Locke’s primary qualities are “defining properties of body.” Rogers once told me that
88 Shigeyuki Aoki

sensible Bodies” we can trace solidity to the minutest particles of matter. So, before
attributing solidity to corpuscles, we need to carry out experimental investigations
on observable bodies. Locke actually reports an experiment performed in Florence
so as to vindicate his view that solidity is so inseparable from matter “where-ever,
or however modified”:
The Experiment, I have been told was made at Florence, which a hollow Globe of Gold
fill’d with Water, and exactly closed, farther shews the solidity of so soft a body as Water.
For the golden Globe thus filled, being put into a Press, which was driven by the extreme
force of skrews, the water made it self way through the pores of that every close metal . . .55

So, Locke thought that solidity was intimately connected to matter, totally insepa-
rable even by the extreme force. In Locke’s view, the nature of matter is not known
by a priori reasoning but by this sort of careful and piecemeal experimental inves-
tigations. His spirited defence of solidity against plenism, arguably one the weakest
links in Descartes’ system,56 is one of several attacks which, taken together, form a
comprehensive empiricist alternative to Descartes’ system in England.57

he was inclined to agree with such “defining properties” (in a personal conversation). However, I
believe they miss the point, as the present discussion shows.
55 Essay II. iv. 4.
56 Both in the modal distinction and the thought experiment, we find that Descartes failed to ad-
dress and discuss the problem of impenetrability (solidity). See the passages I quoted from the
Principles, I.53 and II.4. Garber also says that “Descartes manages to pass through the entire
Principles without even once confronting the issue of impenetrability directly” (Descartes’ Meta-
physical Physics, 146).
57 See also Rogers, “The System of Locke and Newton,” esp. 223–230.
Chapter 6
Personal Identity and Human Mortality:
Hobbes, Locke, Leibniz

Luc Foisneau

Leibniz made an important contribution to modern thinking about personal identity


through his treatment of chapter xxvii of Locke’s Essay concerning Human Under-
standing.1 Reflecting as Locke had done before him on “the question of identity
and diversity” he developed his conceptions of the principle of individuation and of
the basis of the identity of the human person as a direct reply to his predecessor’s
arguments.2 It would, however, be unwise to try to interpret Leibniz’s argument only
from this point of view, since that would be to forget what chapter xxvii of the Essay
in turn owes to chapter xi of Hobbes’s De Corpore—in addition to its title, of which
it provides the most exact English translation.3 Indeed, the end of Locke’s chapter
appeals to the method adopted by Hobbes for dealing with the thorny question of
the principle of individuation. When Locke affirms that the solution to the problem
of individuation depends on the choice of terms, he faithfully repeats the principle
formulated by Hobbes according to which, “it is necessary to consider the name

1 English translation by Christopher Brooke, who thanks Katherine Ibbett, Margaret Pâques and
the author for their assistance. A first version of this essay appeared in French as, “Identité person-
nelle et mortalité humaine. Hobbes, Locke, Leibniz,” Archives de Philosophie 67–1 (2004): 65–83.
The author thanks Guy Petitdemange for allowing him to have this essay republished in an English
version. A few modifications have been introduced in the present version according to suggestions
made by the two anonymous reviewers of this volume, whom the author would like to thank for
their careful reading.
2Leibniz almost always follows the translation that Pierre Coste made of Locke’s Essay. “I used
your French version because I felt it appropriate to write my comments in French,” he wrote to
Coste. “These days this sort of research is hardly fashionable in the world of Latin” (Letter to
Coste, 16 June 1707, in Die Philosophischen Schriften von Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, ed. C.I.
Gerhardt (repr. Hildesheim and New Yor: Olms, 1978) (hereafter GP followed by volume number)
GP III, p. 392.
3 The title of chapter xxvii of the Essay concerning Human Understanding, “Of Identity and Di-
versity,” gives a more literal translation of the title of chapter xi of De Corpore (“De eodem et
diverso”) than the English translation of De Corpore (“Of Identity and Difference”). The refer-
ences to De Corpore, abbreviated to DCo, are to Karl Schuhmann’s critical edition, De Corpore,
Elementorum Philosophiae sectio prima (Paris :Vrin, 2000); the pagination indicated is that of the
Molesworth edition (Opera latina, vol. I. (Cited hereafter as OL).

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 89


and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 89–105.
90 Luc Foisneau

by which a thing is designated, when one enquires after its identity.”4 For it is
not, he said, “Unity of Substance that comprehends all sorts of Identity. . . But to
conceive and judge of it aright, we must consider what Idea the Word it is applied
to stands for.”5 This borrowing of the method of De Corpore, however, can seem
only marginally important, as Locke’s reflections on personal identity take place in
a context that is not that of De Corpore but rather that of theorising a post-Cartesian
theory of consciousness. It could be argued, then, that Leibniz’s commentaries on
Locke’s theory of personal identity owe as little to Hobbes as Locke’s theory itself.
But that would seem to me to be a mistake. For, on the one hand, the identity that
is in question for these two authors is personal identity, and on the other hand, the
concept of the person lies right at the heart of Hobbes’s thinking. The importance
of chapter XI of De Corpore ought not to be over-emphasised, but we should still
pay close attention to Hobbes’s theory of the person and its contribution to the re-
ply which Leibniz offers to Locke’s theory of personal identity. Owing to the tight
connection which he establishes between the natural and the moral dimensions of
human personality, Hobbes’s concept of a natural person anticipates, even if only
in a programmatic way, the objections which Leibniz will later address to Locke’s
theory. If Locke had failed, in Leibniz’s eyes, it was because he had forgotten that
the human person would not be a moral person if it were not also a natural person.
In order to understand Leibniz’s verdict, therefore, it is important to go back to
the theory of the natural person as it had been formulated by Hobbes, and to show
just how this theory could contribute to the emergence of the modern problem of
personal identity.
It is advisable, however, not to narrow our perspective too much. The problem of
personal identity was no more born with Hobbes than with either Locke or Leibniz.
Each of these three authors contributed to it in a more or less decisive way, to be
sure, but all three wrote in a well-established tradition of enquiry that had at least
two essential dimensions. First of all, the problem of personal identity possessed an
ethical dimension, as it was tied to the problem of individual moral responsibility.
So, Hobbes stressed that the identity of a man depends on the matter of which he
is made, so that the one who sins and the one who is punished will not be the same
man, in virtue of the perpetual flux of the human body;6 Locke wrote that, “In this
personal Identity is founded all the Right and Justice of Reward and Punishment”;7
and Leibniz made clear that it is “the moral identity which makes the same person.”8

4 “Sed considerandum est, quo nomine dicatur res quaeque, quando de identitate ejus quaeritur”
(DCo, XI, 7, OL I, p. 122). For a study of Hobbes and individuation, see M. Pécharman, “Hobbes
et la question du principe d’individuation”, in L’individu dans la pensée moderne (XVIe-XVIIIe
siècles), ed. G.M. Cazzaniga, Y.C. Zarka (Pisa : Edizioni ETS, 1995), 203–222.
5 Essay II. xxvii. 7, p. 332. See also Essay II. xxvii. 28, 29, pp. 347–348.
6 “Juxta sententiam primam non esset idem homo qui peccat et qui plectitur, propter perpetuum
corporis humani fluxum” (DCo, XI, 7, OL I, p. 121).
7 Essay II. xxvii. 18, p. 341.
8 Nouveaux essays sur l’entendement humain (hereafter NE), II. xxvii, 9, in Leibniz Sämtliche
Schriften und Briefe, Reihe VI, Band VI (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1962), 237, l. 4. English
6 Personal Identity and Human Mortality 91

Secondly, the problem of personal identity had a theological dimension, as it was


linked to the question of the identity of the person after death. This question is in
fact a continuation of the previous one, for it is a matter of knowing whether or not
it is possible to impute to somebody who had been resurrected the words uttered
and the actions performed before death—which is to say, of whether it is possible to
consider human mortality as a matter of indifference from the moral point of view.
This twofold concern helps to underscore the way in which the problem of human
mortality stands at the heart of modern reflection about personal identity. Indeed,
the absence of a developed theory of personal identity in Hobbes is in large part
owing to his insistence on considering death in its finality, rather than an event that
has no effect on the person’s identity (as Locke argues), or (with Leibniz) as an only
apparent discontinuity.
In order to show this, I shall insist first of all on the importance of the Hobbesian
theory of the natural person as the basis of the modern problem of personal iden-
tity; then I shall show how Leibniz’s critique of the Lockean theory of the person
makes possible a rigorous account of the natural dimension of human personality;
and finally, I shall endeavour to establish that Leibniz drew on certain elements of
Hobbes’s philosophy in order to call into question the privilege that Locke granted
to consciousness, when he made it the sole criterion of personal identity.

The Problem of Personal Identity and the Notion


of the Natural Person: Locke as Reader of Hobbes

The legitimate interest that Hobbes’s commentators have had in his theory of the
artificial person has had the effect of pushing his theory of the natural person into
the shadows. This latter theory nevertheless deserves a searching examination, not
only because of the place it occupies in the history of thinking about political repre-
sentation9 , but because of the place it occupies in the history of the personal identity
problem. We find the first occurrence of the expression “natural person” in The
Elements of Law, where it appears as a synonym for “particular”10 and also in the

translations are taken from the translation of Peter Remnant and Jonathan Bennett, New Essays
on Human Understanding (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981).
9 For a critique of some of the confusions made by commentators and for a more robust interpre-
tation of the distinction between “natural” and “artificial” persons in Hobbes’s political thinking,
see Q. Skinner, “Hobbes and the Purely Artificial Person of the State”, The Journal of Political
Philosophy 7(1999): 1–29, reprinted in Id, Visions of Politics (Cambridge: CUP, 2002), 3:187–92.
For an analysis of the context, see Skinner’s, “Hobbes on Representation”, European Journal of
Philosophy 13(2005): 155–84. Reprinted as “Hobbes on Persons, Authors and Representatives,”
in The Cambridge Companion to Hobbes’s Leviathan, ed. P. Springborg (Cambridge: CUP, 2007),
157–80.
10 “And lastly how a multitude of persons natural are united by covenants into one person civil,
or body politic” (Elements of Law, hereafter EL, II, i, 1, ed. F. Tönnies (London: Sinkin, 1889),
reissued by Frank Cass, 1969, p. 108). As a matter of fact, the distinction between natural and civil
92 Luc Foisneau

expression “person natural or civil.” The natural person thus designates the man
or woman considered from the point of view of their membership in the human
species, so neither God nor (non-human) animals could be considered as natural
persons. These uses of the term, however, along with those that we find in De Cive,
are not the object of a specific theoretical elaboration, but part of a very ordinary
lexical register. This is no longer the case in Leviathan, and especially in the En-
glish Leviathan,11 for Hobbes there presents his conception of the natural person in
relation to a new conception of the fictive or artificial person, and the same general
definition covers both kinds:
A Person is he, whose words or actions are considered, either as his own, or as representing
the words or actions of an other man, or of any other thing to whom they are attributed,
whether Truly or by Fiction.12

What makes an individual a natural or fictive person is the way his or her actions
or words are being attributed. We can say that someone is a natural person when
the words and actions that physically proceed from him or her can be considered
as being morally his or her own. Far from being founded on the obviousness of an
immediate relationship to himself or herself, the idea of the natural person requires
the kind of mediation which is constitutive of the fictive person. Just as a fictive
person is the person when it is represented by another, so the natural person is the
person when it is represented by him- or herself. It is in this sense that Cicero could
say in a letter to Atticus that he represents his own person as well as his adversary’s,
and the judge’s too.13 In the case of the natural person, the conceptual pairings that
were forged in order to theorise the artificial person also apply. As a natural person,
I am both the author and the actor of my words and actions, the actor, as I am the
representative of myself in the world under the eyes of others, and the author, as I am
represented by myself. Although the concepts of actor, author and persons were in-
troduced in order to resolve problems of political and legal theory, I want to suggest
here that they also play a role (if only inadvertently) in the development of the prob-
lem of personal identity, which might seem to be, and no doubt is, quite different.
Indeed, since it is being used as a term of attribution, as is the case in Leviathan,
the question of the natural person loses the straightforwardness that it still assumed
in The Elements of Law. The use of the word person in its juridical sense complicates

persons comes from the corporation law tradition. It is explicitely in Edward Coke : “Persons are
natural, created by God, and incorporate created by the policy of man, and these latter are either
sole or aggregate of many” (C.F. Padfield, Law Made Simple (London: Heinemann, 1988), 101);
for a comment, see F. Lessay, “Le vocabulaire de la personne”, in Hobbes et son vocabulaire, ed.
Y.C. Zarka (Paris: Vrin, 1992), 175.
11 The Latin Leviathan gives the person a more succinct and less innovative definition: “Persona
est is quo vel alieno nomine res agit: si suo, persona propria, sive naturalis est; si alieno, persona
est ejus, cujus nomine agit, repræsentativa” (Leviathan. XVI, § 1, OL III, p. 123). The natural
person is in this instance the one who acts in his own name.
12 Leviathan, XVI, 1, p. 80 (in the original edition of 1651), p. 111 (in the 1996 Cambridge edition
by Richard Tuck).
13 Cf. Leviathan, XVI, 3, pp. 80–81 (1651), p. 112 (1996).
6 Personal Identity and Human Mortality 93

the identity of the natural person with itself and raises the key question of the cri-
terion for the appropriation of words and actions that anyone could spontaneously
tend to consider as his or her own. Because the situation of representation squarely
places the artificial person in exteriority in relation to itself, that which represents
not being that which is represented, so too the natural person finds itself placed in a
position of exteriority in relation to itself. That which is my own thus finds itself con-
sidered from an exterior point of view: “When they [i.e. his words and actions] are
considered as his owne, then is he called a Naturall Person.”14 This approach tends
to underline that the person called natural cannot also be assured of its naturalness
as one might wish. In consequence, and not without paradox, the definition of the
natural person in chapter XVI of Leviathan tends to call into question the natural
character of the attribution to the same person of actions and words which are the
physical emanations from it. It is in this sense that one can think that the Hobbesian
definition of the natural person plays a role in the emergence of the problem of
personal identity in emphasizing the fictive character of certain attributions; this
definition indeed results in wondering about the nature of the criterion which makes
it possible to consider that words and actions belong to the same person. This is the
problem that spills over from the question of identity as posed by Hobbes in chapter
XI of De Corpore. Although he remarks that it is one thing to ask whether Socrates
is the same man and another to ask whether he is the same body, Hobbes does not
establish in this text—any more than he does in any other—a direct link between the
problem posed by his definition of the natural person and his theory of the principle
of individuation. So it is to Locke, in his chapter entitled Of Identity and Diversity,
that the credit should go for presenting the modern problem of personal identity
through his audacious conjunction of the theory of the person and the theory of
identity.
Locke begins from an acknowledgment that the unity of substance, whether ma-
terial or immaterial, does not make it possible to solve the problem of personal
identity, for
it being one thing to be the same Substance, another the same Man, and a third the
same Person, if Person, Man and Substance, are three Names standing for three different
Ideas;—for such as is the Idea belonging to that Name, such must be the Identity.15

In order to determine the criterion of personal identity, it is therefore advisable to


be attentive to the relation that unites the name “person” to its idea. It is equally
advisable, for those of us who read it today, to be attentive to the way in which this
relation has been rendered in Pierre Coste’s French translation, as we know that this
is the version that Leibniz had before his eyes when he wrote his New Essays. The
examination of Coste’s translation matters in this instance to the extent to which it
has helped to forge the concept of consciousness as the knowledge of oneself (La
Forge, Locke) in contradistinction to consciousness as a limit to the knowledge of

14 Leviathan, XVI, 2, pp. 80–81 (1651), p. 111 (1996).


15 Essay II. xxvii. 8, p. 332.
94 Luc Foisneau

oneself (Malebranche). The long note in which Coste justifies his choice of the word
con-science (with a hyphen) in order to translate into French the Lockean conscious-
ness has certainly contributed to the clarification of this distinction.16 But there is
also another dimension to Coste’s interpretation, since no parallel note enlightens
us about the difficulties attached to the concept of the person and the self. This
might not itself be especially serious, if the exact wording of the Lockean definition
had not been modified by the translator in a way that generated distortion. Here is
Coste’s translation of Locke’s definition:
C’est [i.e., the person], à ce que je crois, un Etre pensant & intelligent, capable de raison et
de réflexion, & qui se peut consulter soi-même comme le même, comme une chose qui pense
en différens tems & en différens lieux; ce qui se fait uniquement par le sentiment qu’il a de
ses propres actions, lequel est inséparable de la pensée, & lui est, ce me semble, entièrement
essentiel, étant impossible à quelque Etre que ce soit d’appercevoir sans appercevoir qu’il
apperçoit.17

This feeling (“sentiment”) which one has of one’s own actions, a feeling which
accompanies all our representations, Locke called Consciousness, and Coste trans-
lates the term as “con-science,” following the lead of Malebranche, but adding an
hyphen to indicate that the meaning of Lockean consciousness is opposed to Male-
branchian “conscience.”18 It is in this consciousness, “which makes every one to be,
what he calls self.” that “personal Identity” consists, “i.e. the sameness of a rational
Being.”19 Such, as is well known, is the solution that Locke offers to the problem

16 For the history of the notion of consciousness in modern French philosophy, see Catherine
Glyn Davies, “Conscience” as consciousness: the idea of self-awareness in French philosophical
writing from Descartes to Diderot (Oxford: Voltaire Foundation, 1990). Étienne Balibar has made
valuable comments on Coste’s translation of consciousness by con-science in J. Locke, Identité et
différence. L’invention de la conscience, trans. & commented by É. Balibar (Paris: Seuil, 1998);
see also the first formulation of Balibar’s analysis in his “L’invention de la conscience: Descartes,
Locke, Coste et les autres”, in Traduire les philosophes. Actes des journées d’études organisées en
1992 à l’université de Paris 1, ed. J. Moutaux, O. Bloch, 289–303. For the discussion that followed,
see ibid., 303–308.
17 From Pierre Coste’s translation of Locke, Essai philosophique concernant l’entendement hu-
main (1700), 5th edition, Amsterdam and Leipzig, 1755, reprint (Paris: Vrin, 1989), II. xxvii. 9,
p. 264. Locke’s original words are these: “. . . we must consider what Person stands for; which, I
think, is a thinking intelligent Being, that has reason and reflection, and can consider it self as it
self, the same thinking thing in different times and places; which it does only by that consciousness,
which is inseparable from thinking, and as it seems to me essential to it: It being impossible for
any one to perceive, without perceiving, that he does perceive” (Essay, p. 335.)
18 “Finally, I see that I could without so much fuss use the word ‘conscience’ in the sense in
which Mr Locke used it in this chapter and elsewhere, since one of our best writers, the celebrated
Father Malebranche, had no difficulty in using it in the same way in several places in his Search
after Truth” (Coste’s Essai II. xxvii. 9, translator’s note 2, p. 265). See Malebranche, The Search
After Truth, III, VII. Balibar comments that this reference to Malebranche comes late in the note,
since Malebranche’s “conscience” points to the fact that the knowledge of oneself is always ob-
scure, whereas Locke’s consciousness is an immediate knowledge of oneself. See Locke, Identité
et différence, Introduction, 26.
19 Essay II. xxvii. 9, p. 335.
6 Personal Identity and Human Mortality 95

of personal identity. Nevertheless, the fame of this solution meant that as a result
the real nature of the problem that it was meant to solve was obscured, and Coste’s
translation itself contributed to this obscuring.
First of all, in putting forward the concept of consciousness, the Lockean solu-
tion to the problem of personal identity tends to forget that the very origin of this
problem was linked to the usage of the concept of the person, since this concept
rendered problematic the thought of self-identity. If a natural person is defined as
a person whose actions and words are considered as belonging to itself, it is im-
portant to determine the criterion of this consideration, that is to say, the criterion
for attributing these actions and these words to the same person. In a significant
way, the verb consider is taken up by Locke in his definition of the person, since he
defines this as “a thinking intelligent Being, that has reason and reflection, and can
consider it self as it self.”20 The criterion of self-consciousness is therefore Locke’s
precise answer to the question implicitly posed by the Hobbesian definition of the
natural person, which, as we saw, itself rested on the concept of “consideration.”
But the verb consider, which makes the link between the definition of Leviathan
and that of the Essay, surreptitiously disappears from the French translation, with
Coste improperly rendering “consider” as “se consulter.” for to “consider it self as
it self” is not the same thing as “se consulter soi-même comme le même.”21 This
is also something that Leibniz understood perfectly well, attributing to Philalethes,
Locke’s spokesman in the New Essays, a correct translation of the text of the Es-
say.22 The first definition of “person” in chapter xxvii of Book II of the Essay thus
includes a reference to Hobbes, which, despite Coste, was nevertheless able to reach
Leibniz. This proof could appear fragile, except that Locke himself provides striking
confirmation, at the end of his analysis of the problem of personal identity: the term
“person”
is a Forensick Term appropriating Actions and their Merit; and so belongs only to intel-
ligent Agents, capable of a Law, and Happiness, and Misery. This personality extends it
self beyond present Existence to what is past, only by consciousness, whereby it becomes
concerned and accountable, owns and imputes to it self past Actions, just upon the same
ground, and for the same reason, that it does the present.23

This developed definition of the person shows in a perfectly clear way the articu-
lation of a problematic of Hobbesian origin and of a solution of Cartesian origin.
If Locke does not directly cite chapter XVI of Leviathan, it is nonetheless the case
that the definition that he gives of the person as a juridical term owes a lot to the
definition that Hobbes gives of the natural person. The person has as its function to
“appropriate” actions; thanks to consciousness, the person “owns” past actions. If
the verb “appropriate” isn’t a part of Hobbes’s vocabulary, this is not the case for
the verb “own” which plays a considerable part in the putting together of the theory

20 Ibid. Italics are mine.


21 Ibid.
22 NE II. xxvii. 9, Ak VI-6, p. 235, l. 13.
23 Essay II. xxvii. 26, p. 346.
96 Luc Foisneau

of the person in chapter XVI of Leviathan. This word indeed combines the meaning
of “my own,” which refers back to the question of self-identity, the meaning of
“property,” with owner designating the proprietor, and the meaning of recognition,
almost in the sense of “avow,” since “to own” can equally mean to recognize or
to avow.24 Locke’s originality is therefore to have presented the question of iden-
tity in juridical terms, starting from the concept of person, and not in metaphysical
terms, starting from the concept of substance—alternatively, to have distinguished,
as Hobbes had not, the problem of personal identity and the problem of the in-
dividuation of substance. In saying that what makes the identity of the “natural”
person is not substantial identity, whether material or immaterial, but the identity
of consciousness, Locke was simultaneously Hobbes’s heir and his critic, inheriting
his definition of the natural person, but rejecting his materialistic approach to the
question of identity in De Corpore.
This sharp rejection of the determination of personal identity through the individ-
uation of substance corresponds to a considerable uncertainty concerning the nature
of substance. Rather than compromise the foundation of morality in a metaphys-
ical discussion of the relations between person and substance, moral identity and
physical identity, Locke preferred to show that one can think about moral identity
independently of physical identity. Not without paradox, Locke leant on the mate-
rialist thesis which made thought an accident of matter, in order to show that the
impossibility of proving the identity of the person when you start from the iden-
tity of necessarily fluctuating material substance forces you to “conceive personal
Identity preserved in something else than Identity of Substance; as animal Identity
is preserved in Identity of Life, and not of Substance.”25 A consistent materialist
and partisan of personal identity, such as Hobbes, is therefore obliged by the logic
of Locke’s argument to recognize the independence of personal identity in relation
to substantial identity. Locke here indicates to Hobbes how he could have recon-
ciled his theory of the person and his materialism by separating what he wanted to
combine in the same concept: the person and nature.26 The major objection to the
independence of the consciousness criterion thesis is not likely to come from the
materialists, according to Locke, but from those who hold to an immaterial thinking
substance, for such people could indeed be tempted to make the identity of the
moral person depend on the identity of thinking substance. If the person rests on
the criterion of consciousness and if consciousness is the expression of a thinking
substance, it seems quite natural that one might make the identity of the person
depend on the identity of the thinking thing—and the link established by Descartes

24 Concerning the link between the two meanings of “to own” in Leviathan, see L. Jaume, “Le vo-
cabulaire de la représentation politique de Hobbes à Kant”, in Hobbes et son vocabulaire, 235–238.
25 Essay II. xxvii. 12, p. 337. He also writes that “the more probable Opinion is, that this con-
sciousness is annexed to, and the Affection of one individual immaterial Substance” (Ibid., 25,
p. 345).
26 For stimulating comments on the possibility of a link between materialism and the theory of
the natural person in Hobbes, see L. Jaume, Hobbes et l’État représentatif moderne (Paris: Presses
Universitaires de France, 1986), 95–97.
6 Personal Identity and Human Mortality 97

between the cogitatio and the res cogitans only encourages this conclusion.27 But
we might wonder why Locke does not want this Cartesian solution, when he has al-
ready adopted a Cartesian criterion in order to think through the question of personal
identity.
The reason for this refusal seems to me to owe, on the one hand, to the nature
of the problem which drove Locke to have recourse to the criterion of conscious-
ness, that is, the juridical character of the concept of the person, and, on the other
hand, to the Hobbesian thesis concerning the mortality of the natural human person.
In simultaneously holding that the natural person was mortal, body and soul, and
that it will be judged after the resurrection, Hobbes made problematic the possibil-
ity of thinking naturally (i.e. without recourse to grace) about the identity of the
person in this life and on the day of the last judgment.28 In doing so, he obliged
his successors—Locke and Leibniz—to think about the disappearance of a man or
woman’s physical person and of the permanence of the moral person together. It is
in relation to this Hobbesian problem—which is also a Socinian problem, and we
know that Locke was very close to Socinianism—that we must understand Locke’s
solution, and Leibniz’s subsequent criticisms. Indeed, Locke considered that in or-
der to remove the mortalist obstacle (to use the theological term corresponding to
Hobbes’s position) it was necessary to accept that the one who gives an account of
him- or herself in the hereafter is not necessarily the same, from the point of view
of substance, as the one who had committed the offences here below. Paradoxically,
then, it is the thesis of those who hold to immaterial thinking substance—apparently
in conformity with the afterlife in the hereafter—which poses greater difficulties for
the theorist of personal identity. Before being able to attack the materialist Hobbe-
sians, Locke tells us that the spiritualist Cartesians must demonstrate that personal
identity “cannot be preserved in the change of immaterial Substances, or variety
of particular immaterial Substances.”29 It might seem surprising that the burden
of proof falls on the partisans of the immortality of the human soul, but this is
because of their tendency to mix up the problem of the identity of the person and
with that of the identity of the thinking immortal substance—whereas those who
hold to mortalism are naturally protected against a similar illusion.

27 “Hic invenio, cogitatio est, haec sola a me divelli nequit, ego sum, ego existo, certum est. [. . .].
Sum igitur praecise tantum res cogitans, id est, mens, sive animus, sive intellectus, sive ratio,
voces mihi prius significationis ignotae” (Meditationes, AT, VII, 27, 7–15). Hence the necessity to
distinguish between Descartes’s contribution to the consciousness debate and the transformations
of the notion among the Cartesians. Cf. Locke, Identité et différence, 24–26.
28 Hobbes considers that God is able to resurrect a man who has been dead, body and soul: “For
supposing that when a man dies, there remaineth nothing of him but his carkasse; cannot God that
raised inanimated dust and clay into a living creature by his Word, easily raise a dead carkasse to
life again, and continue him alive for Ever, or make him die again, by another Word?” (Leviathan,
XLIV, 15, p. 425). On the consonance of this stance with Hobbes’s position on the identity of
substance, see A.P. Martinich, A Hobbes Dictionary (Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1995), 257–8.
29 Essay II. xxvii. 12, p. 337.
98 Luc Foisneau

Locke’s priority, therefore, was to uncover the illusions which necessarily ac-
company the spiritualists’ approach to the problem of personal identity. He needed
to show that one might plausibly reason that the same soul could assume several
personalities, or that the same person could be united to several souls. We don’t need
to enter into detail concerning this reasoning here, and can conclude that if it were
necessary to follow the argument of those who identify the person with thinking
substance, then God, on the day of the last judgment, would be judging souls for sins
for which they would not be morally responsible, their moral personality having left
them for another soul. All in all, Hobbes’s position is the more coherent one, since it
sharply dissociates the natural person of the man or woman, which is condemned to
disappear at the moment of death, from the issue of moral responsibility, which will
be that of the resurrected being at the end of time. By saying that it is consciousness
which makes personal identity, Locke gives himself the means of resolving the the-
ological problem of personal identity, which had been raised among philosophers
concerned by the identity problem of Hobbes’s mortalism:
And thus may we be able without any difficulty to conceive, the same Person at the Res-
urrection, though in a Body not exactly in make or parts the same which he had here, the
same consciousness going along with the Soul that inhabits it.30

Even if he recognises that he takes, “as we ordinarily now do [. . .] the Soul of a Man,
for an immaterial Substance,”31 Locke has not made the mistake of emphasising the
weaknesses of this thesis with regard to the question of man’s personal identity.
Whether one considers someone’s identity to be founded on the identity of the soul,
taken as a thinking immaterial substance, on the identity of the animal body indepen-
dently of the immaterial soul, or in the union of the immaterial soul and the body, “it
is impossible to make personal Identity to consist in any thing but consciousness;
or reach any farther than that does.”32 Despite its spiritualist façade, this claim,
which relates moral identity to consciousness alone, independently of substance,
owes much to the improbable synthesis—though one realised by Hobbes—between
a radical materialism, a theory of the natural person and an uncompromising mor-
talism. In choosing consciousness as the criterion for personal identity, Locke in
fact saved the person from the metaphysical uncertainties that weigh on the status
of thinking substance, but at the same time he carved out a significant gap between
the physical dimension and the moral dimension of that same person. In affirming in
a striking formula that “a Carcase may be a Person, as well as any sort of Substance
be so without consciousness,”33 Locke straightforwardly showed that he could only
manage to think moral identity at the price of the sacrifice of physical identity. On
a theoretical level, this sacrifice very precisely echoed the mortalism of Hobbes
and, on a more general theological level, that of Socinians. In consequence, we can

30 Ibid., II. xxvii. 15, p. 340.


31 Ibid., II. xxvii. 27, p. 347.
32 Ibid., 21, p. 343.
33 Ibid., 23, p. 344.
6 Personal Identity and Human Mortality 99

better understand why Locke’s solution to the problem of personal identity could
not be at all suitable for Leibniz, the great partisan of immortality. In fact, we might
say that the Leibnizian critique of Locke is, when all is said and done—and more
fundamentally—a critique of Hobbes34 .

The Leibnizian Refoundation of the Theory of the Natural Person:


Leibniz as Critic of Hobbes
The criticisms that Leibniz addressed to the Lockean theory of personal identity
proceeded, first of all, from an original metaphysical conception which was no more
that of Locke than that of Hobbes. In particular, the conception of a substantial
individuality that would be “a separate world, independent of every other thing ex-
cept God”35 finds only the faintest echo in the two English thinkers. And Leibniz’s
solution to the problem of individuation through recourse to an “internal principle
of distinction,”36 or principle of indiscernibles, which depends itself on the absolute
singularity of the point of view adopted by God for creating each substance, finds
no echo at all in his two predecessors. The interest of the criticisms that Leibniz
addressed to the Lockean theory of the person resides elsewhere. It lies in his calling
into question the radical distinction made by Locke (and suggested by the mortal-
ism thesis) between personal identity, which resides in the unity of consciousness,
and physical identity, which rests on the unity of substance. At bottom, Leibniz
denied that it was possible to think that there could be a moral person who would
not also be a physical person—that is to say, a real person. Although he did not
use the expression, we could just about say that Leibniz intended to rehabilitate
the Hobbesian concept of the identity of substance even while he transformed the
metaphysics and theology in which this concept had previously been embedded.
Leibniz’s criticisms had as their goal the restoration of the link between the moral
dimension of the person and its physical dimension, a link that had been loosened
by Locke. While Leibniz agreed with Locke in recognizing in man a moral per-
sonality, which resides in the fact that the soul of man is conscia sui,37 he refused
to consider that “this apparent identity could be preserved in the absence of any
real identity.”38 As he wrote in his Principles of Philosophy, Leibniz thought that

34 For another perspective on Leibniz’s critique of Locke’s theory of consciousness, see J. Locke,
Identité et différence, op. cit., introduction by Balibar, p. 26–7.
35 Discours de métaphysique, XIV, GP IV, p. 439. English version by Jonathan Bennett, Discourse
on Metaphysics, presented at www.earlymoderntexts.com.
36 NE, II. xxvii. 2, VEVI-6, p. 230, l. 2.
37Correspondance avec Arnauld, XVI, draft of letter from Leibniz to Arnauld (Paris : Vrin, 1984),
141.
38 NE, II. xxvii. 9, Ak VI-6, p. 236, ll. 7–8.
100 Luc Foisneau

there existed a harmony between nature and grace39 such that “things lead toward
grace by the paths of nature herself.”40 The hypotheses formulated by Locke were
fictions, which had significance only from the point of view of the “absolute power
of God”:
Even if God were to change the real identity in some extraordinary manner, the personal
identity would remain, provided that the man preserved the appearances of identity—the
inner ones (i.e. the ones belonging to consciousness) as well as outer ones such as those
consisting in what appears to other people...41

In this text Leibniz emphasised the fictive character of Locke’s position and recalled
in passing the similar fiction inscribed in the long tradition of arguments de potentia
absoluta Dei.42 He added, however, that the problem of personal identity needed
to be resolved preferably solely from the point of view of the ordinary power of
God—which is to say, also from the point of view of the ordinary course of na-
ture. But, from this last point of view, “an identity which is apparent to the person
concerned—one who senses himself to be the same—presupposes a real identity
obtaining through each immediate [temporal] transition accompanied by reflection,
or by the sense of I.”43 In short, there would not be a moral person without the
physical person, for self-consciouness is not independent of the real substance,
as it might be if “a man could be a mere machine and still possess conscious-
ness.”44
This strong determination of the person as a natural and moral person, however,
presupposes a theory of human immortality, which means that the moral problem
that arose when Hobbes took human mortality into account gets occluded. The Leib-
nizian desire of founding human personal identity on a real basis must have as its
condition the resolution of the moral problem posed by human mortality through
a metaphysical theory of immortality. In the absence of such a theory, Leibniz’s
requirement of a substantial determination of the moral person leads inevitably to
the disappearance of the moral person at the moment of the disappearance of the
physical person. It was this eventuality, as we saw earlier, which had led Locke
to affirm the independence of the moral person in relation to its natural support

39 “[I]t is of the essence of God’s wisdom that all should be harmonious in his works, and that
nature should be parallel with grace” (Essais de théodicée, I, 91, GP VI, p. 152, transl. by E.M.
Huggard as Theodicy (London: Routledge, 1951 [1952]), 172).
40 Les principes de la philosophie ou la monadologie, 88; GP VI, p. 622. English trans-
lation, by Jonathan Bennett, The Principles of Philosophy, or Monadology, presented at
www.earlymoderntexts.com.
41 NE, II. xxvii. 10, VEVI-6, p. 237, l. 16–19.
42 On the history of those arguments in the Middle Ages, see W.J. Courtenay, Capacity and Voli-
tion. A History of the Distinction of Absolute and Ordained Power (Bergamo: Pierluigi Lubrina,
1990). For their implications in Hobbes, see my article, “Omnipotence, Necessity and Sovereignty.
Hobbes and the Absolute and Ordinary Powers of God and King,” in Cambridge Companion to
Hobbes’s ‘Leviathan’, 271–290.
43 NE, II. xxvii. 9, VEVI-6, p. 236, l. 9–11.
44 Ibid.
6 Personal Identity and Human Mortality 101

and to propose that only the witness of consciousness might justify the imputa-
tion to the same person of an action performed before death on the day of the
last judgment. Moreover, the Lockean fiction that the same substance could be
bearing several personalities—one after the other—implies that it is not possible
to ground moral imputation on substantial permanence. In assuring the uniqueness
and immortality of the person, Leibniz’s theory of substance permits the reverse:
on the one hand, he can dismiss the hypothesis of the dissociation of the person
from its substance; on the other hand, he avoids the hypothesis that a total destruc-
tion of the real person could have any bearing on the identity of the moral per-
son. Having said that nothing determines a substance “except God alone,” Leibniz
adds:
Nothing can make us understand immortality better than this independence and extent of
the soul, which absolutely shelters it from everything external, since it alone constitutes its
whole world, and together with God is sufficient for itself. It is possible for the soul to come
to an end through absolute annihilation; but its coming to end in any other way—being
destroyed by dissolution, through damage, like a machine—is just as impossible as it is that
the world should destroy itself unaided. Changes in the extended mass we call our body
could not have any effect on the soul, nor could the dissolution of that body destroy what is
indivisible, namely, the soul.45

The dissipation or dissemination of the body doesn’t jeopardise the immortality


of the soul, “for no substance ever comes to an end, though a substance may
greatly alter.”46 Leibniz thus agreed with Locke in recognizing that my person-
ality also extends as far as the consciousness that I have of my past actions, or
as far as my memory extends, but he was opposed to Locke’s contention that
my personality cannot be extended beyond my actual memory. Leibniz refused
to accept this limitation, as it made a theory of the immortality of the moral per-
son founded on memory quite impossible. In place of Locke’s actual memory, he
therefore opposed a theory of virtual memory, which allowed him to say that the
human soul “keeps always in its nature the traces of all its preceding states with
a virtual memory which can always be stimulated, since it has a consciousness
or knows in itself that which each one of us calls the self.”47 It is therefore this
virtual memory, as it can be actualised by consciousness, and not consciousness
alone, which constitutes the moral person. Thanks to the theory of substance and
the theory of virtual memory, Leibniz could conceptualise the unity of man’s moral
and natural person in a coherent way, without need of Locke’s recourse to divine
omnipotence. But this theory presupposes a critique of consciousness considered
as a unique criterion of moral identity, as the theory of virtual memory indicates;

45Discours de Métaphysique, XXXII, GP IV, p. 458. Translation as Discourse of Metaphysics, by


Jonathan Bennett, www.earlymoderntexts.com.
46 Discours de métaphysique, XXXIV, GP IV, p. 459. English version by Jonathan Bennett pre-
sented at www.earlymoderntexts.com. Leibniz’s position is perfectly illustrated by the words that
Ovid gives to Pythagoras: “Morte carent animæ.” ( Metamorphoses, XV, 158, quoted by Leibniz,
Théodicée, I, 89, GP VI, p. 152).
47 Leibniz to Arnauld, 14 July 1686, GP II, p. 57.
102 Luc Foisneau

and the last thing this article will attempt to show is the way in which this critique
itself rests on Leibniz’s appropriation of various anti-Cartesian elements in Hobbes’s
philosophy.

The Insufficiency of the Consciousness Criterion:


Leibniz as Reader of Hobbes

If Leibniz readily recognized that self-consciousness is a criterion of a human be-


ing’s moral identity, he also intended to show that it was not the sole criterion,48 and
he sought to widen reflection on the criteria of personal identity by means of three
arguments, respectively legal (natural law), ontological and theological. We will
emphasise what these first two kinds of argument owe to Hobbes, before making
clear as to why this debt does not obtain when it comes to the theological argument.
When Leibniz reminded Locke that the consciousness that an individual has of
his actions is not the unique criterion permitting their attribution, he evoked a cri-
terion, that of the concurring testimony of others, which recalls the legal definition
that Hobbes had given of consciousness in Leviathan. Any breakdown in one’s con-
sciousness of the past—whether partial, as in the case of a coma, or total, as in
the case of certain kinds of amnesia—is not enough, Leibniz thought, to call one’s
moral identity into question. In both cases, “the testimony of others could fill in the
gap in my recollection,”49 whether in re-establishing “the continuity of my bond
of consciousness” in the case of some partial breakdown, or, in the case of total
amnesia, in letting me “have myself taught all over again, even my name and how
to read and write.”50 In this last case, “I could still learn from others about my life
during my preceding state; and, similarly, I would have retained my rights without
having to be divided into two persons and made to inherit from myself.”51
It might be objected that the witness of others can be deceptive, but Leibniz
insists that there are cases where “we can be morally certain of the truth on the
credit of others’ reports.”52 And if others can deceive me, then I can also deceive
myself. Ultimately there is only God’s witness that can absolutely exclude error,
enjoying a certainty that is both moral and metaphysical. When concordant, the
testimony of others makes it quite possible to offset the deficiencies of the Lockean
consciousness criterion. This concordance of witnesses, however, is precisely what
Hobbes for his part calls consciousness: “When two, or more men, know of one and
the same fact, they are said to be CONSCIOUS of it one to another; which is as much

48 “Thus, consciousness is not the only means of establishing personal identity. . .” (NE, II. xxvii.
9, Ak VI-6, p. 237, l. 19–20).
49 NE, II. xxvii. 9, Ak VI-6, p. 236, l. 22.
50 Ibid.
51 NE, II. xxvii. 10, VEVI-6, p. 237, l. 1–3.
52 NE, II. xxvii. 9, VEVI-6, p. 237, l. 8–9.
6 Personal Identity and Human Mortality 103

as to know it together.”53 Starting with this definition, Hobbes emphasises, on the


one hand, the legal and moral value of the testimony of others, and also shows, on
the other hand, how the commonly admitted conception of consciousness as knowl-
edge of one’s “own secret facts, and secret thoughts” proceeds from consciousness
understood as the knowledge that witnesses have “of the facts of one another, or
of a third.”54 The intimate consciousness is in this way a figure of rhetoric, since it
metaphorically designates self-knowledge as the knowledge of oneself by oneself
as by another self. And from these considerations we can see how Leibniz could
have judged it necessary in certain cases to offset the practical insufficiency of the
Cartesian consciousness criterion (understood as immediate knowledge of oneself)
with an appeal to a Hobbesian consciousness criterion (understood as the concordant
witness from different points of view).
In order to underline the insufficiency of the Lockean consciousness criterion,
Leibniz develops a second argument to establish the continuity of personality be-
yond states of unconsciousness. This argument rests on the distinction between
perception and awareness (apperception), perception being “the internal state of a
monad that represents external things” being distinguished from “awareness [which
is] consciousness, or the reflective knowledge of that internal state.”55 Armed with
this distinction, it becomes possible to conceptualise the identity of the moral person
that does not rest only on self-consciousness or awareness, but on the continuum of
small perceptions (“petites perceptions”). Whether they are aware of it or not, the
infant Socrates and the philosopher Socrates make up only one person, for there
is from one to the other an unbroken continuity of small perceptions. And being
unaware of this critical distinction, the Cartesians have revived the prejudice of “folk
who regard imperceptible bodies as nothing.”56 That a man loses consciousness dur-
ing a blackout does not imply at all that he ceases to be identical with himself, for an
interruption in awareness does not at all imply any discontinuity in the flux of per-
ceptions. It is therefore necessary to distinguish between a “long stupor” and “death
strictly so-called . . . involv[ing] the stopping of all perceptions.”57 The distinction
is critical for Leibniz, for it permits him to escape from the aporias of mortalism,
into which the Cartesians had fallen, despite their best efforts to reject mortalism,
for this rejection “confirmed people in their ill-founded belief that some souls go
out of existence, and also confirmed the so-called “free-thinkers” in their miserable
opinion that our own souls are not immortal.”58 Once again, his anti-Cartesianism
brings Leibniz close to Hobbes, as it led him to attribute the theoretical respon-
sibility for mortalism, not to Hobbes, who professed it overtly, but to Descartes,

53 Leviathan, VII, p. 31 (1651), p. 48 (1996).


54 Ibid.
55Principes de la Nature et de la Grace, 4, GP VI, p. 600. Translated as Principles of Nature and
Grace by Jonathan Bennett, at www.earlymoderntexts.com.
56 Ibid.
57 Ibid.
58 Ibid.
104 Luc Foisneau

who intended to put his metaphysics in the service of the soul’s immortality. If
Hobbes did not explicitly distinguish between perception and awareness, he never-
theless developed the theory of the conatus, which made the distinction possible.
In recognizing the existence of imperceptible movements at the start of perceived
movements, he authorised a theory of unconscious perception, relating the smallness
of movement to its imperceptible character.59 The Hobbesian origin of the theory of
small perceptions is moreover confirmed by the use Hobbes makes of the famous
image by which Leibniz introduces the theory in the preface of the New Essays. The
“example of the roaring noise of the sea that acts on us when we are standing on the
shore”60 seems to come straight out of chapter VIII of Leviathan, as is suggested, on
the one hand, by the fact that both authors use the maritime metaphor, and, on the
other hand, Leibniz’s use of the term “crowd” to designate the ensemble of small
perceptions. Such usage recalls to the reader of Hobbes the crowd of individuals
whose individual madness, although imperceptible, constitutes nevertheless a real
threat to the state.61
Leibniz’s recourse to Hobbesian argument must not, however, allow us to forget
the distance that separates the two philosophers on the matter of the identity of the
moral person, and this gap becomes wholly apparent at the point where Leibniz
presents his third argument to restrict the range of the consciousness criterion. This
theological argument runs as follows: if consciousness is not the unique means of
establishing personal identity, this is because this identity constitutes itself more
fundamentally through its relationship with God, “whose social bond with us is
the cardinal point of morality.”62 Although he does not reduce moral personality to
metaphysical identity, the social bond that unites human beings to God cannot be
understood by Leibniz independently of immortality. On the contrary, by refusing
any metaphysical theory of immortality, Hobbes could not conceive the kingdom of
God by nature as the place where human moral identity constituted itself. Hobbes’s
conception of divine royalty by nature does not rest on God’s love of humankind,
but rather on the absolute superiority of divine power, in comparison to human be-
ings. This domination by power expresses human mortality; the weakness of human
beings by nature corresponds strictly to their condition of being mortals.63 Whereas

59“And although unstudied men, doe not conceive any motion at all to be there, where the thing
moved is invisible; or the space it is moved in, is (for the shortnesse of it) insensible; yet that doth
not hinder, but that such Motions are” (Leviathan, VI, p. 23 (1651), p. 38 (1996)).
60 NE, Preface, VEVI-6, p. 54, l. 13–14.
61 “For as in the middest of the sea, though a man perceive no sound of that part of the water next
him; yet he is well assured, that part contributes as much, to the Roaring of the Sea, as any other
part, of the same quantity: so also, though wee perceive no great unquietness, in one, or two men;
yet we may be well assured, that their singular Passions, are parts of the Seditious roaring of a
troubled Nation” (Leviathan, 36 (1651), p. 55 (1996)).
62NE, II. xxvii. 9, Ak VI-6, p. 237, l. 8–9. See on this point the analyses of Martine de Gaudemar,
Leibniz. De la puissance au sujet (Paris: Vrin, 1994), p. 188.
63 On the significance of mortality in Hobbes’s thought, see my own Hobbes et la toute-puissance
de Dieu (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2000), 233–236.
6 Personal Identity and Human Mortality 105

Leibniz, then, extends nature towards grace, by making the immortality of spirits a
condition of divine love, Hobbes radically separates nature from grace, in thinking
human nature without immortality and without divine love. The opposition between
the Leibnizian theory of immortality and the Hobbesian theory of mortality is, there-
fore, much more than a doctrinal opposition; it makes it possible to understand why
Hobbes did not transform his theory of the natural person into a theory of the moral
person. In order for such a transformation to be able to take place, it was important
to conceive, as Leibniz did, of a metaphysical guarantee of the permanence of the
moral person. This, however, is precisely what Hobbes did not want to do, owing
to his radical attachment to a theory of natural mortality. The failure of Hobbes
to theorise human moral identity thus proceeds less from incapacity than from a
refusal.
Chapter 7
Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance
and Powers: The Metaphysics of Moral Subjects

Martha Brandt Bolton

As Leibniz’s Preface makes clear, the New Essays advocates many positions op-
posed to those found in Locke’s Essay. But it proves difficult to give a definitive
overall account of the opposition between the greatest empiricist and the arch-
rationalist of the early modern period. The dispute defies reduction to a few fun-
damental points of disagreement. Of the many reasons for this, we might mention
that Leibniz drafted his response to the Essay with some knowledge of rising British
suspicions that it lent comfort to Hobbesian, Epicurean, Socinian, and skeptical
challenges to established truths of religion and morality, a fear Leibniz shared.
Moreover, Leibniz’s innovative use of dialogue to engage the Englishman’s phi-
losophy makes it difficult to capture their differences in a succinct formula. The pair
of works validates any number of accounts of the contested views. This paper con-
cerns their competing theories of substance and powers, and examines them from
the perspective of an aim both parties shared.
Let me start with one abstract characterization of the difference. Locke intends
his empirical investigation of how human understanding operates to proceed with
minimal metaphysical commitment. The assumption is that our ideas are faithful to
reality only if they are ultimately caused by things that really exist, and our beliefs
are assured of being truths about what is real only if our ideas are real; since our
ideas are limited by our narrow sphere of causal interactions, the result is a limited
but principled skepticism on metaphysical topics. By contrast, Leibniz contends that
we could not acquire ideas from causal interaction with the world, or acquire the
knowledge we have, if our minds were not innately provided with some fundamental
ideas and principles, including those central to the science of metaphysics; the non-
skeptical result is that we can attain metaphysical knowledge by identifying and
clarifying innate principles and using them to explicate what we experience. This
abstract partial characterization of the opposition between the two philosophers sets
the stage for their opposite views on more particular issues about the structure of
substances, powers, and moral subjects which were much in dispute at the turn of
the eighteenth century.
According to Locke, human understanding is limited in such a way that although
it is reasonable for us to infer that material substance exists and that spiritual sub-
stance exists, we cannot strictly know whether spiritual substance is, or is not,

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 107
and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 107–126.
108 Martha Brandt Bolton

identical to a certain system of matter.1 The immaterialist theory is more probable,


says the Essay, but many scholars do not take Locke at his word here.2 At the least,
they maintain, he thought the probabilities were reversed, if he did not privately side
with the materialists. Whatever the truth on this, Locke plainly did think it important
to show that the metaphysical doctrines essential to the sort of divine-natural law
morality, he regards as necessary for eternal personal happiness is compatible with
the hypothesis that created sprits are material, naturally perishable substances.3 This
may have been a strategy for reconciling human morality with his belief that spirits
are material substances with distinctive powers or it may just have been an effort to
safeguard morality in the face of what was, to his mind, the rationally unpersuasive
dogma of the soul’s immateriality.
A passage in his attack on innate practical principles shows one way the project
presented itself to Locke. Urging that we lack the sort of explicit knowledge of
a unique set of moral principles implied by the doctrine that such injunctions are
innate, he observes:
Nay, a great part of Men are so far from finding any such innate Moral Principles in them-
selves, that by denying freedom to Mankind; and thereby making Men no other than bare
Machins, they take away not only innate, but all Moral Rules whatsoever, and leave not a
possibility to believe any such, to those who cannot conceive, how any thing can be capable
of a Law, that is not a free Agent: And upon that ground, they must necessarily reject all
Principles of Vertue, who cannot put Morality and Mechanism together; which are not very
easy to be reconciled, or made consistent. (Essay I.iii.14)

Mechanism is a materialist view. The striking point is that the denial of human
freedom is linked to mechanism, and the conjunction poses a threat to morality.
A necessary condition of reconciling materialism and morality is having the right
account of human freedom, an account that is perforce compatible with materialism.
The metaphysical prerequisites of human freedom are, then, directly relevant to the
conditions necessary for morality. According to Locke, humans are moral subjects
only if they have liberty in acting and only if they have an afterlife, but neither
requires the immaterialist doctrine.4 Although Leibniz agrees on the two conditions,
he contends that morality is not properly served unless humans satisfy them by
nature, not by miracle, which requires that they be endowed with immaterial souls.5
The question, whether we have evidence for an account of substance adequate
to support moral attributes, is important to both philosophers. Yet their respective
core metaphysical theories, although widely studied, are seldom considered in light

1 Essay IV. iii. 5.


2 Essay II. xxvii. 25; also letter to Stillingfleet in Locke, Works 4:33.
3 See especially Essay II. xxviii. 5–13.
4 Essay IV. iii. 5, p. 542, ll. 6–13; letter to Stillingfleet, Locke, Works, 4: 34.
5Leibniz, Nouveaux Essais concernment l’Entendement Humain, in Sämtliche Schriften und
Briefe (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1990), VI.6; English translation by Peter Remnant and Jonathan
Bennett, New Essays concerning Human Understanding (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1996), 68. Cited hereafter as NE.
7 Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance and Powers 109

of this particular problem. As I hope to show, this brings out the significance of
some doctrines of Locke, and it highlights specific theoretical demands placed on
the metaphysical theories advocated in New Essays. This interpretative framework
is especially welcome in the latter case, because the work itself gives so few clues
to the overall aim of the various points and doctrines urged in disparate parts of
the text.

Locke on Ideas of Powers in General and the Idea of Active Power

Freedom is a power belonging to rational spirits, a causal disposition inhering in


spiritual substances, according to Locke. Our ideas, or ways of conceiving, of causal
powers and our ideas of the substances in which they inhere are both formed by the
mind from ideas it receives from the senses and inner reflection. The mind first
forms ideas of powers by a simple inference, and then forms ideas of substance
by an inference performed on its ideas of powers. At the first stage, our senses
constantly inform us that “one [thing] comes to an end, and ceases to be, and another
begins to exist,” and we find the same by inner reflection. It is not just that ideas
come and go, but more important, we observe that these events are changes made
by agents:
The Mind . . . [observes] a constant change of its Ideas, sometimes by the impression of out-
ward Objects on the Senses, and sometimes by the Determination of its own choice, . . . and
[concludes] from what it has so constantly observed to have been, that the like Changes will
for the future be made, in the same thing, by like Agents, and by the like ways . . . (Essay II.
xxi. 1; also II. xxvi. 1)

Direct experiences of particular agents making changes are assumed as experiential


data.6 The idea of a power is not just the idea of a cause, but rather that of a readi-
ness to cause a specific effect. The modal notion is formed when one “considers in
one thing the possibility of having one of its simple Ideas changed, and in another
the possibility of making that change and so comes by that Idea which we call
Power” (Essay II. xxi. 1). The idea of the power to cause a certain sort of effects
contains the assumption that things similar to those known to produce such effects
have the potential to produce similar effects. Similarity to a known agent signals
the presence of an unexercised power, and similarity defines what it is the power
to do.

6 Ruth Mattern, “Locke on Active Power and the Obscure Idea of Active Power from Bodies,”
Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 11A (1980): 39–77; Michael Jacovides, “Locke’s
Construction of the Idea of Power,” Studies in History and Philosophy of Science 34A (2003):
329–50.
110 Martha Brandt Bolton

Sometimes Locke echoes Aristotle’s definition of power, which was familiar to


everyone in his time.7 “Power being the Source from whence all Action proceeds,
the Substances wherein these Powers are, when they exert this Power into Act, are
called Causes; and the [substances or ideas] which thereupon are produced. . .by
the exerting of that Power, are called Effects” (Essay II. xxii. 11; also II. xxvi. 1).
Here a power is identified with a source of change without regard for its actual or
potential exertion. For Locke, the power of fire to melt wax is not quite what we
now call a “dispositional property,” that is a capacity defined entirely by its effect.
Rather, a Lockean power is defined by reference to what actually produces the effect;
it is a trivial consequence that a power carries the capacity to do this. Still, this
identification of causal power with what does the causing, as opposed to its capacity
to cause, is unstable. Often powers are treated as capacities. All things considered,
it seems that, for Locke, a power is the cause of a certain effect considered with
regard to its ability to cause it.8
There are, Locke finds, two agents of change whose efficacy we directly
experience—motion and thought (or volition). But motions and thoughts are fleet-
ing events which do not lie deeply within the causal structure of things. Although
we observe some agents at work, we do not understand how they produce their
effects; 9 and we observe a great many changes without observing their causes at
all. Nevertheless, Locke inclined toward the mechanist hypothesis that the causally
efficacious powers of bodies (here regarded as causes, not mere capacities) are the
primary qualities—extension, solidity, motion or rest, size, shape, position—of the
micro-particles that compose all other material things.10
Locke adheres to the Aristotelian distinction between active and correlative pas-
sive powers: “Power thus considered is twofold, viz. as able to make, or able to
receive any change: the one may be called Active, and the other Passive Power” (Es-
say II. xxi. 1). But while he accepts the power-to-make/power-to-receive distinction,
he objects to calling a power “active” simply because it makes a change, because
the making may not originate in the agent. He has in view a more elevated notion
of acting. He suggests that, in this sense, perhaps matter has merely passive powers;
pure spirit, or God, is purely act; and created spirits have active and passive powers
(Essay II. xxi. 2; also II. xxiii. 28). In any case, he argues, bodies give us no clear
and distinct idea of active power. This elevated notion of active power appears in the
Essay at the beginning and end of the long chapter on power most of which is given

7 Power is “a starting point of change in another thing or in the thing itself qua other.” Meta-
physics 7, 1046a: 9–19, The Complete Works of Aristotle, ed. Jonathan Barnes (Princeton: Prince-
ton University Press, 1984), 2: 11651.
8 Accordingly I will sometimes speak of powers as causing effects (as does Locke, e.g. Essay II.
viii. 25). I do not mean to imply that a capacity, as such, produces an effect.
9 Essay II. iv. 1; II. xxiii. 28; IV. iii. 29.
10 Essay II.viii; III.vi; IV.iii.11–16, 25–29.
7 Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance and Powers 111

over to the topic of human freedom.11 In effect it defines the category of power to
which liberty, the power to control one’s acts, belongs.
The remark that matter might be thought to lack active power, perhaps, gestures
to mechanists who misconstrue human liberty. Without endorsing the remark Locke
insists on an epistemic point: bodies “afford us not any Idea in themselves of the
Power to begin any Action, either motion or thought” (Essay II. xxi. 4; also 72).
We see a moving billiard ball set another ball in motion by impact, but there are
several reasons this is not a genuinely active power. One is that we observe the ball
“only to transfer, but not produce any motion.” It “only communicates” motion to
the second ball and “looses as much in itself” (Essay II. xxi. 4), so the effect is
“nothing new.” There are at least two ways we might understand the relevant notion
of nothing “new”—(i) no different kind of modification is produced (motion causes
motion); (ii) no different particular instance of any kind is produced (numerically the
same motion exists successively in two balls).12 I won’t linger over this, because the
produces-nothing-new criterion for passivity drops out of the picture.13 The second
reason for denying that a billiard ball’s causal powers are genuinely active is more
important: the causally efficacious motion of the first ball does not arise in it, but
is rather the effect of a different body, such as a moving cue stick. The motion in
the ball, although efficacious, is “borrowed” (Essay II. xxiii. 28). Such operations
of bodies give an “Idea of Power, which reaches not the Production of the Action,
but the continuation of the Passion” (Essay II. xxi. 4; also 72).
Inner reflection, by contrast, provides a clear and distinct idea of active power,
because “barely by willing it, barely by a thought of the Mind, we can move the parts
of our Bodies, which were before at rest” (Essay II. xxi. 4, 72). What is crucial, for
Locke, is that a mind’s choices, which are casually efficacious modifications, are
not caused by an external agent, but rather originate in the very mind that chooses
and thereby causes bodily motion.
There are two conspicuous features of active powers: (i) the exercise of an active
power involves volition or something like it and (ii) the exercise of an active power
is caused by an event originating in the substance that has the power, as opposed
to an event in that substance caused by an external agent. Conditions (i) and (ii)
are, I take it, singly necessary and jointly sufficient for a power’s being active. How
do we acquire clear and distinct ideas of active powers? One knows one’s active
powers by reflecting on the train of events that causes volition and subsequent bodily
movement. One cannot reflect on the volitions of someone else, but of course Locke
does not mean to deny that other people act from choices caused by their thoughts

11 A similar notion of active power appears in the three extant drafts of the Essay; an account of
the texts and an analysis can be found in Ruth Mattern, “Locke on Power and Causation: Excerpts
from the 1685 Draft of the Essay,” Philosophy Research Archives 7 (1981): 835–995.
12 Essay II. xxii. 13; p. 338, ll. 22–4 counts against (i). NE 172 takes Locke to mean (i) and faults
him for supposing the numerically same motion passes from one body to another. NE 231 implies
there is a similar error in Locke’s theory of the identity of plants and animals; see below.
13 Primary qualities of insensible particles cause ideas which are “new” in both senses; see Essay
II. viii. 8–14; also see II. xxii. 11; p. 294, l. 6.
112 Martha Brandt Bolton

and desires. Perhaps this is why he allows that we may derive an imperfect and
obscure idea of active power by observing the motions of bodies, and only claims
that reflection provides a better idea.14
Non-human animals, too, might provide some minimal idea of active power. In
a letter to Stillingfleet, Locke ascribes powers of “spontaneous motion” and “self
motion” to animals,15 evidently alluding to the Aristotelian view that the differentia
of living, as opposed to non-living, substances is capacity for self-change.16 The
relevant notion of self-change is, roughly, that of bodily movements caused by some
species of desire; living things “move themselves” insofar as they have species of
desires which arise from internal causes and produce movements in parts of their
bodies. Locke does not hesitate to ascribe low-grade cognitive and conative states to
non-human animals. Here, again, the idea of active power the observation of animals
might give us would be inferior.
To begin to grasp why liberty must be classed as an active power, we need to say
something about Locke’s account of liberty. It involves a more developed psycho-
logical theory, but the following overview will suffice for our purpose:
Liberty is a power to act or not to act according as the Mind directs. A power to direct the
operative faculties to motion or rest in particular instances, is that we call the Will. That
which in the train of our voluntary actions determines the will to any change of operation,
is some present uneasiness, which is, or at least is always accompanied with . . . Desire . . . .
[A]ll that we desire is only to be Happy. But though this general Desire of Happiness oper-
ates constantly and invariably, yet the satisfaction of any particular desire can be suspended
from determining the will to any subservient action, till we have maturely examin’d whether
that particular apparent good, which we then desire, makes a part of our real Happiness, or
be consistent or inconsistent with it. The result of our judgment upon that Examination
is what ultimately determines the Man, who could not be free if his will were determin’d
by anything, but his own desire guided by his own Judgement. (Essay II. xxi. 71; also II.
xxi. 56)

Desire for some particular thing produces bodily movement unless checked. It can
be checked, because humans have a constant desire for happiness in general. This
general desire, Locke seems to think, can suspend a present particular desire, fore-
stalling its effect long enough for one to consider whether gratifying this desire
would conflict with goods one desires more; one’s judgment then causes the pre-
ferred course, either action or forbearance.17 An exercise of liberty is a causally
related sequence of mental acts which typically produces a voluntary action.
Liberty qualifies to be an active power just in case (i) it is a power to perform
actions that are caused, at least in part, by desires and (ii) it is a power put into
action by causes that arise in the actor herself. The first condition is plainly met.

14 Cp. Mattern, “Locke on Active Power,” 55–75 and “Locke on Power and Causation,” sect. II.
15 Locke, Works, 4: 460, 463; also Essay II. xxvii. 5.
16 De Anima 2c1, 412a13. On late Scholastic treatments, see Dennis Des Chene, Life’s Form
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2000), 55–66.
17 There are some important questions, e.g. regarding the cause of suspense and cause of action,
but no attempt is made to resolve them here.
7 Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance and Powers 113

The second would seem to be met, because the train of events through which an
agent’s liberty is exerted originates in the agent’s mind, beginning with a general
desire for happiness and culminating in voluntary action (forbearance). Consider a
case that satisfies condition (i), but not (ii). A subject looks at a glass of wine, which
directly causes a desire to drink it; the desire goes unchecked and causes the subject
to imbibe. The desire is a passive cause of the subject’s behavior, and it is plausible
to say that the subject exercises no control over this motion. This case stands in
notable contrast to an exertion of Lockean liberty, a causally related sequence of
thoughts originating from the agent’s general desire for happiness and deliberation
about the consequences of the prospective act.
In view of this, the notion of active power assumes some importance in the effort
to make substance-materialism consistent with morality. Those who deny human
freedom and take humans to be machines are led to deny morality. Perhaps they go
wrong in their view of what men are, but certainly they mistake in their view of
human freedom. A likely source of the latter error is the assumption that a material
system has no active powers, that it is incapable of generating the causes that move
its functional parts; instead motion of its parts is contingent on the regular operations
of external causes. This would seem to relegate a human being to the status of a
wind-up clock or a windmill. This is an error, in Locke’s eyes. Animals have a more
elevated status precisely because they can put themselves in motion:
’Tis plain [a watch] is nothing but a fit Organization, or Construction of Parts, to a certain
end, which, when a sufficient force is added to it, it is capable to attain. If we would suppose
this Machine one continued Body, all whose organized Parts were repair’d, increas’d or
diminish’d, by a constant Addition or Separation of insensible Parts . . . we should have
something very much like the Body of an Animal, with this difference, That in an Animal
the fitness of the Organization, and the Motion wherein Life consists, begin together, the
Motion coming from within . . . (Essay II. xxviii. 5, emphasis added)

Animals may be entirely material substances, but they are not bare passive ma-
chines, as those who think materialism inconsistent with morality may have as-
sumed.

Strains in Locke’s Reconciling Program


Locke should not be taken to mean that the exertion of an active power arises in a
substance in such a thorough-going way that none of the causal antecedents of this
event originate from powers of other substances. It is not essential to any substance
to act, according to Locke; rather, a created substance is put into action by its cre-
ator.18 Moreover, human minds may well exist during periods of inactivity in the
tabula rasa stage and probably in dreamless sleep. Because everything that begins
to exist must have a cause (Essay IV. x. 3), any change in an inactive substance
must be the effect of an external cause. But although humans have to be roused

18 Letter to Stillingfleet, Locke, Works, 4: 464.


114 Martha Brandt Bolton

from dreamless sleep by the operations of surrounding bodies on the sensory organs,
they enjoy Lockean liberty. A use of this power consists of several causally related
events in the same human substance. It is irrelevant that the causal antecedents of
this sequence are traced back to operations of substances individually different from
the human being who chooses and acts. For Locke, the important point is that only a
substance that can execute a series of operations within itself, each performed by the
same substance, satisfies condition (ii) for having an active power, such as liberty.
Liberty, then, does not require the strong claim that a human substance is a closed
causal system, but it does hang on the doctrine that one and identically the same
substance has and exerts several powers at a time and over time. To explicate the
“identity” of a substance is to state explicative necessary and sufficient conditions
for the substance that has (exerts) power p to be identical to the substance that has
(exerts) power q. A satisfactory account of the identity of substances that are living
systems of matter would thus seem to be crucial in the effort to show how such a
system can have the liberty required of a subject of moral law.
It is not a task Locke neglects. The chapter “Of Identity and Diversity” pro-
vides an account of the identity of plants and animals, in general, which applies
to humans, on the assumption that they have no immaterial souls.19 By his own
showing, the identity of a living thing is not as clear as that of a material particle.
A particle is simple, that is has no parts, whereas a living thing is a “compounded
substance” composed of many particles, and individually different ones at different
times.20 An organism remains the same compound substance even if none of its
components remains identically the same. According to Locke, this is implied by
what a living thing is, namely, a “cohesion of particles of Matter” with “such a
disposition of them as constitutes the parts” of a living thing of some species, “such
an Organization of those parts, as is fit to receive, and distribute nourishment, so as
to continue and frame” a body proper to the species, “in which consists the . . . Life”
(Essay II. xxvii. 4). Life is the continued execution of a species of vital functions;
the spatial-temporal continuity of such a process is necessary and sufficient for the
identity of a living thing. Similarly for a human animal: “the Identity of the same
Man consists . . . in nothing but a participation of the same continued Life, by con-
stantly fleeting Particles of Matter, in succession vitally united to the same organized
Body” (Essay II. xxvii. 6).
Material particles, or simple substances, have substantial identity in the first
instance.21 A human animal has identity of a secondary sort, because its identity
depends on accidental features of many simple substances. The identity of a man
may seem somewhat compromised by this; a human animal is not, in the strictest
sense, a single substance that engages in a sequence of vital operations, but rather

19 Essay II.xxvii was added in the second edition, as was the significantly revised account of lib-
erty. II.xxvii.72 was added in the fourth edition.
20 Organisms are classed as substances; see Essay II. xvii. 3; p. 330, l.7; also e.g. II. xxiii. 14; II.
xxiv. 1.
21 See Essay II. xxvii. 3 on the identity of a material particle.
7 Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance and Powers 115

a succession simple of substances, each generating some segment of the series of


operations.22 The difficulty is not mentioned in connection with liberty,23 but it is
much in evidence in Locke’s theory of persons.
This theory is that persons, not substances, are proper subjects of legal-moral ac-
countability;24 moreover the identity of a person is constituted by memory abilities
that secure the “same consciousness,” without regard for identity of substance. It
seems a person is always attached to some substance, but the substance may change
over time. A controversial doctrine, this is surely motivated, in part, by the aim
of protecting morality against threats due to our ignorance about the nature of the
“substance that thinks in us.”25 It is not just that we cannot be certain that we have
naturally indestructible souls. More important, we cannot know whether one sub-
stance or a succession of different substances, of whatever nature, thinks in us:
. . .why one intellectual Substance may not have represented to it, as done by it self, what
it never did, and was perhaps done by some other Agent, why I say such a representation
may not be possible without reality of Matter of Fact, . . .will be difficult to conclude from
the Nature of things. And that it is never so, will by us, till we have clearer views of the
Nature of thinking Substances, be best resolv’d into the goodness of God, who as far as the
Happiness or Misery of any of his sensible Creatures is concerned in it, will not . . . transfer
from one to another, that consciousness, which draws Reward or Punishment with it. (Essay
II. xxvii. 13)

The theory of persons assures the legal accountability required for morality despite
our incurable inability to argue from the nature of things.26 A person’s substance in
the hereafter may, or may not, be identical to the person’s substance here and now;
still identity of person suffices for moral accountability in this life and the next,
Locke contends.
By the same token, on the assumption that men are compound material sub-
stances, accountability remains in tact despite the secondary status of a man’s iden-
tity. A person’s consciousness-based identity and an animal’s life-based identity are

22 Harold Noonan, “Locke on Personal Identity,” Philosophy 53 (1978): 343–53 and Matthew Stu-
art, in a paper presented at the Locke Conference, Oxford, 2004 argue that Locke holds a “relative
theory” of identity, like that of Peter Geach. Because this view allows that individual A and indi-
vidual B may be the same organism and also different collections of particles, the (relative) identity
of an organism is not compromised on this view. Cf. Vere Chappell, “Locke and Relative Identity,”
History of Philosophy Quarterly 6 (1989): 65–84 and “Locke on the Ontology of Matter, Living
Things and Persons,” Philosophical Studies 60 (1990): 19–32; Martha Brandt Bolton “Locke on
Identity: the Scheme of Simple and Compound Things” in Individuation and Identity in Early
Modern Philosophy, ed. Kenneth Barber and Jorge Garcia (Albany: SUNY Press, 1994), 103–31.
23The last letter to Stillingfleet explicitly states that liberty and spontaneous motion can be super-
added to matter by divine power; Locke, Works, 4: 465–8, passim 460–70.
24 Especially Essay II. xvii. 26.
25Other motivations are at work, as well, including questions about resurrection; see Bolton,
“Locke on Identity”.
26 The last quoted sentence, as I read it, imputes divine justice on the condition that consciousness
is transferred among substances and substances bear moral accountability. Far from retreating from
the doctrine that persons bear accountability, as some scholars have said, the sentence assumes it.
116 Martha Brandt Bolton

structurally alike; as a result, the problematic status of the latter need pose no prob-
lem for moral accountability:
Different Substances, by the same consciousness (where they do partake in it) being united
into one Person; as well as different Bodies, by the same Life are united into one Animal,
whose Identity is preserved, in that change of Substances, by the unity of one continued
Life. (Essay II. xxvii. 10)

Here the status of an animal’s identity is presented in its most problematic form: a
human animal is composed of a succession of different simple substances, united
only by a certain relation. It is out on the table again, when the text questions
whether the same person can be present in a succession of individually different
thinking substances:
. . . this can be no Question at all to those, who place Thought in a purely material, animal,
Constitution, void of an immaterial Substance. For, whether their Supposition be true or
no, ’tis plain they conceive personal Identity preserved in something else than Identity of
Substance; as animal Identity is preserved in Identity of Life, and not of Substance. (Essay
II. xxvii. 12)

Some might use this very point, namely the supposed change of substance to argue
against the soul’s materiality, as Locke observes. In order to make this case, how-
ever, an advocate of immateriality would have to make out that memory abilities are
never transferred in tact from one immaterial substance to another—a challenge not
to be met by human ways of acquiring knowledge, as he sees them. Again, as in a
passage quoted already, if consciousness is transferred among substances, then one
substance may represent itself as having done something which was, in fact, done
by a different substance. Indeed this does happen if a man is nothing but a system
of fleeting particles. Yet it is no “argument against those who would place Thinking
in a system of fleeting animal Spirits,” if Locke’s theory of persons is correct (see
Essay II. xxvii. 13; 338:19-20).
But all questions about human moral agency raised by the peculiar status of an
animal’s identity are not resolved by this theory. If substances are not the subjects
of moral accountability, for Locke, they are nevertheless the entities that have and
exercise active powers. As a result, the substance that possesses liberty and exerts
it in a voluntary act is not the subject morally accountable for this (its?) voluntary
act. Liberty is an active power, which inheres in certain substances. Since a person
is not a substance—its identity conditions are not those of any sort of substance—it
would seem that moral subjects, or persons, cannot have liberty, after all.27 The the-
ories of substance, active power, and an animal’s identity generate some unresolved
difficulties in the reconciling program.

27 Locke seems to be committed to saying that both substances and persons are thinking, reflective
beings, which raises questions about the ownership of thoughts and acts (see E.J. Lowe, Locke on
Human Understanding (London, and New York: Routledge, 1995), 107–18; I once attempted to
unravel some of the resulting complexities in Bolton, “Locke on Identity,” 117–24 . But the present
point is that persons cannot have active powers, because condition (ii) specifies substance as the
subject that has and exerts such powers.
7 Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance and Powers 117

The Essay appeared in this light to the author of the New Essays. Leibniz (speak-
ing in the voice of Theophilus) observes that “. . . in relation to God, whose social
bond with us is the principal point of morality, error cannot occur. Concerning that
which is the self, it is good to distinguish it from the appearance of self and con-
sciousness.” (NE 237).28 Suppose a man, on the day of judgment, wrongly appears
to himself to have been wicked, “. . . dare one say that the supreme and just judge
who knows the contrary, would damn this person and judge against what he knows?
It seems, however, that this would follow from the notion of moral personality you
would provide” (NE 244). To be sure, persons will be judged, not men, accord-
ing to Locke; but this supposed distinction conflates real and apparent self-identity,
Leibniz contends. In his eyes, the attempt to pry the subject of morality apart from a
substantial subject is an unpersuasive failure; morality cannot be adequately founded
without confronting and resolving problems about human substantiality. New Essays
is, in part, meant to solve them from the ground up.

Leibniz on Substance, Powers, and Truly Active Powers

As Leibniz sees it, Locke’s difficulties can be traced to a misguided account of the
idea of substance, which in turn reflects the abstract controversy mentioned at the
start of this paper. Locke maintains that a human mind cannot have the idea of sub-
stance unless it has ideas of several causal powers, or what he calls “qualities” (see
Essay II. viii. 8–10, 24; II. xxi. 3). The idea of substance is subsequently attained
by an inference from the observation that several ideas of qualities are regularly
observed together and presumed to belong to the same thing: for “not imagining how
these simple Ideas can subsist by themselves, we accustom our selves, to suppose
some Substratum, wherein they do subsist, and from which they do result, which
therefore we call Substance” (Essay II. xxiii. 1). Several functions are ascribed to
substratum: the qualities that go together “inhere in and result from” substratum and
it is the “cause of the union” of these qualities (Essay II. xxiii. 1, 6). The passage
goes on to suggest that the unknown substratum plays, with respect to individual
particles, a role analogous to that played by the insensible particles that compose
a sensible body on which its color and weight depend. Substratum is, then, that in
virtue of which all insensible particles of matter are solid, extended, and moveable;
particles with these qualities, in turn, give rise to the powers of the larger bodies
they compose.
When Locke turns to the operations of spirits—thinking, willing, perceiving, and
the power of moving a body—the same pattern of reasoning applies (Essay II. xxiii.
5, 15). A spiritual substance has the powers it does largely in virtue of a substratum
intrinsic to it, but the character of the dependence relation is left somewhat vague,
and the nature of the substratum is said to be beyond our ken. A substance with

28 G.W. Leibniz, Sämtliche Schriften und Briefe (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1923– ), 6: 6 (1990).
Translations in this paper mainly follow Peter Remnant and Jonathan Bennett, New Essays.
118 Martha Brandt Bolton

appropriate intrinsic character is required for the existence of a power of any sort.
Still Locke argues, we have no basis on which to reach a conclusion about the nature
of substratum, nor how powers result from and are united by it, nor whether the
substratum of physical powers is, or is not, identical to that of mental powers.
Responding to the declaration that substratum is “something I know not what,”
Leibniz says:
If you distinguish two things in a substance—the attributes or predicates, and their common
subject—it is no wonder that you cannot conceive anything special in this subject. . .because
you already set aside all the attributes through which details could be conceived. Thus, to
require of this pure subject in general anything beyond what is needed for the conception
of the same thing—e.g. it is the same thing which understands and wills, which imagines
and reasons—is to demand the impossible; . . . Yet this conception of substance, for all its
apparent thinness, is less empty and sterile than it is thought to be. Several consequences
arise from it; these are of the greatest importance to philosophy. (NE 218)

This is not a reproach for positing a substratum, distinct from all qualities, in the
constitution of a substance.29 Leibniz finds nothing wrong with Locke’s procedure,
because he understands that the abstraction is only in thought. His criticism is in-
stead directed to the presumption that metaphysical inquiry comes to a halt at this
point. On the contrary, he urges, the abstraction isolates a metaphysical question
about the identity of a substance—how one substance unites many powers and
actions. Addressing it involves analyzing notions implicit in the presumption that
several qualities perceived by sense or reflection belong to “one thing.” Following
the Essay, Leibniz starts by explicating the notion of a power and its exertion, and
then constructs the general idea of substance from that.
He, too, takes Aristotle’s notion of power as a starting point. Power, potentia in
scholastic Latin, is opposed to act, and the transition from power to act is change.30
A change is an action in one subject and a passion in another; every active power
has a correlative passive power. But Leibniz eliminates the polarity of power and
exertion, being in potentia and being in actu. Powers are not exerted intermittently
depending on conditions.31 Active power should instead be understood in a more
complete sense [plus parfait]: not just an actual being with a capacity realized only
if circumstances are right (an entelechia, for Aristotle), but rather an endeavor [ten-
dence].32 An endeavor is both an actual and acting being. Leibniz explains that the

29Cf. Jonathan Bennett, “Substratum,” History of Philosophy Quarterly 4 (1987): 197–215, see
202; Nicholas Jolley, Leibniz and Locke (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), 91–3.
30 Leibniz notes that this clarifies Aristotle’s definition of motion, often translated: “Motion is the
actuality of a potential being in so far as it is potential”. As he explains, this is meant to describe the
on-going actualization of a potential not yet fully realized, but the formula was widely regarded as
laughable.
31 Also see NE 111, 216.
32 Leibniz apparently means to contrast Aristotle’s use of entelechia, meaning actual as opposed
to potential being, with his use of energia, which sometimes means (i) an activity, i.e. use of an
ability to do something, and sometimes (ii) an actual being, or realization of a potential to be some-
thing; entelechia always means the latter. (See Steven Menn, “The Origins of Aristotle’s Concept
7 Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance and Powers 119

notion of endeavor is central in his theory of dynamics33 and introduces the word
“force” to stand for it. The point is that active physical forces exist only if, only as
long as, they are acting in, or upon, bodies: “. . . endeavors are never without some
effect” (NE 110). Active forces are always exerted with some effect.
Opposed to active power is a passive power, which is more real [plus chargée
de realité] than Aristotle’s receptivity. For instance physical forces, tending toward
motion, always encounter resistance. Matter exhibits passive power, because it has
not only mobility, but also impenetrability and inertia.34
With these enhanced notions of power in hand, Leibniz distinguishes two sorts
of active powers/forces: (i) entelechy, which he also calls “primary active force” or
activité and (ii) effort, conatus, or “derivative active force.”35 These derivative forces
include physical efforts/forces which cause bodily motion; they also comprise psy-
chological efforts/forces, namely, conscious desires and non-conscious appetitions
(NE 172–3). Further primary and derivative forces—activity and effort/conatus—
are related as a substance’s nature and its transient modes: “Primary [sc. active
and passive] powers are what make up the substances themselves; derivative pow-
ers . . . are merely ways of being [façon d’etre]—and they must be derived from
substances. . ..” (NE 379). Still within this structure, the primary active force, or
activité, is said to be substantial (NE 170). It is the constituent in the make-up of a
substance that makes it a substance. That is it explains how a substance manages to
play the role that defines a substance, the role Locke described as supporting, giving
rise to, and uniting several powers.
Notice that a substance is made up of nothing but forces/powers—active and
passive, primary and derivative. In Leibniz’s ontology, powers do not exist in a dis-
tinct mode, nor in a distinct category. Powers in general are not reduced to, or even

of ’E␯´␧␳␥␧␫␣: ’E␯´␧␳␥␧␫␣ and ⌬´␷␯␣␮␫␵,” Ancient Philosophy 14 (1994): 73–114.) Scholastics


distinguished the “first actuality” that is achieved, e.g., when a human has acquired the ability to
speak Greek with the “second actuality” achieved when, desiring to use the ability, she speaks
Greek. The “first actuality,” an actual being with a simple faculty, is the entelechia that Leibniz
eliminates, saying instead that all powers are energia, in the former of Aristotle’s senses. But
he intends to blur the distinction. And he appropriates the term entelechie for the primary active
powers (activités), which are essential to substances according to him. In doing this, he aligns
himself with scholastic-Aristotelian psychological treatises which used the term to designate the
soul, substantial form, or substance-constituting principle of a living thing; see below note 41.
33 This is presumably a reference to Specimen dynamicum (published 1695), Leibnizens mathema-
tische Schriften, ed. C.I. Gerhardt, 7 vols. (Berlin: 1849–63), 6: 234–54; Gottfried Wilhelm Leib-
niz, Philosophical Papers and Letters, trans. and ed. Leroy E. Loemker (second edn. Dordrecht:
Reidel, 1969), 435–52 (hereafter cited as Loemker).
34 NE 169; also 216.
35 Conatus is the term used at NE 173, 216. Derivative passive powers are not mentioned; cf.
Specimen Dynamicum, which introduced the public to the 4-fold classification of forces in context
of theoretical physics; also see “On the Correction of Metaphysics and the Concept of Substance”
(published 1694), Die Philosophische Schriften von Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, ed. C.I. Gerhardt,
7 vols. (Berlin, 1875–90; reprint Hildesheim: Olms, 1965), 4: 468–70 (hereafter cited as G);
Loemker, 432–3.
120 Martha Brandt Bolton

dependent on, beings of a different type, such as actual beings.36 Damaris Masham37
objected that forces cannot constitute the essence of a substance; evidently she as-
sumed that because forces carry potentiality, they exist only if grounded in one or
more actual things. Leibniz replied by contrasting changeable forces with primary
force. Unlike the former, which cannot constitute a substantial essence, “primary
force is the Principe d’Action of which changeable forces are modifications.38 On
this model, the actual being of a substance is continually acting: “There is always
a particular disposition to action, and towards one action rather than another. As
well as the disposition there is a tendency toward action—indeed there is an infinity
of them in any subject at any given time, and these tendencies are never without
some effect.” (NE 110–1).39 On one hand, a substance is essentially engaged in
an unchanging activité; on the other, it is always exerting efforts/forces that cause
particular acts. To ascribe an activité to an agent is to say that the agent’s nature
is to do such-and-such, or in some cases to specify its function.40 It is difficult to
resist the conclusion that the derivative forces that arise in a substance tend to cause
particular acts by which the essential “work” of the substance is carried on.41
The text goes some way toward filling out this abstract conception. A substance is
constantly living;42 more specifically, perceiving the world and consequently acting:
“what constitutes the nature of these true unities [sc. substances], namely percep-
tion and its consequences.” (NE 378); “perception belongs to all entelechies.” (NE
210); “there is an infinity of souls, or more generally of primary entelechies, pos-
sessing something analogous to perception and appetite” (NE 318). An individual
animal comprises a primary activity, which is evidently reflected in (and reflects) the
animal’s sensory apparatus and other functional bodily parts.43 Perception implies

36 One qualification: finite beings depend on God, which is pure act, according to Leibniz.
37 G III.350.
38 A “principe” may be either a source, foundation, or rule of acting; see Petit Robert: dictionnaire
de la langue française, ed. A. Rey and J. Rey-Debove, third edition, Paris: Dictionnaires Le Robert,
2003).
39 Also see NE 112, 221, 65, 305, 221, 117, 119.
40 Petit Robert, dir. A. Rey and J. Rey-Debove cites the activité of acid and that of poison. Dic-
tionnaire historique de la langue françise, dir. Alain Ray (Paris: Dictionnaires Le Robert, 1995)
reports that the French word was derived from the Latin activitas, but did not retain the latter’s
meaning of vis agendi.
41 Primary entelechy is also called “substantial form,” NE 317–8. Another typical formulation
occurs in a letter from 1699: “. . . the active force which exerts itself in various ways through
motion, the primitive entelechy or in a word, something analogous to the soul, whose nature con-
sists in a certain perpetual law of the same series of changes through which it runs unhindered.”
Letter to De Volder, G II.171; Loemker, 517. The various formulations (including activité) indicate
no difference in metaphysical theory, as I see it. For one analysis of the diversity, see Pauline
Phemister, Leibniz and the Natural World (Dordrecht: Springer, 2005).
42 NE 305, 321f; also 162, 112, 119.
43 NE implies that entelechies belong to all living things, including plants and lower forms of life.
Thus the term “perception” is a general term applicable to several grades of cognition ranging
from intellection through sense perception and beyond. See NE 440 on the relation between the
7 Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance and Powers 121

appetite: “there are no perceptions that are completely indifferent to us” (NE 162,
166). In Leibniz’s psychology, any perception of the world is (inter alia) perception
of the good things in the world, and every substance is pleased by the good things
it perceives (NE 162–3). A substantial activité may, then, be characterized as per-
ceiving the world and consequently striving toward the good perceived, an activity
defined by the limited cognitive capacities of an individual organism. Although this
is not entirely explicit, many scattered texts like those just quoted support it;44 fur-
ther confirmation may be found in the New Essays’ take on what counts as a truly
active power.
On Leibniz’s model, every change in a substance is produced by a cause that orig-
inates in the substance itself: “anything which occurs in what is strictly a substance
must be a case of ‘action’ in the metaphysically rigorous sense of something which
occurs in the substance spontaneously, arising out of its own depths; for no created
substance can have an influence upon any other.” (NE 210). By contrast, Locke’s
criterion (ii) is satisfied by powers of a substance, even though exertions of them
can be traced back to causal agents external to it. There are no natural powers of
this sort in Leibniz’s substance. But spontaneous change is not enough for genuine
action. True action, for him, is a spontaneous change that increases the well being
of the substance; that is it enhances the actor’s cognitive performance:
. . . if we take “action” to be an endeavor towards perfection, and “passion” to be the oppo-
site, then genuine substances are active only when their perceptions (for I grant perceptions
to all of them) are becoming better developed and more distinct, just as they are passive
only when their perceptions are becoming more confused. (NE 210)

The measure of one’s well being is one’s perception, or knowledge. And the value of
perception is measured by the degree to which it is distinct as opposed to confused.
There is a common sense motivation for this: the more distinctly one perceives
things, the more distinctly the good in them is perceived, and the more one is pleased
by and attracted to this good.45 New Essays offers a rather developed psychology
(and pneumatology), but we need not say much about it. For us, it is enough that
a perception of x is more distinct (confused) than a perception of y to the extent
x is perceived to stand out from (blend in with) its parts and the adjacent objects
more than y is perceived to do. At a distance from the sea, one hears the surf more
distinctly than the individual waves crashing on the shore (NE 54). The more some
things in one’s perceptual scene stand out, the better one’s perception, and since per-

active principle and complementary body of a living thing. Many living things have no conscious
perceptions at all and those who do also have many unconscious ones; e.g. NE 134, 173.
44 Also from the reply to Masham: “the positive idea of this . . . primitive force is entirely known,
because [a simple substance] must always have a regulated progression of perceptions. . .”; G
III.356.
45 NE 210. Relatively distinct perceptions are attached to relatively enhanced appetites. But distinct
perceptions always contain confused ones, and the enhanced appetites of the former may be resisted
by the diffused appetites of the latter. A substance secures the good it distinctly perceives only to
the extent its enhanced appetites comport with its diffused appetites; relevant texts include NE
188–9, 195.
122 Martha Brandt Bolton

ceiving is the activité of a substance, to perceive well is to execute its function well
(perfect itself). For our purpose, it is not necessary to unpack this ethical doctrine.
The point, for us, is to grasp the connection between a substance, its powers, and
its acts: what it is for several powers to inhere in and result from the same “substra-
tum,” as Locke might put it. We can extract the following general account. Every
change in a substance is either a true action or something it passively undergoes. A
substance truly acts when its derivative efforts succeed in executing its substantial
activité; it suffers when its changes exhibit resistance to its efforts to carry out its
work. This skeletal theory is meant to be more adequate for purposes of human
morality than the doctrines of the Essay, but we have yet to see why.

Leibniz on Substantial Identity and Locke’s Challenge


to Immaterialists
New Essays objects to Locke’s account of the identity of plants and animals for
the traditional reason that modifications are individuated by the substances that
have them. The functional arrangement of particles that compose an animal is a
modification of those particles; although a group of different particles may have an
equivalent organization, they cannot have a numerically identical one. “Organization
or configuration alone, without an enduring principle of life which I call ‘monad’,
would not suffice to make something remain numerically the same, i.e. the same
individual.” (NE 231). A mere machine, such as a ship composed of shifting planks,
is not numerically the same at different times:
But as for substances which have in themselves a true and real substantial unity, which
execute “vital actions” properly so-called; and as for substantial beings . . . animated by a
certain indivisible spirit; one can rightly say that they remain perfectly the same individual
in virtue of this soul or spirit. (NE 231f )

On this account, a living thing comprises not just an organic body composed of
changing particles, but also a monad, an indivisible substance without compositional
parts. Indivisible spirits are said to animate rational animals; souls, to animate other
animals; mere entelechies, lesser sorts of living things.46 Each type of organism is a
compound essentially comprising a body composed of changing parts, yet because
it also essentially includes a monad, the compound has identity in virtue of the
uncompromised identity of the monad.47
Still Leibniz’s theory of simple and compound substances does not confront the
basic issue with Locke. The Essay brings out two problems with regard to the
identity of substances: (i) a substance made of nothing but changing parts is “the
same” in a secondary sense; (ii) the series of acts that pertain to the same indivisible
substance may not be all and only the acts of one person; nor, for that matter, all and

46 Also NE 134, 139, 225.


47 NE 317–8, 440.
7 Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance and Powers 123

only the acts that constitute the same life.48 Locke argues that we can be content
with (i), using (ii) to forestall opposition. The New Essays passage just quoted has
(i) in view. But identity of substance is irrelevant, if (ii) is allowed to stand.
In fact the compound substance theory is not in evidence in the official theory
advanced in New Essays, namely, that a substance is constituted by primary and
derivative forces. This latter doctrine is, however, crafted in such a way that it
can be applied to both simple and compound substances. A simple substance is
constituted by primary powers of a psychological sort—a perceptual-good seeking
activité and a passive tendency to confused perception. A composite substance, or
organism, is constituted by the activité of its simple substance and passive resis-
tance to motion exhibited by its body.49 Considered as primary active force of a
simple substance, an activité is executed by appetites defined by ends, which are
attained to the extent confused perceptions allow. Considered as primary activity of
a compound substance, this same activité is carried on by physical forces causing
motion in the functional parts of the organism’s body.50 These physical forces are
not defined by ends, but they tend, as far as mechanical laws allow, to produce
movements that attain the ends of the simple substance. It was suggested above that
all the efforts/forces derived from a primary activity tend to implement the activity.51
Accordingly, if this is right, the succession of appetite generated changes in the soul
carry on perceiving-and-acting within a simple substance, while the succession of
impetus caused changes in the soul-body compound prosecute the same activité in

48 Locke argues that (a) we cannot be certain that different persons are not present by turn in the
same man (e.g. the prince-person and the pauper-person may exchange bodies) and (b) we cannot
be certain that the same person is not present in a succession of different immaterial substances. It
follows that we cannot be certain that different immaterial substances are not present by turn in the
same human animal.
49 The primary entelechy (activité) is a constituent of a simple substance. But Leibniz sometimes
says the simple substance is the “primary entelechy” of the compound substance it partially con-
stitutes; NE 318; also 210, 440. I regard this as a sort of short hand for the position described
above.
50 NE 177. The following note, probably written shortly before work began on NE, so clearly
expresses this doctrine that it is worth quoting here: “Conatus is itself of two kinds—that of a
simple or of a composite thing. A simple thing is a percipient, and the conatus of the percipient as
such is also called appetite, in a thinking being will. . . . In a composite being or a body, conatus
is motive force; mechanics deals with this.” Notes added to New Method, etc. (last few years of
seventeenth century); Loemker, 92, notes 5–6.
51 To be more accurate, the perceptions and bodily movements are derived from a primary activity
and its complementary primary passive power. Leibniz considers the former to be so much more
significant that he sometimes fails to mention the latter.
124 Martha Brandt Bolton

the living body.52 This is, I think, the best way to understand Leibniz’s doctrine that
a soul and its body “perfectly express” each other; each perfectly models the other:
. . . with . . . animate [bodies] . . . the soul and the machine . . . agree perfectly. Though they
have no immediate influence on each other, they mutually express each other, the one having
concentrated into a perfect unity everything which the other has dispersed throughout its
multiplicity. (NE 318; also 177, 220)

That is, I suggest, the successive appetite-perceptions in the soul and the sequence
of motion-producing bodily forces in the functional parts of its mechanical body
are mutually expressive in the sense that both sequences execute the same primary
activity.
Two theories of substance are abroad in the text: the compound substance theory
and the primary-derivative forces theory. While they are compatible, New Essays
pays much more attention to laying the metaphysical ground for the latter. We will
see, too, that it addresses the more important of Locke’s two problems, namely to
show that the same substance is needed to unify acts that belong to the same person
or even the same life. We now turn to Leibniz’s response.
Locke’s spokesman in New Essays proposes that the “identity of the same man
consists . . . in nothing but his enjoying the same life, which is continued by con-
stantly fleeting particles of matter, in succession vitally united to the same organized
body.” Identity of life constitutes human identity for Leibniz, too: “This can be
understood in my way.” But an organic body does not remain the same. “And if
no reference is made to the soul, there will not be the same life, nor a vital unity
either.” (NE 232) To be sure, the soul’s identity is not compromised in the way that
of a functioning material system is. So far, this does not show, contra Locke, the
same substance that underwrites the same life.
Locke’s explicit challenge to the relevance of an identical immaterial substance to
personal identity. The same person would be preserved in different immaterial souls,
if the cognitive powers inhering in one soul were stripped from it and transferred
intact to an individually different soul. This is coherent for Locke, who holds that
the identity of an immaterial substance does not depend on its powers and acts.53
By contrast, New Essays propounds a theory of substantial identity that depends
on nothing but cognitive acts, or more exactly, the minute perceptions of which
a substance is unaware: “These insensible perceptions . . . indicate and constitute
the same individual, who is characterized by the vestiges or expressions which the
perceptions preserve from the individual’s former states, thereby connecting these to
his present state.” (NE 55, emphasis added) Now the issue is precisely whether one’s

52 This is, I think, the sense in which both psychological and physical forces can be said to mod-
ify the same immaterial substance. On this question, see also Phemister, Leibniz and the Natural
World, 187–212; cf. Robert M. Adams, Leibniz: Determinist, Theist, Idealist (Oxford and New
York: OUP, 1994), 378–93; Paul Lodge, “Primitive and Derivative Forces in Leibnizian Bodies,”
Nihil Sine Ratione, VII. Internationaler Leibniz-Kongress, ed. Hans Poser (Hanover: Gottfried-
Wilhelm-Leibniz-Gesellschaft, 2001), 2: 720–27.
53 See Essay II. xxvii. 2.
7 Locke and Leibniz on the Structure of Substance and Powers 125

memory-perceptions do, in fact, indicate the same substance—a person’s present


memories might not represent acts generated by one’s present substance, according
to Locke. So the point about the constitution of individual identity—what individual
identity consists in—ought to carry the burden of this riposte. Although the claim
about what present perceptions indicate is familiar from other texts, it is useless for
the purpose in view in New Essays.54 Now the dialogue also puts the anti-Lockean
claim this way:
An immaterial being or spirit cannot be stripped of all perception of its past existence. There
remain within it impressions of everything that previously happened to it, and presentiments
of everything that will occur in it . . . . This continuation and bond [liason] of perceptions
makes a substance really the same individual. (NE 239)

Such passages may imply that there is an inter-perceptual bond more basic than the
relation of mutual indication, but they surely do not say what it is. What is needed
is a bond that clarifies the principle that unites all and only the perceptions of the
same substance, and also shows that the perceptions so united include all and only
those that constitute the same Lockean life, as well as all those that constitute the
same person.
The needed account is suggested by the theory of substance-constituting primary
activity explicated above. In a first effort, we might say that the series of appetite-
perceptions that occur in a substance implement (more or less well) the vital activité
of that substance. The series of appetite-perceptions in an immaterial spirit, as the
sequence of bodily forces and motions in the human animal that contains the spirit,
are unified by reference to the same vital activité.55 To be more exact, reference to
the same activity will serve as a criterion for the set of perceptions that belong to
the same substance and explain the bond of unity among them provided that each
individual substance has an essential activité proper to it, alone.56 If this is granted,
we can extract from the text a standard for the identity of a substance. It not only
motivates the ascription of many acts to the same substance in a plausible way, but
also implies that the series of acts of the same substance are precisely the series of
acts that constitute the same life, according to Locke.
As for persons, we can see how the criterion might block inter-substantial trans-
fer of cognitive powers, although no very precise account will be attempted in
this paper. A substance is modified by certain powers/forces, in the first place, in
virtue of their tending to implement its unique activité. Some of its powers might be

54 E.g. Discourse on Metaphysics, sec. 8, G IV.432-3; Loemker, 307.


55 This evidently satisfies the demand that there be an intelligible relation between a substance and
its powers, NE 65–6, 379, 381–2, 403. Some scholars suggest that causal closure is a criterion for
states of the same substance; in context of NE, a better motivated criterion is called for.
56 This is not explicitly said in NE, as far as I can see; but it is implied by the doctrine that each
substance differs from every other in virtue of intrinsic denominations; NE 110, also 245–6. It is
explicit in a contemporary text: “. . . all substances are different in nature, and there are no two
thing in nature which differ in number alone.” letter to De Volder (1704), Gerhardt, Philosophische
Schriften, 2:264; Loemker, 534–5.
126 Martha Brandt Bolton

transferred to a different substance, but they would still tend to execute the activité of
their proper substance; even if they happened to suit a different activité for awhile,
it would not be for long.57 They could not, then, be modifications of the second
substance in the robust way its proper powers are. It can be doubted that inserted
powers would really inhere in, or belong to, this second substance at all.58 New
Essays thus purports to meet Locke’s challenge and cut the ground from under his
theory of persons, and secure the substantial subject of moral accountability.
The dispute we have unfolded hardly points to the conclusion that New Essays
proposes a more tenable theory of substance, powers, and moral subjects than we
find in the Essay. From Locke’s own point of view, his position would seem less than
entirely satisfactory in view of the tension among his accounts of substances, active
powers, and personal identity. In the explication of Leibniz’s side of the dispute
offered here, no comparable tensions are evident, but this is not decisive. The better
theory is plainly the theory that is true (if either is). Leibniz may have been tempted
by something like a “transcendental” argument: we take ourselves to be moral sub-
jects; if we are substances constituted as on his theory, we have a metaphysical
structure that makes us optimally fit to be moral subjects; this is reason to think his
theory comports with our experience. At the start of this paper, we mentioned an
abstract characterization of a disagreement between Locke and Leibniz. Leibniz’s
side of this might seem to license this style of argument. It is not overtly used in
New Essays, perhaps because Locke takes the opposite side.59 The Essay aims to
show that we are moral subjects without making assumptions about the nature of
substance that a reasonable skeptic might question. Whether one views the task as
Locke does or instead as his critic does will largely determine which of the two one
judges to have the better side of this dispute.60

57 Such a transfer is not in accord with the order of nature and could only be effected by divine
power. Moreover, Leibniz envisages that the only powers that might be miraculously transferred
result in conscious perceptions; the substance retains its tendencies toward non-conscious percep-
tions. See NE 245, 242.
58It is the same with all powers that cannot be explained by the natures of substances that allegedly
have them; NE 66–67, 379.
59 Leibniz claims to show that his theory of substance is true at NE 378–9; the probative force
of this passage is discussed in Martha Brandt Bolton, “Leibniz’s Nouveaux Essais: A Contest by
Dialogue” in Pauline Phemister and Stuart Brown (eds.), Leibniz and the English Speaking World
(Dordrecht: Kluwer, 2007), 11–132.
60 It is a great pleasure to express my gratitude to John Rogers for his extensive scholarship on early
modern philosophy, his leadership in organizing the British Society for History of Philosophy and
founding and editing the Society’s journal, and his personal encouragement of other scholars. For
helpful discussion of earlier versions of the paper, I am grateful to Han-Kyul Kim, Marcy Lascano,
Alan Nelson, Tad Schmaltz, John Whipple, and audiences at the California Conference on Early
Modern Philosophy, California State University at Long Beach, 2007 and the Midwestern Seminar
on Early Modern Philosophy, University of Chicago, 1999.
Chapter 8
John Locke, Thomas Beconsall,
and Filial Rebellion

Mark Goldie

The first published critique of Locke’s Two Treatises of Government has been en-
tirely overlooked. It is an attack which offers an illuminating reading of Locke’s
politics as a theory of filial disobedience and which counters it with a doctrine of
fathers’ rights over their adult children and the state’s right of paternity over its
citizens. It is a critique which considers the Two Treatises as subtending from the
Essay Concerning Human Understanding and hence treats those books as aspects
of a single project. Its dissection of Locke’s politics is subsumed into an account of
his moral philosophy. Although it was the work of a hostile Tory, it offered a sober
analysis, in contrast to the frenetic harangues to which the Two Treatises would soon
be subjected.
This critique has been overlooked in part because it appears in a book entitled
The Grounds and Foundation of Natural Religion, which, on its title page, offers
no clue to its anti-Lockean intent.1 About the author, Thomas Beconsall, we know
next to nothing, except that he was a Fellow of Brasenose College, Oxford, and
later became vicar of an Oxfordshire parish.2 The Grounds was his sole publication
besides a sermon in the University church which also assailed Locke.3 The further
reason why the Grounds has been invisible is that those scholars who investigate the

1 The full title is The Grounds and Foundation of Natural Religion, Discover’d, in the Principal
Branches of it, in Opposition to the Prevailing Notions of the Modern Scepticks and Latitudinar-
ians. With an Introduction Concerning the Necessity of Revealed Religion (London, for A. Roper
in Fleet Street and George West in Oxford).
21663/4–1709; BA, 1683; MA, 1686; Fellow, 1686; BD, 1697; vicar of Steeple Aston, 1706. See
Oxford Dictionary of National Biography.
3 The Doctrine of a General Resurrection: Wherein the Identity of the Rising Body is Asserted,
against the Socinians and Scepticks. In a Sermon Preach’d before the University, at St Mary’s
in Oxford, on Easter-Monday, Apr. 5 (1697). Beconsall here argues that in Locke’s location of
personal identity “purely in consciousness” there lurked a kind of Platonism that denied that the
body was integral to the self. This he equated with an heretical Socinian rejection of the Christian
doctrine of bodily resurrection.

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 127
and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 127–142.
128 Mark Goldie

early reception of the Two Treatises tend to explore a different textual corpus from
those who examine the impact of the Essay, the “political” and “philosophical”
works of the 1690s and 1700s being treated discretely.4
Two things are immediately striking about Beconsall’s Grounds. The first is its
date: 1698. In the decade after the publication of the Two Treatises in 1689, Locke’s
book was scarcely noticed by anyone. Not until 1703 did the Jacobite Charles Leslie
launch his celebrated polemic against it.5 Before 1698 the Two Treatises had been
mentioned in print only four times, in passing and favourably, by Whig authors.6
The second striking fact is that Beconsall publicly attributed the authorship of the
Two Treatises to Locke and so was able to read it alongside the Essay. Locke had
avowed the Essay from the outset, whereas he did not admit to authorship of his
political work until he made his will in 1704. To what extent his authorship of the
Two Treatises was rumoured in the 1690s remains unclear. Nobody hazarded the
rumour in print until 1698, when William Molyneux, in his Case of Ireland, cited
it as “said to be written by my excellent friend, John Locke.”7 It is now apparent
that in the same year Beconsall also made the attribution. His eleventh chapter is
called “Reflections on Some Passages in Mr Locke’s Essay of Human Understand-
ing, and a Treatise of Government, Part 2.” Archly gesturing toward the anonymity,
he remarks that the “treatise [is] I presume, well known to Mr. Lock.”8 Standing
amid the twenty-one chapters of the Grounds, this analysis of the Two Treatises as
overthrowing paternal authority and civil government, is placed squarely within a
disquisition on the foundations of natural and moral law, filial obligation, the nature
of conscience, the dangers of Locke’s denial of innate ideas, and the offensiveness
of his “law of fashion.”
Beconsall’s book is, as his contemporary Thomas Hearne described it, “a dis-
course about the law of nature,” rather than, as its title suggests, natural religion.9
It belongs to a considerable body of such treatises.10 Locke’s most conspicuous

4 The literature is discussed in Mark Goldie, ed., The Reception of Locke’s Politics, 6 vols.
(London: Pickering and Chatto, 1999), I, Introduction, which fails to notice Beconsall.
5 Charles Leslie, The New Association of Those Called Moderate Churchmen with the Modern
Whigs and Fanatics, Pt II (1703). The claim has been made that Mary Astell provided “the first
systematic critique” and that Locke’s politics was a hidden target of her Serious Proposal to the
Ladies (1694), but this claim is unsustainable. See Mark Goldie, “Mary Astell and John Locke,”
in Mary Astell: Gender, Reason, Faith, ed. William Kolbrener and Michael Michelson (Aldershot:
Ashgate, 2007), 65–86.
6For early citations see Goldie, ed., Reception of Locke’s Politics, I, Introduction, and
pp. lxxiii–lxxv.
7 Ibid., 1:225.
8 Grounds, 143.
9 Remarks and Collections of Thomas Hearne, ed. C.E. Doble et al., 11 vols. (Oxford, 1885–1921),
1: 231.
10 See John Yolton, John Locke and the Way of Ideas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1956).
8 John Locke, Thomas Beconsall, and Filial Rebellion 129

opponent in this tradition was James Lowde, in his Discourse Concerning the Na-
ture of Man (1694). In his later Moral Essays (1699), Lowde commended Beconsall
for supporting him.11 These authors defended the claim that there was a law of
nature knowable independently of, but confirmed by, revelation. Christian ethics
were rational, because they conformed to the intuitions of natural reason, and could
be found in the teachings of the best pagan moralists, the Stoics, and above all in
Cicero. Such a view needed defence, they held, for it was challenged by “the modern
sceptics and latitudinarians” whom Beconsall declared to be his enemies.12 These
sceptics, he claimed, aimed at nothing less than the overthrow of the idea of natural
law, by reducing morality to human artifice and convention.
Beconsall regarded Locke’s Essay as belonging in outward form to the natural
law tradition, but as subverting its foundations. This generic identification of the
Essay as a disquisition on the moral law is alien to the dominant modern presump-
tion that it is a treatise on epistemology. Beconsall chiefly confined his attention to
Locke’s critique of innate ideas in Book I and account of ethics in Book II. He would
not have been surprised to learn of the existence of Locke’s earlier, unpublished
Essays on the Law of Nature, and would have seen the Essay as a continuation of
the same project, not least in Locke’s revisiting of his doubts about the knowable-
ness of the law of nature from the common consent of mankind. Beconsall was not
alone in responding to the Essay in terms of moral philosophy and natural law, for
this was the dominant reading in the first phase of the book’s reception, between
its publication in 1689 and 1696, when Bishop Edward Stillingfleet opened a new
front in the war on Locke, turning attention toward Locke’s putative theological
failings, principally the inadequacy of his doctrine of the Trinity. Lowde, Becon-
sall, Thomas Burnet, Henry Lee, and William Sherlock all thought natural morality
was jeopardised by the denial of innate ideas. The reports of Locke’s friend, James
Tyrrell, on the initial reading of the Essay point to its perceived ethical implications.
“Discoursing with some thinking men at Oxford . . . I found them dissatisfied with
what you have said concerning the law of nature . . . whereby we distinguish moral
good, from evil”; some “think you . . . resolved all virtue and vice . . . into the praise,
or dispraise that men give to certain actions.” Nor was it only critics who read the
book as a prolegomenon to moral philosophy. Tyrrell urged Locke to publish his
Essays on the Law of Nature, while his Dublin friend William Molyneux hoped he
would extrapolate from the Essay by writing “a treatise of morals, drawn up accord-
ing to the hints you frequently give.”13 Oxonian suspicion that Locke’s philosophy
pointed to ethical conventionalism and seemed all too Hobbesian is confirmed in
Isaac Newton’s response from Cambridge, that, upon first reading the Essay, “I

11 James Lowde, Moral Essays (1699), 4, 41.


12 Grounds, 46. The use of the protean term “latitudinarian” is interesting. Beconsall does not
allude specifically to the party of clergy to whom the label was usually attached; rather to those
who held fashionable sceptical doctrines in moral philosophy.
13 Locke, Correspondence 4:101, 109, 508 (30 June 1690, 27 July 1690, 27 Aug. 1692).
130 Mark Goldie

took you for a Hobbist.”14 That Beconsall’s critique is consonant with these early
readings of the Essay, and pays minimal attention to Stillingfleet’s new theological
charges, suggests a lengthy gestation for his book. A dense work of 300 pages, the
Grounds’ publication date of 1698 belies an earlier intellectual context.15
This is not to say that Beconsall failed to convict Locke of irreligion, for he had
also read the Reasonableness of Christianity, which appeared in 1695. He had no
doubt that Locke, even in the Essay, for all its guarded judiciousness, its “reserved
way of writing,” belonged among the deists, whose “cargo of infidelity and irreli-
gion” is “now vented by the liberty of the press.”16 In the Reasonableness, he noted,
Locke “hinted” at a principal maxim of the deists, namely that religious creeds were
merely “profitable inventions” that derived from the “arts or mystery of priestcraft.”
The deists identified revealed religion as a “cant or jargon formed by the priests,”
“a contrivance of . . . creedmakers . . . to secure an empire, as well as maintenance
from a silly populace.”17 However, Beconsall’s sally against deism is brief, since his
treatise is not primarily a defence of revelation or the church, but of natural moral
intuitions.
Beconsall provides an unremarkable iteration of a conventional theory of the
moral law. There is an “eternal distinction of good and evil.” It is deducible from the
nature God created. The good is that which tends toward the perfection of nature.
The rational principles of the good can be identified as laws, properly so called,
when understood as the commands of God, such commands being implicated in the
act of sovereign creation as much as expressed in the positive commands known by
revelation. These laws are “implanted in the minds of men, as rational beings,” and
were perfectly known to Adam before the Fall. Reason, though dulled and distorted
by man’s postlapsarian passionate nature, is not destroyed. While knowledge of
the law is innate, it is not achieved without mental effort: it is implanted in the
well-ordered conscience, but examination and reflection are needed to activate nat-
ural potentiality. What lends assuredness to the best of our ratiocinative efforts are
the teachings of the Bible. Further evidence for natural law is discernible from the
common consent of those parts of humanity which are not sunk in barbarism. In
sum, the moral law may be said to be “written in our hearts,” and conscience is “the
candle of the Lord.” These two phrases from Scripture are unfailingly quoted in the

14 Ibid., 4: 727 (16 Sept. 1693). See G.A.J. Rogers, “Locke, Newton, and the Cambridge Platonists
on Innate Ideas,” Journal of the History of Ideas 40 (1979): 191–206.
15 There are no citations of Stillingfleet’s Discourse (1697) but one from Locke’s Letter to the
Bishop of Worcester (1697) (Grounds, pp. 46–7). The Reasonableness of Christianity (1696) is
discussed only in the Introduction. He refers to the second edition of the Essay (1694) but not the
third (1695). We may infer that most of Beconsall’s book was written by c.1695. Beconsall made
no mention of Locke’s Some Thoughts Concerning Education (1693), which was anonymous until
the third edition of 1695.
16Grounds, iv, vii. Press censorship lapsed in 1695. Hearne records that Beconsall wrote a pam-
phlet “about the press,” but this has not been identified, Collections, II, 214.
17 Grounds, iv–vii, sigs. B4v, C2r; cf. 227, 237.
8 John Locke, Thomas Beconsall, and Filial Rebellion 131

tradition which Beconsall recapitulates, the tradition against which Locke reacted
in penning his critique of innate ideas.18
From these premisses flow Beconsall’s objections to Locke’s Essay. He discovers
Locke’s moral scepticism in the apparent reduction of moral rules to “custom, edu-
cation and . . . traditions,” more generally to “the law of fashion” or “law of opinion.”
Locke is identified as a moral conventionalist, who holds that those principles which
we imagine to be impressed upon our minds by God and nature, and knowable
also from the common consent of mankind, are in fact inculcated merely by the
“power of education.”19 Beconsall particularly deplores Locke’s technique of using
the practices and beliefs of barbarous Greeks and benighted Africans and Indians as
evidence in aid of disrupting claims that there are universal moral beliefs. “This
gentleman has industriously amassed together all the filth and off-scouring of a
reprobate mind, and a defiled conscience.” “He has sent us to all the creeks and
corners of barbarity under the verge of heaven, to see rapes, murders, and the vilest
incests practised, with universal approbation and allowance.” He takes us to Africa
and the Indies, “the most rude and uncultivated parts of the world, to explode the
doctrine of an universal consent.” Beconsall holds Locke to be inviting his read-
ers to consider the habits of “uncultivated negroes” as morally relevant data.20 He
repudiates Locke’s reduction of conscience to mental habits, inculcated by this or
that circumstance of “custom, education, the superstition of a nurse . . . the author-
ity of old women.” In Locke, moral rules are apparently reduced to the contingent
mental furniture of individuals, groups, and cultures. Hence it is that “Mr Locke
makes consciousness and conscience the same,” so reducing conscience to a mere
“chimera.”21
There is something paradoxical, even perversely misguided, about Beconsall’s
reading of Locke’s moral philosophy, though he was scarcely alone in his depiction.
He devotes a whole chapter to denigrating “Mr Locke’s law of fashion,” as if Locke
were a pure conventionalist, whereas Locke himself deplored the fact that what
counts as moral judgement in too many minds is the accumulated rubbish of un-
considered habit, custom, opinion, and fashion. In the Preface to the second edition

18 Ibid., sig. B4r, 1–2, 6, 29ff, 61, 119, 126, 189ff; Romans 2:15, Proverbs 20:27. See Yolton, Locke
and the Way of Ideas, ch. 2. Yolton discusses Beconsall at pp. 54–5, too briefly to disclose the
engagement with Locke’s politics. Beconsall holds the non-naive form of innatism which Yolton
finds characteristic of his generation. He concedes that the law of nature is never presented to the
mind as an “angelic intuition” (sig. A5v), and that “it’s well known, those that contend for innate
ideas . . . do not think they discover [i.e. reveal] themselves without the exercise of our natural
powers and faculties” (p. 73).
19 Grounds, sig. B3v, 189, 141; cf. sig. B4r.
20Locke’s example of the natives of Soldania Bay in Southern Africa is persistent in his writings,
appearing in the early Essays on the Law of Nature, the Essay, and one version of the Two Treatises.
See Essay I.iv.8. The perception, which was not Beconsall’s alone, that Locke took seriously the
moral diversity of humankind casts doubt on some current post-colonial critiques of Locke. See
Daniel Carey, Locke, Shaftesbury, and Hutcheson: Contesting Diversity in the Enlightenment and
Beyond (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006).
21 Grounds, 44–52, 249, 226ff, citing Essay I.ii.3, I.iii.9–11, I.xiii.9–11, I.iii.20.
132 Mark Goldie

of the Essay, Locke defended himself against Lowde’s similar misreading: “I was
there, not laying down moral rules, but showing the original and nature of moral
ideas, and enumerating the rules men make use of in moral relations, whether those
rules were true or false.”22 Beconsall was alarmed by the thought that, if natural
moral intuition was taken away, only human artifice would be left. Yet in his more
patient moments he allows that Locke was not a pure conventionalist, still less a
libertine, for his alternative charge is that Locke, having abandoned moral intuition,
could only avoid the chaos of moral happenstance by a forthright defence of divine
positive law. Whereas modern readers have identified in Locke’s Reasonableness a
sceptical move away from the epistemic optimism of the Essay—a fideist turn to-
ward revelation as a bulwark against failing reason—Beconsall sees Locke moving
in the reverse direction in his revisions of the Essay. A close enough reader of the
Essay to track changes between editions, he finds the first over-reliant on revelation
(for without revelation, and without natural moral intuition, mankind is left to its
own moral brutishness), but notes that the second edition partially backtracked by
adding a brief caveat in defence of the “light of nature.”23 As recent readers have
also noted, the Essay hesitates between revelation as “the only true touchstone of
moral rectitude” and confidence in the capacity of reason to discover moral rules.24

II

The moral principles which Beconsall takes to be cardinal “branches” of the law of
nature are parental and filial duties, and this claim lies at the heart of his engagement
with the Two Treatises. Nothing, he argues, is more plainly inscribed in the natural
order, nor more “carries the appearance of being innate,” than the obligation of par-
ents to children and children to parents. Locke is accused of taking the example of
filial reverence as a key instance of mistaken innatism. People submit to this princi-
ple, Locke writes in the Essay, “not because it is natural . . . but because having been
always so educated, and having no remembrance of the beginning of this respect,
they think it is natural.” In quoting this passage Beconsall signals the contiguity
of the Essay and the Treatises: both are anti-patriarchal. Filial respect, Beconsall
retorts, is a “propension” with which children are “naturally endowed,” and “the
bare perception of the idea or term parent, would naturally actuate these native

22 Latterly transferred to Essay II.xviii.11, note.


23 Grounds, 203–4. In Essay II. xxviii.8 Locke originally wrote, “That God has given a law to
mankind,” i.e. by revelation; in the second edition he elaborated over four lines, speaking of the
law of God “whether promulgated . . . by the light of nature, or the voice of revelation.” See Locke,
Correspondence, 4: 107–8.
24Essay II. xxviii.8; IV.xii.1. See G.A.J. Rogers, “Locke and the Sceptical Challenge,” in G.A.J.
Rogers and Sylvana Tomaselli, eds., The Philosophical Canon in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth
Centuries (Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press, 1996), 61–3. Reprinted in G.A.J. Rogers,
Locke’s Enlightenment (Hildesheim: Olms, 1998).
8 John Locke, Thomas Beconsall, and Filial Rebellion 133

propensions in such a manner, as to command . . . filial obedience.”25 Beconsall’s


tenth chapter, on parental and filial obligation, serves as a bridge between discussion
of the Essay and of the Treatises. The Two Treatises is seen as the application of
Lockean moral scepticism to the social and political sphere. Beconsall ignores the
passages of moral realism in the Treatises which have perplexed modern readers as
being apparently incompatible with the anti-innatism of the Essay.26
In turning to the Two Treatises Beconsall reveals himself to be a thoroughgo-
ing patriarchalist. He defends patriarchalism as a political truth about the origins
and nature of civil government and as a moral framework for the obligations of
fathers, mothers, and children. Like other early readers of the Treatises, Beconsall
sees Locke’s book as pre-eminently a critique of patriarchalism. He goes on to ex-
amine what Locke has to say about consent and turns briefly to Locke’s chapter on
property. Beconsall’s political patriarchalism is entirely predictable in the generation
of clergy which came of age during the high Tory 1680s, the decade in which Sir
Robert Filmer’s Patriarcha was published as a flagship of divine right monarchism.
Yet, in the wake of the Revolution of 1688, Beconsall carefully detaches his To-
ryism from any suspicion of Jacobitism. He flatly denies any “disloyalty towards
our present sovereign,” as “all that know me” can confirm. This seems ingenuous,
for the Jacobite Thomas Hearne irritably called him “an admirer of King William.”
There are, insists Beconsall, “principles that will maintain as true fealty and alle-
giance towards his present majesty” as the newly fashionable “opinion of original
contract.”27 Beconsall was typical of the repositioning of post-Revolution Toryism,
which made possible a stubborn persistence of patriarchal political theory, while no
longer beholden to the claims of the fallen House of Stuart.
Beconsall opens his account of the Two Treatises by declaring that it overturns
paternal power, and that it does so by a factitious “contending for a joint jurisdiction
in the mother.” “This gentleman, as well as Mr Hobbes (though both in a different
way) thinks he has gained the field, by proving, that the mother is an equal sharer in
that power which accrues to a father as a parent.” This feminist doctrine Beconsall
takes to be contrary to both Scripture and nature, which award the male “superiority
and pre-eminence” over “the weaker vessel.” Eve was created out of Adam, and
the injunctions in Genesis 3:16 and Ephesians 5:22 cannot be gainsaid: “Unto the
woman he said . . . he shall rule over thee”; “Wives submit yourselves unto your hus-
bands.” Consequently, it is “evident the revealed law gives a supereminent power to
the father.” Nature tallies with revelation, for it awards to the man greater “strength
and vigour of body” as well as “courage and resolution of mind.” Locke, in contrast,
uses “tricks and insinuations” to evade the fact “that God has . . . placed the woman
in a state of subjection” to the man. In remarking that Locke would “droll away” the

25 Grounds, 40, 127, 141–2; citing Locke, Essay I. iii. 12, 23


26 Especially Two Treatises, II, §11: “the great law of nature . . . writ in the hearts of all mankind.”
27 Grounds, 181; Hearne, Collections, 1: 231.
134 Mark Goldie

account of Adam’s majesty in the book of Genesis, Beconsall further intimates that
he is a deistical sneerer at revelation.28
Yet Beconsall goes on to argue that Locke’s feminist critique of masculine au-
thority is only a skirmish, for Locke’s principal aim is not to elevate mothers but to
subvert the authority of fathers over sons. He holds that Locke’s dividing of paternal
from political power, his arguing that they are “distinct and separate,” disastrously
undermines the authority of fathers. Beconsall insists that civil power is a form
of paternal power, derived from and grounded in it. He concedes that there has
been change over time in the authority of fathers, for the nearly limitless primordial
authority of “private parents” is now largely superseded “by the ample provision
of the civil power in all regular governments.” But, in a nice revision of Lockean
fiduciary theory, he holds that civil government exercises paternal power in trust,
and, if it fails in that trust, power devolves again to fathers, where it originally lay.
Thus, for instance, a father who kills an intruder to protect his child exercises a
paternal right that ordinarily devolves upon the police powers of government. Nor is
the father’s right to use force only one of self-preservation, for it is also a judicial act
of punishment. In speculating on the original patriarchal right of capital punishment,
he argues that such a right existed not only against an assailant in order to protect
a child, but also over the child him or herself, if a miscreant. In ancient Rome, the
father had the right of executing his errant offspring. Here Beconsall echoes earlier
patriarchal theorists, such as Bodin, who mourned the disappearance of this Roman
right of filicide. Beconsall invokes a key contention of divine right theory, that, given
the commandment “thou shalt not kill,” the right of the father and of the sovereign
to take life must be directly God-given. Both rights lay originally with Adam, the
first father and first monarch. Beconsall is especially affronted by Locke’s notion
of “an executive power in the exercise of laws of nature [residing in sons] as much
as their father.” There is no such general power, for it resides only in fathers and
sovereigns.29
Beconsall goes on to argue that civil government has no business in many spheres
of life, and that a substantial residue of paternal power persists in individual fathers,
undevolved at all times. The fiduciary and limited nature of government is such that
original paternal power endures in contemporary civil society.30 Beconsall sketches
a patriarchalist conjectural history. At the beginning of time “the supreme power was
both parent and sovereign.” Down the ages, there have been successive “devolutions,

28 Grounds, 143–9, citing Two Treatises, II, §§52–3, 44–5. He also cites 1 Corinthians 11:3–9: “The
head of the woman is the man.” Beconsall accepts that wives choose their husbands and he adopts
the familiar doctrine of “designation”: matrimony is entered into by “compact,” but the authority
of the husband is God-given and not derived from the compact. For Hobbes, see Leviathan, ch. 20;
De cive, 9.7.
29 Grounds, 166, echoing Two Treatises, II, §8; Jean Bodin, Six Books of a Commonwealth ([1576],
English tr. 1608; facs. edn., Cambridge, MA, 1962), I.4, 20–4; I.6, 46–7. Filmer also regretted the
passing of filicide: Patriarcha and other Political Works, ed. J.P. Sommerville (Cambridge, 1991),
7, 18–19.
30 Grounds, 151–63, citing Two Treatises, II, §§7, 58, 64–5, 67–9, 74.
8 John Locke, Thomas Beconsall, and Filial Rebellion 135

which the reasons and necessities of civil government have made in the chiefest
branches of parental power.” Thereby political and paternal power have gradually
become distinguishable. While Beconsall accepts the utility of this development,
he fears that “a great deal of filial reverence and duty is worn off by those devolu-
tions,” and that the “highest veneration” for fathers subsisted only “under the first
government.” The evidence of natural reason, and of the authority of the patriarchs
in the Old Testament, shows that paternal “sovereignty and dominion” was once
so complete that it is impossible to “imagine, that such a tremendous power was
exerted purely to secure an obedience during minority,” that is, during the nonage of
children. The Old Testament attests a time when “the obedience of children in the
first ages of the world was as remarkable as the parents’ commands, after a state of
maturity.” It is plainly false to hold that the “commanding power of parents ceases
with nonage.”31
It is noticeable that Beconsall’s patriarchalism does not depend on a thesis about
the genealogical succession of the kings of England from Adam. Few seventeenth-
century patriarchalists attempted so fragile a claim. Not even Filmer did so; for
them, Adamic fatherhood was archetypal rather than ancestral. All humankind are,
of course, the children of Adam, and royal succession should proceed by primo-
geniture, but the descent of Adam is lost to history, and the world is divided into
many kingdoms. Beconsall made no claim about English kings; his is a thesis about
the generic authority of fathers and sovereigns; and he does not exclude the pos-
sibility of “paction” in the creation of civil authority, a pact among fathers. It is
doubtful that his principal source was Filmer; rather it was Pufendorf. In De jure
naturae et gentium, Pufendorf spoke of the original pact “by fathers,” “the heads of
families who first undertook to establish a state.” A sharp distinction is drawn here
between citizens and subjects: those who form states become its citizens; women
and children are not citizens but subjects. Pufendorf took up the Bodinian theme of
the father’s original right of life and death over children, holding that it subsisted
only while fathers remained sovereign. “But after separation into states, some rights
were taken away from the heads of families, while others were restricted.” Here was
Beconsall’s notion of the historical “devolution” of paternal power to civil states.32
In the sphere of their retained authority, Beconsall held that fathers have “em-
pire” and “dominion” over their adult as well as their underage children. Since this
derives not only from their duty of care, which is all that Locke allowed, and which
lapses when nurture ceases, but also from the act of generation, the obligation of
children to fathers is necessarily perpetual. As mankind is constantly beholden to its
heavenly creator, so children are indefinitely beholden to their earthly. Just as “the
true original of God’s right of dominion . . . undoubtedly results from his creative

31 Grounds, 135, 143, 156–8; cf. pp. 150–1.


32 Samuel Pufendorf, De jure naturae et gentium [1672], trans. C.H. and W.A. Oldfather (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1934), 8.11.2, p. 1350; 7.2.20, p. 995 (citing Hobbes, De cive, 5.11; 6.2.10–11),
p. 923 (citing Bodin, Six Books, 1.4.). Bodin likewise remarked that “every subject is not a citi-
zen,” and that, historically, civil magistrates “little by little” drew jurisdiction to themselves and
“extinguished all domestical powers”: Six Books, 1.6, pp. 47–8; 1.4, p. 24.
136 Mark Goldie

and preserving power,” so likewise does parental authority. The “right of dominion
and obligations of obedience” derive from the “creative, preserving power” of the
maker, and there is a “right to give laws to those creatures to whom [the maker]
gave a being.” The human sex act is a sacred and “strict imitation” of the divine
seminal act of creation.33 A child not only owes gratitude for benefits received from
its parent, but also obedience to him who has maker’s rights. Locke is condemned
for holding that paternal authority is merely temporary, and Beconsall finds shock-
ing Locke’s notion that when “once arrived to the enfranchisement of the years of
discretion, the father’s empire then ceases.”34 Locke’s doctrine is one in which, at the
age of reason, “children . . . are not only discharged from their paternal allegiance,
but acquire a state of freedom equal to their father.” This is a view which gives rise
to the Lockean notion that the descendants of Adam may, in their pretended “state of
freedom, and equality, . . . enter into a compact at pleasure, and consequently estab-
lish a government upon a majority against their fathers.” It is a licence to overthrow
and banish fatherly authority.35
Beconsall suggests an extension of the argument from maker’s rights, which
paradoxically inverts a characteristic concept of Locke’s. He takes hold of Locke’s
theory of property grounded in labour—in “creation” or maker’s rights over things—
and points out that, in a significant sense, a nation’s people subsists only because of
the “labour, care, and conduct of the government.” Here the state is the labourer who
makes and nurtures the citizen, much as the parent makes and nurtures the child. Cit-
izens are thus, within the sphere of the “true ends and purposes of government,” the
“property of the government,” and owe it obedience and service. Locke’s doctrine of
property in labour, of maker’s rights, tells against his doctrine of natural freedom.36
There may have been pacts by patriarchs, but there was never a state of nature.
Beconsall dilates upon the absurdity and impiety of supposing, in the face of Adamic
history, that there ever was a primeval state of natural freedom, from which po-
litical society was derived by individuals consenting together. “It’s unpardonable

33 Grounds, 129–30. As Pufendorf pointed out, the debate over whether the right of fatherhood
derives from the act of generation or the rearing of children goes back to Aristotle, Nicomachean
Ethics, 8.13–14 (De jure naturae, 6.2.12, p. 928). On the debate over whether the sexual begetting
of children by itself confers rights on fathers, see James Tully, A Discourse on Property: John
Locke and his Adversaries (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), pp. 58–9.
34 Grounds, 96–7, 101–2, 153–61, citing Two Treatises, II, §§65, 58, 69.
35 Grounds, 168–9. This line of thought has produced a Freudian reading of Locke’s re–enactment
of the “primal crime” of parricide. “Liberty means sonship” and “brotherhood”; “fraternity” entails
“castration of fathers.” Thus, Norman O. Brown, Love’s Body (New York: Random House, 1966),
3–9. Likewise Carole Pateman, The Sexual Contract (Cambridge: Polity, 1988), chs. 3–4: “The
sons, in an act of symbolic, if not actual, parricide, withdraw their consent to the father’s power
and claim their natural liberty”; “classic contract theory is [a] story of the masculine genesis of
political life . . . told over the dead body of the father”; “the men who defeat the father, claim their
natural liberty and, victorious, make the original contract, are acting as brothers” (93, 88, 78).
Pateman’s book is an important restatement of Beconsall’s reading of Locke, though from the
opposite, feminist, end of the moral lens.
36 Grounds, 98, 174–7, citing Two Treatises, II, §§27, 45.
8 John Locke, Thomas Beconsall, and Filial Rebellion 137

arrogance” to “erect a scheme” contrary to “the story of the creation.”37 Beconsall’s


defence of the book of Genesis against Whig political theory was a Tory common-
place, as was his reference to the heretical, anti-Adamic, myth of the “mushroom”
men, the multiple spontaneous appearance of people, springing up independently.38
Locke offered a diseased fantasy of a world without parents.
This was to construe the Lockean state of nature as an impious speculation about
primeval history. Yet this is not Beconsall’s sole understanding of the theory of a
natural state, and what is striking is his recognition in Locke of a jural state of nature,
one that subsists implicitly in contemporary societies.39 On Beconsall’s reading,
Locke holds that political legitimacy is constantly recreated by every generation
as it comes of age. The crux of Locke’s theory is taken to be the repudiation of
filial obligation at the age of majority. For Locke, government is not a pooling of
patriarchy, but a civil association grounded in the consent of all those who have
entered upon adulthood. The age of majority is seen as the critical juncture at which
Locke inserts his theories of the natural freedom and equality of mankind and of
“compact” and consent. In Locke, at their coming of age, young adults acquire “ab-
solute . . . freedom” from their father’s authority and enter into civil society. Locke
“place[s] everyone in a state of liberty upon their arrival at years of discretion, till
they shall recognize the governing power by an express, or tacit consent.” The theory
of contract and consent is therefore a dangerous doctrine of filial independence.40
This leads Beconsall to consider those perplexing paragraphs in which Locke
ambiguously specifies those actions which signify consent. He notes Locke’s dis-
tinction between two sorts of consent: express, which Beconsall does not hesitate
to identify with oaths of allegiance, and tacit, which he equates with the possession
or enjoyment of property. These signifiers of consent are found to be flawed. Oaths
of allegiance are sworn only by a minority of people, “upon special occasions,” and
thus cannot comprehend everyone within citizenship. And allegiance derived from
the enjoyment of property pertains only to the propertied, and lasts no longer than its
possession. Locke, he shows, allows the termination of allegiance, if a citizen should
donate or sell their property, whereupon he is at liberty to abandon his allegiance,
enter into a new commonwealth, or create one afresh in the empty places of the
world. Furthermore, Locke leaves at liberty the adult children of property-owners
until they inherit their fathers’ property, as well as “the poor, or labouring part of a
nation” who are not proprietors: all these “still remain in a state of nature, unless the
government has actually required an oath of fidelity.” Locke hence has left the mass

37 Grounds, 146.
38 Ibid., 23, 140, citing Hobbes. The notion of “mushroom men” was suggested by theories of
spontaneous generation in certain species of plants and animals. Anti-Adamic theories of the mul-
tiple origination of mankind were widely discussed in the wake of Isaac de la Peyrère’s scandalous
Men Before Adam (1656).
39Beconsall also makes a Humean point. It may be that government is founded on contract, but
we first need “proof of the obligations of compact or voluntary promises” (Grounds, 81, 95).
40 Grounds, 153, 171, citing Two Treatises, II, §§64, 67, 69, “etc.”
138 Mark Goldie

of people at liberty. This is a fatal hazard to settled government, the beginning of its
“total dissolution,” for it licenses a people to abandon or destroy governments, and
leaves them free to be “executioners of the law of nature, and consequently . . . have
right of war,” at their discretion. Why, therefore, might not a body of “rich malcon-
tents” dispose of their property and “become generals to worthy mobile”—that is,
become commanders of the mob?41

III
However, Beconsall did not dwell long on the notion of Locke as an insurrectionist
patron of the mob. He was more concerned, as a matter of political economy, with
the folly of permitting the uncontrolled withdrawal of people to other common-
wealths or to empty places, Locke’s “vacuis locis.”42 Locke’s doctrine offended a
key precept of mercantilist demography, that the nation’s population should be aug-
mented and not dissipated. In that pre-Malthusian age, commentators were acutely
anxious about population decline. Beconsall echoed a host of contemporary writ-
ers. “Fewness of people is real poverty,” wrote William Petty. “People are in truth
the chiefest, most fundamental, and precious commodity,” agreed William Petyt.43
Some commentators, for this reason, were sceptical of the benefits of overseas
colonies, for they were drains upon the population of the metropole.
Beconsall took Locke to be a proponent of unrestricted emigration. Locke’s “dis-
solution” of government need not be construed as a right of rebellion: it could
as readily be construed as a right of withdrawal. When Pufendorf wrote on “The
Ways in Which a Man May Cease to be a Subject,” he opened with a substantial
disquisition on migration.44 This was characteristically how a seventeenth-century
European dissolved the bonds of allegiance. This construal would be fundamental to
American readings of the Two Treatises in the 1760s, which argued that Americans
had detached themselves from British allegiance by emigration and hence were ipso
facto independent. Beconsall read the idea of withdrawal in the context of domestic
political economy, with the implication of a fatal undermining of the nation’s de-
mographic strength. Locke’s doctrine of the natural freedom attained at the age of
majority violated the right and power of the state to mobilise its human resources.
Beconsall reverts to his former argument that governments have, in a manner, a
property in their citizens, because they have “made” them, second only to parental
“making.” He notes that Locke grounds property and dominion in labour (“what-
ever . . . has labour mixed with it, becomes a property”) and he stresses that the

41Grounds, 170–3, 176, 179, citing Two Treatises, II, §§63, 66, 119, 121. The word “mob” was
beginning to be coined from “mobile,” itself a derivation of mobile vulgus.
42 Two Treatises, II, §121. For the right of withdrawal see esp. II, §115.
43 For these and the wider context see Daniel Statt, Foreigners and Englishmen: The Controversy
over Immigration and Population, 1660–1760 (Newark NJ: University of Delaware Press, 1995),
pp. 46, 48, and passim.
44 Pufendorf, De jure naturae, 8.11.2–4, pp. 1348–52.
8 John Locke, Thomas Beconsall, and Filial Rebellion 139

whole population owes its protection, education, and subsistence to “the labour,
care, and conduct of the government, as well as that of their natural parents.” This
creates a right of dominion antecedent to contract: it is grounded in generation and
nurture and not in “arbitrary deputation or commission.” He concludes that govern-
ments have a right to command “the labour and service of every adult native,” and
that citizens have a duty to “maintain the strength and grandeur of the community.”
Within the proper “rational ends and purposes” of government, there lies a right
in the state to command the human capital as well as the “riches and treasures of
a country.” Governments have “authority to impose laws for the regulation, and
exacting of this labour, and industry.” There cannot be a natural right of withdrawal
or desertion, and no one may emigrate without governmental permission. At this
point Beconsall calls in Grotius and Pufendorf to corroborate his claim that people
“cannot rightfully withdraw gregatim, because it must destroy the foundations of
government.” By Locke’s principle of the right of withdrawal, “a nation may not
only be dispeopled at pleasure, and consequently drained of her riches and treasure,”
but also ruinously exposed to its enemies.45
Beconsall treated his sources with insufficient care, for it is Grotius rather than
Pufendorf who can help him. Grotius, in a section entitled “Whether it is Permissible
for Nationals to Withdraw from a State,” allowed that individuals might leave but
denied that people might do so in a large body, for “if such migration were permis-
sible the civil society could not exist,” for it would be “drained of its population.”
Pufendorf disagreed: if the right to leave existed in one, it must exist in many. Fur-
thermore, a state might benefit equally by inward migration. And, in any case, states
do not flourish for ever, and rise and fall with patterns of migration: “the destruction
of one is the creation of another.” Thus, for Pufendorf, there was no inhibition upon
the principle that “in the pact of subjection . . . every man reserved to himself the
privilege of migrating.”46 On this point, Pufendorf was at one with Locke.
In a remarkably alert linkage of Locke’s philosophy with his biography, Becon-
sall turned to the circumstances of Locke’s current public employment. He knew
that Locke was, from 1696, a member of the Board of Trade and Plantations, the
cockpit of the nation’s commercial and colonial policy-making. And he did not
think Locke’s public (and lucrative) responsibilities were compatible with what he
had written in the Two Treatises. “This author, he’s so highly sensible how much the
number of subjects contributes to the trade, riches, strength and glory of a nation,
that were the question formally put and argued in the Council of Trade, and his
preferments, as well as judgement, engaged upon it, I’m persuaded he would think
himself obliged to declare against his former sentiments.” Locke the irresponsible
anarchist was now a counsellor of state. The Oxford Tory’s resentment at the oxy-
moron of a Whig in power breaks forth: “Oh! Blessed politics, to be the spawn
of one that is called into the counsels of a government, eats its bread, and enjoys

45 Grounds, 174–80.
46 Hugo Grotius, De jure belli ac pacis [1625], tr. Francis W. Kelsey ([Oxford]: Oxford University
Press, 1925), 2.5.24, p. 254; Pufendorf, De jure naturae, 8.11.2–4, 1349–52.
140 Mark Goldie

places of trust as well as profit.”47 Beconsall was making the astute observation that
the Locke who wrote the Two Treatises, a propaganda piece for Whig insurrection,
might sit uneasily beside the Court Whig Locke who served the Williamite regime.
Locke did not respond to Beconsall’s book. Yet it is a striking fact that one of the
longest additional passages he inserted into the Two Treatises, written in the margin
of his copy of the third edition of 1698, and which only appeared in printed editions
much later, reflected his new employment at the Board of Trade and the mercantilist
demographic agenda. Part of it reads: “numbers of men are to be preferred to large-
ness of dominions, and . . . the increase of hands and the right employing of them is
the great art of government.”48

IV

We have seen that Beconsall worried that the Two Treatises might provide a hand-
book for rebellious youth by licensing their liberation from fatherly authority at the
age of majority. This essay closes by turning to the wider context of early modern
anxieties about youth. It is not easy to connect intellectual history with social, and
the risk is of reducing philosophical arguments to symptoms of social tensions. Yet
Beconsall’s dwelling on intergenerational relations consorted with a wider contem-
porary preoccupation with wayward adolescents. It was a society in which youth
formed a high ratio of the population, which had a prolonged phase of adolescence,
and in which the average age of marriage was high and apprenticeships long; a
society with a strong tradition of primogeniture, in which the heirs of the propertied
were frequently at war with their fathers, and with a perennial problem of refractory
and unplaced younger sons. Social commentary, conduct books, and admonitory
sermons dwelt on the insubordination of youth, while the theme of the “corrup-
tion” of youth ran through the jeremiads of those who demanded a “reformation of
manners.” Specifically, there was a tendency to argue that twenty-four or twenty-five
might be a better age than twenty-one for “coming of age.”49 Beconsall was scarcely
alone in insisting on the “respect,” “reverence,” and “awe” owed to parents, and also
on the duty of submitting to “the regulation of our lives and actions” by them, for
a parent is “a kind of priest within the district of his own family.”50 Beconsall was
(just as the young Locke had been at Christ Church) a teacher in a university, with
daily care of pupils and regular contact with their parents.

47 Grounds, 173, 178.


48 Two Treatises, II, §42. The standard edition has “lands” rather than “hands,” but “hands” is
the plausible reading. Locke endorsed immigration as the “easiest way of increasing your people”
in his unpublished paper, “For a General Naturalisation.” John Locke, Political Essays, ed. Mark
Goldie (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 322–6.
49Keith Thomas, “Age and Authority in Early Modern England,” Proceedings of the British
Academy 62 (1976), 205–48; Ilena Krausman Ben-Amos, Adolescence and Youth in Early Modern
England (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994); Paul Griffiths, Youth and Authority: Formative
Experiences in England, 1560–1640 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996).
50 Grounds, 129, 134–5.
8 John Locke, Thomas Beconsall, and Filial Rebellion 141

Keith Thomas has argued that the early modern period was “conspicuous for
a sustained drive to subordinate persons in their teens and early twenties and to
delay their participation in the adult world.”51 Political speculators in the seven-
teenth century tended to be gerontocratic. James Harrington proposed to confine the
parliamentary franchise to those over thirty. Gerard Winstanley and John Bellers
thought nobody should be eligible for public office under forty. In English Liberties
(1680), Henry Care complained of “beardless politicians.” The marquis of Halifax
and the earl of Shaftesbury thought thirty or forty the appropriate minimum age to
be a member of parliament.52 Locke was unusual in displaying few such anxieties
about youth, though he, too, argued that “age . . . may give men a just precedency.”53
The Tory Beconsall criticised the Whig Locke for favouring the claims of the
young. Ironically, exactly the reverse presumption is at work in a recent analysis
of the political theory of age in early modern England and America. Holly Brewer
has argued that there is a systemic reason why political theorists of a radical hue
were inclined to asperse beardless statesmen and propose high age thresholds for
political participation.54 It was a paradox of patriarchy that under a system of pri-
mogeniture young men often came to responsibility and office early, if parental
mortality allowed them to inherit when young, or if they benefited from nepotism.
The Cavalier Parliament of the Restoration was rife with youthful aristocratic MPs,
and this became an object of Whig reproach. Whig and republican thinking, because
meritocratic in aspiration and committed to the truer nobility of acquired wisdom
and virtue, leaned toward imposing age restrictions on access to political office.
Anti-patriarchal theory therefore tended to be gerontocratic, and, from the late sev-
enteenth century, English laws steadily imposed age restrictions on various aspects
of responsible adult life. The end point of Brewer’s argument is the prevalence of
such restrictions in American constitutional arrangements: the Founding Fathers
tended to be gerontocratic and “senatorial.” She places Locke within this frame,
seeing him as limiting the child, by his emphasis on the attainment of reason rather
than the inheritance of paternal estate. The argument is suggestive, for it arrests the
lazy assumption that “radicals” applauded youth, and it has the virtue of engaging
with Locke and patriarchy through the topic of parent-child relations, whereas recent
reflection in this area has tended to occur through the lens of feminism. Yet it runs
counter to Beconsall’s reading and to the wider alarm of patriarchalists that Locke
licensed the precocious citizenship of youth. It is not at all clear that hostility to
youth was the special preserve of Whigs and republicans.
In fact, in the generation before Beconsall, Cavaliers had been apt to identify in
republican thought an argument for youthful rebellion. In the revolutionary era of
the 1640s, when Cromwell’s army defeated Charles I, a royalist protested that “the
new doctrine of the people’s sovereignty extends to give power to all . . . children

51 Thomas, “Age and Authority,” 214.


52 For these and other examples, ibid., 228–9.
53 Two Treatises, II, §54.
54 Holly Brewer, By Birth or Consent: Children, Law, and the Anglo-American Revolution in Au-
thority (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2005).
142 Mark Goldie

grown up,” whereas by “the law of nature, that gives all authority originally to the
father . . . the residue [i.e. rest] of the family cannot avoid the government agreed
upon by their fathers and masters, and have nothing to do to overrule it in the least,
though they be ever more in numbers than the fathers or masters of families.”55
After 1688, Whig ideologues were conscious that their doctrines might seem to
license filial, as well as female, liberty, and, more cautious than Locke, they sought
to ward off such worrying implications. Two years after the Revolution, the Whig
journalist Guy Miege stated the disjunction all too starkly: “all men are born free”—
except for the subordination, by “the law of nature,” of “children to their parents”
and “wives to their husbands.”56 Tory critics rapidly took to accusing Whigs of
hypocrisy because they did not apply to the family the doctrine of the consent of the
governed they trumpeted for civil society. Charles Leslie challenged Whigs to “go
home, and call a council of their wives, children, and servants.”57
This dissociation was the source of the feminism of Mary Astell, in her celebrated
question to the Whigs, “If all men are born free, how is it that all women are born
slaves?” It was a challenge echoed in the remark of Lady Brute in John Vanbrugh’s
play The Provoked Wife: “The argument’s good between the king and the people,
why not between the husband and the wife.” And again in Mary Chudleigh’s remark
that Whigs kept a Tory doctrine in reserve in order to keep women down: “Passive
obedience you’ve transferred to us.”58 What applied to wives applied equally to
children. It is not, however, apparent that any ideologist of youth liberation—unless
it be Locke himself—emerged to speak against parental patriarchy as Astell spoke
against conjugal. Bernard Mandeville, writing in 1709, momentarily did so. He
satirised a father for “preaching nothing but passive obedience and non-resistance to
his daughter.” The daughter’s advocate responds with Lockean sentiments. Respect
is indeed owed to parents, “but when we come to be of age, we are no more tied
to . . . obedience to their commands, but we have liberty to examine into the equity
of them; nay, may justly refuse to comply with them.”59

55 The Case of the Army Soberly Discussed (1647), 6.


56 Guy Miege, The New State of England (1691), pt II, 80.
57 Leslie, The New Association, pt II, p. 65. Cf. Roger L’Estrange, earlier: “How would all your
popular sticklers for the sovereignty of the people take it, to be beaten out of doors by their own
servants, and to have their children rise in rebellion against their fathers?” (The Observator, III,
no. 26, 6 Apr. 1685). For context see Rachel Weil, Political Passions: Gender, the Family, and
Political Argument in England, 1660–1714 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1999).
58 Mary Astell, Political Writings, ed. Patricia Springborg (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 1996), 18; John Vanbrugh, The Provoked Wife (1697), Act 1, Scene 1; Mary Chudleigh,
The Ladies Defence (1701), 3.
59 Bernard Mandeville, The Virgin Unmask’d (1709), 39, 192. This and the previous quotations are
cited in Lawrence Stone, Family, Sex, and Marriage in England, 1500–1800 (London: Weidenfeld
and Nicolson, 1977), 240–1. For commenting on a draft of this essay I am indebted to Homyar
Pahlan, Jacqueline Rose, and Sylvana Tomaselli.
Chapter 9
Some Thoughts Concerning Ralph Cudworth

Sarah Hutton

In the section of Some Thoughts Concerning Education, where he discusses “the


study of Natural Philosophy,” Locke expresses some scepticism about the accuracy
of the systems of natural philosophy available in his time:
But to return to the study of Natural Philosophy, though the World be full of systems of it,
yet I cannot say I know any one which can be taught a Young Man as a Science, wherein he
may be sure to find Truth and Certainty, which is, what all Sciences give an expectation of.
I do not hence conclude that none of them are to be read . . . But whether that of Des Cartes
be put into his Hands; or it be thought fit to give him a short view of that and several other
also, I think the Systems of Natural Philosophy, that have obtained in this part of the Word,
are to be read, more to know the Hypotheses, and to understand the Terms and Ways of
Talking of the several Sects, than with hopes to gain thereby a comprehensive, scientifical,
and satisfactory Knowledge of the Works of Nature.1

Locke nevertheless commends the study of nature as “convenient and necessary to


be known to a Gentleman.” He also expresses a Baconian preference for “such writ-
ers, as have imploy’d themselves in making rational Experiments and Observations,
than in starting barely speculative Systems.”2 The paragraph just quoted is followed
by a ringing endorsement of the work of “the incomparable Mr Newton,” whose
“admirable Book, Philosophiae naturalis principia mathematica” has “shewn how
far Mathematicks, applied to some Parts of Nature, may, upon Principles that Matter
of Fact justifie, carry us in the knowledge of some . . . particular Provinces of the
Incomprehensible Universe.” As with the “hypotheses” of the moderns, so also with
those of the ancients, Locke did not regard acquaintance with philosophical systems
helpful for the study of nature. However, he appears to have thought that the study
of ancient philosophy had some value. For, shortly before these comments, Locke

1 John Locke, STCE, 247. In their footnote on this passage the Yoltons specify that these “sys-
tems” are “Cartesian or Newtonian physicks.” The passage itself, however, does not support such
a restricted interpretation view of what Locke had in mind.
2 ibid., 248.

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 143
and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 143–157.
144 Sarah Hutton

includes a remarkably positive appraisal of the magnum opus of an older contempo-


rary of both men, Ralph Cudworth’s The True Intellectual System of the Universe.
. . . he that would look farther back and acquaint himself with the several Opinions of the
Ancients, may consult Dr Cudworth’s Intellectual System; wherein that very learned Author
hath with such Accurateness and Judgement collected and explained the Opinions of the
Greek Philosophers, what Principles they built on, and what were their chief Hypotheses,
that divided them, is better to be seen in him than any where else I know.3

This passage is sometimes cited as evidence that Locke had read Cudworth,4 but it
is not always remarked that it occurs, not in a discussion of the teaching of history
or classical civilization, but in Locke’s discussion of suitable systems of natural
philosophy for inclusion in his educational curriculum.5 Locke’s comment is the
more remarkable in view of the fact that he and Cudworth are normally treated as
antithetical in philosophical terms, to be classified on opposite sides of the cus-
tomary historical divide between rationalists and empiricists. After all, Cudworth’s
denial that sense-data constitute knowledge and his insistence that the essence of
truth is independent of body—and even mind—underscores his Platonist creden-
tials. Cudworth was certainly not a thinker who employed himself, “in making
rational Experiments and Observations”; on the contrary, he fits the description
of those Locke rejected for “starting barely speculative Systems.” Locke’s views
on learning classical languages, and studying classical texts, his low estimation of
the value of learning Greek, together with his preference for practical knowledge
(acquired from observation and experiment) as against book learning, make him a
very different kind of thinker.6 Cudworth, by contrast, was a philosopher steeped in
the learning of the ancients, who took it for granted that his readers would under-
stand the original-language quotations with which his texts are encrusted. He never
completed his projected system of philosophy, possibly because he never had time
to fill in the quotations and write the footnotes.7
Like the humanists of the Renaissance, Cudworth presupposed a knowledge of
Latin and Greek. Nevertheless, his classical erudition did not meet the scholarly
criteria of the Enlightenment classicism. As early as 1691—just over a decade af-

3 Ibid.
4Precisely when Locke read Cudworth is not certain. Benjamin Furly mentions reading Cudworth
with Locke. Correspondence, 4:161 (letter 1336).
5 An exception is John Rogers in, “Locke, Plato and Platonism,” in Platonism at the Origins of
Modernity, ed. D. Hedley and S. Hutton (Dordrecht: Springer, 2007), 193–205. Rogers plays down
Locke’s regard for Cudworth, by pointing out that the letter to Edward Clarke which epitomises
ideas developed in STCE does not mention Cudworth (Locke, Correspondence, 2: 785, letter 844).
But this is not the only detail missing from the Clarke letter. Its absence may be satisfactorily
explained by the lack of space in a private letter.
6 A.E. Taylor was one those who perpetuated the view that Locke and Cudworth were philosophi-
cally opposed. See, e.g., “The Philosophy of Proclus,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, NS
18 (London, 1918): 631. Victor Nuovo challenges Taylor’s reading in his “Reflections on Locke’s
Platonism,” in Platonism at the Origins of Modernity, ed. Hedley and Hutton, 207–223.
7 One difference between Cudworth’s True Intellectual System and his Treatise of Eternal and
Immutable Morality is that the latter is relatively free of classical quotations, and contains very few
marginal notes.
9 Some Thoughts Concerning Ralph Cudworth 145

ter Cudworth’s death—Richard Bentley’s Epistola ad Millium (1691) called into


question the erudition on which Cudworth’s True Intellectual System was founded.8
Less than a generation after its publication, Bentley effectively destroyed Cud-
worth’s archaeology of truth by applying principles of historical philology to the
texts out of which Cudworth constructed his philosophia perennis. Thereafter, Cud-
worth’s credentials as a classicist were fatally undermined, with corresponding re-
sults for the philosophical system underpinned by his Greek and Latin scholarship.9
The reverberations of Bentley’s attack, and the heightened critical awareness in-
stilled by the new, more historically attuned philology in the ensuing century can
be traced in the critical apparatus supplied by Cudworth’s German Latin translator,
Johann Lorenz Mosheim. In the footnotes he supplied for his Latin translation of The
True Intellectual System (Systema intellectualis huius universi of 1733), Mosheim
struggled to keep faith with his author, even as he called attention to shortcom-
ings in Cudworth’s sense of linguistic history.10 Mosheim frequently complained
that Cudworth’s translation of particular Greek terms was “in conformity with his
own rather than Plato’s opinion.”11 The fact that Cudworth attributes to the ancient
thinkers views that sound distinctly contemporary and that, with apparent disregard
for semantics, Cudworth tends to “read into” his sources more than what was actu-
ally stated, has not endeared him to modern classicists or historians.
Locke’s was not among the discordant voices which derided Cudworth’s learn-
ing. It was certainly not ignorance of Greek that accounted for his disregard of
Bentley’s criticisms.12 His views on Cudworth were most likely formed well before

8 Anthony Grafton, Defenders of the Text: the Traditions of Scholarship in the Age of Science,
1450–1800 (Cambridge MA and London: Harvard University Press, 1991), 12–21.
9 Sometime librarian to Locke’s adversary, Stillingfleet, Bentley’s motivations for this attack may
have had more to do with the theological politics of the time, than with disinterested scholarship.
Cudworth was, after all, the chief philosopher of the most tolerant section of the Church of England,
nicknamed Latitudinarian, and he had been associated with the republican regimes of the inter-
regnum. Bentley’s attack is comparable to Stillingfleet’s attack on Cudworth’s fellow Cambridge
Platonist, Henry More, in Origines sacrae. See S. Hutton, “Edward Stillingfleet, Henry More and
the Decline of Moses Atticus,” in Philosophy, Science and Religion in England, 1640–1700, ed.
R. Kroll, R. Ashcraft and P. Zagorin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992).
10 On this, see Sarah Hutton, “Classicism and Baroque. A Note on J.L. Mosheim’s Footnotes to
Cudworth’s True Intellectual System of the Universe,” in Johann Lorenz Mosheim (1693–1755),
ed. M. Mulsow (Wiesbaden: Harrasowitz Verlag, 1997), 211–227. It is perhaps ironic that few
of those who lament the intrusive weight of Cudworth’s erudition nowadays have the linguistic
skills to judge Mosheim’s strictures. It should also be added that even after his classical erudition
had been found wanting, Cudworth’s philosophy continued to attract interest, as Mosheim’s Latin
translation demonstrates.
11 Mosheim in Cudworth, True Intellectual System of the Universe, ed. Harrison (London: Thomas
Tegg, 1845), 3: 229. Cf. “His partiality for the opinions he had himself espoused seems to me
to have had such an influence on his mind as to make him see things in Aristotle to which the
philosopher was strongly opposed.” ibid. 3: 68, n.1.
12 There is a possible political dimension to the different assessments of Cudworth by Bentley and
Locke. The former was, after all, chaplain to Locke’s Episcopal opponent, Edward Stillingfleet.
In the late seventeenth century Cudworth was a figure who commanded a following among the
tolerationist wing of the Anglican church and among non-conformists.
146 Sarah Hutton

Bentley’s Epistola was published. Although Some Thoughts on Education appeared


two years after Bentley’s Epistola it was based on earlier drafts going back to
1683.13 We can’t be sure when Locke first read Cudworth—certainly by 1690,
when Benjamin Furly recalled reading him with Locke.14 Perhaps Locke’s loyalty
to his close friend, Cudworth’s daughter, Damaris Masham, inclined him to disre-
gard Bentley’s remarks. Or perhaps his diffidence about the value of Greek erudi-
tion meant that he was less exercised by the finer points of historical linguistics—
disposed, perhaps, to see it as pedantry. Whatever the case, the “accuracy and judge-
ment” that Locke commends in Cudworth is not philological, but philosophical.
What he commends in Cudworth is his compilation and explanation of “the Opin-
ions of the Greek Philosophers, what Principles they built on,” not the accuracy of
his historical philology. The particular context in which Locke’s remarks are to be
interpreted is, of course, educational: instruction in knowledge, not of nature (“com-
prehensive, scientifical, and satisfactory Knowledge of the Works of Nature”), but of
“hypotheses” about the natural world. In this respect, ancient philosophy is on the
same footing with most modern philosophies, which Locke says, “are to be read,
more to know the Hypotheses, and to understand the Terms and Ways of Talking
of the several Sects.” And it is precisely for this knowledge of “hypotheses”, that
Cudworth’s True Intellectual System is commended by Locke. In other words, it is
as source and interpreter of Greek philosophy that Locke recommends Cudworth—a
role Cudworth could not have fulfilled without philosophical insight.
The opinion of Locke is a reminder that there is more to Cudworth’s use of an-
cient philosophy, than an anachronistic view of Cudworth the outdated classicist.
So, instead of viewing Cudworth through the lens of classical purists, I want to
take Locke’s commendation of Cudworth’s account of “the Opinions of the Greek
Philosophers” for its “Accurateness and Judgement,” as a starting point for exam-
ining Cudworth’s presentation and interpretation of ancient philosophy. Rather than
dwell on Cudworth as a last representative of Renaissance humanist antiquarianism,
I propose to focus on Cudworth as one of the earliest moderns.
Of course, there is no denying that, with its intricate engagement with classi-
cal sources, Cudworth’s philosophy was shaped and nourished by the cumulative
endeavours of Renaissance humanism, whose great achievement was to have re-
covered the extant texts of the ancient world, and to have made them available in
early modern Europe, together with the linguistic tools necessary for reading and
understanding them. Cudworth’s classical erudition was in many ways the apogee
of Renaissance humanism. By the time he commenced his studies at Cambridge the
classical philosophical corpus had been recovered almost as fully as it is today. Thus
he had at his disposal a wider range of sources than even the most philosophical of
the Renaissance humanists.15 Not only was he the direct beneficiary of the humanist

13 Locke, STCE, ed. cit., 44ff.


14 Locke, Correspondence, 4: 161(Letter 1336).
15 e.g. Proclus (editio princeps 1618) and Sextus Empiricus (first Latin edition, 1562). He explic-
itly acknowledges that he had access to texts not available to Ficino or not utilised by him. See
9 Some Thoughts Concerning Ralph Cudworth 147

achievement in recovering and making available the philosophy of antiquity, but he


exhibits many of the habits of mind of his humanist forbears. His optimistic philos-
ophy of man and mind, and his liberal theology align him with the ethical tradition
of Renaissance Humanism. Cudworth is also a product of the Renaissance in the
synthetic ambition of his philosophical project: his globalising syncretism which
took truth itself and all of intellectuality as its ambit sets him apart from the modern
world. Not for him a little ground-clearing, as the modest “underlabourer” Locke
had described his aims. Rather, Cudworth sought to construct the universe of mind,
a system which was the philosophical counterpart of physics and cosmology, set out,
as Tony Grafton put it “at vast and absorbing length” in his The True Intellectual
System of the Universe (1678). This syncretic philosophia perennis is a highly de-
veloped example of Renaissance negotiation with Graecia mendax: Cudworth, like
Agostino Steucho before him, was highly skilled in sorting out what Henry More
called the “pretious gold” from the “rubbish” of antiquity. The perennial model of
philosophy which Cudworth expounded presupposes that truth is one and the same
for all time, that the questions and answers of philosophy are timeless, and that the
moderns, no less than the ancients, are engaged in the same quest for philosophical
truth. As Cudworth put it in the Treatise:
when innumerable created understandings direct themselves to the contemplation of the
same universal and immutable truths, they do all of them but as it were listen to one and the
same original voice of the eternal wisdom that is never silent . . .16

Viewed from the perspective of philosophia perennis Cudworth’s contemporaries


like Gassendi and Descartes are restorers or recoverers of ancient doctrines, not
founders of new philosophical systems. Cudworth himself uses the term “novan-
tique” to denote this collapsing of ancient and modern into a single enterprise. In
tracing the roots of atomism back to Moses/Moschus and in citing the most ancient
sources available, Cudworth exhibits exactly the respect for origins that is the hall
mark of humanism. The historical model itself (prisca sapientia) was promoted by
those self-same humanists, with whom he shared a desire to accommodate pagan
learning to Christianity. So, by providing what he regarded as an impeccably an-
cient pedigree for atomism Cudworth could defend it against the imputations of
atheism that resulted from the perversions of it by later interpreters (e.g. Lucretius).
Counter-historical though Cudworth’s universalist view of philosophy may be, it is
nonetheless supported by a deep, humanistic sense of the authority of antiquity.
This comprehensive perspective on philosophy allowed Cudworth to posit an
original theistic philosophy, which contained both metaphysics and physics (his ver-
sion entailed a metaphysics of spirit combined with an atomistic physics). This orig-
inal philosophy was accompanied by a story of philosophy according to which the
metaphysics became separated from the physics, creating two divergent branches,
with Plato and his followers monopolising metaphysics, while Democritus and

Cudworth, A Treatise Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality, ed. S. Hutton (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1996) (hereafter cited as EIM), 37.
16 EIM, 132.
148 Sarah Hutton

Leucippus pursued materialist theories that declined into atheism as they became
blinded to immaterialism by their sensualism. By means of what might be called an
exercise in comparative philosophy, Cudworth constructed a taxonomy of philo-
sophical doctrines, in which he classified the different philosophical schools in
according to how the matter theory of each correlates with theism or atheism: he
identified four main branches of atheistic philosophy which he called Hylopathian,
Atomical, Hylozoic and “Cosmo-Plastic.”17 It is this taxonomy of the different
philosophical schools to which Locke refers when he commended The True Intellec-
tual System of the Universe as a storehouse of the “hypotheses” of Greek philosophy.
A distinctive feature of the “intellectual system” set out in Cudworth’s magnum
opus is that he interprets the ancients by using ancient sources—the philosophical
equivalent of the rule of reading the bible through the bible, sola scriptura. Cud-
worth’s mingling of old with new, in particular his insistence on seeing the “mod-
erns” of the seventeenth-century—Descartes, Gassendi, Hobbes and Spinoza— as
neoteric propounders of ancient doctrines, is enough to confirm to the satisfaction of
many of his twentieth-century readers that Cudworth writes unhistorically. However,
his identification of atomism as part of the original natural philosophy is echoed in
Locke’s endorsement of corpuscularianism in Some Thoughts Concerning Educa-
tion, where he comments that “the Modern Corpuscularians talk, in most Things,
more intelligibly than the Peripateticks.”18
Nothwithstanding its antique dress, there are two features of Cudworth’s ap-
proach to ancient philosophy which show that his philosophical project had a con-
temporary orientation rather than an antiquarian one. Firstly, as regards content,
Cudworth does not simply make himself the mouthpiece of antiquity, a kind of ven-
triloquist’s dummy for the ancient world. Rather, he discusses ancient philosophy in
relation to contemporary philosophy and the issues it provoked: it is not accidental
that the philosophies scrutinised in The True Intellectual System are ones which
appear to anticipate the modern natural philosophies of Cudworth’s time, especially
mechanistic and atomistic natural philosophy. These are evaluated in relation to the
same questions being applied in the seventeenth century to modern philosophers—
questions about whether the competing new philosophies explain the phenomena,
and whether they are compatible with religious belief. This “modern” reading of
ancient philosophy accounts for some of the apparent “distortion” of ancient views
lamented by Mosheim. But it is not far removed from contemporary philosophi-
cal practice, where philosophies of the past are analysed as anticipating or sharing
central questions that preoccupy the present.
The second aspect of Cudworth’s contemporary focus is linguistic, and its con-
text is the emergence of vernacular philosophy in the seventeenth century, evident
in the linguistic choices of such illustrious contemporaries as Descartes and Locke

17 Sarah Hutton, “Lord Herbert and the Cambridge Platonists,” in British Philosophy in the Age
of Enlightenment, ed. Stuart Brown (Routledge History of Philosophy, V) (London and New York:
Routledge, 1996), 27.
18 STCE, 246.
9 Some Thoughts Concerning Ralph Cudworth 149

(though not Hobbes and Spinoza). In so far as it marks the point where classical
languages begin to be discarded this vernacular turn is symptomatic of the break-
down of humanism, or at least it marks the point where Renaissance humanism had
run its full course. Cudworth was one of the first English philosophers to write in
the vernacular: the challenge facing him in an intellectual culture where vernacular
philosophy had been almost unknown, was how to forge a philosophical vernacular,
a language of philosophy, that provides serviceable terminology and a meaningful
conceptual vocabulary. In this regard the precedent of Cicero comes to mind: the Ci-
cero of the Tusculan Disputations who specifically sought to develop a philosophical
vocabulary for Latin.
Locke would not have had to read very far into Cudworth’s True Intellectual
System before encountering an example of one of “the chief Hypotheses of the an-
cients.” In book 1, as part of his argument that Democritus and Leucippus were
not the originators of “the Mechanical or Atomical Philosophy,” Cudworth cites
an instance of the “Wisdom and Sagacity of the old Philosophers” which, he
claims is
more fully and plainly expressed, than it is in Lucretius himself, viz. That Sensible things,
according to those Ideas that we have of them, are not real Qualities absolutely Existing
without us, but [. . .], Phansies or Phantasms in us.19

The details he gives of this atomistic philosophy accord very well with the basic
principles of the mechanical philosophy in vogue at the time he was writing. His
detecting an anticipation of the moderns in the work of the ancients is consistent
with his conception of the perennial philosophy. What is, perhaps, more remarkable,
is that the passage he quotes comes not from, or one of the other ancient atomists
besides Democritus or Leucippus, but from Plato who, he claims, “hath left a very
full Record of this Mechanical or Atomical Physiology” in his dialogue the Pro-
tagoras. In making this claim, Cudworth admits that his interpretation of the dia-
logue was unusual (something “that hath hardly been yet taken notice of”), not least
because,
it appears by Plato’s manner of telling the story, and the Tenour of the whose Dialogue,
that himself was not a little prejudiced against this Philosophy. In all probability the rather,
because Protagoras had made it a Foundation both for Scepticism and Atheism.20

At first sight, Protagoras in Cudworth’s account might be thought to anticipate


Locke. However, other references to Protagoras suggest otherwise. For the charge
of atheism which Cudworth levels at Protagoras is linked not just to his sense-based
epistemology, but to his materialism. In point of fact, the burden of Cudworth’s cri-
tique of Protagoras’ sense-based thinking fits exactly with Locke’s warnings about
the dangers of grounding knowledge in the senses in Some Thoughts Concerning
Education:

19 Cudworth, The True Intellectual System of the Universe (London: R. Royston, 1678), 10.
20 Ibid.
150 Sarah Hutton

Matter being a thing, that all our Senses are constantly conversant with, it is so apt to
possess the Mind, and exclude all other Beings, but Matter that prejudice, grounded on
such Principles, often leaves no room for the admittance of Spirits, or the allowing any such
things as immaterial Beings in rerum natura. 21

Cudworth does indeed interpret Protagoras as a materialist forerunner of modern


philosophy. But, as I shall show later, the modern thinker whom Cudworth sees
prefigured in Protagoras is in fact Hobbes.
For a fuller justification of Cudworth’s view that Plato was cognisant of the me-
chanical philosophy, and for further explanation of how Protagoras’ misapplication
of it opened the way for scepticism and atheism, we must turn to a work which
was originally intended to form a continuation of The True Intellectual System of
the Universe. This is Cudworth’s posthumously-published A Treatise Concerning
Eternal and Immutable Morality.22 I shall, for the remainder of this paper, focus on
this work which is based on the same premises as The True Intellectual System, and
is particularly relevant to seventeenth-century debates about the knowledge claims
of natural philosophy (or science). This is particularly true of Cudworth’s discus-
sion of Plato’s Theaetetus in the second book, where the emphasis is not on natural
philosophy, but epistemology. Although it was not published until 1731, long after
Locke’s death, the manuscript of A Treatise was among the papers preserved at the
home of Cudworth’s daughter, Damaris, Lady Masham. It is, therefore, possible that
Locke may have been acquainted with it while he was resident there in the last years
of his life.23 In what follows I shall argue that Cudworth’s modern interpretation of
Protagoras is neither arbitrary nor dogmatic, but involves an attempt to understand
Protagoras through ancient sources. Although the result is consonant with his peren-
nial model of philosophy, it does not entail a dogmatic or uncritical application of
this framework.
A Treatise Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality was probably originally
intended as a continuation of his True Intellectual System (1678). It was most likely
drafted in the early 1660s. Contrary to what its title suggests the Treatise is largely
taken up with epistemology. Nevertheless, the discussion of epistemology links

21 Locke, STCE, 246.


22 For present purposes, an advantage of using it is the relative absence of classical quotations, as
compared with the True Intellectual System—which enables me to preclude the charge that Cud-
worth’s philosophy is just an exotic compilation of quotations from ancient sources strung together
by baroque English sentences. Also, A Treatise Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality is
the text most familiar to modern readers, and the only work of Cudworth’s to have received any
attentions as philosophically interesting in recent times. See, for example, Arthur N. Prior, Logic
and the Basis of Ethics (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1949), 23, and Brad Hooker, “Cudworth and
Quine,” Analysis 61 (2001): 333–35.
23 Jacqueline Broad has disputed the possibility that Cudworth’s papers were in Lady Masham’s
possession in, “A Woman’s Influence? John Locke and Damaris Masham on Moral Accountabil-
ity,” Journal of the History of Ideas 67 (2006): 489–510. Other evidence, not cited in this paper,
suggests that she did have Cudworth’s manuscripts in her possession at Oates. For example, Pierre
Alllix appears to have borrowed Cudworth’s MS on the Book of Daniel (now in the British Library:
BL Add MSS) from the collection at Oates.
9 Some Thoughts Concerning Ralph Cudworth 151

directly to Cudworth’s argument for the existence of moral absolutes—existence,


that is, as entities independent of living beings—which is part of the argument that
“the natures and essences of all things” are eternal, immutable and independent of
the physical world. To deny this, according to Cudworth, is “to shake at the very
foundations of all things” because it is to deny “any absolute certainty of truth or
knowledge,” and to hold “that nothing was good or evil, just or unjust, true or false,
white or black, absolutely and immutably.”24
Book 2 of A Treatise is largely devoted to a discussion of Plato’s Theaetetus.
Cudworth focuses on Protagoras’ contention “that every fancy or opinion of every
body was true” and “that man is the measure of all things whether existing or not
existing.” Cudworth’s concern is with the sceptical implications of Protagoras’s rel-
ativism, especially in relation to ethics. He also discusses Protagoras’s natural phi-
losophy, drawing some rather unexpected historical conclusions. Following Plato,
Cudworth associates Protagoras’s relativism with Heraclitus who, he says, claimed
“all things to be the offspring of flux and motion.” Protagorean moral relativism,
he argues, derives from Heraclitean scepticism, Heraclitus having propounded the
doctrine (adopted by Protagoras) that “knowledge is nothing else but sense.” Cud-
worth quotes a handful of passages from the first part of Plato’s dialogue (152A,
157A-D, 161D, 166D, 167C, 177C-D) to support a primarily moral interpretation
of Protagoras, to the effect that any community might set its own standards of right
and wrong. In Cudworth’s view, Protagoras hereby mounted “a battery or assault
against morality” by striking at the “immutable natures and essences of things.”
Having cited Plato to support the Protagoras-Heraclitus link, Cudworth goes on to
argue that there is another element introduced by Protagoras, a “superstructure” as
he calls it built on these Heraclitean foundations, but taken from another source,
namely “the old atomical or Phoenecian philosophy.” By reference to Plato’s text,
Cudworth proceeds to argue, that Protagoras held that “the whole world is made by
nothing else but the motion of particles,” and that sensory qualities do not exist in
the objects which give rise to sensations but in the organs of sense. His argument,
based chiefly on Pythagoras’ account of sight and seeing, concludes that Protagoras
subscribed to a version of Democritean atomism, which anticipated the mechanical
philosophy propounded by Descartes and Gassendi in Cudworth’s time. However,
according to Cudworth, Protagoras applied this philosophy in a way that served his
own sceptical ends. In support of his relativist claim that “man is the measure of all
things” and that “every fancy is true,” Protagoras used the atomist principle that the
qualities we attribute to objects which we observe reside not in the objects them-
selves, but in the observer. However, he misapplied this principle to mean that the
senses the judge of truth. This, says Cudworth, is clean contrary to the meaning of
“the old atomical philosophy,” which held that knowledge required the intervention
of a higher power of mind:

24 EIM, 29.
152 Sarah Hutton

sense alone is not the criterion or judge of what does absolutely exist without us, but that
there is a higher intellectual faculty in us that judges of our senses, which discovers what is
fallacious and fantastical in them and pronounces what absolutely is and is not.25

Cudworth answers Protagoras in two ways. First of all he insists that Protagoras
was not the founder of philosophical mechanism or atomism, but the perverter of
a pre-existing philosophy which predates both Leucippus and Democritus, and may
be traced back to pre-Trojan times. On the authority of Strabo (whose source was the
Stoic, Posidonius), Cudworth claims that “the doctrine of atoms is ancienter than the
times of the Trojan war,” and was imported from Phoenicia by one Moschus. Cud-
worth’s second move against Protagoras is to cite the anti-Protagorean arguments
of other philosophers; these are, first, Plato (in the Theaetetus), secondly, Aristotle
(the arguments against sense-based knowledge in De anima and De sensu), and
thirdly, Sextus Empiricus. It is somewhat disingenuous of Cudworth to use Aristotle
and Plato’s confutation of Democritus and Protagoras respectively in support of the
atomist-mechanist cause, since neither made any explicit commitment to true atom-
ism. Cudworth does in fact acknowledge this, but exploits it by laying the blame on
Protagoras:
It must be acknowledged that neither of these two famous and renowned philosophers,
Plato and Aristotle, had the good hap to be rightly instructed in this ancient Phoenecian and
Moschical or Mosaical philosophy. Protagoras abusing it to scepticism and the taking away
of the natural discrimination of good and evil, might probably beget a prejudice in Plato
against it.26

In other words, Cudworth explains the absence of a Platonic physics by claiming


that Protagoras was responsible for his repudiation of physics: thanks to Protagorean
scepticism and further perversions of it by Epicurus, Lucretius and, ultimately,
Pyrrho, the original “old physiology” or “old atomical philosophy” was, according
to Cudworth, rejected by both Aristotle and Plato. And Plotinus remained confused
as to “whether sensible things did really exist in the objects without us, or were
only passions within us.”27 Philosophical atomism became so thoroughly obscured
by misuse or refutation that, according to Cudworth, the Renaissance interpreters
of Plato were ignorant of it: in a rare reference to Ficino in his works he notes that
“Ficinus and Serranus . . . lived before the restitution of this mechanical philosophy,
and therefore understood it not.”28
Of particular note in Cudworth’s account of Protagoras is his use of Sextus. It was
in Sextus Empiricus’ comments on Protagoras that Cudworth found endorsement for
his interpretation of Protagoras as a sceptic:
Sextus Empiricus gives a short account of this Protagorean philosophy in a few words thus,
“He asserts that which seems to every one to be, and so makes all things relative.”29

25 EIM, 47.
26EIM, 39. He does, however, suggest that Plato had “a little smattering of it,” citing Timaeus
55E–56A.
27 EIM, 42.
28 Ibid., 37.
29 Ibid., 31.
9 Some Thoughts Concerning Ralph Cudworth 153

Cudworth also cites Sextus to confirm that Protagoras held that everything consisted
of matter in motion.30 Cudworth quotes Sextus’ repudiation of Protagoras’ con-
tention that every fancy is true. In the passage in question Sextus uses Protagoras
against himself, in an argument that Cudworth thinks is better than those of Aristotle
and Plato.
But Sextus Empiricus bestows more subtlety upon it than either of them,
If every fancy is true, then when one fancies that every fancy is not true that must be true
also, and so then this proposition that every fancy is true, will be false.31

Sextus is Cudworth’s chief source for the tenets of Democritus’ philosophy, and it
is from Sextus that Cudworth derives the view that the source of Democritean and
Epicurean atomism was the Phoenecian Moschus.32 Sextus is therefore not only an
alternative source for Protagoreanism, aside from Plato. But Cudworth uses Sextus’
account of Protagoreanism in order to distill Protagoras’s philosophy down to a
handful of aphorisms and to provide him with an account of the origins of atomism.
In broader terms, it can also be said that Cudworth’s reading of Sextus sharpened
his awareness of sceptical arguments.33
Cudworth’s discussion of the Theaetetus is not only highly selective in what he
chooses to discuss, but it sets the dialogue within the larger context of Protagoras’
likely sources (which are actually suggested by Plato) and of the Protagorean legacy.
This enables him to tease out the fortuna of “the old physiology,” demonstrating
the moral scepticism of Epicurus and Pyrrho, and accounting for the hostility of
Plato and Aristotle to philosophical atomism. Cudworth was in effect offering a
reconstruction of the “true” philosophy, as well as an historical framework which
explained the transmission and distortions of philosophical doctrine across time. Al-
though his perennial philosophy is coloured by the assumptions and methodologies
of the later Renaissance, it is also coloured by the threat of scepticism—a new prob-
lem facing philosophers since the discovery of ancient scepticism with the recovery
of the writings of Sextus Empiricus.34 Cudworth’s use of Sextus is an important
mark of difference between his Platonism and that of his Renaissance predecessors,
such as Ficino, who were ignorant of Sextus’ writings.
Although the impact of Sextus is clearly evident in Cudworth’s A Treatise
Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality, his use of Sextus in his critique of
Protagoras’ sense-based epistemology suggests that his concern was not scepticism,
per se, but the modern legacy, as he saw it, of Protagoreanism. In the context of
the new natural philosophies of his time, especially the emergent empiricism of
contemporary science. Cudworth’s endorsement of the original atomism (“the old

30 Ibid., 44.
31 Ibid., 29.
32 Ibid., 38. Sextus, Against the Physicists, 1.363.
33 Cudworth’s use of Alcinous is more limited, and confined to a statement by his sixteenth-century
commentator, Jacques Charpentier, that Aristotle repudiated sense-based knowledge. Cudworth’s
use of Charpentier is another indicator of the Renaissance roots of his Platonism.
34 See R.H. Popkin, The History of Scepticism from Erasmus to Bayle (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2003).
154 Sarah Hutton

physiology”) indicates that the target for his charge of scepticism against sense-
based epistemology was not the new natural philosophy of the Royal Society. And
it points up an area of agreement with Locke. For Cudworth’s remarks show that
he was not an enemy of empiricism or of the observational methods of the new
natural philosophy (science). What he denies is that observational data is, on its
own, knowledge. Nonetheless, he accords sense experience a fairly important role.
First of all, the senses have the natural every-day function of mediating the external
world to the body. He acknowledges that, “sense be adequate and sufficient for that
end which nature hath designed it to, viz. to give advertisement of corporeal things
existing without us, and their motions for the use and concernment of the body.”
Secondly, sense data provide the understanding with raw materials needed for for-
mulating knowledge of the outside world. Indeed reason depends on the senses in
order to do this. “The end which nature hath designed it [sense] to” includes provid-
ing “such general intimations of the modes of them [corporeal things], as may give
the understanding sufficient hints by its own sagacity to find out their natures, and
invent intelligible hypotheses to solve those appearances by (for otherwise reason
alone without sense could not acquaint us, or assure us of the existence of any thing
besides God, who is the only necessarily existent being).”35
The modern progeny of Protagoras that Cudworth had in mind were not modern
atomists, or corpuscularians, certainly not those who combined their matter theory
with theism. His target was, in all probability, another uncomfortable spirit raised
by the revolutions in philosophy, namely Thomas Hobbes. A good part of Eternal
and Immutable Morality is directed explicitly at Hobbes. Although he is not actu-
ally named in the section which discusses the Theaetetus in Eternal and Immutable
Morality, he is certainly a presence behind it. For, not only does Cudworth refute
the theory (ascribed to Protagoras) that knowledge is derived from sensations which
are in turn the product of particles in motion but Cudworth’s emphasis is on the
ethical relativism of Protagoras’ position. In other words, Protagoras is a kind of
stalking horse for Hobbes. This is confirmed in the discussion of the same part
of the Theaetetus which occurs at the end of The True Intellectual System.36 Here
too Cudworth attacks Protagorean/Democritean sense-based epistemology, this time
with a distinct allusion to Hobbes in his description of knowledge so derived as
“faded and decaying sense.”37
To acknowledge the wider contemporary context within which Cudworth was
writing helps explain some features of his philosophy, such as his concern about

35 EIM, 57.
36 The second book of his Treatise elaborates a thesis set out in The True Intellectual System (852),
namely the position he attributes to “the Democritick and Epicurean Atheists,” that “all Knowledge
is nothing else but Sense,” and, more exactly, that this sense-derived knowledge is nothing more
than “Secondary or Fading and Decaying Sense” (851). He also discusses the sceptical conse-
quences of such a position, namely that “all Knowledge is Nothing but Sense, either Primary or
Secondary, . . . That there is no Absolute Truth nor Falsehood, and that Knowledge is of a Private
Nature, Relative, and Phantastical only, or mere Seeming” (852).
37 Cudworth, ed. Harrison, 3:564.
9 Some Thoughts Concerning Ralph Cudworth 155

scepticism, and perhaps also, the need to construct a tradition for newly sprouted
philosophical systems. But even within this wider contemporary context, there is
no gainsaying the fact that Cudworth’s thinking is permeated with Renaissance
attitudes to antiquity: his reliance on arguments from authority—the authority of
antiquity—his commitment to philosophia perennis and his desire to ensure the
compatibility of philosophy with faith. This last concern is the more understandable
when we recognise that he was targeting the atheistical Mr Hobbes. This does not,
of course, exonerate Cudworth from the charge that he took liberties both in his
interpretation of ancient philosophy, and in his classical philology. However, these
linguistic liberties should be assessed in relation to the other aspect of Cudworth,
which I have not so far discussed: his philosophical terminology.
Cudworth’s choice of language and his philosophical terminology have signif-
icance beyond mere matters of style. What is important is not just the manner in
which he wrote but the conceptual vocabulary which he adopted. As already sug-
gested, this is thrown into focus when we remember that the seventeenth-century
saw the emergence of vernacular philosophy. It was in the seventeenth century
that Western European philosophers begin to write in their own languages, using
Latin only when they had an international audience in view. Hobbes is just such an
example of a philosopher who wrote in English for popular home consumption—as
he did in Leviathan—but used Latin for his intellectual peers on the international
stage. When Cudworth was a student, Latin was the standard medium of philosoph-
ical discourse for Englishmen writing philosophy. Like Descartes, and also like his
Cambridge Platonist contemporaries, he departed from the tradition of academic
philosophy by choosing to write in the vernacular. But the Cambridge Platonists did
not have a vernacular philosophical tradition from which to draw. This is abundantly
clear in Cudworth’s English. His writings are full of new coinages, that give a certain
antique flavour to his style. Many of these have since been discarded (terms like “an-
gulosity”, “cogitability”, “flexuosity”, “nictation”, “phantasmatical”, “schetical”,
“thetical”—not to mention “plastick” and “spermatick”!) Others have become stan-
dard terms in our modern intellectual vocabulary (for example, “consciousness”,
“psychology”, “self-determination” are all Cudworth coinages). He also introduces
a range of reflexive terms: some of which are now obsolete but some of which
are part of our philosophical vocabulary as well as the language of psychology:
“self-activity”, “self-power”, self-determination”, “self-reflexive”. These terms are
particularly important for Cudworth’s conception of the mind as active, both in cog-
nitive and psychological terms. The terminology employed by Cudworth— not all
of it novel with him, of course—is self-consistent, but there is also a high degree
of instability. For example there is wide variation in the terminology he uses to
talk about ideas: “ideas”, “conceptions of the mind”, “immutable reasons”, “intel-
ligible essences” , “intelligible reasons”, “universal reasons”, “immutable notions”,
“notions of the mind” are just some of the terms he uses. But what I want to note
particularly is the fact that Cudworth also imports Greek terms: one of the most
important examples of a direct importation is his use of the Stoic term, “hege-
monikon” in his Treatise of Freewill. But as often as not he uses Greek terms not in
place of an English term, but in apposition to English terms. This is especially true
156 Sarah Hutton

in A Treatise Concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality, where he uses Greek


terms to denote the objects of three different levels of cognition, mind, imagination
and sense: noemata, aisthesemata, phantasmata etc. These are inserted alongside
the English terms employed, often with redundant frequency—the 1731 edition
consigns them to the footnotes; the 1845 edition inserts them in the main text.38
Nevertheless, these terms have a genuine terminological function, especially where
no English equivalent was available—for example the aforementioned word hege-
monikon. These Greek terms (and they are printed using Greek orthography) provide
stable signifiers for concepts which, when explained by Cudworth, are demonstrably
his own, and not those denoted by any individual Greek term in any of its original
uses. In other words, Cudworth uses Greek as part of his own repertoire of philo-
sophical vocabulary. More than that, he uses Greek in order to establish his own
philosophical vocabulary. The terms he employs are not intended to be faithful to the
meanings they had in ancient Greek philosophy. Arguably, Cudworth’s quotations
from classical philosophy function in the same way. They do indeed underwrite
his own arguments, and, as Mosheim complained, Cudworth’s interpretations of
them are frequently closer to his own views than to the views of the philosopher
he quotes. There is no doubt that for a man of his humanist education, his speak-
ing through the philosophy of the ancients endowed his own philosophy with the
authority of precedent. But his treatment of it as having immediate relevance to
his seventeenth-century present, is paradoxical though it may seem, one sense—a
minor one—in which Cudworth is a “modern” in that he exhibits a philosopher’s
sense of history: that is to say, the habit of mind which regards all philosophers
as being engaged in the same activity, answering the same questions in the hope
of solving recognised problems. On this approach, arguments are treated as able
to stand or fall irrespective of the time at which they were proposed; philosophers
of the past acquire significance in proportion to their contribution to a particular
topic in philosophy; and individual philosophers are singled out for special mention
if they are regarded as the originators or modifiers of arguments. This itself was
nothing new. As Charles Schmitt long ago observed:
Whenever texts of an earlier period are read, they will be subjected to some sort of inter-
pretation and what results will differ to a greater or lesser degree from the texts upon which
the interpretation is based . . . When an ancient text is plunged into a context of ideologies
and ideas of a later time, with which it originally had little or no connection, adjustments,
modifications and transformations must be made.39

Cudworth’s engagement with ancient philosophical texts displays the Renaissance


humanist’s sense of the past as meaningful to the present. His quotations and inter-
pretations constitute interventions in the text, sometimes quite radical interventions,
of the kind that show that philosophy is a living tradition, in dialogue with itself.
The existing academic philosophical tradition having failed (i.e. Aristotelianism),

38My 1996 edition eliminates them in the interest of making the text accessible to modern readers!
But that editorial decision was, for the reasons given above, a mistake.
39 Charles Schmitt, Cicero Scepticus (The Hague: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1972), 4.
9 Some Thoughts Concerning Ralph Cudworth 157

and, with it, inherited forms of philosophical discourse, Cudworth, like other in-
novators of his time, sought alternatives. In the absence of both an immediately
available school of thought, Cudworth turned to those philosophies where he recog-
nised affinities with contemporary developments. In his interventions in the texts
of the ancients, we can see at work the process of philosophical development, and
the evolution of new theories and new systems. Instead of siding with Bentley, and
scorning Cudworth’s failings in historical philology, we might take a leaf out of John
Locke’s Some Thoughts on Education and appreciate his labours for their value to
the seventeenth-century students of philosophy, “to know the Hypotheses, and to
understand the Terms and Ways of Talking of the several Sects.”
Chapter 10
Circles of Virtuosi and “Charity
under Different Opinions”: The Crucible
of Locke’s Last Writings

Luisa Simonutti

A Circle of “Virtuosi”

Recalling the happy period which he spent as tutor to Francis Masham, son of the
baronet Sir Francis Masham and his second wife, Damaris Cudworth,1 Pierre Coste
described the lively cultural climate that their home at the manor of Oates, situated
about twenty-five miles to the north-east of London, near Harlow in the County of
Essex:
I cannot but take pleasure in imagining to myself, that this place, so well known to so many
persons of merit, whom I have seen come thither from so many parts of England to visit Mr.
Locke, will be famous to posterity for the long abode that great man made here.2

The years 1685, after the marriage of the widower baronet to Damaris Cudworth,
and in particular the early 1690s, when John Locke arrived as a guest of the Masham
family, marked a turning-point in the life of the Oates household, when the manor
became a meeting point for the friends and acquaintances of Lady Damaris and,
especially, of Locke himself. Prior to his arrival at Oates, and especially during his
long sojourns on the Continent, in France and the Netherlands, Locke had frequently
enjoyed the pleasure of learned and amicable conversation. In Paris, he had partic-
ipated in “un cercle étendu d’érudits et de savants, parmi lesquels étaient volon-
tiers accueillis les visiteurs étrangers”, a circle of “virtuosi” round the Huguenot
“savant”, Henry Justel. Locke’s interest in these meetings aroused in is illustrated by

1 On Damaris Cudworth Masham, daughter of the Cambridge Platonist, Ralph Cudworth, and on
her relations with Locke, cf. Sarah Hutton, “Damaris Cudworth, Lady Masham: between Platonism
and Enlightenment,” in British Journal for the History of Philosophy 1 (1993): 29–54; Luisa Si-
monutti, “Lady Damaris Cudworth Masham: filosofia e poesia. Con tre poemi,” in Donne, filosofia
e cultura nel Seicento, ed. Pina Totaro (Rome: CNR, 1999), 183–209.
2 Peter Laslett, “Masham of Oates: the Rise and Fall of an English Family,” History Today 3(1953):
535–43, 539. Cf. also LL and “The Recovery of Locke’s Library: Peter Laslett in Conversation with
John Rogers,” in The Philosophical Canon in the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries: Essays in
Honour of John W. Yolton, ed. G.A.J. Rogers and Sylvana Tomaselli (Rochester, N.Y.: University
of Rochester Press, 1996), 67–82.

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 159
and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 159–175.
160 Luisa Simonutti

the numerous references to Justel and to the “savants” who frequented his house in
those years, which punctuate Locke’s Journal.3 According to Pierre Des Maizeaux
in his introduction the collection of Locke’s writings which appeared in 1720:
Mr. Locke took a delight in forming such societies, wherever he made any stay. He es-
tablish’d one at Amsterdam in 1687, of which Mr. Limborch, and Mr. Le Clerc, were
members.4

Le Clerc himself, several years earlier, had described in the Eloge Locke’s manner
of launching and organising these “savant” encounters:
En 1687 il voulut que Mr. Limborch et moi et quelques autres de nos amis fissions des
conferences, pour lesquelles on s’assembleroit tour à tour, une fois la semaine, tantot chez
les uns et tantot chez les autres, et où l’on proposeroit quelque question, sur laquelle cha-
cun diroit son avis dans l’assemblée suivante J’ai encore les Loix qu’il souhaitoit qu’on
observat, écrites de sa main en Latin.5

From the very first months spent in Amsterdam during his voluntary exile in
Holland, Locke also had the opportunity to attend the meetings of the learned
theologians and doctors in the circle of the Remonstrant theologian, Philippus van
Limborch and the doctor, Pieter Guenellon. By this means Locke became part of the
“Collegium privatum medicum”, a private society which had no specific premises,
but met regularly in the houses of various of its members.6 Even after he had left the
city for Rotterdam, and after his final return home, Locke maintained his friendship
with Pieter Guenellon and Egbertus Veen and remained in epistolary contact with
various members of the “Collegie”. But most important of all, in the months spent in
Rotterdam as guest of the erudite merchant from Colchester, the Quaker, Benjamin
Furly, Locke had the opportunity of participating actively in the meetings of the

3 Gabriel Bonno, Les relations intellectuelles de Locke avec la France (Berkeley and Los Angeles:
UCLA Press), 65–6.
4 A Collection of several pieces of Mr. John Locke, never before printed, or not extant in his Works.
Publish’d by the Author of the Life of the ever memorable Mr. John Hales (London: J. Bettenham
for R. Francklin, 1720), Dedication.
5 Jean Le Clerc, Eloge historique de feu Mr. Locke, which appeared in “Bibliothèque Choisie,”
1705, 6: 342–411, art. 5, and again in Pierre Des Maizeaux’s edition of Oeuvres diverses de Mon-
sieur Locke. Nouvelle Edition considérablement augmentée, tome premier (second) (Amsterdam,
Jean Frederic Bernard, 1732), p. LIV.
6 On 22 May 1684, Locke listed in his Journal the names of the various people involved in
the meetings of the Collegium, including his own name at the end. In addition to the theolo-
gian Philippus van Limborch, who was also interested in scientific matters, other members were
Matthew Slade (founder of the college in 1664 along with the anatomist Gerard Blasius), Egbertus
Veen, Pieter Guenellon, Doctor Abrahamus Quina, Abrahamus Cyprianus (the latter a student of
medicine and future Professor of anatomy at Franeker) and Pieter Bernagie (professor of anatomy,
but also a versatile spirit and director of the State theatre).
10 Circles of Virtuosi and “Charity under Different Opinions” 161

circle “De Lantaarn” which were held in Furly’s house.7 Locke must have found
himself at ease at the “Lantaarn”, both in terms of the cultural atmosphere which
prevailed there and of the figures which the club attracted in those years: Quakers
such as Arent Sonnemans and doctors such as Hermannus Lufneu, Tobias Ludwig
Kohlhans (who also distinguished himself as a defender of Quakerism in Germany)
and the more famous Franciscus van Helmont; literati such as Peter Rabus; theolo-
gians such as Limborch and Le Clerc; philosophers such as Bayle8 and the Third
Earl of Shaftesbury, as well as dissenters and refugees, eminent politicians of the
city, such as the ambassador Adriaan Paets, who had links with the Collegiants of
Riijnsburg and with the Remonstrants.

Few and Plain Rules

It was probably at Furly’s house in 1688, that Locke drafted a short essay entitled
Pacifick Christians9 in which he listed the “few and plain rules” which ought to be
set at the foundations of a religious society, and the aims of which were to promote
the principal teachings of Christianity: love, charity, peace and faith in the word of
God. In Locke’s view, no man should be judged on externals, but everyone is free to
practice what he thinks will promote inner spiritual well-being, love and charity:
No men, or society of men, having any authority to impose their opinions or interpretations
on any other, the meanest Christian. Since, in matters of religion, every man must know,
and believe, and give an account for himself.10

According to Locke, it was an essential duty for all Christians to maintain feelings
of love and charity in the face of the multiplicity of conflicting opinions, and to offer
material and spiritual assistance to the dissenter (“in the diversity of contrary opin-
ions”) so as to show him the path of communion. At the same time, the Christian’s
task was also to dissuade “all magistrates from making use of their authority, much

7 On Benjamin Furly and his circle see Luisa Simonutti, “English Guests at ‘De Lantaarn’: Sydney,
Penn, Locke, Toland and Shaftesbury,” in Benjamin Furly. A Quaker Merchant and his Milieu,
ed. Sarah Hutton, (Florence: Olschki, 2007), 31–66; L. Simonutti, “Toland e gli inglesi del cir-
colo di Furly a Rotterdam,” in Filosofia e cultura nel Settecento britannico, ed. Antonio Santucci
(Bologna: Il Mulino), 2 vols., 1: 249–69.
8 On Bayle and Furly see: W.H. Barber, “Pierre Bayle, Benjamin Furly and Quakerism,” in
De l’Humanisme aux Lumières, Bayle et le protestantisme. Melanges en l’honneur d’Elisabeth
Labrousse, ed. M. Magdelaine, M.-C.Pitassi, R. Whelan, A. McKenna (Paris: Universitas; Oxford:
Voltaire Foundation, 1996) 623–33; Luisa Simonutti, “Bayle et ses amis: Paets, Furly, Shaftesbury,
et le club de ‘La Lanterne’, ” in Pierre Bayle dans la République des Lettres, philosophie, religion,
critique, ed. Antony McKenna et Gianni Paganini (Paris: H.Champion, 2004), 61–78.
9 See Appendix I, below.
10 Ibid.
162 Luisa Simonutti

less their sword (which was put into their hands only against evil doers) in matters
of faith or worship”.11
Christian doctrine is not “a notional science”, a speculative material subject of
disputes to be entrusted to investigation by our brains or the rhetorical potential of
language. Rather, it is a rule of justice, a moral canon which directs human life. The
only way to maintain peace and unity within the diversity of irreconcilable opinions
is, therefore, to pursue not the path of destruction and opposition but the path of
love and charity. This, according to Locke, is an essential premise, and he goes on
to delineate briefly, the features of a society which embraces all those who, with
sincere heart, accept “the Word of Truth revealed in the Scripture, and obey the light
which enlightens every man that comes into the world,”12 and to trace out the few
and plain rules which should govern it.13
Locke was to return to reflect on the criteria and rules of conversation for a meet-
ing of gentlemen and “savants” and to plan a society geared to the moral edification
of its members. It is once again Pierre Des Maizeaux who recalls that, after his
return to London, Locke set up a circle the aims of which were not to be confined
to providing the opportunity for learned and pleasant conversation among its mem-
bers, but were intended to be directed towards nurturing truth and developing a true
Christian spirit as opposed to “a certain narrow spirit” which served only to provoke
factious divisions.14
Against this “spirit of prejudice”, as Des Maizeaux emphasises, Locke recom-
mended promoting the good of all human kind. This was an aim also shared by
Peter King who had on various occasions in several well-known letters, discussed
with Locke, topics such as the religious and political education of a young gentle-
man, the method for studying and interpreting Scripture, and a proposal for a group
to promote Christian knowledge.15 Des Maizeaux who published the short essay
Rules of a Society16 in which Locke set out a list of principles, to be signed by all
the members of the society, at its weekly meetings proposing the pursuit of useful
and not verbose knowledge and setting up the society as a promoter of truth and
Christian charity17 —principles which echoed the opening propositions of his essay
Pacifick Christians.

11 Ibid.
12 Ibid.
13 “Decency and order in our assemblies being directed, as they ought, to edification, can need but
very few and plain rules. Time and place of meeting being settled, if any thing else need regulation,
the assembly itself, or four of the ancientest, soberest, and discreetest of the brethren, chosen for
that occasion, shall regulate it”. Ibid.
14 Locke, A Collection, Dedication.
15 These five letters from Locke to Lord King appeared in The Remains of John Locke (London:
E. Curll, 1714); they were published again in Locke, A Collection of Several Pieces, 330–57.
16John Locke, “Rules of a Society, which met once a week, for their improvement in useful
Knowledge, and for the promoting of Truth and Christian Charity”, in Locke, A Collection of
Several Pieces, 358–62.
17 Ibid., Dedication.
10 Circles of Virtuosi and “Charity under Different Opinions” 163

The Dry Club

In London, in the more favourable new political climate ushered in by William


of Orange, Locke, and William Popple formed a circle of friends and gentlemen,
exponents of civic and regional politics and culture.18 On the recommendation of
Locke himself, Popple elaborated his “Rules of the Dry Club: For the Amicable
Improvement of Mix’d Conversation”,19 on the basis of these “pieces.” In point of
fact Popple’s manuscript used Locke’s own proposals as the rules which were to
be accepted by aspiring members; it also envisaged somewhat stricter rules for the
introduction of new acolytes and the regulation of the individual meetings. More
specifically, the contribution of all participants was called for in the discussion of
each matter under debate.
The commitment which such regulation demanded of the gentlemen and “sa-
vants” who were to take part in the activities of the Dry Club was emphasised
by their mutual friend Benjamin Furly. In view of his many years’ experience in
the organisation and his running of the meetings of his circle “De Lantaarn” in his
home in Scheepmakershaven, Furly appeared to Locke and Popple to be the most
appropriate person to consult on the regulations which were to govern the meetings
of the Dry Club. William Popple, who had been Furly’s friend for some time, sent
Furly a copy of the “Rules of the Dry Club.” Furly passed on to Locke his lively
observations on the same:
I received yesterday your acceptable lines adjoynd to the Letter of my Lady Masham of
the 24th past, Where I see you are, Mr. Popple gave me an account of a Dry Club, and the
Rules of it, began amongst you, but withal told me that you had been forc’t to quit there
to take the fresh aire at Oates. I see nothing wanting in your Rules, but one thing, that is,
a too strict binding of every one to speak to every question, even those that shal be sur le
champ propounded, and that from the very first of their admission, without the lest leave to
pass any of them tho a man be never so conscious of his inability to speak anything to the
purpose upon the subject, which is enough to terrify a modest man from offering himself to
your society. My thinks a month or 6 weeks time, till a man has learnd a little confidence
might be allowed to a novice, but such it seems you desire not to be troubled with.20

The periodic meetings of the Dry Club, which brought together philosopher friends,
Latitudinarians and Unitarians with some regularity, generally took place in Lon-
don in the house of one of the participants. The meetings were devoted to open
discussion of questions of political and religious liberty, and metaphysical, philo-
sophical and ethical matters:–for example, the correct mode of behaviour in spe-
cific situations, or questions regarding the power of the imagination as a means of

18 On relations between Locke and Popple, cf. Luisa Simonutti, “Absolute, Universal, Equal
and Inviolable Liberty of Conscience. Popple, Locke e il ‘Dry Club’,” in La formazione stor-
ica dell’alterità. Studi di storia della tolleranza nell’età moderna offerti a A. Rotondò, a cura
di H. Méchoulan, R.H. Popkin, G. Ricuperati, L. Simonutti (Florence: Olschki, 2001), 3 vols.,
2: 707–49.
19 See Appendix II, below.
20 Locke, Correspondence, 4: 571 (letter 1562).
164 Luisa Simonutti

communicating ideas.21 From the early 1690s, after Locke’s withdrawal to Oates,
Popple became not only the secretary of the Dry Club, but also its guiding spirit.
In his letters to Locke, Popple kept his friend informed about what was happening
in London, telling him about their various friends and about new members admitted
to the club. In November 1692 several of these can be identified as, in all probabil-
ity, the Unitarian, Henry Hedworth, the Whig clergyman, William Stephens, Daniel
Foot and Cromwell’s chaplain, Jeremiah White.22 Popple also kept Locke informed
of the arguments proposed in the course of these meetings, but not so fully that he
did not to ignite Locke’s curiosity, hoping thereby to persuade him to participate in
person:
The subjects we have been upon have been very important. The last was thus. It being
supposed that God has given some General and Uniform Rule, or at least one same way of
knowing his Will, though in never so different degrees, to all Mankinde, Q: 1. What that
Rule is? 2. Of what weight or Authority that general Rule is in comparison with any other
particular pretended or real Rule whatsoever? We dispatched the first, and are the next time
to go upon the second head. But you must excuse me if I ad, that I do not tell you all this so
much to satisfy your curiosity, as to excite you to come and see us. We fall naturally enough
into Considerations of Weight: But you that know us, know how unequal our Shoulders
are to such Burdens, and therefore I hope you will be so charitable as to let us have your
assistance.23

Popple also kept informed Locke about books that had just been published and about
political events. On other occasions Popple even reproached Locke for his negli-
gence towards his creation (the Dry Club), which was actually expanding rapidly.24
Popple recalled the meeting of the Club which was held at Oates in the Spring of
1693. This was evidently an extraordinary assembly—since meetings usually took
place in London. Thinking back on it, Popple regretted having forgotten to submit
to his friend and the assembled members certain important matters for discussion.25
While we do not have the letters Locke wrote in reply, the care with which Popple
keeps his friend up-to-date bears indirect witness to the constant interest of Locke
in these meetings attended by a variety of participants.
In the course of these letters William Popple shows particular interest in ques-
tions regarding religious liberty in England, and especially in relation to Unitarian-
ism of which he declared himself a convinced supporter. He kept Locke up to date

21 The references to and accounts of these meetings appear in the letters from Popple to Locke in
the course of the first half of the 1690s. After he was appointed Secretary of the Board of Trade,
Popple’s letters to Locke hinge principally on matters related to this appointment.
22Cf. The information provided by De Beer, editor of Locke, Correspondence, 4: 581–82 (letter
1567).
23 Ibid., 581.
24 Locke, Correspondence, 4: 621 (letter no. 1590), “Yet give me leave to say, Your Ofspring, the
Dry Club, requires a little of your Care. Nay I am inclined to say, it deservs it. Tis a hopeful Childe,
and now grows apace: and, what is more, it is pretty towardly. So that it is a great pity you should
let it grow out of your knowledg, and leave it destitute of your further instructions”.
25 Ibid., 681 (letter 1630).
10 Circles of Virtuosi and “Charity under Different Opinions” 165

on the affairs of important figures of the time, such as the Frenchman Théodore de
Maimbourg, cousin of the more famous Louis Maimbourg, and at one time tutor
to the Duke of Richmond. Théodore de Maimbourg’s abandoning of the Catholic
faith in favour of Protestantism, and his subsequent return to Catholicism rendered
him unpopular and suspect to both sides. Towards the end of his life several ortho-
dox clergymen wanted him to make an open declaration of adherence to various
doctrines, attempting, in their zeal, “to terrify him with threats of damnation unless
he changed his opinion and repented. Some few others more moderate visiting him
also, discoursed with him more charitably, and prayed with him.”26 Popple empha-
sised that Théodore de Maimbourg “dyed in all respects like a Christian Philoso-
pher.” After his death, however, the echoes of the voices raised against him did not
subside, and his tormented religious choice was held to be proof of his heterodoxy
and of the presence on English soil of the much more serious danger represented
by Socinianism, against which a more efficacious remedy would need to be found.
Popple continues:
The cry is Socinianism. They have been assembled upon it in a perfect Court of Inquisition,
to the number of fourscore Ministers, and are about making Formularies and Tests to choak
all that have not so wide a Swallow as themselves . . . And they say the King answer<ed>
that he would not suffer any Socinians in his Dominions, but would have the Laws put
in execution against them. But what that may signify, or whether these things may tend, I
undertake not to determin.27

Popple and Locke as Readers of Nye


Another subject Popple discussed with Locke in this correspondence concerned the
Unitarian, Stephen Nye. On 22nd May 1695, Popple forwarded a letter to Locke,
accompanied by several pages of notes containing reflections on Nye’s A Discourse
concerning natural and revealed Religion,28 which had not yet been published, but
which the two correspondents had been able to read in a manuscript copy. It had
very likely come into Popple’s hands through the good offices of the Unitarian phi-
lanthropist, Thomas Firmin, promoter of various works by Nye. Popple evidently
wished to involve his friend Locke in his reflections, to discuss with him certain
aspects of Nye’s ideas and to solicit Locke’s response. After having expressed his
interest in the work, Popple added, “I am perswaded, you know me to be so much
of the same opinion with the Author, on this Subject.”29 He asserted that the crux
of Nye’s argument lay in the interpretation of the figure and role of Christ. Popple

26 Ibid., 582 (letter 1567).


27 Ibid., Popple to Locke,12 November 1692. Cf. also letter no. 1630, ibid., 683.
28Locke, Correspondence, 5: 377 (letter 1906). Stephen Nye, A Discourse concerning Natural
and Revealed Religion; evidencing the Truth, and Certainty of both; by Considerations (for the
most part) not yet touched by any (Glasgow, 1752, 1st ed. 1696).
29 Locke, Correspondence, 5: 377 (letter 1906).
166 Luisa Simonutti

found in Nye confirmation of his own conviction that the purpose of Christ’s coming
into the world was not to teach or impose a new law on the human race, “but only to
revive, explain and enforce those general Laws of nature, which God had laid upon
all men from the beginning.”30 Consequently, in Popple’s eyes, none of Christ’s
commandments appeared to be strictly new in relation to the laws of nature, but
were simply a confirmation of the same, because “the ground of all such Laws,
and our Obligation to them, lye only in the nature of things, and in the relation in
which we stand towards God and towards one another.”31 This idea is expressed by
Nye with such clarity as to have for Popple the force of an axiom to which, as he
emphasises, Nye consistently adheres throughout both the sections of the work. The
demonstration of the factual truth of natural religion and its adequacy as a foun-
dation of revealed religion, constituted the theoretical bulwark of Nye’s defence of
revealed religion against the attacks of the atheists, the deists and the sceptics.32
In his manuscript notes on Nye’s Discourse concerning Natural and Revealed
Religion, Popple agrees with Nye’s opinion regarding the existence and the neces-
sity of a moral law which, in his view, had its foundations in the faith in a God and
in the promise of future salvation. As regards the ritual aspect of revealed religion
and the relationship of the sacraments to natural religion, Popple was convinced
that these were legitimised precisely by their function of making a useful contri-
bution to the ends of natural religion. He regarded as an indisputible truth, Nye’s
statement that “the Natural Religion comprises the whole duty that we owe to God
or men; whatsoever is to be beleiv’d or done by us.”33 Immediately afterwards,
Popple asked himself, “What connexion have the sacraments with natural religion?
The fore-going principles wil not allow them to be maintein’d any otherwise than
by showing their usefulness to the ends of natural religion: which may very wel
be done.”34 Nevertheless, both Nye and Popple were concerned to dissociate them-
selves from deism which, in the last decades of the seventeenth century, tended to
be regarded as the seed of atheism.35 Without entering into a detailed discussion,
Popple focuses on the question of the sufficiency of miracles to prove the truth

30 Ibid.
31 Ibid., 378.
32 Locke, Correspondence, 5: 378 (letter 1906).
33 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Locke Ms. c17, fol. 215v.
34 Ibid.
35 “Consequently to that they make all Events necessary, and laugh not onely at Revealed but even
Natural Religion. I say Religion: For they talk big of Virtue and Morality. But when they lay all
the grounds of both Virtue and Morality onely in the good-nature of particular persons, or in the
fear of the Magistrate’s Rod, I fear their Superstructure will be very tottering. And what makes
me fear this, is because I see plainly the Youth of this Age build all upon that Foundation. We are
running from one Extream to another. Atheism, or, (if that word be too harsh), even Irreligion is
a sad Sanctuary from the Mischiefs of Superstition. Must we then needs lye under either the one
or the other? Is there no Medium? Yes certainly there is.” Ibid. Cf. Locke, Correspondence, 5: 519
(letter 2002). Popple also wrote: “Suffer me I beseech you to suggest to you some thoughts with
which my own minde is at present deeply affected. The Reasonableness of Christianity (however
Reasonable a Book it be) has I doubt had little Effect upon those that call themselves Deists in
this Age. I dispute not how little they deserve that Title. The men I mean are such as deny all
10 Circles of Virtuosi and “Charity under Different Opinions” 167

of revealed religion, and on the implications consequent upon the question of the
eternity of matter. As regards the questions of innate knowledge, Popple reminded
the author of the Discourse that, “the great Evidence that Mr Lock has given against
innate notions, makes me very loth that in this Treatise any great stress should be
laid upon connate knowledge.”36
In response to Popple, Locke made a number of observations on the, as yet
unpublished, work of Stephen Nye. These concern principally the gnosiological
aspects of the work. Locke manifested a certain perplexity about Nye’s account
of the relationship between sensation and world of ideas, and more generally, of
the relationship between immaterial objects and the concept of substance as well
as the perception of objects in general and of their many properties and qualities.37
Finally, in drafting his notes, Locke also commented on some of the historical and
hermeneutic issues raised by Nye, for example about the figure of the Messiah and
the prophecy of his coming made to the people of Israel. He analysed the passages
from St. John which recount how Jesus confronted the Law of Moses in the matter
of the woman taken in adultery. Locke emphasised how, during his visit to Jerusalem
Jesus had preferred to avoid frequent manifestations of his identity and of his earthly
task so as not to enter into open conflict with the Hebrew laws. He added, however,
that Jesus had openly declared to the Apostles that he was the Messiah. Locke
concludes, “he had kept them [the Apostles] as servants in ignorance, but now
had discovered himself openly as to his friends.”38 These are significant reflections
which help to clarify the relations of Locke with the Unitarianism of Nye and with
sixteenth-seventeenth century Continental Socinianism.
Nye’s treatise—of which all we have mentioned here are the theoretical and
problematic aspects highlighted by Popple and by Locke in their letters and their
unpublished notes—Is deserving of attention particularly in view of its philosoph-
ical and religious context. From Cartesian philosophy to Locke’s gnosiology; from
the biblical criticism of Spinoza, Le Clerc and Richard Simon to the religious lib-
eralism of the Remonstrants and heterodox Jews such as Uriel Acosta and Isaac
Orobio de Castro. An analysis of Nye’s Unitarianism could also provide a useful
contribution to clarifying the term Socinianism which, at the end of the century,
came to be used in a broad and generic manner, to denote not just a monotheist
and anti-trinitarian religious position but also as an emblematic confirmation of the
extreme dangerousness of heterodoxy, not just Socinianism.39

Immaterial Beings, though that dos not hinder them from talking of a God upon all occasions, but
undoubtedly more for the sake of the Name than the Thing.” Ibid.
36 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Locke Ms. c17 , fol. 215v.
37 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Locke Ms. c27, fol. 92 v. Significantly, some of these themes were
taken up again in a anonymous letter forwarded to the author of the Discourse. Nye was to respond
at length to the reflections made, and later to publish both letters in an appendix to his Discourse.
38 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Locke Ms. c27, fol. 94r.
39 On the generic the definition of Socinianism at the end of the seventeenth century in relation
to Locke, see John Marshall, Locke, Socinianism, ‘Socinianism’, and Unitarianism, in English
Philosophy in the Age of Locke, ed. M.A. Stewart (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), 111–
182. Marshall among other things, stresses: “In the late seventeenth century the label “Socinian”
168 Luisa Simonutti

Two Examples: Thomas Firmin, Thomas Aikenhead

One of the promoters of English Unitarianism was Thomas Firmin; a friend of the
Socinian, John Biddle, he was born in the same year as Locke and died in 1697.
He was, as we mentioned, probably the means by which Unitarian writings reached
Popple and Locke—not just the numerous works of Stephen Nye, but also several
collections of treatises and polemics in defence of Unitarianism. Firmin was with-
out doubt the philanthropist who supported the publication of Unitarian works and
pamphlets and who provided economic assistance to Continental Socinian exiles
and Irish Protestant refugees.40 He wrote essays on helping the poor, and one of
these texts can be found in Locke’s library. (His was, moreover, an argument which
Locke kept in mind during the years when he was a government official charged with
collecting information about trade and the colonies). Firmin had friendly relations
with Locke from the early 167041 was in correspondence with him during the first
year of his sojourn in Oates. In 1694 he asked Locke with irrepressible curiosity:
Sir, I have been inform’d that in your correspondence with Mr Limborch the learned Pro-
fessor of Divinity at Amsterdam, he has acquainted you with a Story of a Damosel, who
in studying the Controversy between the Jewish and Christian religion, was perswaded of
the truth of the former against the latter; and that by reason of the Doctrin of the Trinity, in
prejudice to the Unity of God, so plainly and earnestly asserted I the scriptures of the Old
Testament; and that Mr Limborch was the chief Instrument in answering her Objections, and
vindicating the truth of christian Religion. Now I have a great desire (and so have others of
my Acquaintance) to know the particulars of the Transactions, and pray you to do me the
favour to send ‘em me in writings.42

It was, moreover, precisely the article on the Trinity together with the questions
of original sin, grace and free will, which was of central concern to the English
Unitarians. The author of the Account of Mr. Firmin’s Religion and of the present
state of the unitarian controversy, possibly Stephen Nye himself, who had already
written a life of his friend, wrote in 1698, “Mr. Firmin and the English Unitarians,
never were entirely in the sentiments of F. Socinus; they embraced the opinions of
Mr. J. Biddle,”43 and later on added:
Those in England, who call themselves Unitarians, never were entirely in the sentiments
of Socinus, or the Socinians. Notwithstanding, as our Opposers have pleas’d themselves in

thus gathered together Socinians, and Unitarians who were not specifically Socinian, with those
who were not Unitarian but were associated with some Socinian arguments or tendencies,” ibid.,
113. Cf. further W.M. Spellman, John Locke and the Problem of Depravity (Oxford: Oxford Uni-
versity Press, 1988), esp. ch.5. On Locke and Socinianism see Luisa Simonutti, “John Locke e il
socinianesimo,” in Siena, Sozzini e la filosofia in Europa, ed. Mariangela Priarolo and Emanuela
Scribano (Siena: Accademia senese degli Intronati, 2005), 211–49.
40 On Firmin, see Daniela Bianchi, “Thomas Firmin: eresia, filantropia e istituzioni nell’Inghilterra
della fine del XII secolo,” in Materiali per una storia della cultura giuridica, 10 (1980): 45–96.
41 Locke, Correspondence, 1 (letters 260 and 314).
42 Ibid., 5 (letter 1759).
43 An Account of Mr. Firmin’s Religion (London 1698), 4.
10 Circles of Virtuosi and “Charity under Different Opinions” 169

calling us Socinians, we have not always declined the name; because in interpreting many
texts of Scripture, we cannot but approve and follow the judgment of those Writers; who
are confessed by all to be excellent Critics, and very Judicious.44

I would also note that the putative “Socinianism” of Locke (in so far as he can be
called a Socinian) is lacking the political dimension which was markedly present
among the second generation Socinians—we have only to think of Wissowaty,
Przypkowsky, Schlichtingius—and that was a crucial aspect even among the early
Socinians, to wit the controversy between Faustus Socinus and Paleologus. This was
a debate which hinged not only on the matter of toleration but also on questions such
as whether the political allegiance of the Christian is subordinate to obedience to the
teachings of the gospel, and which is linked to questions about the political loyalty
of Socinians. The extensive presence of continental Socinian writings in the library
of Locke is well known, marking his reading both during his sojourn in Holland,
and during the years at Oates. It seems to me that Locke was an indirect tributary
of continental Socinianism when he turned his attention to the controversy which
was inflaming the English church and the dissenters in the early 1690s. Among
English Socinian writings, many of them pamphlets, Locke possessed the work of
John Biddle, the three principal collections of texts on the unity of God, numerous
essays by Stephen Nye, the documents relating to the controversy between Robert
South and Sherlock, as well as various writings in defence of the Trinity. It appears
to me that the role of the Messiah, Christology, and along with this the question of
the unity of God, are at the centre of Locke’s reflections in the first half of the 1690s,
as illustrated in both the Reasonableness and in the letters to Limborch.45
On the question of Unitarianism, mention might be made of an episode of enor-
mous relevance which it must have in Locke’s view. That is, the trial for blasphemy
of the medical Edinburgh University student, Thomas Aikenhead, who was hanged
on 8 January 1697 in the place where he had been born in March 1676. It was the last
death sentence carried out on British soil for this offence. Aikenhead was accused of
atheism, and there was no shortage of informers who declared that he had denied the
doctrine of the Trinity, embracing Socinianism and Spinozism. Two short writings
from a one of many witnesses, the Scot, Mungo Craig, are extant.46 In A Satyr

44 Ibid., 8.
45 See the analysis carried out by Victor Nuovo and Cristina Pitassi precisely on the Christology of
the Reasonableness. Maria-Cristina Pitassi, “Le Christ lockien à l’épreuve des textes: de la Reason-
ableness aux Paraphrase and notes,” in Le Christ entre orthodoxie et lumières: actes du colloque
tenu à Genève en août 1993, ed. Maria-Cristina Pitassi (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1994), 101–122;
Victor Nuovo, “Locke’s Christology as a Key to Understanding his Philosophy” in The Philosophy
of John Locke: New Perspectives, ed. Peter R. Anstey (London and New York: Routledge, 2003),
129–153). For Locke and Socinianism, see Luisa Simonutti, “John Locke e il socinianesimo” in
Siena, Fausto Sozzini, ed. Priarolo and Scribano, 211–49.
46 John Gordon, Thomas Aikenhead: a Historical Review, in relation to Mr. Macaulay and The
Witness ... Third edition (London: E.T. Whitfield, 1856). Michael Hunter, Science and the Shape of
Orthodoxy: Intellectual Change in Late Seventeenth-century Britain (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1995),
chap. 15.
170 Luisa Simonutti

against Atheistical Deism with the Genuine Character of a Deist,47 he explained the
reasons for Aikenhead’s imprisonment, and the means he had by which he tried to
save himself: by lying and dissembling. Mungo Craig did not believe the sincerity
of his repentance, and distanced himself from him. In the second piece, prepared
at the time Aikenhead was hanged he stated that, “A lye is no scandal”.48 It was
a trial which fired public opinion. Locke was no less engaged: his papers include
Aikenhead’s pleas, the extensive evidence against him, his letters of self-defence,
copies of the letters which he sent to his friends, including a letter written on the
day of his execution, and a letter from Somerset which provided a detailed account
of the phases of the trial—a whole range of material, which he classified with care.
Significantly, however, Locke’s interest in the event appears to have no echo in
his correspondence, except indirectly in an emblematic observation made by Pierre
Coste apropos the author of the Reasonableness of Christianity:
Le plan que l’Auteur s’est fait, est très-beau, et qu’il l’a rempli fort heureusement. Peut-être
a-t-il laissé quelques vuides dans son Ouvrage, mais je croy qu’on peut assûrer qu’il a eû
ses raisons de le faire. Dans l’état où sont les Controverses de Religion, il y a bien des
choses qu’il faut taire de toute nécessité pour ne pas perdre le fruit des choses qu’il faut
nécessairement publier.49

The Aikenhead affair could not fail to increase Locke’s already marked caution,
and his decisive distancing of himself from the accusations of Socinianism which
Edwards and Stillingfleet were levelling against him during these years.

Conclusion. The Seraglio at Oates

“Mr Lock was Governour of the Seraglio at Oates.”50 With these slanderous words,
his enemy, John Edwards, attempted to stigmatise his sojourn at Lady Masham’s
home, and the intellectual life he promoted there. It was principally through the
correspondence which Locke maintained with numerous exponents of English and
Continental culture that we can picture to ourselves at Oates a “virtual salon” in
which the matters discussed ranged over religion, pedagogical, political and eco-
nomic ideas and much besides. But it was also thanks to the hospitality and the
intellectual curiosity (the writings and the letters) of Damaris Cudworth Masham

47Mungo Craig, A Satyr against Atheistical Deism with the Genuine Character of a Deist. To
which is prefixt, an account of Mr. Aikinhead’s notions, who is now in prison for the same damnable
apostacy (Edinburgh: Robert Hutchison, 1696).
48 Mungo Craig, A lye is no scandal. Or a vindication of Mr. Mungo Craig from a ridiculous
calumny cast upon him by T.A. who was executed for apostacy: At Edinburgh, the 8 of January
1697 (Edinburgh, Written, January 15, 1697).
49 Locke, Correspondence, 5: 661 (letter 2107).
50Ibid., 6: 150 (letter 2281). See Roger Woolhouse, Locke. A Biography (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2007) for an accurate reconstruction of Locke’s sojourn at Oates.
10 Circles of Virtuosi and “Charity under Different Opinions” 171

—the inspiring muse of the intellectual life of the manor of Oates51 —that the house
became a port of call for former Continental acquaintances and for their families,
and a haven for English friends, providing the opportunity for visits marked by study
and learned conversation, as in the case of Isaac Newton. Here are just some of the
names of the most assiduous and famous frequenters of what John Edwards defined
as “the seraglio” of Oates, of which Locke was the Gouvernor: Pierre Des Maizeaux,
Frans van Limborch, son of the Amsterdam theologian, Pierre Coste, friend and
translator, and tutor of lady Masham”s only son, Edward Clarke, Peter King, the
Third Earl of Shaftesbury, the aforementioned William Popple, Lord Peterborough,
and Isaac Newton. Another friend, Benjamin Furly, despite having planned to do so
several times, appears to have never visited Oates although his son did so on var-
ious occasions. It was, nevertheless, Furly who regularly reported to Locke about
his friends from the “Lantaarn” club and the most recent English-Dutch political
events. Philippus van Limborch was another “virtual visitor”. The intense letters of
Molyneaux, and above all those to Limborch on the unity of God, and the letter
from Limborch to Locke, which as we have seen aroused the curiosity of Firmin,
were published in French and Dutch editions in the early decades of the eighteenth
century. Examples of the far-reaching reverberations of this “virtual cultural salon”
are numerous.

Appendix I

Pacifick Christians52
1688

f) We think nothing necessary to be known, or believed for salvation, but what God
hath revealed.
g) We therefore embrace all those who, in sincerity, receive the Word of Truth re-
vealed in the Scripture, and obey the light which enlightens every man that comes
into the world.
h) We judge no man in meats, or drinks, or habits, or days, or any other outward ob-
servancies, but leave every one to his freedom in the use of those outwards things

51Cf. Sarah Hutton, “Damaris Cudworth, Lady Masham”, Luisa Simonutti, “Lady Damaris
Cudworth Masham.”
52 Oxford: Bodleian Library, Ms. Locke, c27, c. 80a, printed in The Life of John Locke, ed. Peter
King, 273–275; also in Mario Sina, “Testi teologico-filosofici lockiani dal MS Locke c. 27 della
Lovelace Collection,” in Rivista di filosofia neo-scolastica, 64 (1972): 73–75; Locke, Political
Essays, ed. Mark Goldie (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 304–306; Luisa Si-
monutti, “ ‘Absolute, Universal, Equal and Inviolable Liberty of Conscience.’ Popple, Locke e il
‘Dry Club’,” in La formazione storica dell’alterità. Studi di storia della tolleranza nell’età mod-
erna offerti a A. Rotondo, ed. H. Méchoulan, R.H. Popkin, G. Ricuperati, L. Simonutti (Florence:
Olschki, 2001), 3 vols, 2: 707–49, 737–38.
172 Luisa Simonutti

which he thinks can most contribute to build up the inward man in righteousness,
holiness, and the true love of God, and his neighbour, in Christ Jesus.
i) If any one find any doctrinal parts of Scripture difficult to be understood, we
recommend him, - 1st . The study of the Scriptures in humility and singleness of
hearth: 2nd . Prayer to the Father of light to enlighten him: 3rd . Obedience to what
is already revealed to him, remembering that the practice of what we do know in
the surest way to more knowledge; our infallible guide having told us, if any man
will do the will of Him that sent me, he shall know of the doctrines, John vii. 17.
4th . We leave him to the advice and assistance of those whom he thinks best able
to instruct him. No men, or society of men, having any authority to impose their
opinions or interpretations on any other, the meanest Christian. Since, in matters
or religion, every man must know, and believe, and give an account for himself.
j) We hold it to be an indispensable duty for all Christians to maintain love and
charity in the diversity of contrary opinions: by which charity we do not mean
an empty sound, but an effectual forbearance and good-will, carrying men to a
communion, friendship and mutual assistance, one of another, in outward as well
as spiritual things; and by debarring all magistrates from making use of their
authority, much less their sword, (which was put into their hands only against
evil doers,) in matters of faith or warship.
k) Since the Christian Religion we profess is not a notional science, to furnish spec-
ulation to the brain, or discourse to the tongue, but a rule of righteousness to
influence our lives, Christ having given himself to redeem us from all iniquity,
and purify unto himself a people zealous of good works, (Titus ii. 14.) we profess
the only business of our public assemblies to be to exhort thereunto laying aside
all controversy and speculative questions, instruct and encourage one another in
the duties of a good life, which is acknowledged to be the great business of true
religion, and to pray God for the assistance of his Spirit for the enlightening our
understanding and subduing our corruptions, that so we may return unto him a
reasonable and acceptable service, and show our faith by our works, proposing
to ourselves and others the example of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, as the
great pattern for our imitation.
l) One alone being our master, even Christ, we acknowledge no masters of our
assembly; but if any man, in the spirit of love, peace, and meekness, has a word
of exhortation, we hear him.
m) Nothing being so oppressive or having proved so fatal to unity, love, and charity,
the first great characteristical duties of Christianity, as men’s fondness of their
own opinions, and their endeavours to set them up, and have them followed,
instead of the Gospel of peace; to prevent those seeds of dissension and divi-
sion, and maintain unity in the difference of opinions which we know cannot be
avoided-if any one appear contentious, abounding in his own sense rather than in
love, and desirous to draw followers after himself, with destruction or opposition
to others, we judge him not to have learned Christ as he ought, and therefore not
fit to be a teacher of others.
n) Decency and order in our assemblies being directed, as they ought, to edification,
can need but very few and plain rules. Time and place of meeting being settled,
10 Circles of Virtuosi and “Charity under Different Opinions” 173

if any thing else need regulation, the assembly itself, of four of the ancientest,
soberest and discreetest of the brethren, chosen for that occasion, shall regulate it.
o) From every brother that, after admonition,
p) We each of us think it our duty to propagate the doctrine and practice of universal
good-will and obedience in all place, and on all occasions, as God shall give us
opportunity.

Appendix II
Rules of the Dry Club:
For the Amicable Improvement of Mix’d Conversation53
The Place of Meeting shall, in the begining, be at the House, or Lodging, of each
severall Member, successively.
He at whose House or Lodging the Meeting is, shall for that time preside in it,
and be stiled Proposer.
If hereafter the Company should think fit, to appoint any one fixed Place, for their
Meeting; Yet, however, the Proposer shall every time be changed; And that, in some
other fixed Method. And, at any time, in the Absence of the Person whose Turn it is
be Proposer, He that is first in Rank, according to the following Artickle, shall take
the Place.
The Rank to be observed in every Meeting, shall be; That He that comes first into
the Room shall take his Seat on the Left scand of the Proposer. And so every shall
follow to take their Seats, on the Left Hand of each other, in order, as they come in.
The first think to be done in every Meeting, shall be the Admission of new Mem-
bers; if any be present, that have been duly chosen; according to the Rules below
explained.
The first Question to be spoke to in every Meeting, shall be what the Proposer
of the last Meeting (after all Debates were done) proposed, then, to be debated in
the next. This Question being proposed a new by the Present Proposer; He that sits
next on the left hand shall first speak what he has to say to it; And after him those
that follow, in the same Order: Every one endeavouring that their Answers may not
be onely loose Discourses upon the Subiect; but that they tend directly to, and (as
much as possible) end in the Resolution of the Question proposed.
Till the Question proposed has gone once round, in the forementioned Order, no
body shall speak to it any more then once. But after it has gone once round, if any
one thinks fit to add any think further, he may then speak to it a second time: Which
is all that is, regularly, and of course, to be permited.

53 Oxford, Bodleian Library, Ms. Locke c25, cc. 56r–57v. The manuscript, dated 1692 by
Locke, was actually sent to him by William Popple. It is published in Luisa Simonutti,
“ ‘Absolute . . . Liberty of Conscience’,” in La formazione storica dell’alterità, 2: 707–749,
741–743.
174 Luisa Simonutti

Yet, if at any time, through the Importance of the Question, and the Moderation
of the Debate, the Company should be inclined, tacitly, to connive at the continuance
of further Discourses upon the same Matter; (thô that, and every thing else, alwayes,
inviolably, in the same regular order) When sooner any Member shall either think
that such Question has been sufficiently discuss’d, or that any appearance of growing
Warmth is fit to be stop’d, (and that it comes to the Turn of such Members to speak) It
shall be than in his power, by minding onely the Proposer of the foregoing Order, to
put an immediate End to the Debate on that Question, at that time. And the Company
shall theire upon, without more adoe, proceed to a new Question.
But since it may happen that Any one may, yet not have sufficiently explained
himself; If either He, or any other, think fit, They may in the next, or any following
Meeting (after the first Question, which had been appointed for that Meeting, is
ended) desire leave for a further Explication, or Clearing, of any such former Matter.
When the first Question is ended. If no such Desire of Explaining former Matter
intervene, and Time permit; Then he that sits next to the Proposer on the Left Hand
shall offer another Question. And He that sits next to him that offers the Question
shall speak first to it; And so on; Going still to the Left Hand, in offering new
Questions, and speaking to what Questions shall be proposed, both in the same
order, as long as the Meeting lasts.
All that is said shall, for Orders sake, be addressed to the Proposer onely, and to
no body elce of the Company; And He that, in his Turn, is to offer any Question,
shall in the first place explain it, and the Reason why he desires to have it discuss’d;
And then shall offer it to the Proposer, that if may be him be proposed to the Com-
pany. After which, and not till then it shall be spoke to by the severall Members, in
the order before Explained.
That all offence may the more effectually be avoyded; no body shall, in any of
these Questions or Debates, mention the Name either of any Person liveing, present
or absent, or of any Church, Seat, or Society of Men whatsoever, in this Island.
The sole End of this Meeting being for a Serious and Impartial Enquiry after
Truth, in Matters of Universal Concerment to Men, as Men; With the Maintenance
of Charity under Different Opinions; and the Promoting of Peace and a Good life; It
is desired that, in all Enquiries and Debates, every one would have a Constant Eye
to this Great End, and regulate himself by it.
After all Debates are ended, the Proposer (as has before been intimated) shall
propose unto the Company a new Question, to be considered of against the next
Meeting.
After the Proposal of that Question, Whoever has any Person in his Eye that he
thinks fit to be introduced, as a new Member, into this Society, may name him for
that End.
In the Close of the next, or any other following Meeting, He that so named an-
other (or, in his Absence, any one of the Company that will answer for the Person
named for a new Member, as is below required) may desire leave to speak to him to
that purpose.
After Leave has been given, in this manner, to speak to any Person; That Person
shall be admitted into this Society, whensoever he comes. But if that Leave have by
10 Circles of Virtuosi and “Charity under Different Opinions” 175

the plurality of Suffrages been refuss’d; He may, after three months, if any of the
Company think fit, be named again a second time, in the same manner.
Whoever desires Leave to speak to any Person, in order to introduce him into this
Society, according to the Method about explained, shall then declare That he knows
that Person; And that he judges him to be a Worthy, Sober, and Ingennuous Man;
Sutted to the Conversation designed in these Meetings; And one that will satisfy the
Company, by his Affirmative Answer to these following Questions; Which are to be
asked everyone at his first coming into this Society, together with his Consent to be
observation of all the Rules of it.
1:2. Whether he has an Universal Charity and Good will to all Men, as Men, of
what Church or Profession of Religion soever they are?
2:2. Whether he thinks that no Man ought, any way, to be harmed or prejudiced,
in his name, Goods, or Person, for any Speculative Opinion in Religion, or outward
Way of Worship?
3:2. Whether he loves and seeks Truth for Truth’s sake; And will do his Endeav-
our impartialy to find, and receive it, himself, and to communicate and propagate it
to others?
Dry Club 9254

54 Annotation in Locke’s hand.


Chapter 11
Vision in God and Thinking Matter:
Locke’s Epistemological Agnosticism Used
Against Malebranche and Stillingfleet

Paul Schuurman

Introduction

Every philosopher that assumes a rigorous Cartesian separation between thought


and matter, or mind and body, will be faced with the question of how these enti-
ties can interact. This problem of interaction can be divided into various subsidiary
questions. One important question is how our minds can perceive bodies. This is the
question that Nicolas Malebranche sets out to answer in Part II of Book III of his
Recherche de la Vérité (1674–1675).1 His well-known solution is the Vision in God:
we perceive bodies through their ideas and these ideas are in God. I shall discuss
the reply to this hypothesis by John Locke, who produced four manuscripts on the
subject, three of which were written in 1692–1693 and the fourth not later then
1693. I shall then move on to the controversy with Edward Stillingfleet, in which
Locke became embroiled in 1696–1698 about the possibility of thinking matter. I
shall point to the connection between these two debates and the remarkable similar-
ities between Locke’s argumentative strategies. I shall argue that although neither
of these polemics has received much scholarly attention taken separately, and even
less when taken together, they are highly indicative of a vital aspect of Locke’s
epistemology: his agnosticism about God, mind and matter. Locke is not agnostic
about the existence of these entities but about the nature of their properties. He is
not an ontological but an epistemological agnostic. In modern secondary literature
attention has been devoted to Locke’s agnosticism,2 and John Yolton has rightly re-
marked that when Locke wrote about thinking matter, he wrote “about the limitation

1 Nicolas Malebranche, Recherche de la vérité où l’on traite de la nature de l’esprit de l’homme et
de l’usage qu’il en doit faire pour éviter l’erreur dans les sciences, 3 vols, ed. Geneviève Rodis-
Lewis (Paris: J. Vrin, 1962–1964) (cited herafter as Recherche), Bk 3, Pt 2, Ch. 1, Sect. 1, vol. I,
p. 417: “je parle principalement ici des choses matérielles qui certainement ne peuvent s’unir à
notre ame, de la façon qui est nécessaire afin qu’elle les apperçoive: parce qu’étant étenduës, &
l’ame ne l’étant pas, il n’y a point de rapport entr’elles.”
2 See Michael Ayers, Locke. Epistemology and Ontology, Vol. 2: Ontology (London: Routledge,
1993), 148.

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 177
and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 177–193.
178 Paul Schuurman

of human knowledge”3 . Yet no single article has been devoted to a comparison of


Locke’s agnostic arguments against the Vision in God with those in favour of the
possibility of thinking matter.4

Vision in God: Texts


Malebranche defended his hypothesis concerning the Vision in God in the First Edi-
tion of the Recherche and all subsequent editions. He provided additional arguments
in chapter X of the “Eclaircissements,” which were published in a separate third
volume to the main work in the Third Edition by André Pralard (1678).5 A third
and last form of the argument appeared in Malebranche’s 1693 reply to criticism by
Pierre Sylvain Régis in the latter’s Cartesian textbook, Cours entier de philosophie
(1691). According to an entry in his notebooks, Locke bought the Recherche in
March 1676,6 but it is not until 1 March 1685 that some brief notes in his Journal
on the teaching of mathematics give clear proof of him actually reading the work.7
There are no clear indications that during his years in France he ever met Male-
branche.8
Malebranche’s best known British follower was John Norris (1657-1711), who
defended the Vision in God in his book Reason and Religion (1689).9 In 1690 he
published some Cursory Reflections, which were appended to his Christian Blessed-
ness.10 The Cursory Reflections was the first published attack on John Locke’s Essay
after its appearance in December 1689. A critical review of Norris’s attack was
published by Locke’s friend Jean le Clerc in the Bibliothèque Universelle (1691);
and an English translation of this review appeared in the third volume of the Athe-

3John Yolton, Thinking Matter. Materialism in Eighteenth Century Britain (Oxford: Blackwell,
1984), 14.
4See, however, Charlotte Johnston, “Locke’s Examination of Malebranche and John Norris,” Jour-
nal of the History of Ideas 19 (1958): 551–8, p. 553, on Locke’s MS c. 28, fols 107–112.
5 More precisely, this is the “Troisième état,” on which were based several “Éditions,” including
the Third and the Fourth; see Geneviève Rodis-Lewis, “Introduction” to Recherche, 1: viii.
6 MS Locke f. 15, p. 15.
7 MS Locke f. 8, p. 264.
8 J. Lough, Locke’s Travels in France (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1953), xxxix; see
also Gabriel Bonno, Les relations intellectuelles de Locke avec la France. University of California
Publications in Modern Philosophy, 38. 2 (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California
Press, 1955), 58.
9 John Norris, Reason and Religion: or, the grounds and measures of devotion, consider’d from
the nature of God, and the nature of man, in several contemplations, with exercises of devotion
(London: S. Manship, 1689; repr. of the second edition of 1693: Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 2001).
10 John Norris, Cursory Reflections upon a Book call’d An Essay concerning Human Understand-
ing (London: S. Manship, 1690), appended to Christian Blessedness: or, Discourses upon the
Beatitudes of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ (London: S. Manship, 1690; repr. New York:
Garland Press, 1978).
11 Vision in God and Thinking Matter 179

nian Gazette, also in 1691. Norris replied to this English version in 1692 with A
Brief Consideration.11 Locke’s relations with Norris were initially friendly, but a
private misunderstanding about a letter in 1692 incurred Locke’s implacable wrath,
and it seems that it was only after this unfortunate accident that Locke was motivated
to draft three responses to both Norris and Malebranche himself. The manuscripts
containing these reactions are currently deposited in the Bodleian Library and none
were published during Locke’s lifetime.
1. MS Locke c. 28, fols 107-112, “JL to Mr Norris”/“JL Answer to Mr Norris
Reflections 92,” manuscript in Locke’s hand, published by Richard Acworth
in The Locke Newsletter 2 (1971): 8-11 (referred to hereafter as “Answer to
Norris”).
2. MS Locke d. 3, pp. 1-86, “JL Of seeing all thing<s> in God 1693,” manuscript
in the hand of an amanuensis, published by Peter King as “An Examination of
P. Malebranche’s Opinion of Seeing All Things In God,” in Posthumous Works
of Mr. John Locke (London: J. Churchill, 1706), 137-213 (referred to hereafter
as “Examination”).
3. MS Locke d. 3, pp. 89-109, “Some other loose thoughts which I set down as
they came in my way in a hasty perusal of some of Mr Norris’s writeings,
to be better digested when I shall have leisure to make an End of this Argu-
ment,” published in 1720 by Pierre Des Maizeaux as “Remarks upon Some of
Mr. Norris’s Books” 1720 (referred to hereafter as “Remarks”).12 The hand of
Locke is visible in corrections and additions to both (2) and (3), but much more
prominently in (2) than in (3).
4. Finally, there is an unpublished fourth text, “Recherche”; MS Locke c. 28, fol.
159r-159v (this text will be referred to by its two first words: “Things material”).
The critical queries in this text all pertain to the Vision in God or to related
problems discussed in Part II, Book III, chapters 1, 2, and 5 of the Recherche.
The most complete discussion of MSS (1)–(3) can still be found in an article
by Charlotte Johnston, although she does not mention MS (4).13 The dates of the
first two texts were entered by Locke himself (1692 and 1693). The third text, “Re-
marks,” is dated 1693 by Johnston. Its relative order vis-à-vis the two previous texts
is relatively straightforward: the “Remarks” are entered on the pages following the
“Examination” in the same manuscript.14 Moreover, the phrase “Some other loose
thoughts” suggests that it is a continuation of a previous text, and the “Examination,”
which ends with “Thus far 1693,” seems the most likely candidate. In addition,

11 A Brief Consideration of the Remarques made upon the foregoing Reflections by the Gentlemen
of the Athenian Society follows the Cursory Reflections appended to the second edition of the
Christian Blessedness (London: S. Manship, 1692).
12A Collection of Several Pieces of Mr Locke, Never before printed, or not extant in his Works
(London: R. Francklin, 1720), 153–175.
13 Johnston, “Locke’s Examination.”
14 It should be noted, though, that the quires of this manuscript were never bound together.
180 Paul Schuurman

since Locke replies to Norris’s Brief Consideration of 1692, we can be sure that the
“Remarks” were written after this tract. Hence the date suggested by Johnston for
the “Remarks,” 1693, seems plausible. “Things material” was originally enclosed in
a letter by Locke to an unknown person, dated 3 December 1693 by de Beer, who
remarks that the connection between the two pieces “appears to be fortuitous.”15
Quotations from all of these manuscripts are based on my own transcriptions; para-
graph numbers are those of the original manuscripts.16
Johnston has correctly remarked that Norris’s role as catalyst for Locke’s re-
actions has been underestimated, not in the least because Peter King in his edi-
tion of the “Examination” had suppressed paragraphs 1, 3-5, and also a sarcastic
allusion to “A certain Gent”,17 which all show that Norris was very much at the
centre of Locke’s attention. Hence Johnston writes that “it is plain that in attacking
the fountain head of his theories, Locke was more concerned to strike a blow at
Malebranche’s disciple”18 and also that the “Examination” was not directed primar-
ily against Malebranche, “but against Norris through his acknowledged master.”19
When Locke writes to William Molyneux on 28 March 1693 about the possibility of
adding a chapter on the Vision in God, he is perhaps making an allusion to Norris.20
In addition, the very title of the Remarks indicates that we are dealing with “Some
other loose thoughts which I set down as they came in my way in a hasty perusal of
some of Mr Norris’s writeings.” Yet for all the importance of Norris in occasioning
Locke’s replies, and in spite of Norris being a philosopher in his own right who was
not a slavish follower of Malebranche, the fact remains that Norris added little to the
hypothesis of the Vision in God that had not already been supplied by Malebranche
himself. Consequently it is not surprising that the substance of Locke’s arguments
against the Vision in God is directed against Malebranche, not against Norris. Indeed
this is what Locke had announced himself in para. 5 of the “Examination”: “He
[Norris] will pardon me if I have recourse for my information to him that is looked
on as the author of it [Malebranche].” Moreover, Locke’s MS “Things material”
proves that he was quite able of discussing Malebranche without any reference to
Norris at all. Finally, when Locke, in his correspondence with William Molyneux in
March-April 1695, again suggests and then finally rejects the possibility of includ-
ing his comments on the Vision in God in the next edition of the Essay, his main

15 De Beer in Locke, Correpondence, 4:756 (letter 1678).


16 I have not signalled scribal additions and deletions, which in the case of the quotations used
for the present article were all minor. Occasionally I have supplied letters missing in the original
manuscripts; these editorial insertions are marked between < >.
17 “A certain Gent: I know, would have found fault with this want of method in another, and
to tell where Ideas were to be seen, before he had told us, what they were would have been an
unpardonable fault to him.” Op. cit., para. 29.
18 Johnston, “Locke’s Examination,” 554.
19 Ibid., 557.
20 Correpondence, 4: 665 (letter 1620).
11 Vision in God and Thinking Matter 181

concern seems to be the substance of Malebranche’s philosophy, not his old quarrel
with Norris, who receives no mention at all.21
Strictures can also be put on Locke’s sources within the Malebranchean corpus.
Malebranche’s 1693 arguments for the Vision in God came too late to influence
Locke’s polemics with Norris. Similarly, Malebranche’s elucidations in the tenth
“Eclaircissement” of the Recherche had no influence on the three texts by Locke
mentioned above under (1)-(3)-(4), although they are addressed in (2), i.e. in the
“Examination.”22 However, it is safe to say that most of Locke’s arguments against
the Vision in God pertain to the guise in which they appeared in the first editions of
Malebranche’s Recherche, and it is to this formulation that I shall now turn.

Vision in God: Malebranche

At the start of the second part of Book III of the Recherche, Malebranche makes the
following elegant, if perhaps overconfident observation:
I think everyone agrees that we do not perceive objects external to us by themselves. We
see the sun, the stars, and an infinity of objects external to us; and it is not likely that the
soul should leave the body to stroll about the heavens, as it were, in order to behold all these
objects.23

The objects of our minds are not material objects themselves, but ideas: “Thus, by
the word idea, I mean here nothing other than the immediate object, or the object
closest to the mind, when it perceives something.”24 For Malebranche the question
of how we can perceive material objects should be couched in terms of the relation
between objects and ideas. He thinks that he can narrow down these relations to five
distinct possibilities:
We assert the absolute necessity, then, of the following: either (a) the ideas we have of
bodies and of all other objects we do not perceive by themselves come from these bodies
or objects; or (b) our soul has the power of producing these ideas; or (c) God has produced

21 See Locke to W. Molyneux (8 March 1695), Correpondence, 5: 287 (letter 1857); W. Molyneux
to Locke (26 March 1695), Correpondence, 5: 317 (letter 1867); Locke to W. Molyneux (26 April
1695), Correpondence, 5: 353 (letter 1887); see also Locke to Peter King (4 and 25 October 1704),
Correpondence, 8: 412–413 (letter 3647). Cf. François Duchesneau, L’Empirisme de Locke (The
Hague: M. Nijhoff, 1973), 207.
22 “Examination,” paras 43, 52, and 58 ff.
23 Recherche, 3. 2. 1, vol. I, p. 413: “Je croi que tout le monde tombe d’accord, que nous
n’appercevons point les objets qui sont hors de nous par eux-mêmes. Nous voyons le Soleil, les
Etoiles, & une infinité d’objets hors de nous; & il n’est pas vraisemblable que l’ame sorte du corps,
& qu’elle aille, pour ainsi dire, se promener dans les cieux, pour y contempler tous ces objets.” The
translation of this quotation (and subsequent quotations) from the Recherche is by Thomas M.
Lennon and Paul J. Olscamp: Nicolas Malebranche, The Search after Truth (Cambridge: Cam-
bridge University Press, 1997) (hereafter cited as LO), 217.
24 Recherche 3. 2. 6, vol. I, p. 414: “Ainsi par ce mot idée, je n’entends ici autre chose, que ce qui
est l’object immédiat, ou plus proche de l’esprit, quand il apperçoit quelque objet” (LO, 217).
182 Paul Schuurman

them in us while creating the soul or produces them every time we think about a given
object; or (d) the soul has in itself all the perfections it sees in bodies; or else (e) the soul is
joined to a completely perfect being that contains all intelligible perfections, or all the ideas
of created beings.25

He rejects (a)-(d) in favour of (e), the famous Vision in God.26 God has the ideas
of all the creatures that He created in Himself, since otherwise He could not have
created them. We know furthermore “that through His presence God is in close
union with our minds, such that He might be said to be the place of minds as
space is, in a sense, the place of bodies.”27 Given these two assumptions, “the mind
surely can see what in God represents created beings, since what in God represents
created beings is very spiritual, intelligible, and present to the mind.”28 Our minds
can see what in God represents created beings, provided that God wishes to reveal
these objects to our minds. There are three reasons for assuming that this is indeed
God’s wish. The most important reason, according to Malebranche, is that when we
want to think about something in particular we first cast a glance over all beings in
general and only then “apply ourselves to the consideration of the object we wish
to think about.”29 This confirms his thesis that all our particular ideas of created
beings “are but limitations of the general idea of the Creator.”30 Moreover, there is
an economy in nature. God does great things by small and simple means. He could
have chosen to produce “as many infinities of infinite numbers of ideas as there
are created minds,”31 but he has chosen the more simple option of having the idea

25 Recherche, 3. 2. 1. 2, vol. I, p. 417: “Nous assurons donc qu’il est absolument nécessaire, que
les idées que nous avons des corps, & de tous les autres objets que nous n’appercevons point par
eux-mêmes, viennent de ces mêmes corps, ou de ces objets: ou bien que nôtre ame ait la puissance
de produire ces idées: ou que Dieu les ait produites avec elle en la créant, ou qu’il les produise
toutes les fois qu’on pense à quelque objet: ou que l’ame ait en elle-même toutes les perfections
qu’elle voit dans ces corps: ou enfin qu’elle soit unie avec un être tout parfait, & qui renferme
généralement toutes les perfections intelligibles, ou toutes les idées des êtres créez” (LO, 219).
26See also Steven Nadler, Malebranche and Ideas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992),
137–140.
27 Recherche, 3. 2. 6, vol. I, p. 437: “que Dieu est tres-étroitement uni à nos ames par sa présence,
de sorte qu’on peut dire qu’il est le lieu des esprits, de même que les espaces sont en un sens le
lieu des corps” (LO, 230).
28 Ibid. “Ces deux choses étant supposées, il est certain que l’esprit peut voir ce qu’il y a dans
Dieu qui represente les êtres créez, puisque cela est tres-spirituel, tres-intelligible, & tres-present à
l’esprit” (LO, 231).
29 Recherche, 3. 2. 6, vol. I, p. 440: “que lors que nous voulons penser à quelque chose en partic-
ulier, nous jettons d’abord la vûë sur tous les êtres, & nous nous appliquons ensuit à la consideration
de l’objet auquel nous souhaitons de penser” (LO, 232).
30 Recherche, 3. 2. 6, vol. I, p. 443: “Ainsi comme nous n’aimons aucune chose que par l’amour
nécessaire que nous avons pour Dieu, nous ne voyons aucune chose que par la connoissance na-
turelle que nous avons de Dieu: & toutes les idées particuliéres que nous avons des créatures, ne
sont que des limitations de l’idée du Créateur’ (LO, 233).
31 Recherche, 3. 2. 6, vol. I, p. 438: “autant d’infinitez de nombres infinis d’idées, qu’il y a d’esprits
créez” (LO, 231).
11 Vision in God and Thinking Matter 183

of each material object only once, in himself, and allowing each of us to see the
object in question through its idea in Himself. Finally, the Vision in God admirably
expresses the fact that we can know nothing without God, 32 or, as is attested by 2
Cor. 3: 5: “Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think any thing as of ourselves;
but our sufficiency is of God.”

Vision in God: Locke

Locke agrees with Malebranche that we perceive objects through their ideas. Ac-
tually, distinct echoes of Malebranche’s definition can be heard in Locke’s Essay,
where he describes the word “idea” as “that Term, which, I think, serves best to
stand for whatsoever is the Object of the Understanding when a Man thinks.”33
Locke disagrees strongly with Malebranche, however, over the question of how we
have access to these ideas and hence to the material objects represented by these
ideas. Locke rejects Malebranche’s Vision in God in favour of a mechanistic account
of perception, in which bodies directly cause our ideas and in which a vital role is
played by the physical concept of impulse. In the First Edition of the Essay (repeated
with minor variations in the Second Edition of 1694 and the Third Edition of 1695)
Locke states that bodies operate one upon another “by impulse, and nothing else.”34
Although in the first three editions of the Essay he is confident that he can rule out
actio in distans in favour of operation by impulse, his actual explanation of how
external bodies cause ideas is highly tentative:
If then Bodies cannot operate at a distance; if external Objects be not united to our Minds,
when they produce Ideas in it; and yet we perceive these original Qualities in such of them,
as singly fall under our Senses, ’tis evident that some motion must be thence continued
by our Nerves, or animal Spirits, by some parts of our Bodies, to the Brains, the seat of
Sensation, there to produce in our Minds the particular Ideas we have of them.35

Indeed, in the “Examination” he grants Malebranche the general point that our ideas
may be caused by God, but he replies that we cannot know the nature of this causal
process. This ignorance is neglected by the Vision in God whereas it is a cornerstone
of Locke’s own account:
Impressions made on the retina by rays of light I thinke I understand and motions from
thence continued to the brain may be conceivd, and that these produce Ideas in our mindes
I am perswaded but in a manner to me incomprehensible. This I can resolve only in to the
good pleasure of God whose ways are past findeing out, and I thinke I know it as well when
I am told these are Ideas that the motion of the animal Spirits by a Law established by God
produces in me as when I am told they are Ideas I see in God. The ideas tis certain I have

32 Recherche, 3. 2. 6, vol. I, p. 439.


33 Locke, Essay I. i. 8, p. 47.
34Locke, An Essay concerning Humane Understanding (Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 2003; repr. of
London: Th. Basset, 1690), II. v. 11, p. 56.
35 Ibid.
184 Paul Schuurman

and God both ways is the original cause of my haveing them; but the manner how I come
by them, how it is that I perceive I confesse I understand not.36

This quotation suggests again that perceptions move along complicated trajectories
of which the first stages should probably be understood mechanically. This is in
accordance with the previous account of perception in the Essay, although it should
be noted that Locke seems less sanguine about the privileged states of “impulse”
in these first stages. He does not mention “impulse” once in the entire tract. He is
adamant, however, about the last stages. We don’t understand how at the final stage
of the physical process (whether in the form of impulses or any other form) there is
a transformation into psychological ideas: “how the alteration is made in our soules
I know not”;37 and Malebranche’s Vision in God is a failed attempt at going beyond
this “I know not.”
We have seen above that according to Malebranche we can see all things in God,
provided that this is His wish. In the “Examination” Locke is prepared to concede
coherence (if not truth) to Malebranche’s observation that our soul cannot perceive
material bodies and that we have the ideas of these bodies only in God, in whom
they are present to our minds; but he balks at the additional criterion of God’s will,
which according to him reduces Malebranche’s account to complete vacuity: “But
when, after this, I am told that their presence [of ideas to our minds] is not enough to
make them be seen, but God must do some thing farther to discover them to me I am
as much in the darke as I was at first, and all this talke of their presence in my minde
explains nothing of the way wherein I perceive them.”38 He attacks all three reasons
given by Malebranche for the assumptiom that God indeed wishes us to perceive
bodies through His ideas, and in all cases he makes skilful use of an agnostic line of
argument.
Firstly, Malebranche’s contention that the Vision in God conforms to the order
in which our mind grasps things (beings in general first, particular things later),
typically and unsurprisingly meets with the full brunt of Locke’s empiricist epis-
temology: we receive particular ideas first and general ideas only at a later stage.
A more specific problem in this context is God’s simplicity. According to Male-
branche, “particular ideas are in fact but participations in the general idea of the
infinite”39 in God, and “In order for us to conceive of a finite being, something
must necessarily be eliminated from this general notion of being.”40 In this way,
Malebranche tries to maintain both the priority of general notions over particular
notions and the perception of a plurality of particular objects through the Vision in
God, whilst at the same time maintaining that God’s nature itself is simple; God has

36 “Examination,” para.14.
37 Ibid., 35.
38 Ibid.
39 Recherche, 3. 2. 6, vol. I, p. 441: “toutes ces idées particuliéres ne sont que des participations
de l’idée générale de l’infini” (LO, 232).
40Ibid.: “Mais enfin que nous concevions un être fini, il faut necessairement retrancher quelque
chose de cette notion générale de l’être” (LO, 232); see also Recherche, vol. II, p. 446 note ∗ .
11 Vision in God and Thinking Matter 185

only one Idea, “the general idea of the infinite.”41 Locke is not impressed by this
argument. He remarks that once Malebranche grants the existence of distinct ideas
of objects, he must, according to his own thesis of the Vision in God, admit that
these distinct ideas are in God; and their very distinctness means that they cannot
be conflated into one general notion of being. So, Malebranche’s apparent fusion of
his ontological claim about God (His simplicity) and epistemological claims about
us (our ability to partake in a multitude of distinct ideas that are in God) leads him
to contradictions: “This seemes to me to expresse a Simplicity made up of variety,
a thing I cannot understand.”42 Locke’s answer is a rigorous separation of these
claims. As long as our ability to have a multitude of distinct ideas is not based on
any claim about the nature of God, no contradictory conclusion can arise about His
simplicity. Locke fully subscribes to both God’s simplicity and His omniscience—
and hence the possible presence of a myriad of distinct ideas in His mind. Yet he
stresses his ignorance about the compatibility of these attributes: “God I believe to
be a simple being that by his wisdome knows all thing<s>, and by his power can
do all things. but how he does it I thinke my self lesse able to comprehend than to
contain the Ocean in my hand or grasp the Universe with my span.”43 So, “though
it cannot be denyd that God sees and knows all things yet when we say we see all
things in him it is but a metaphorical expression to cover our ignorance in a way that
pretends to explain our knowledge, seeing things in God signifieing no more than
that we perceive them we know not how.”44
Secondly, Malebranche had argued that God does great things by small means,
and on this principle of divine economy He had chosen for the simple option of
having the idea of each material object only once, in himself, allowing each of us to
see the object through this idea in Himself. In the “Remarks,” Locke replies that God
indeed never does any thing in vain, but he uses the argument from economy in a
completely different way, not for the Vision in God, but for ideas caused by sensory
perception. God has given us wonderfully contrived senses and we may assume that
these contribute in some way to producing ideas in our minds by the presence of
objects. If not, then His creation of senses would be “lost labour.”45 Moreover, if
we do not need our senses to form the ideas of material objects, then a blind man
could have these ideas as well as a man endowed with sight and this is obviously
not the case. Here again, Locke admits that he does not know himself how ideas
are produced in our minds, but human ignorance should not be the criterion for
placing strictures on God’s omnipotence, “As if it were impossible for the Almighty
to produce any thing but by ways we must conceive, and are able to comprehend.”46

41 Recherche, 3. 2. 6, vol. I, p. 441: “l’idée générale de l’infini” (LO, 232).


42 “Examination,” par. 36; see also “Remarks,” para. 11.
43 “Examination,” para. 36.
44 Ibid.
45 “Remarks,” para. 3.
46 Ibid.
186 Paul Schuurman

Thirdly, in the “Examination” Locke makes a similar point against Malebranche’s


argument that the Vision in God is in accordance with God’s will because it makes
us completely dependent on this will. According to Locke, this means that Male-
branche gives a very laborious explanation for something that he had been prepared
to accept all along: “that the Ideas we have are in our mindes by the will and power
of God, though in a way that we conceive not, nor are able to comprehend.”47 Locke
admits that vision by sensory impressions leaves us as ignorant about God’s will
as Malebranche’s Vision in God: “Here is the will of God giveing union and per-
ception in both cases, but how that perception is made in both ways seemes to me
equalle incomprehensible.”48 The Vision of God is a “learned circuit,” which “in
good earnest seemes to me to be nothing but goeing a great way about to come
to the same place.”49 Vision by sensory impressions, on the other hand, is more
plausible because it is more simple, and it is more simple because it does not try to
make explanatory use of God.
In addition, the Vision in God is not only implausible, it is also theologically
unsound. In the Recherche, Malebranche asserts that “It cannot be doubted that only
God existed before the world was created and that He could not have produced it
without knowledge or ideas; consequently, the ideas He had of the world are not
different from Himself, so that all creatures, even the most material and terrestrial,
are in God, though in a completely spiritual way that is incomprehensible to us.”50
Locke thinks that it is dangerous to talk about material things that are immaterially
in God. This assertion seems “to come very near saying . . . that material things are
God or a part of him.”51 So, Locke is here pointing to the supposedly Spinozist
implications of Malebranche’s thesis. Locke adds that this will not have been “what
our A<uthor> designs,” “yet thus, I fear, he must be forced to talke, who thinkes
he knows God’s understanding so much better than his owne. that he will make use
of the divine Intellect to explain the humane.”52 Locke makes the same point in the
“Remarks,” where he observes that this thesis is not better “than what those say who
make God to be nothing but the universe.”53 Here again we have an example of the
nefarious consequences of making unfounded knowledge claims about God.
Finally, Locke uses his epistemological agnosticism not only against Male-
branche’s internal argumentation for the Vision in God, but also against the latter’s

47 Ibid., para. 35.


48 Ibid., para. 47.
49 Ibid., para. 45.
50 Malebranche, Recherche, 3. 2. 4, vol. I, pp. 434–435: “Il est indubitable qu’il n’y avoit que Dieu
seul avant que le monde fût créé & qu’il n’a pû le produire sans connoissance & sans idée: que par
conséquent ces idées que Dieu en a euës ne sont point différentes de lui-même & qu’ainsi toutes
les créatures, même les plus materielles & les plus terrestres, sont en Dieu, quoi que d’une maniére
toute spirituelle & que nous ne pouvons comprendre” (LO, 229).
51 “Examination,” para. 27.
52 Ibid.
53 “Remarks,” para. 11.
11 Vision in God and Thinking Matter 187

prior enumeration and rejection of all other alternative relations between ideas and
bodies. Locke remarks that even if we would not be able to find a better possibility
than the last item in Malebranche’s enumeration, i.e. the Vision in God, then this
would still amount to no more than an argumentum ad ignorantiam. In the Essay
he explains that those who use this debatable argument require “the Adversary to
admit what they alledge as a Proof, or to assign a better.”54 In the particular case of
his discussion of the Vision in God in the “Examination,” he adds that given “the
weakenesse of our mindes and the narrowness of our capacitys,”55 Malebranche
cannot be sure that his enumeration is complete. Hence our inability to “assign
a better” alternative does not oblige us to consider Malebranche’s reasons “as a
Proof.” We are ignorant about God, who may have authored connections between
material bodies and our perceptions that totally surpass our understanding. This
means that Malebranche was wrong to take his own ignorance as the measure for
his enumeration of five possibilities, which “must be built on this good opinion of
our capacitys, that God cannot make the creatures operate but in ways conceivable
by us . . . To say there can be no other, because we conceive no other does not I
confesse much instruct.”56

Vision in God and Thinking Matter


There is an intriguing connection between Malebranche’s Vision in God and Locke’s
suggestion about thinking matter. The Vision in God is an answer to the problem of
how our immaterial minds can perceive material bodies. We have already noted that
the reason for considering this as a problem at all, was Malebranche’s subscription
to the Cartesian tenet that the essence of mind is thinking, while the essence of
matter is extension. He was aware that his formulation of the mind-body problem
(let alone his answer to this problem) is in danger of collapse once we start to doubt
the nature of these essences:
Now if we suppose that the essence of matter is not extension in height, breadth, and
depth, but some other thing we are not familiar with, how shall we refute the error of the
freethinker, who maintains and even shows with plausible arguments that it is the matter
composing the brain that thinks, reasons, wills, and so forth? How can we prove that a thing
we do not know does not have such and such a property . . .?57

54 Essay, IV. xvii. 20, p. 686.


55 “Examination,” para. 6.
56 Ibid., para. 12.
57 Recherche, 3. 2. 8. 2, vol. I, p. 466: “Or si l’on suppose que l’essence de la matiére n’est point
l’étenduë en longueur, largeur & profondeur, mais quelque autre chose qu’on ne connoit point,
comment refutera-t-on l’erreur d’un libertin, qui soûtient, & qui prouve même par des raisons
sensibles & apparentes, que c’est la matiére dont le cerveau est composé, qui pense, raisonne,
veut, & le reste. Peut-on prouver qu’une chose qu’on ne connoı̂t point, n’a point telle ou telle
propriété, & convaincre d’erreur celui qui sçait que le cerveau blessé, on ne pense plus, ou qu’on
pense mal.” (LO p. 247).
188 Paul Schuurman

Once we start supposing that the essence of matter is not extension, admit that we
do not know the essence of matter, and consider it “a thing we do not know,” we
are liable to the error of freethinkers who maintain that matter thinks. And this,
of course, amounts to Locke’s famous suggestion about thinking matter in the Es-
say, which indeed takes its point of departure in this kind of agnosticism about the
essence of matter (and thinking and God). It is agnosticism that drives Locke’s pre-
cise formulation. He does not suggest, like Malebranche’s “freethinker,” that matter
can think, but rather observes that he does not know enough to deny this possibility.
We have the Ideas of Matter and Thinking, but possibly shall never be able to know, whether
any mere material Being thinks, or no; it being impossible for us, by the contemplation
of our own Ideas, without revelation, to discover, whether Omnipotency has not given to
some Systems of Matter fitly disposed, a power to perceive and think, or else joined and
fixed to Matter so disposed, a thinking immaterial Substance: It being, in respect of our
Notions, not much more remote from our Comprehension to conceive, that GOD can, if he
pleases, superadd to Matter a Faculty of Thinking, than that he should superadd to it another
Substance, with a Faculty of Thinking; since we know not wherein Thinking consists, nor
to what sort of Substances the Almighty has been pleased to give that Power, which cannot
be in any created Being, but merely by the good pleasure and Bounty of the Creator.58

There is no proof that Locke had Malebranche in mind when he made his suggestion,
but he did read Malebranche while he was writing the Essay, and the possibility of
thinking matter is the very consequence of an agnosticism that Malebranche had
tried to pre-empt with his Vision in God.

Thinking Matter: Stillingfleet and Locke


When Edward Stillingfleet, Bishop of Worcester, attacked Locke’s Essay in three
publications, he was especially scathing about the possibility of thinking matter.
Locke reacted to each of Stillingfleet’s texts, resulting in the following sequence
that was brought to an end by the death of the bishop in 1699. The topic of thinking
matter is discussed in each of these texts, with the exception of text (4), Locke’s
First Reply:
1. Stillingfleet, “The Objections against the Trinity in Point of Reason answer’d,”
chapter 10 of A Discourse in Vindication of the Trinity (London: H. Mortlock,
1697) (referred to hereafter as Vindication);59
2. Locke, A Letter to Edward Bishop of Worcester (London: A. and J. Churchill,
1697) (referred to hereafter as Letter);60
3. Stillingfleet, The Bishop of Worcester’s Answer to Mr. Locke’s Letter (London:
H. Mortlock, 1697) (referred to hereafter as First Answer);61

58 Essay IV. iii. 6, pp. 540–541.


59 For “thinking matter” see p. 241 ff.
60 Included in Works, 4: 1–96. On “thinking matter”, pp. 31 ff (see also pp. 95–96).
61 For “Thinking matter,” see p. 47 ff.
11 Vision in God and Thinking Matter 189

4. Locke, Mr. Locke’s Reply To the Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of Worcester’s
Answer to his Letter (London: A. and J. Churchill, 1697) (referred to hereafter
as First Reply);62
5. Stillingfleet, The Bishop of Worcester’s Answer to Mr. Locke’s Second Letter
(London: H. Mortlock, 1698) (referred to hereafter as Second Answer);63
6. Locke, Mr. Locke’s Reply To the Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of Worcester’s
Answer to his Second Letter (London: A. and J. Churchill, 1699) (referred to
hereafter as Second Reply);64 the “Second Reply” was probably published in c.
November 1698.65
Stillingfleet belonged to a liberal Anglican tradition that tried to use reason and
reasonableness against the dangers of skepticism and religious heterodoxy.66 Using
the well-known Cartesian distinction between demonstrative and moral certainty, he
stated that even where it is not possible to reach demonstrative certainty about reli-
gious propositions, we can still obtain moral certainty “as long as the evidence for
them is much more considerable than the Objections against them.”67 Hence, as he
had put it in A Rational Account of the Protestant Religion (1664), faith is a “rational
and discursive Act of the Mind,” i.e. “an assent upon Evidence, or Reason inducing
the mind to assent.”68 The doctrines of the Anglican Church are not mysterious and
can be believed on the basis of rational evidence. In the Vindication Stillingfleet tried
to show that the doctrine of the Trinity is not above but in accordance with reason.
He gave an analysis of the two most important concepts related to the Trinity, i.e.
substance and person, and also of reason itself. It is this analysis in the tenth chapter
that brings him into conflict with Locke’s Essay.
Stillingfleet agreed with Locke that reason can be combined with religion, but
they differed about the precise nature of this relationship. Whereas for Locke The
Reasonableness of Christianity (1695) was an attribute of faith As delivered in the
Scriptures, Stillingfleet sought reasonableness in Anglican theological doctrine.69
Moreover, according to Stillingfleet reason is an independent source of knowledge.
This latter point explains much of his animosity against Locke’s “way of ideas.” In
the Vindication he denies that all ideas must be either from sensation or reflection;

62 Works, 4: 97–184.
63 For “Thinking matter,” see pp. 29–30 and p. 35 ff.
64 Works, 4: 191–498; for “thinking matter,” see p. 293 ff. and p. 459 ff.
65 See Correpondence, 6: vii.
66 See Richard H. Popkin, “The Philosophy of Stillingfleet,” Journal of the History of Philosophy
9 (1971): 307.
67Edward Stillingfleet, A Letter to a Deist. In Answer to several Objections against the Truth and
Authority of the Scriptures (London, 1677), 6–7, quoted in Popkin, “Stillingfleet,” 307.
68 Stillingfleet, A Rational Account of the grounds of Protestant religion (1664), in Works (London:
H. and P. Mortlock, 1720), 196, quoted in M.A. Stewart, “Stillingfleet and the Way of Ideas,”
in English Philosophy in the Age of Locke, ed. M.A. Stewart (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2000),
271–272.
69 Cf. Stewart, “Stillingfleet,” 278–279.
190 Paul Schuurman

“that we must have clear and distinct Ideas of whatever we pretend to any certainty
of in our minds’; and “that the only Way to attain this certainty, is by comparing
these Ideas together.”70 Against this, Stillingfleet holds that certainty “is not placed
upon any clear and distinct Ideas, but upon the force of Reason distinct from it.”71
For Locke, ideas and reasoning are complementary, the former forming the indis-
pensable basic material for the latter, while for Stillingfleet “it is not the Idea that
makes us certain, but the Argument from that which we perceive in, and about our
Selves.”72 This quotation illustrates Stillingfleet’s inability to grasp an elementary
aspect of Locke’s epistemology: certainty cannot be sought in individual ideas, but
in the comparison between two or more ideas.73 The same quotation is telling in an-
other respect as well. The phrase “that which we perceive in, and about our Selves”
points to the source of Stillingfleet’s concept of “reason” as a way of obtaining
certainty, over and above our clear and distinct ideas received from sensation or
reflection. This source is Cartesian. According to Stillingfleet, Descartes’s cogito
shows that it is possible to have certainty without clear and distinct ideas: “here it is
not the Clearness of the Idea, but an immediate Act of Perception, which is the true
ground of Certainty.”74 In general, we have “Principles of true Reason” and these
are not taken from our ideas; examples of these principles are, “That no man can
doubt his own Perception; that every thing must have a Cause; that this Cause must
either have Knowledge or not.”75
It is important for Stillingfleet to posit reason as an independent source of cer-
tainty, over and above our ideas received from sensation or reflection, because rea-
son can teach him something that ideas cannot: the existence and the attributes of
substances, which he needs to show the reasonableness of the Trinity. He agrees with
Locke that we cannot have a clear and distinct idea of substance by comparing the
ideas we have from sensation and reflection. Reason, however, forms some “general
Notions, or rational Ideas,”76 and of these “Substance is one of the first . . . Since it
is a Repugnancy to our first Conceptions of things, that Modes or Accidents should
subsist by themselves, and therefore the Rational Idea of Substance is one of the
first, and most natural Ideas in our minds.”77 Thanks to reason as he understands
it, Stillingfleet feels that he can attribute an ontological status to substance that is
so robust that its denial would amount to a logical contradiction, whereas Locke
degrades substance to “a bare Grammatical Etymology.”78 “And is this all indeed,

70 Vindication, 232.
71 Ibid., 250.
72 Vindication, p. 252.
73 See Locke, Letter, Works, 4: 29.
74 Vindication, 248.
75 Ibid., 251.
76 Ibid., 235.
77 Ibid., 235–236.
78 Ibid., 237.
11 Vision in God and Thinking Matter 191

that is to be said for the being of Substance, that we accustom our selves to suppose
a Substratum?”79
According to Stillingfleet, Locke’s reliance on ideas, his agnosticism about the
essence of substances, and his neglect of reason as an independent source of cer-
tainty, all seem to combine to bring him to the grave error of entertaining the possi-
bility of thinking matter, and leave him incapable of proving “a Spiritual Substance
in us, from a Faculty of Thinking; because he cannot know from the Idea of Matter
and Thinking, that Matter so disposed cannot think. And he cannot be certain that
God hath not framed the Matter of our Bodies, so as to be capable of it.”80 In the
First Answer Stillingfleet adds that the possibility of God giving immortality to a
material substance “takes off very much from the evidence of Immortality,” since
matter “of its own Nature”81 is not capable of thinking. He adds that Hobbes had
tried to use the supposed materiality of the soul to deny its immortality. He does
not accuse Locke outright of having the same aims, “But what is all this to you? I
hope nothing at all. But it shews, that those who have gone about to overthrow the
Immortality of the Soul by nature, have not been thought to secure the great ends of
Religion and Morality.”82 Nevertheless, he suggests that Locke’s suggestion comes
dangerously close to Hobbist materialism.
In Locke’s defence of the possibility of thinking matter against Stillingfleet, ag-
nosticism about the essence of God, mind and matter figure as prominently as they
had done in his assault on the Vision in God. In the Second Reply to Stillingfleet,
Locke compares the possibility of God having superadded thought to matter with
another case of superaddition: that of the “attraction of matter by matter.” Both
are instances of something being added by God to the essence of matter “which
we cannot conceive.” If the latter is possible, then the former cannot be ruled out.
When Locke makes this analogy between thinking matter and gravity he does not
forget to pay tribute to “Mr. Newton’s incomparable book.”83 His reference to the
elusive concept of Newtonian gravity is not only relevant for his agnosticism about
thinking matter, but also for his agnosticism about the perception of bodies, and
hence for his earlier attack on the Vision in God. We have seen that in the first
three editions of the Essay he confidently ascribed the first stages of our percep-
tion of bodies to “impulse,” although he confessed ignorance about the subsequent
stages of a process that eventually results in us having ideas of external bodies; and
we have also seen that he stopped stressing the privileged status of impulse in the
“Examination.” In the Second Reply this development is brought to its conclusion,
with Locke squarely admitting that Newton’s work has taught him that impulse is
not the only way that bodies can operate on each other, gravitation being another
possibility. Locke announces that, in the light of this new concept of gravitation, he

79 Ibid., 236. See also Stillingfleet, Answer, pp. 13–14; cf. Locke, Essay II. 23. 1, p. 295.
80 Vindication, 242.
81 First Answer, 55.
82 Ibid., 56–57.
83 Ibid., Works, 4: 467.
192 Paul Schuurman

will change his earlier statements about the impossibility of bodily operations at a
distance and about impulse being the only possible operation of bodies one upon
another in future editions of the Essay. So, Locke makes a similarly agnostic use of
Newtonian gravitation in both controversies; it is used to defend the possibility of
thinking matter against Stillingfleet, while at the same time retrospectively strength-
ening his case against Malebranchean pretensions about how we perceive material
bodies.
In Locke’s other agnostic arguments in defence of the possibility of thinking
matter, a major part is played by Stillingfleet’s supposed “reasonablenesse.” Locke
replies that the bishop’s difficulty in acknowledging the possibility of God creat-
ing thinking matter seems to rest on his difficulty in squaring this possibility with
reason. According to Locke, this seems to imply that the bishop allows only those
divine actions that are in accordance with his own reason. Locke remarks that this
criterion is incorrect: “The omnipotent Creator advised not with us in the making of
the world, and his ways are not the less excellent, because they are past our finding
out.”84 Just as he had done in his discussion of the Vision of God, Locke then pro-
ceeds to show that his adversary’s point is not only incorrect from a philosophical
point of view, but also that it is suspect in a theological sense. Stillingfleet’s use
of the criterion of reason seems to undermine the credibility of divine revelation
“in all supernatural truths, wherein the evidence of reason fails. And how much
such a principle as this tends to the support of the doctrine of the Trinity, or the
promoting of the Christian religion, I shall leave it to your lordship to consider.”85
Here Locke turns the tables on the bishop, who had started his controversy with
Locke in Vindication of the Doctrine of the Trinity and who had invoked the spectre
of materialist Hobbism against Locke, but who is now presented as “a patron of
the oracles of reason” rather than a supporter “of the oracles of divine revelation,”
giving rise to the charge that his writings may be of more use to the followers of
Hobbes and Spinoza then “those justly decried” authors themselves.86 Here again,
as we have seen already in the controversy about the Vision in God, Locke uses his
agnosticism about the essence of God, mind and matter to show that if any one is in
danger of capitulating to the pit-falls of Hobbism or Spinozism it is not he but his
adversary.

Conclusion

In this article I have made no distinction between Locke’s epistemological agnosti-


cism about God, about minds or about bodies. This is because, according to Locke,
God, minds and bodies all belong to the same category. They all fall under the disci-
pline of natural philosophy, “whether it be God himself, Angels, Spirits, Bodies, or

84 Ibid., Works, 4: 461.


85 Second Reply, Works, ibid., 477.
86 Ibid., 4: 477.
11 Vision in God and Thinking Matter 193

any of their Affections.”87 Our ideas (and subsequent knowledge) of these entities,
whether spiritual or corporeal, all share the same imperfect character. This general
agnosticism drives both Locke’s argumentation against Malebranche’s Vision in
God and his defence of the possibility of thinking matter against Stillingfleet. We do
not know how God causes our ideas of external bodies and consequently there is no
way of proving the Vision in God. Nor can our ideas of thinking and of matter teach
us anything certain about the possibility or impossibility of God giving the power of
thinking to matter. For Malebranche there was a clear connection between these two
issues: denial of the Vision in God opens the door to agnosticism about the essence
of matter, which in its turn feeds the error about thinking matter. Locke denied the
Vision in God and he was agnostic about the essence of matter and he refused to
deny the possibility of thinking matter. Locke was Malebranche’s worst nightmare
come true.88

87 Essay IV. xxi. 2, p. 720.


88 I would like to thank Bill George and Ferdinand Delcker for their very useful comments. Spe-
cial thanks are due to John Rogers, who has continued to advise me on my work ever since he
supervised my PhD thesis and who read an earlier version of this article before he (nor I) realized
that it would be used in a volume dedicated to him.
Chapter 12
Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third
Earl of Shaftesbury

John Milton

Towards the end of September 1697 a young French Protestant refugee left London
to travel to Oates, the house in Essex that was the home of Sir Francis Masham and
his wife Damaris, the daughter of Ralph Cudworth.1 Pierre Coste had been engaged
to serve as tutor to their son Francis Cudworth Masham, then aged eleven; he had
been chosen for his new post by John Locke, who had himself been living at Oates
since 1691. Locke had already begun corresponding with Coste while Coste was still
in Holland, but he was not present to greet the new arrival—he had been in London
since June, and apart from one short visit of four days in the first week of September
did not return to Oates until the end of November.2 After Christmas Locke gave an
assessment of the new tutor to William Molyneux: “Mr. Coste is now in the house
with me here, and is tutor to my lady Masham’s son. I need not I think now answer
your question about his skill in mathematicks and natural history: I think it is not
much; but he is an ingenious man, and we like him very well for our purpose.”3 It is

1 He arrived on 24 or 25 September, according to a biography written shortly after Coste’s death


by his friend Charles de la Motte: “La vie de Coste et anecdotes sur ses ouvrages,” Universiteits-
bibliothek, Leiden, March. 45, fos. 5–11. This has been printed in John Locke, Que la religion
chrétienne est très-raisonnable; Discours sur les miracles, ed. Hélène Bouchilloux; Essai sur la
nécessité d’expliquer les Epı̂tres de S. Paul; La Vie de Coste, ed. Maria-Cristina Pitassi (Oxford:
Voltaire Foundation, 1999), 231–60; the quotations below are taken from this edition, cited as “Vie
de Coste.”
2 There are eight letters from Coste among Locke’s papers, dating from 1695–1700: Correspon-
dence, letters 1917, 1940, 2107, 2285, 2480, 2601, 2609, 2746; no other correspondence between
them is known to have survived. The dates of Locke’s journeys to and from London in 1697 are
taken from Bodleian Library [henceforward, Bodl.], MS Locke f. 29, p. 147.
3 Locke to Molyneux, 10 Jan. 1698, Correspondence, 6: 294; Molyneux had enquired about
Coste’s mathematical expertise on 27 May 1697, ibid., 133–4.

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 195
and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 195–223.
196 John Milton

a rather tepid commendation, and one wonders what Coste thought when he read it
after Locke’s death.4
Even before Coste came to England he had made translations into French of Some
Thoughts concerning Education and the Reasonableness of Christianity, and had
started on the Essay concerning Human Understanding.5 During his time at Oates
he finished work on the Essay, and followed this with a condensed and re-ordered
version of the two Vindications of the Reasonableness of Christianity.6 The two
men discussed the translation of the Essay very carefully, as Locke acknowledged
in a letter to the publisher, Henri Schelte: “Before it was sent to you Mr Coste read
me this version from one end to the other, and in every place where I noticed that
it had departed from my thoughts, it was returned to the sense of the original.”7
Coste’s translation made Locke’s main philosophical work accessible to a European
readership, and in the eyes of many observers it created a debt that Locke did not
adequately repay.

4 It was published in Some Familiar Letters between Mr. Locke, and Several of his Friends
(London, 1708), 256.
5 De l’education des enfans (Amsterdam, 1695), Que la religion chrétienne est tres-raisonnable
(Amsterdam, 1696); for further details, see Jean S. Yolton, John Locke: A Descriptive Bibliography
(Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 1998), 237–8, 283–4, cited below as “Yolton, Bibliography.” On the
slow pace of Coste’s work on the Essay before he came to England, see Jean Le Clerc to Locke, 9
Apr. 1697 (NS), Correspondence, 6: 72.
6 Essai philosophique concernant l’entendement (Amsterdam, 1700), Que la religion chrétienne
est tres-raisonnable. . .seconde partie (Amsterdam, 1703): Yolton, Bibliography, 120–3, 284–5.
Coste also translated extracts from the controversy with Stillingfleet, Nouvelles de la république
des lettres, Oct. 1699, 363–85, Nov. 1699, 483–513; these are not mentioned by Yolton. On
Coste’s translations, see Gabriel Bonno, “Locke et son traducteur français, Pierre Coste,” Revue de
littérature comparée 33 (1959): 161–79; Margaret E. Rumbold, Traducteur huguenot: Pierre Coste
(New York: Peter Lang, 1991), 51–64; Ross Hutchison, Locke in France, 1688–1734 (Oxford:
Voltaire Foundation, 1991), 25–8; Anne Goldgar, Impolite Learning: Conduct and Community
in the Republic of Letters, 1680–1750 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 117–21; Jørn
Schøsler, “L’Essai sur l’entendement de Locke et la lutte philosophique en France au XVIIIe
siècle: l’histoire des traductions, des éditions et de la diffusion journalistique (1688–1742),” in
idem (et al.) La Diffusion de Locke en France, Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century,
2001:04, 1–259.
7 “Mr. Coste m’a lû cette Version d’un bout à l’autre avant que de vous l’envoyer, & que tous les
endroits que j’ai remarqué s’éloigner de mes pensées, ont été ramenez au sens de l’Original,” Essai
philosophique concernant l’entendement humain (Amsterdam, 1700), sig. ***1r .
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 197

Coste has often been described as Locke’s secretary,8 but there is little if any
evidence for this: such assistance as Locke needed was normally undertaken by
his current manservant.9 Coste was employed by Sir Francis Masham and received
his salary from him, not from Locke: there are no accounts with Coste in Locke’s
own ledgers.10 His usefulness to Locke lay in his command of French. Locke had
acquired a reasonable familiarity with that language during his travels in France
from 1675 to 1679,11 and he must have used it again quite frequently while in exile
in the Netherlands from 1683 to 1689. Opportunities to speak French in England
would have been much rarer, and where possible Locke seems to have preferred
conducting his foreign correspondence in Latin. In 1697, however, he found himself
needing to use French once again. One of the parts of the Essay that Coste had trans-
lated while still in Holland was Book IV, ch. x, “Of our Knowledge of the Existence
of a God.” One reader of this was Johannes Hudde, burgomaster of Amsterdam and
former correspondent of Spinoza.12 Locke heard about his interest and some of the
questions he had raised from Philippus van Limborch, and as Hudde did not read

8 “Pierre Coste, secrétaire de Locke,” T.J. de Boer in Henry Ollion, Letters inédites de John Locke
à ses amis Nicolas Thoynard, Philippe van Limborch et Edward Clarke (The Hague: Martinus
Nijhoff, 1912), 213n; “Pierre Coste remained at Oates for over seven years, acting sometimes
as the philosopher’s secretary, sometimes as a general intellectual aide,” Maurice Cranston, John
Locke: A Biography (London: Longmans, 1957), 438; “Pierre Coste, Locke’s secretary and trans-
lator,” Rosalie Colie, Light and Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1957),
140; “Pierre Coste, who became Locke’s secretary in later years,” J.W. Gough in John Locke,
Epistola de Tolerantia, ed. Raymond Klibansky and J.W. Gough (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968),
44; “Coste was later taken on by Locke as secretary,” Mario Montuori, John Locke on Toleration
and the Unity of God (Amsterdam: Gieben, 1983), 182n, cf. 188n; “Coste had been Locke’s sec-
retary,” Robert Voitle, The Third Earl of Shaftesbury, 1671–1713 (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State
University Press, 1984), 396; “Pierre Coste, Locke’s friend and secretary,” Richard Ashcraft, Revo-
lutionary Politics & Locke’s Two Treatises of Government (Princeton: Princeton University Press ,
1986), 372; “Précepteur de Francis Masham à Oates et ensuite secrétaire de Locke,” Maria-Cristina
Pitassi in Vie de Coste, 228; “Coste also acted as Locke’s secretary,” Oxford Dictionary of National
Biography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), “Pierre Coste.”
9 On Locke’s use of his manservants in this role, see J.R. Milton, “Manservant as Amanuensis:
Sylvester Brounower,” The Locke Newsletter, 25 (1994): 79–83; see also Locke to Anthony Collins,
25 Oct. 1704, Correspondence, 8: 416–7.
10 Transactions with Coste in Locke’s ledgers and his journals almost all relate to expenses in-
curred as Francis Cudworth Masham’s tutor, or (during Locke’s final years) from having purchased
books for Locke while on visits to London: Bodl., MS Locke b. 2, fos. 175, 176, 179, 181, 183,
185; MS Locke c. 1, pp. 333, 335, 338, 361, 371; MS Locke c. 2, pp. 9, 65, 80, 81; MS Locke f. 10,
pp. 396, 410, 428, 483, 486, 522, 556, 581, 584.
11 There is no record in any of Locke’s numerous commonplace books that he was buying or
reading any French books before his departure to France in 1675.
12Coste to Locke, 6 July 1697, Correspondence, 6: 156. On Hudde’s enquiries, see Wim Klever,
“Hudde’s question on God’s uniqueness: a reconstruction on the basis of van Limborch’s corre-
spondence with John Locke,” Studia Spinozana 5 (1989): 327–57.
198 John Milton

Latin, Locke was forced to reply to Limborch in French.13 Coste was involved in
the drafting of one of these letters,14 but otherwise there seems to be no evidence
among Locke’s own papers that he was ever used as a secretary or as an amanuensis.
Our main source for the details of Coste’s life at Oates is the biography written
by Charles de la Motte;15 although this was not put together until 1747 or 1748,
over forty years after the events described here, it is clear that the main source of the
stories it contains was Coste himself. According to this account Locke’s relations
with Coste during the last years of his life became somewhat strained. Part of the
problem was that Coste became convinced that Locke had failed to honour earlier
assurances about money,16 but there were also disagreements about less sordid mat-
ters: despite his intellectual gifts, Locke was not free (according to Coste) from
national prejudices, unlike Coste himself.17 Locke has not often been seen as an
incarnation of John Bull, but as an insecure and impecunious exile Coste seems to
have become extremely sensitive to what he perceived as slights. As time went on
relations between the two men deteriorated further:
M. Locke devenoit tous les jours plus reservé avec M. Coste, qui ne le menageoit pas assez.
Par exemple, M. Locke ne perdoit pas une occasion la plus éloignée de deprimer Descartes,

13The relevant letters are Locke to Limborch, 29 Oct. 1697, 21 Feb. 1698 (sent again on 2 Apr.
1698) and 21 May 1698, Correspondence, 6: 243–4, 321–5, 363, 405–6.
14 On these letters see Montuori, John Locke on Toleration, 185–90, 199–219. Contrary to explicit
statements by both Montuori (189, 208) and De Beer (Correspondence, 6: 783), only the draft of
the letter of 21 Feb. 1698 (Bodl., MS Locke c. 24, fos. 158–60) is in Coste’s hand. The draft of
the letter of 21 May 1698 (fo. 164) is in the hand of Locke’s manservant, Timothy Kiplin. I cannot
identify the handwriting of the draft of the letter of 29 October 1697 (fos. 156–7), but it is certainly
not that of either Kiplin or Coste. A photograph of a document in Kiplin’s hand (Bodl., MS Locke
c. 28, fo. 119, wrongly ascribed to his predecessor, Sylvester Brounower) is the left-hand item in
the frontispiece to P. Long, A Summary Catalogue of the Lovelace Collection of the Papers of John
Locke in the Bodleian Library (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1959). On 22 Feb. 1697 Locke
had told William Molyneux that Kiplin could not copy writings in French, Correspondence, 6: 9;
presumably he subsequently learned to do this.
15 De la Motte (c.1667–1751) worked as a proof-corrector in the Amsterdam book trade; for the
little known about his life see Pitassi’s introduction to the Vie de Coste, 225–8. Coste left him $150
in his will, National Archives, Kew, [henceforward, NA], PROB 11/752, fo. 274. The identification
by De Beer (Correspondence, 6: 223n) of Coste’s correspondent as Lagier de la Motte is mistaken.
16 “. . . quoi que M. Locke eût dit d’abord à M. Coste qu’il auroit soin de lui et qu’il le pût très-
facilement par son grand credit et par ses richesses, il n’a pas fait la moindre chose pour lui,” Vie
de Coste, 239.
17 “Malheureusement M. Locke avec tout son esprit étoit un peu national et M. Coste point du
tout. Cela indisposoit le premier contre le second,” ibid. Coste seems to have been rather sensitive
on these matters: “M. Coste. . .told me one day that the [third] earl of Shaftesbury having read to
him one of his pieces, he blamed his lordship for not having owned the obligations he had to the
French authors on certain accounts, nor rendered them all the justice due to them on others. The
earl promised to repair this fault in a preface, which in fact he some time afterwards read to his
friend. The treatise soon after this appeared in print, but without any preface. M. Coste demanded
the reason, and the earl told him that he did not dare publish it, for fear of setting his whole nation
against him.” Jean-Bernard le Blanc, Letters on the English and French Nations (London, 1747),
2: 233.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 199

le P. Malebranche, l’Art de penser, les plus fameux Academiciens de Paris, et M. Coste les
défendoit sans façon, en gardant pourtant les règles de la politesse la plus exacte. . .18

Coste no doubt thought that he was being suitably respectful, but one may wonder
whether Locke did: he was not someone who welcomed disagreements of this kind.
Several of the notes Coste added to later editions of his translation of the Essay show
that he felt Locke had sometimes mis-understood what Descartes and his followers
had been saying, but that when he had tried to argue this with Locke himself he got
nowhere:
Lorsque je vins à traduire cet endroit [II. viii. 14] de l’Essai concernant l’Entendement hu-
main, je m’apperçus de la méprise de M. Locke, & je l’en avertis: mais il me fut impossible
de le faire convenir que le sentiment qu’il attribuoit aux Cartesiens, étoit directement opposé
à celui qu’ils ont soûtenu. . .19

On another occasion Coste reported that they had been talking about innate ideas,
and that he had asked Locke how it was that certain small birds—the goldfinch,
for example—knew how to build complicated nests even though they had never
been taught to do so by their parents.20 If he had hoped for a considered response,
he would have been disappointed: “M. Locke me répondit brusquement, Je n’ai pas
écrit mon Livre pour expliquer les actions des Bêtes.”21 Stories such as these provide
a revealing glimpse of Locke’s reaction to criticism, and one cannot help wondering
how often Coste was the recipient of this kind of put-down and what he felt.
By the autumn of 1704 Locke’s health was failing, and he knew that he did not
have long to live. On 26 October, two days before he died, he asked Coste to come
to his room. What followed is described by De la Motte:
M. Locke lui fit beaucoup d’amitiés, et il lui dit qu’il voudroit lui demander une grace, qu’il
esperoit qu’il voudroit bien la lui accorder. Vous jugez bien que M. Coste lui répondit qu’il
étoit très-disposé à faire toujours ce qui dépendroit de lui pour l’obliger. Alors M. Locke,
après l’avoir remerciê de sa bonne Volonté pour lui, le pria de vouloir traduire en François

18 Vie de Coste, 242.


19Essai philosophique concernant l’entendement humain (Amsterdam, 1742), 131, note on II. xiii.
25; this first appears in the 1735 edition.
20 “Il me souvient à ce propos, qu’en conversant un jour avec M. Locke, le discours venant à
tomber sur les Idées innées, je lui fis cette Objection: Que penser de certains petits Oiseaux, du
Chardonneret, par exemple, qui éclos dans un Nid que le Pere ou la Mere lui ont fait, s’envole
enfin dans les Champs pour y chercher sa nourriture sans que le Pere, ou la Mere, prenne aucun
soin de lui, & qui l’année suivante fait fort bien trouver & démêler tous les materiaux dont il a
besoin pour se bâtir un Nid, qui par son industrie se trouve fait & agencé avec autant ou plus d’art
de celui où il est éclos lui-même? D’où lui sont venues les idées de ces différens materiaux, & de
l’art d’en construire ce Nid?,” ibid., 111, note on II. xi. 5; this first appears in the 1742 edition.
21 Italics in original. Coste’s increasing openness about his disagreements with Locke is described
in Jørn Schøsler, “Les éditions de la traduction française par Pierre Coste de l’Essay Concerning
Human Understanding de Locke,” Actes du VIII e congrès des romanistes scandinaves (Odense:
Odense University Press, c.1983), 315–24.
200 John Milton

un Livre qu’on lui remettroit après sa mort et qu’après cela il en presenteroit un Exemplaire
à une personne qui lui seroit nommée dans le pacquet qu’on lui remettroit.22

The most natural interpretation of this is that Coste was not told what the book he
was to translate would be.
When Locke died everyone in the household was given a legacy of some kind
apart from Coste, who received only the package mentioned by Locke:
Le pacquet contenoit le Livre qui étoit celui du Gouvernement civil, avec diverses Additions
et Corrections que M. Coste fournit dans la suite à Churchill pour le reimprimer. Il y avoit
aussi dans le pacquet une Lettre où M. Locke repetoit les mêmes choses qu’il lui avoit dites
dans sa derniére conversation, et lui nomma la personne à qui il devoit présenter un Exem-
plaire de sa Traduction; cette personne étoit M. King qui fut l’heritier de M. Locke. . .23

The letter Locke wrote to accompany the package has not survived, but reports of its
contents—presumably derived from Coste himself—soon began to circulate. It was
mentioned (though unfortunately not quoted) in a letter written many years later
by De la Motte, who commented that if it were published even the most morally
easygoing observers would consider it “the act of a . . . ” (De la Motte left it to his
reader to supply a suitable word).24
If Coste felt that he had been shabbily treated, he was not alone in this—indeed
Locke’s actions soon became the subject of scandalised gossip in the Republic of
Letters. Within two months of Locke’s death Pierre Des Maizeaux received a letter
from Amsterdam telling him of adverse reactions there:
Vous avez raison de trouver étrange que Mr. Locke n’ait rien laissé par son Testament à M.
Coste. Il y a peu de gens qui ait autant d’estime pour ce Grand homme que moi. Mais je ne
saurois m’empêcher de regarder sa conduite à cet égard comme une tâche à sa Memoire. Il
y a dans cette ville beaucoup d’honnêtes gens qui connoissoient et estimoient extremement
Mr. Locke, mais tous ont été scandalisez de son ingratitude. Je suis presque assuré que si
il pouvoit entendre tout ce qu’on a dit là dessus, il se repentiroit bien d’avoir négligé Mr.
Coste.25

Des Maizeaux’s own indignation can be seen in a letter that he sent to the Third Earl
of Shaftesbury a month later:

22 Vie de Coste, 243.


23 Ibid., 243. Coste was one of the witnesses to Locke’s will, signed on 11 April 1704, Corre-
spondence, 8: 424, though whether he had been informed of all its provisions is not known; his
name is also missing from an earlier list of legacies drawn up by Locke on 27 March, Bodl., MS
Locke c. 25, fo. 71. He had, however, been given some expensive books while Locke was still
alive, including three volumes of writings by Socinus and a large volume containing the works of
Hippocrates: see John Harrison and Peter Laslett, The Library of John Locke (Oxford, 1971), 235;
Locke to Peter King, 5 July 1704, Correspondence, 8: 341.
24 “Je parle de la Lettre que M.L. lui écrivit deux jours avant sa mort pour lui être rendue après
sa mort. Il n’avoit qu’à publier cette Lettre, et les gens les moins amis de la vertu, conviendroient
c’est le trait d’un . . .,” De la Motte to Pierre Des Maizeaux, 7 Dec. 1723 (NS), British Library
[henceforward, BL], Add. MS 4286, fo. 253, ellipsis in original; see Goldgar, Impolite Learning,
121–3.
25 De la Motte to Des Maizeaux, 6 Jan. 1705 (NS), BL, Add. MS 4286, fo. 11.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 201

Voila Mr. Locke, qui avoit de si belles Qualités, et qui étoit si riche: ne s’est il pas, en
quelque Maniere, deshonoré à sa Mort, par la maniere bizare dont il a disposé de son Bien.
Il en a comblé des gens à qui il ne le devoit pas, et n’a pas donné un soû à des personnes qui
l’avoient servi utilement pendant plusieurs Années.26

It would seem that Des Maizeaux tried to get these views into print. In March 1705
he received a letter from Jacques Bernard, the editor of Nouvelles de la république
des lettres—the journal that in the previous month had printed Coste’s memoir—
explaining why the remarks he had sent him were not going to be published:
Je n’ai pas fait usage de vos remarques sur Mr. Locke, car elles auroient été arrêtées en
chemin, Mr. de la Motte, qui corrige mon Ouvrage ne les auroit pas laissé passer. D’ailleurs
la liaison que j’ai eu avec ce savant, et diverses autres raisons ne me permettoient pas de
ternir sa mémoire, surtout après tout le bien, que Mr. Coste en avoit dit.27

It was clearly the wrong time to be candid about Locke’s less estimable qualities.
For the moment—in public at least—de mortuis nil nisi bonum.

II
In the mid-1940s an annotated copy of the third (1698) edition of Locke’s Two Trea-
tises of Government was discovered in the library of Christ’s College, Cambridge.28
A few of the many additions and corrections it contains are in Locke’s hand, but the
great majority appear to have been made by Coste.29

26 Des Maizeaux to Shaftesbury, 10 Feb. 1705, NA, PRO 30/24/27/17, printed in Anthony Ashley
Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury (1671–1713) and “Le Refuge Français”-Correspondence, ed. Rex
A. Barrell (Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press, 1989), cited below as “Barrell,” 226–7. Coste was
not the only person in Locke’s circle who received nothing: a still more scandalous omission was
James Tyrrell.
27 Bernard to Des Maizeaux, 6 Mar. 1705 (NS), BL, Add. MS 4281, fo. 144.
28 Shelf-mark BB. 3.7a. The Christ’s copy and the circumstances of its rediscovery were described
by Peter Laslett in the Introduction to his edition of the Two Treatises (Cambridge, 1967), ix, 9–11,
147–9. I am grateful to the Master and Fellows of Christ’s College Cambridge for permission to
cite material from this book.
29 The corrections in §§ 1–4 of the First Treatise are in Locke’s hand, but probably only a few
very small changes thereafter. The handwriting of the other additions differs in several respects
from Coste’s usual hand, and when I first investigated the Christ’s copy I was inclined to doubt
whether he had written any of them apart from the comment in French on the end fly-leaf which
is unmistakably in his hand. I am now more confident that they were made by Coste, and that the
differences from his usual hand were caused partly by the limited space available in the narrow
margins of the volume, partly by the use of English, and perhaps also by a tendency to imitate
some of symbols used by Locke in the earlier copy from which this one was derived, especially
his use of an ampersand resembling a Greek rho; it is perhaps significant that on the relatively few
occasions when Coste did write in English, he used this kind of ampersand quite frequently: see
in particular the copies he made in the third Earl of Shaftesbury’s letter-book of letters written in
April and May 1711, NA, PRO 30/24/22/7, pp. 43, 45, 57; also Coste to Shaftesbury, 23 Aug. 1706,
Hampshire Record Office, Winchester [henceforward, HRO], Malmesbury papers, 9M73/G255/7.
Nevertheless the issue should not be regarded as entirely settled. It should be noted that Laslett’s
202 John Milton

It is very likely that the copy now at Christ’s was not the only amended copy
of the Two Treatises to have been produced: Peter Laslett also surmised that an-
other master-copy—perhaps of the second edition of 1694—had been made, and
that it was this that was used in the preparation of the first posthumous edition
of the Two Treatises, published in 1713.30 Several of Coste’s marginal additions
have features which make it virtually certain that they had been transcribed from
similar marginalia in another copy of the Two Treatises,31 and on the end fly-leaf
he recorded a variant reading to Second Treatise § 172 with the comment “C’est
ainsi que Mr. L. a corrigé cet endroit dans l’Exemplaire sur lequel il souhaite que
son Livre soit rimprimé après sa mort.”32 This was obviously written after Locke’s
death, and even in the absence of any other evidence would show beyond doubt that
another copy of the Two Treatises with annotations in Locke’s own hand was seen
by Coste after Locke died. This would have been the copy used by John Churchill
when he prepared the 1713 edition; the copy now at Christ’s seems to have remained
in Coste’s possession.
Independent testimony that Coste had been given an annotated copy of the Two
Treatises comes from a letter De la Motte wrote to Des Maizeaux in November
1709. Jean Barbeyrac in Berlin had asked De la Motte to procure a copy of the
most recent English edition of the Two Treatises, and had accordingly been sent a
copy of the 1698 edition by a bookseller in London to whom the request had been
passed on. Barbeyrac replied that he had been hoping to receive a copy of the edition
which had appeared after Locke’s death “où l’on a inseré les corrections qu’il [sic]
étoient dans l’Exemplaire laissé à Mr. Coste.”33 Of course no such edition existed,
but clearly Barbeyrac must somehow have heard reports that a corrected copy of the
Two Treatises had been left to Coste.
One more piece of evidence should be mentioned. A copy of the Two Treatises
was sent to Oates only a few weeks before Locke died: on 4 October Locke’s pub-
lisher Awnsham Churchill wrote to him to say that he was sending “the Two treatises
of Government and a pacquet, which I begg you to deliver mr Coste.”34 It is unclear
from this whether both the book and the packet were to be delivered to Coste or just

identification of the hand as Coste’s did not come from a comparison of the annotations with
other manuscripts in Coste’s hand, but rather from the statement in the 1764 edition of the Two
Treatises that use had been made of “a Copy delivered by him [Locke] to Mr. Peter Coste, com-
municated to the Editor [Thomas Hollis], and now lodged in Christ’s College, Cambridge.” See
Yolton, Bibliography, 44.
30 Two Treatises, 10, 148–50, 453, 468, 471, 475.
31 In particular, First Treatise, § 154, on which see Laslett’s textual note (467–8).
32 Laslett’s transcription (491) is inaccurate here: he has “par” and “imprimé” for “sur” and “rim-
primé.”
33 De la Motte to Des Maizeaux, 5 Nov. 1709 (NS), BL, Add. MS 4286, fo. 91. The letter is quoted
at greater length and discussed in S.-J. Savonius, “Locke in French: the Du Gouvernement civil of
1691 and its readers,” Historical Journal 47 (2004): 47–79, at 57n.
34 Correspondence, 8: 404.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 203

the packet alone, but if it was both then it would seem very likely that the copy of
the Two Treatises was the one given to Coste after Locke’s death.
All this raises two questions that are by no means easy to answer: (i) What was
in the packet that Coste was given after Locke’s death—was it the Christ’s copy, the
other master-copy, or even both? (ii) Was the main set of alterations in Coste’s hand
in the Christ’s copy made before or after Locke’s death?
Laslett clearly believed Coste’s alterations in the Christ’s copy were made before
Locke died—indeed that the Christ’s copy is a “printer’s copy prepared for the press
between 1698 and 1704 by Locke himself and by Coste.’35 The wording of De
la Motte’s account, that the copy given to Coste contained “diverses Additions et
Corrections que M. Coste fournit dans la suite à Churchill pour le reimprimer,”
suggests that he was given the other master-copy. If Coste had already written the
marginal annotations in the Christ’s copy while Locke was still alive then it is very
unlikely that this would have been the copy given to him after Locke’s death. Locke
was intensely secretive but he was not a grand mystificateur. Why should he have
extracted from Coste a promise to translate an un-named work, and then arranged
for him to be given a package that, when opened, revealed a volume full of his own
handwriting?
If Coste had been asked to make corrections in a copy of the Two Treatises he
would by that very request have been let into the secret that Locke was its author. It
is not impossible that Locke would have been prepared to divulge this, but though
Coste must have been told about the authorship of some of Locke’s other anonymous
works—he had, after all, translated the two Vindications of the Reasonableness of
Christianity since coming to Oates—Locke was extraordinarily secretive about the
Two Treatises. Coste may have lived in the same house as Locke, but he was never
among his closest and most trusted friends. The story told by De la Motte suggests
that secrecy was maintained right until the end: Coste was not asked by Locke to
translate the Two Treatises—he was asked if he would translate an unspecified book,
and then told that he would be given a packet containing it after Locke died.
Since the letter that accompanied the packet given to Coste has not survived, we
do not know what exactly Locke wished Coste to do. According to Laslett:
Locke must have left directions behind him for the publication of this text for posterity.
. . . Presumably these directions were left with Churchill, the publisher, though it is a little
difficult to understand why nine years were allowed to elapse before the book appeared,
for the posthumous Essay took only two. It may be that Locke’s heir and literary executor
[Peter King] was given the responsibility, or even Pierre Coste.36

It is very unlikely that Coste had any part in the preparation of the 1713 edition, or
that either of the Churchill brothers would have felt in any need of his assistance; in

35 Laslett, Two Treatises, 146.


36 Ibid., 10.
204 John Milton

any case he was not even in England at the time when the edition was presumably
being prepared.37
All the evidence mentioned so far indicates that Locke asked Coste to translate
the Two Treatises a few days before he died. Another part of De la Motte’s account,
however, seems to indicate that the request had been made some months earlier:
Vers la fin lors que M. Locke vouloit quelque chose de M. Coste il le faisoit demander par
Mad. Masham, c’est ainsi que quelques mois avant sa mort il lui fit proposer de traduire
l’Essai du Gouvernement Civil dont on avoit fait une nouvelle edition Angloise fort aug-
mentée. M. Coste le promit pourvû qu’il trouvât un Libraire qui voulût imprimer sa Tra-
duction en Hollande. Il promit de m’écrire pour chercher ce Libraire, mais il me manda en
même tems qu’il voudroit bien qu’il ne trouvât point de Libraire qui voulut l’entreprendre.38

Coste—it appears—did not want the job but preferred not to offend Locke. De la
Motte accordingly wrote to Henri Schelte, who still had two hundred unsold copies
of David Mazel’s 1691 translation on his hands and was therefore not at all enthusi-
astic about publishing a replacement. He agreed to do so on condition that someone
would buy the remaining copies of the earlier edition, and that he would not have
to pay for the new translation. This was reported back to Coste and hence to Locke,
who declined to proceed further: it would not have been fair for Coste to do all this
work without being paid, and it is clear that Locke was not going to provide any
money himself.39
It is difficult to know what to make of this. The statement that a new and greatly
expanded English edition had been produced is certainly incorrect, but the account
of the negotiations with Schelte sounds quite plausible. If De la Motte’s story is
reliable, then Locke must have asked Coste to translate the Two Treatises some
months before he died (and thereby revealed to him the secret of its authorship, if
he had not done so already), but had then let the project lapse. If this was indeed the
case, why should he subsequently have arranged for Coste to be given a copy of the
Two Treatises after his death with instructions for it to be translated? Each of De la
Motte’s stories is individually quite plausible, but it is difficult to see how they can
both be true.
One possible solution was suggested by an anonymous referee to whom an earlier
version of this paper was sent: “Locke’s first attempt to secure the translation failed.
If he was determined to have the work (re)translated by a translator who had shown
reluctance to proceed, why not secure his commitment to a dying man without indi-
cating the exact nature of the request?” This is an ingenious proposal, and one that

37 Coste left England with his pupil Sir John Hobart in February or March 1712 and did not return
until 1714: Coste to Shaftesbury, 1 May 1712 (NS), NA, PRO 30/24/45/80, fo. 574, Barrell, 147;
Vie de Coste, 248–53. He was not involved in the edition of Locke’s Posthumous Works: in the
summer of 1706 he had heard that the Churchills were preparing this but did not know whether it
would include the Shaftesbury memoir: Coste to Shaftesbury, 16 May 1706, NA, PRO 30/24/47/26,
Barrell, 107 (mis-dated 10 May); 15 June 1706, HRO, 9M73/G255/4.
38 Vie de Coste, 242.
39 “. . .il étoit trop équitable pour engager M. Coste à un si grande travail sans aucune recompense,”
ibid., 243.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 205

cannot be dismissed, but it has the serious demerit of imputing to Locke a devious
and manipulative mode of behaviour that seems wholly out of character.
Another solution was proposed by a second referee:
Lady Masham asked Coste to translate the Two Treatises as a request from herself. This
would not have involved divulging their authorship. After Locke’s death and the disclosure
that he was the author, Coste would have had little doubt that Lady Masham’s request came
from Locke—indeed she may even have said so herself. Locke might well have felt that
Coste’s reluctance to translate the Two Treatises when he did not know who had written
them should not be taken to imply a reluctance to translate them once he knew who their
author was.

This is also very ingenious, but again I am unconvinced. One problem is that it
presumes not merely that Coste had not been told by Locke who had written the Two
Treatises—which is very likely—but that he really did not know. Considering how
frequently Locke’s authorship had already been suggested—or indeed positively
asserted—by various contemporaries this is hard to believe.40
Unless further evidence is forthcoming it is difficult to see how all these prob-
lems can be resolved. My own inclination is to believe that Locke did not entrust
Coste with the secret of his authorship of the Two Treatises while he was still alive,
and therefore that Coste’s marginal additions in the Christ’s copy were made after
Locke’s death, in order that he would himself have a copy incorporating Locke’s
final revisions if he were to produce a new translation. As will become apparent
later, there is evidence that Coste did indeed begin to do this.

III

Coste did not remain at Oates for long after Locke’s death, though he did have
enough time to write a memoir of Locke that was published in French in 1705,
and in English translation in 1720.41 Many years later he gave an account of the
circumstances of its composition to Shaftesbury’s nephew, James Harris:
J’ai vecu avec lui [Locke] dans la meme Maison pendant les sept dernieres années de sa
vie. Je l’ai vû mourir; et peu de jours après sa mort, tout plein de mon sujet, je jettai sur

40 See Laslett, Two Treatises, 4–5.


41 “Lettre de Mr. Coste à l’Auteur de ces Nouvelles, à l’occasion de la mort de Monsieur Locke,”
Nouvelles de la république des lettres Feb. 1705: 154–77; A Collection of Several Pieces of Mr.
John Locke, Never before printed, or not extant in his Works (London, 1720), i–xxiv. It would
appear that Coste had been planning to move to London even before Locke died: on 31 Oct. 1704
(NS) De la Motte told Des Maizeaux that “Mr. Coste doit aller demeurer à Londres, et peutêtre
y est-il déja,” BL, Add. MS 4286, fo. 10. That Coste had been thinking about leaving Oates was
known to Locke: see Peter King to Locke, 16 Aug. 1704, Correspondence, 8:379.
206 John Milton

le Papier l’Eloge de Mr. Locke. . .. Je lus cet Eloge de Mr. Locke en manuscrit à Madame
Masham. . .. Elle écouta la lecture de mon Ecrit, et n’y trouva rien à redire.42

The portrait that Coste painted would certainly not have offended Lady Masham, or
any of Locke’s other friends who might have heard it—on the contrary, the praise
might even have been regarded by a detached observer as a trifle excessive:
He was born for the good of mankind. Most of his actions were directed to that end; and
I doubt, whether, in his time, any man in Europe applied himself more earnestly to that
noble design, or executed it with more success . . . Prudent without being Cunning; he won
people’s esteem by his Probity, and was always safe from the attacks of a false Friend, or a
sordid Flatterer. Averse from all mean complaisance; his Wisdom, his Experience, his gentle
and obliging Manners, gained him the respect of his inferiors, the esteem of his equals, the
friendship and confidence of the greatest quality.43

The memoir occupies little more than 4,000 words, and there is no reason to doubt
the reliability of Coste’s memory when he told Harris that he had written it within
a few days of Locke’s death—in a much earlier letter to Arent Furly he described
it as having been written “peu de temps après la mort de Mr Locke.”44 The papers
recording the payment of Locke’s legacies show that Coste was still at Oates on 3
November, when he finished helping with the division of Locke’s library, but none
of the subsequent bequests was witnessed by him apart from one on 20 December,
when Francis Cudworth Masham received a “snuffer” and snuff-dish.45 According
to De la Motte he stayed long enough to translate Lady Masham’s Discourse con-
cerning the Love of God into French; since this is a work of rather more than 20,000
words, the task must have taken several weeks at least.46 He had, however, certainly

42 Coste to Harris, 27 Dec. 1738, HRO, 9M73/G232. I am grateful to Sarah Lewin at the Hampshire
Record Office for obtaining permission from the Malmesbury family to quote material taken from
the Malmesbury papers.
43 A Collection of Several Pieces of Mr. John Locke (London, 1720), v, vi. “On peut dire qu’il étoit
né pour le bien des hommes. C’est à quoi ont tendu la plûpart de ses Actions; & je ne sai si durant
sa vie il s’est trouvé en Europe d’homme qui se soit appliqué plus sincerement à ce noble dessein,
& qui l’ait executé si heureusement.. . . Prudent sans être fin, il gagnoit l’estime des Hommes par
sa probité, &étoit toûjours à couvert des attaques d’un faux Ami, ou d’un lâche Flatteur. Eloigné de
toute basse complaisance; son habileté, son experience, ses maniéres douces & civiles le faisoient
respecter de ses Inferieurs, lui attiroient l’estime de ses Egaux, l’amitié & la confiance des plus
grands Seigneurs.” Nouvelles de la république des lettres, Feb. 1705: 154, 156.
44 Coste to Furly, 23 Jan. 1705, NA, PRO 30/24/27/18. The letter also indicates that Coste did not
remain at Oates for very long: “la mort de Mr Locke et le desordre ou m’a jetté la necessité ou je
me trouvai peu de jours apres de quitter Oates, et de vivre à Londres.” The original letter is lost,
and the surviving manuscript is a copy sent to Shaftesbury: see A. Furly to Shaftesbury, 24 Feb.
1705 (NS), NA, PRO 30/24/45/80, fo. 192. The full text of Coste’s letter together with a conclusive
identification of both writer and addressee are given in S.F. Whitaker, “Pierre Coste et Shaftesbury
(avec une lettre inédite),” Revue de littérature comparée 25 (1951): 241–53.
45Bodl., MS Locke c. 35, fos. 9, 66. These had belonged to his maternal grandmother, Ralph
Cudworth’s wife, and were mentioned in Locke’s will, Correspondence, 8: 420.
46 “Apres la mort de M. Locke et étant encore chez Mylord Masham il [Coste] traduisit un petit
Livre intitulé Discours sur l’Amour divin, composé par Madame Masham,” Vie de Coste, 241. The
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 207

left by early December, since in the final version of the memoir, dated “A Londres
ce 10 de Decembre 1704,” he stated that he been in London for some time.47 The
most likely explanation for his presence at Oates later in December is that he was
paying a short visit, perhaps to discuss his translation of the Discourse with Lady
Masham.
Coste met up with some old friends like Pierre Des Maizeaux, but did not much
enjoy living in London, which he described to Furly as “une solitude affreuse.”48 He
was, however, to remain there for several more months, staying for at least part of
the time with Robert Pawling at Lincoln’s Inn Fields, Locke’s old London address.49
At some time during this period he seems to have entered into contact with the Third
Earl of Shaftesbury,50 and on 20 March he wrote to him to explain why he had been
delayed in setting out for Dorset:
Je vous ai déja dit, Milord, ce qui m’a empêché de partir pour St. Giles dès que j’eûs reçu
la Lettre de Mr. King. Car dès lors ne doutant plus que vous ne dussiez bientôt recevoir
l’Original du Manuscrit en question, je serois parti sur le champ, si Madame Masham ne
fut arrivée à Londres pour y chercher du remede contre une incommodité qui la tourmente
depuis plus d’un Mois. Elle est venuë sans Madamoiselle Masham avec quelques Domes-
tiques qui n’avoient jamais été à Londres, et elle va être privée demain de la compagnie
de Sir Francis Masham qui la laissera dans une Maison de gens qu’elle ne connoit point.
Comme elle peut avoir besoin de mon secours dans ces circonstances, et que je suis persuadé
que Mr. LeClerc ne peut recevoir assez tôt ce que vous voulez lui envoyer, pour l’inserer
dans le sixiéme Volume de son Journal, je me trouve encore dans la nécessité de me priver
de l’honneur de vous voir.51

The manuscript mentioned here is almost certainly the autograph of Locke’s Mem-
oirs relating to the Life of Anthony, First Earl of Shaftesbury, which Peter King had
extracted from among Locke’s papers after his death.52 King told Shaftesbury that
though he had inherited Locke’s papers, in his view this one properly belonged to
Shaftesbury himself, and that he would therefore dispose of it “as your Lordship

translation was published in Amsterdam in 1705; the dedicatory epistle is dated 9 Jan. 1705, so it
is likely that Coste finished the task after he went to London.
47 “Quoi que je sois quelque tems à Londres,” Nouvelles de la république des lettres (Feb. 1705),
176.
48Coste to Arent Furly, 23 Jan. 1705, NA, PRO 30/24/27/18. The letter of 6 Jan. 1705 (NS) from
De la Motte to Des Maizeaux was written in response to a letter from Des Maizeaux enclosed in
one from Coste to De la Motte, BL, Add. MS 4286, fo. 11.
49De la Motte’s letter to Des Maizeaux of 31 Mar. 1705 (NS) was forwarded to Coste at this
address, BL, Add. MS 4286, fo. 14. Coste had stayed there with Francis Cudworth Masham in
1698 and 1702, Bodl., MS Locke c. 1, p. 335, MS Locke c. 2, p. 65.
50 Coste had been writing to Shaftesbury before Locke died, though no letters are known to have
survived: see Benjamin Furly to Locke, 8/19 Feb. 1704 , Correspondence, 8: 192.
51 HRO, 9M73/G255/2. The material included in the sixth volume of Le Clerc’s Bibliothèque
choisie was his own “Eloge de feu Mr. Locke,” 342–411; this incorporated the account sent to him
by Shaftesbury on 8 Feb. 1705: Jean Le Clerc, Epistolario, ed. Maria Grazia Sina and Mario Sina
(Florence: Olschki, 1987–97), 2: 520–4.
52 NA, PRO 30/24/42/62, fos. 9–15. See Locke to King, 4 Oct. 1704, Correspondence, 8: 415.
208 John Milton

shall direct.”53 Shaftesbury was eager to see the manuscript, but did not wish to
risk its loss: “I must confess I have naturally a great impatience to see the sheets
but being not willing to venture the Originall by any Carriage I shou’d be extreemly
glad of having a Coppy by the Post, as soon as you can gett them writt out for Me.”54
King replied that he had ordered the papers to be transcribed and hoped to send them
“in a post or Two,” but if any copy was made, it seems not to have been sent.55 In
the end it was the original manuscript that was delivered to Shaftesbury: King took
it to Salisbury when he went there for the assizes in March, and his servant brought
it to Wimborne St Giles.56
Coste himself probably travelled down to Dorset in April,57 and no sooner had he
arrived than Shaftesbury asked him to translate Locke’s memoirs of his grandfather
into French:
Je n’y fus pas plûtôt arrivé que MyLord Shaftsbury me donna à lire des Memoires assez
incomplets que Mr. Locke avoit composez, à sa sollicitation, concernant le prémier Comte
de Shaftsbury. Il me chargea de les traduire en François. Ma Traduction ne lui ayant pas
deplu, il l’envoya d’abord à Mr. LeClerc pour qu’il l’inserât dans un Journal qu’il faisoit
imprimer de mois en mois à Amsterdam.58

Le Clerc published the memoirs as requested,59 though in a form that caused some
annoyance to both Coste and Shaftesbury—at least if Coste’s account is to be
trusted:
MyLord reçut bientôt cette Traduction telle qu’il avoit plû à Mr. LeClerc de la publier: car
par une imprudence qui me paroı̂t inexcusable, il fit plusieurs changemens dans ma Copie

53 King to Shaftesbury, 9 Dec. 1704, NA, PRO/30/24/47/24, printed in The Works of John Locke,
9 vols. (London, 1824), 9: 322.
54Shaftesbury to King, [c.13] Jan. 1705, NA, PRO 30/24/22/2, fo. 35; draft in PRO 30/24/22/5, fo.
370; another copy in PRO 30/24/22/5, fo. 372; printed in The Life, Unpublished Letters, and Philo-
sophical Regimen of Anthony, Earl of Shaftesbury, Author of the “Characteristics,” ed. Benjamin
Rand (London: Sonnenschein, 1900), 325–6.
55 King to Shaftesbury, 18 Jan. 1704[/5], NA, PRO 30/24/20/88. The copy of the Memoirs in
Bodl., MS Locke b. 4, fos. 109–14, was made by William Shaw, Locke’s last manservant, perhaps
after Locke died, as the last eight w ords are in the hand of Peter King. The text printed in the
Posthumous Works of Mr. John Locke (London, 1706), 281–304, was not derived from this but
directly or indirectly from Locke’s autograph.
56King to Shaftesbury, 14 Mar. 1704[/5], NA, PRO 30/24/20/86. The servant who brought it was
not named, but as he was described as having formerly worked for Locke it was probably William
Shaw.
57 A letter of 12 May 1705 from King to Shaftesbury, HRO, 9M73/G258/2, indicates that Coste
had been at St Giles for some time; see also Shaftesbury to Arent Furly, 9 May 1705, NA, PRO
30/24/20/99, printed in Original Letters of Locke; Algernon Sidney; and Anthony Lord Shaftesbury,
ed. Thomas Forster (London, 1830), 210–3.
58 Coste to James Harris, 27 Dec. 1738, HRO, 9M73/G232.
59“Mémoires pour servir à la Vie d’Antoine Ashley, Comte de Shaftesbury, & Grand Chancellier
d’Angleterre, sous Charles II,” Bibliothèque choisie 7 (1705): 146–91.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 209

sans la comparer avec l’Original qu’on ne lui avoit point envoyé, et qu’il n’a jamais vû.
MyLord Shaftsbury desapprouva cette liberté aussi bien que moi.60

It is not clear to a modern reader that Le Clerc did anything very reprehensible:
he seems to have made some small deletions and rewritten a few passages, as well
as adding a short preface and some notes to explain aspects of English history that
would have been unfamiliar to most foreign readers. Authors, however, generally
dislike their work being altered by editors without their permission, and Coste was—
in retrospect at least—ready to be irritated by what Le Clerc had done. Perhaps what
annoyed him most was that Le Clerc gave him no credit at all for the translation,
but left readers to assume that it was all his own work—as indeed they generally
have done.
Coste spent the summer at St Giles, enjoying the hospitality and companionship
of his host.61 He reported this to Bayle, possibly in slightly over-excited terms since
Bayle’s reply conveys a faint note of irritation: “La narration que vous me faites
concernant les agrémens de sa conversation, ses manieres si honnêtes, si vives, si
assaisonnées d’érudition, est très-belle.”62 It was a kind of polished, erudite conver-
sation that Coste was going to miss greatly during the next few years.63
In the autumn of 1705 Coste moved to Chipley in Somerset to act as a tutor
to Edward and Mary Clarke’s children.64 For a short while he seems to have been
contented,65 but he soon began to feel lonely and unappreciated and his relations
with Clarke became increasingly poor. Mrs Clarke had died a few months after his

60 Coste to Harris, 27 Dec. 1738, HRO, 9M73/G232. Coste’s work as the translator and his irri-
tation at Le Clerc’s alterations are also mentioned in a letter he wrote to Shaftesbury on 7 June
1712 (NS): “c’est moi qui ai traduit ces Memoires sur l’original qu’il n’avoit point vû quand il [Le
Clerc] fit des changement [sic] dans mon Manuscrit,” NA, PRO 30/24/21/184. In this copy (the
original is lost) the letter is dated “Mardy le 7me Juin 1712,” the digit being badly faded. In a later
endorsement the letter is dated 1715, which is clearly impossible as Shaftesbury had been dead for
nearly two years; subsequently this was altered to 1710, the date given in the National Archives
catalogue. The only year between 1710 and 1712 where 7 June was a Tuesday in either the Julian
or Gregorian calendar was 1712. The letter is printed with the correct date in Barrell, 153–4.
61 According to Coste’s letter to James Harris, HRO, 9M73/G232, he was at St Giles “près de six
mois,” which would suggest a departure in September or October, but Shaftesbury left St Giles for
Chelsea in August and did not return until November, and Coste presumably went with him: see
Voitle, Shaftesbury, 225, 237, 242.
62Bayle to Coste, 3 July 1705 (NS), Lettres de Mr. Bayle, Publiées sur les Originaux: avec des
Remarques: par Mr. Des Maizeaux (Amsterdam, 1729), Vol. III, p. 1023.
63 “. . .j’aurois grand besoin de jouı̈r de ces douces conversations de St. Gilles, où vous m’invitez
avec tant de bonté,” Coste to Shaftesbury, 13 Nov. 1706, HRO, 9M73/G255/9.
64 He must have been there by late November, if not earlier, since Shaftesbury described him
in a letter sent to Arent Fury on 5 December as “well settled in Mr Clarks family,” NA, PRO
30/24/20/108. In a letter of 5 September 1708, HRO, 9M73/G255/19, Coste told Shaftesbury that
he had “encore 25 mois” remaining to spend at Chipley. If, as seems likely, his contract was for
five years, this suggests he joined the household in October 1705; see also Coste to Shaftesbury,
23 July 1707, 10 Sept. 1707, HRO, 9M73/G255/13, 15.
65 “Je me porte mieux ici qu’à Londres,” Coste to Shaftesbury, 23 Dec. 1705, HRO, 9M73/G255/1.
210 John Milton

arrival, and her husband, whose own health had been poor for some years, sank into
a state of clinical depression from which he never recovered.66 Coste was hardly
much happier, and his increasing dislike of his employer was vividly expressed in a
series of letters from what he described to Shaftesbury as “le triste sejour de Chip-
ley.”67 In May 1706 he complained of Clarke’s bad temper and inactivity: “L’humeur
de Mr. Clarke qui l’a plongé dans une malheureuse inaction, m’a donné jusqu’ici
beaucoup de chagrin.’68 Clarke’s silences were oppressive: “Rien n’est capable de
reveiller Mr. Clarke que les Nouvelles. S’il ouvre la bouche une fois le jour, ce n’est
que pour en parler.”69 Clarke was not only unhappy himself, but in his misery was
doing what he could to prevent the other members of the household from enjoying
themselves: “Mr. Clarke qui vit renfermé dans sa Chambre, prend plaisir à sevrer
toute sa famille des douceurs qu’il a pris en aversion.”70 As Coste remarked in a
grim attempt at humour, “Si j’étois naturellement melancolique, je serois ici comme
le Poisson dans l’eau.”71
Coste had no great opinion of the ability of Clarke’s children, but he felt strongly
that their education would suffer if they were confined to a house that Clarke’s
neighbours had ceased to visit, conversing solely “avec des valets et des paı̈sans.”72
Eventually he persuaded Clarke to go to London so that he could attend to his par-
liamentary business, but even this afforded little relief. Clarke almost never left the
house, and his only pleasure was finding fault with whatever Coste did.73 Finally
Coste could contain his rage no longer. Describing Clarke as possessing “la maniére
la plus désobligeante du monde,” he told Shaftesbury that nothing was more unbear-
able than having to live “dans la dependance d’un tel homme.”74

66 Mary Clarke died on 10 Jan. 1706: Correspondence, 2: 480 (her entry in the Oxford Dictionary
of National Biography wrongly gives a date of 10 Jan. 1705). Clarke’s eldest son had committed
suicide in 1705; this and his wife’s death left him, in Mark Knight’s words, a “broken man” who
“festered in a state of chronic depression”: Eveline Cruickshanks et al., The House of Commons,
1690–1715 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 3: 596.
67 Coste to Shaftesbury, 23 July 1707, HRO, 9M73/G255/13.
68 Coste to Shaftesbury, 28 May 1706, HRO, 9M73/G255/3. The letter makes it clear that a par-
ticular source of irritation at this time was Clarke’s failure to sign Coste’s contract of employment,
even though this had been drawn up and merely awaited his signature.
69 Coste to Shaftesbury, 23 Aug. 1706, HRO, 9M73/G255/7. Clarke’s inability to communicate in
French would not have made matters easier: see Clarke to Locke, 7 Mar. 1691, Correspondence,
4: 221.
70 Coste to Shaftesbury, 17 June 1707, HRO, 9M73/G255/12.
71 Coste to Shaftesbury, 23 July 1707, HRO, 9M73/G255/13.
72Coste to Shaftesbury, 23 July 1707, HRO, 9M73/G255/13; 16 March 1708, HRO,
9M73/G255/16. On the Clarkes’ children and their education, see Bridget Clarke, “Huguenot
Tutors and the Family of Edward and Mary Clarke of Chipley, 1687–1710,” Proceedings of the
Huguenot Society 27 (2001): 527–42.
73 “Accablé du poids de son oisiveté, il ne songe qu’à gronder. Si je viens un peu trop tard à son gré,
il s’en fâche par la seule raison qu’il n’a autre chose à faire dans ce temps-là.” Coste to Shaftesbury,
2 Feb. 1709, NA, PRO 30/24/45/80, fo. 534, Barrell, 125.
74 Coste to Shaftesbury, 7 May 1709, HRO, 9M73/G255/23.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 211

In January 1710 Coste was in London again, but Clarke’s behaviour towards him
had not improved. He told Shaftesbury that he could have given him yet more details
of Clarke’s dreadful manners, but that he had decided to spare him a recital of “des
choses si odieuses et si degoutantes.” He then continued:
Aujourd’hui j’en suis si frappé que je ne puis m’empêcher de vous dire un mot. Je ne vois
presque jamais ce Mr. qu’à table; et là il s’étudie à m’observer quand je demande du pain, et
à me rire au nez.. . . Tout le reste de sa conduite répond à ses maniéres. Je m’étois apperçu
de cela depuis quelque temps. Je ne savois à quoi en attribuer la cause. Mais enfin j’ai appris
c’est qu’il a conçu une haine horrible contre moi, parce que le temps approche qu’il doit me
payer une annuité de 20 piéces.75

The details of Coste’s financial affairs are difficult to reconstruct, but it would appear
that Clarke had agreed to settle on him an annuity of $20 provided that he completed
his term of service. Clarke was now reluctant to honour his obligations, and Shaftes-
bury and some of his (un-named) friends had to apply considerable pressure before
he agreed to do what he had promised.76 It is not at all surprising that when Clarke
made his will in June 1710, four months before he died, Coste was left nothing.77
Almost the only solace for Coste as he mouldered in the depths of the Somerset
countryside was his correspondence with Shaftesbury. Much of this is concerned
with literary matters, especially Latin poetry,78 but one person who they both knew
well was Locke. It is very striking that almost all Coste’s remarks about him are dis-
paraging. The first of these occurs in a letter of June 1707: “J’aurai bientôt achevé la
traduction du Livre de Mr. Locke. J’espere m’occuper bientot après à quelque chose
de plus instructif et de plus agréable. . .”79 What exactly he had been translating is
not altogether clear—the problem is discussed below—but he had evidently found
the task an irksome one.

75 Coste to Shaftesbury, 7 Jan. 1710, HRO, 9M73/G255/36.


76Though no names are mentioned this is clearly the annuity discussed in Shaftesbury’s letter to
Coste of 3 Oct. 1711 (NS), NA, PRO 30/24/23/8, p. 42, Barrell, 195; see also Somerset Archives
and Record Service, Taunton, Sanford papers, DD\SF/1846.
77Somerset Archives and Record Service, DD\SF/293, will dated 15 June 1710. In contrast with
both Clarke and Locke, Shaftesbury bequeathed Coste an annuity of $20: NA, PRO 30/24/21/224.
Annual payments of $20 to Coste appear in the accounts kept during the early 1720s by Benjamin
Wyche, the fourth Earl’s steward: NA, PRO 30/24/28/8 fo. 29; PRO 30/24/28/10, fos. 106, 109.
78 James Dybikowski, “Letters from Solitude: Pierre Coste’s Correspondence with the third Earl
of Shaftesbury,” in Pierre-Yves Beaurepaire, Jens Häseler and Antony McKenna, eds., Les réseaux
de correspondances à l’âge classique (Saint-Etienne: Publications de l’Université de St-Etienne,
2006), 109–33; I am grateful to Professor McKenna for alerting me to the existence of this valuable
study.
79Coste to Shaftesbury, 17 June 1707, HRO, 9M73/G255/12. The more agreeable and instructive
work was “un petit Ouvrage sur Horace,” eventually published as Œuvres d’Horace. Traduites en
François par le P. Tarteron. . .avec des remarques critiques sur la traduction par P. Coste. 2 vols.
(Amsterdam, 1710). On Coste’s and Shaftesbury’s profound interest in Horace, see Laurent Jaffro,
“‘De bon lieu’: Pierre Coste, James Harris, et la dissémination de l’interprétation Shaftesburienne
d’Horace,” La Lettre Clandestine 15 (2007): 47–60.
212 John Milton

The next unfavourable reference occurs in a letter of September 1708. Coste had
been reading the recently published Some Familiar Letters between Mr. Locke, and
Several of his Friends, and was not impressed:
J’ai employé depuis peu une journée à lire un volume de Lettres de Mr. Locke. Je doute
que vous ayiez la patience d’en faire autant. Mr. Locke s’est admirablement bien peint
lui-même dans ces Lettres, dont il fait lui seul le continuel sujet. On n’y parle que de lui, et
de ses Livres qui sont comblez d’éloges sans fin. Son ami qu’il n’avoit jamais vû [William
Molyneux], ne se fait connoı̂tre à lui que par cette admiration constante de tout ce qui part de
sa plume; et dès lors Mr. Locke tout penetré d’estime pour lui, le regarde comme un sincere
amateur de la verité, auquel il ne sauroit trouver son egal dans toute l’Angleterre. C’est
presque là tout ce que contient cet amas de lettres. Je comprens fort bien que cet entretien
devoit être fort agreable à Mr. Locke; mais je doute qu’il plaise beaucoup au Public, qui voit
par ses propres yeux le fort et le foible des Livres de Mr. Locke, et que les éloges de Mr.
Molineux ne sauroient lui faire trouver meilleurs. Pour moi j’aurois empêché la publication
de ces Lettres par respect pour Mr. Locke, si la chose eut dependu de moi: mais puisqu’elles
sont publiques je souhaite pour l’amour de Mr. Churchill qu’on s’empresse de les lire.80

The tone of this is not merely cool but positively hostile: Coste seems to have re-
garded Molyneux as a flatterer and a toady, and Locke as an egoist who lapped
up the compliments offered and judged Molyneux’s philosophical acumen by his
readiness to accept Locke’s own views. This was not something that Coste had been
prepared to do even while he was at Oates, and the influence of Shaftesbury seems
to have increased his disenchantment still further. One aspect of Locke’s philosophy,
that he grew especially to dislike was his egoistic account of human motivation. The
topic is raised in an undated letter that was probably sent towards the end of 1708
or early in 1709:
Je vais prendre la liberté, Milord, de vous consulter sur une affaire à quoi je suis persuadé
que vous prenez beaucoup d’intérêt. Il se présente une occasion fort naturelle de defendre la
Vertu contre les attentats d’un Philosophe de nôtre connoissance. On me demande de Hol-
lande le Livre que Mr. Locke a fait pour prouver que la Religion Chrétienne est raisonnable.
C’est un Livre que j’ai traduit en François avant que de venir en Angleterre. L’edition
est venduë, et on veut le rimprimer. Je dois envoyer une Copie corrigée qu’on donnera à
l’Imprimeur. En relisant cet Ouvrage, j’y ai trouvé que Mr. Locke pour faire valoir l’utilité
qui revient aux hommes de la connoissance de l’Evangile, dit entr’autres choses que Jesus-
Christ nous a procuré un grand avantage en nous fournissant de puissans motifs pour nous
porter à bien vivre. Pour relever l’excellence et la nécessité de ces motifs, il soûtient que la
Vertu et le bonheur ne se trouvent guere souvent ensemble, et qu’à cause de cela elle n’avoit
pas, avant Jesus-Christ, un fort grand nombre de Sectateurs.81

80 Coste to Shaftesbury, 5 Sept. 1708, HRO, 9M73/G255/19.


81 HRO, 9M73/G255/37. Assigning even an approximate date to this letter is not straightforward.
According to a letter from De la Motte to Des Maizeaux of 24 Oct. 1709 (NS): “Il y a un an
qu’un Libraire vouloit reı̈mprimer la Religion raisonnable de Mr. Locke,” BL, Add. MS 4286, fo.
89; this suggests that the request for a new edition of Coste’s translation arrived in the autumn
of 1708. Coste was in London when 9M73/G255/37 was written, while Shaftesbury was staying
with Sir John Cropley at Betchworth in Surrey. Shaftesbury was there from the autumn of 1708
until the summer of 1709, apart from 5 February–15 April, when he was at St Giles: see Voitle,
Shaftesbury, 286–96. Coste seems to have been in London by early November 1708 and to have
remained there until early June 1709: see HRO, 9M73/G255/20–26; NA, PRO 30/24/45/80, fo.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 213

Coste then quoted his own translation of the following passage from the Reason-
ableness of Christianity:
And ’its no wonder She [virtue] prevailed not much in a State, where the Inconveniences
that attended her were visible, and at hand; And the Rewards doubtful, and at a distance.
Mankind. . .Could not but think themselves excused from a strict observation of Rules,
which appeared so little to consist with their chief End, Happiness; Whilst they kept them
from the enjoyments of this Life; And they had little evidence and security of another.82

Coste found this utterly deplorable, and suggested that Locke’s outlook resembled
that of the legendary Assyrian king Sardanapalus:
Sardanopale auroit pû raisonner de cette maniére: mais Epicure n’auroit pû écouter un tel
discours. Je croi donc, Milord, que je ne risque rien, si je me déclare publiquement contre
une satire si scandaleuse. Elle me choque, quoi que j’avoûë que sans vous je n’y verrois
encore rien de choquant. Voici maintenant mot pour mot la Note que j’ai resolu de faire
imprimer au bas de la page où se trouvent les passages que je viens de citer.

The note began:


A raisonner sur le Principe de Mr. Locke, il faudroit dire qu’une conduite opposée à celle
que prescrit la Vertu, est en effet la plus avantageuse dans ce Monde; et qu’ôté l’esperance
d’un grand Bonheur après cette vie, il vaut mieux être fourbe que sincére; ingrat que recon-
noissant; dur et sans compassion que généreux et bienfaisant, etc.

A second note was prefaced with another disparaging comment: “Dans la suite Mr.
Locke entreprend de nous parler des opinions des Philosophes sur le chapitre de la
Vertu, et il en parle comme un homme qui ne connoissoit ni ces opinions ni leurs
Auteurs.” Coste then provided Shaftesbury with the entire text of the note, before
concluding, “Voilà, Milord, ce que j’ai resolu de publier sur cette matiére, si vous
jugez que je puisse le faire sans exposer une si bonne cause, et sans m’attirer la
haine publique.” What Shaftesbury advised is not known, but though he would un-
doubtedly have agreed with what Coste had written it is likely that he recommended
caution; in the event, nothing was published while Shaftesbury was still alive. When,
however, a new edition of Coste’s translation finally did appear, in 1715, the notes
he had shown Shaftesbury were printed with only slight changes.83
Another expression of distaste for Locke’s ethics occurs in a letter of May 1709:
J’ai été charmé de voir l’approbation que vous donnez à ma petite Apologie de la vertu
contre les insultes de Mr. Locke. J’avois déja montré une partie de cette apologie à Mr.
vôtre Frére [Maurice Ashley] qui n’y trouva rien à reprendre. Plus j’y pense, plus je suis

534. A date between November 1708 and January 1709 for 9M73/G255/37 seems most likely:
though Coste was in London and Shaftesbury at Betchworth in May and June, the topics raised in
9M73/G255/37 are rather different from those discussed in the letters written during those months
(HRO, 9M73/G255/23–26, 39; NA, PRO 30/24/45/80, fo. 541).
82John Locke, The Reasonableness of Christianity (London, 1695), 284–5. In the Clarendon
Edition, ed. John C. Higgins-Biddle (Oxford, 1999), 161, “the enjoyments of this Life” is given
wrongly as “the enjoyments of the Life.”
83 Le Christianisme raisonnnable (Amsterdam, 1715), 1: 320–2, 326–7; in the passage quoted here
the only change was that “le Principe de Mr. Locke” was altered to “ce Principe.”
214 John Milton

convaincu de la fausseté et de la bassesse des Principes que ce Philosophe avoit sur cette
importante matiére.84

As described by Coste in this letter, the “Apologie” took the form of a dialogue
between the fourth-century Cynic philosopher Crates of Thebes, who was given
views close to Shaftesbury’s, and Sardanapalus—“ce Prince infame” as Coste called
him—whose opinions resembled Locke’s. Unfortunately it was never published, and
no part of it is known to survive.
Both Coste and Shaftesbury were careful not to allow their dislike of Locke’s
views to become public. Shaftesbury had published his Sensus Communis: An Es-
say on the Freedom of Wit and Humour in the late spring of 1709, and he asked
Coste to make a translation into French.85 This was published in the following year,
with a preface and some notes supplied by Coste, though neither the author nor the
translator was identified.86 By the autumn the translation had been finished and was
being printed. Shaftesbury must have been sent a copy of the proofs, since in an
undated letter that Coste wrote in October or thereabouts some of the finer details
of the translation are defended against his criticisms.87 The letter concludes with a
postscript:
Il y a quelque temps que j’oubliai de vous dire que sur l’avis que vous me donnâtes de ne
pas nommer Mr. Locke, j’écrivis de changer la Note où je l’avois nommé; mais l’avis vint
trop tard, comme vous verrez. Je croi pourtant que vous ne serez pas choqué de la maniére
dont j’ai cité ce Philosophe. Je l’ai fait avec beaucoup de menagement.

The main target of Coste’s notes was Hobbes,88 and only one note mentioned Locke
by name. Shaftesbury had described how “some even of our most admir’d modern
Philosophers had fairly told us that Virtue and Vice had, after all, no other Law or

84 Coste to Shaftesbury, 7 May 1709, HRO, 9M73/G255/23.


85 Voitle, Shaftesbury, 294–5. Coste’s work on this is described in the letters sent to Shaftesbury
in the summer and autumn of 1709: HRO, 9M73/G255/27, 29–32; NA, PRO 30/24/45/80, fo. 541,
Barrell, 128–9.
86 Essai sur l’usage de la raillerie et de l’enjoument dans les conversations (The Hague, 1710),
i–xii, 57, 60, 66, 69–70. Coste did not attempt to keep his work secret: his authorship of the preface
is acknowledged in an undated letter he wrote to Leibniz: G.W. von Leibniz, Philosophischen
Schriften, ed. C.J. Gerhardt (Hildesheim: Olms, 1978), 3: 406–7. The preface is also discussed in
Coste to Shaftesbury, 1 Nov. 1709, HRO, 9M73/G255/31.
87 HRO, 9M73/G255/41. An approximate date is indicated by a remark that copies of Le Clerc’s
edition of Menander had already reached London; the preface to this was dated 5 Sept. 1709 (NS),
and on 6 November Shaftesbury wrote to Le Clerc to thank him for having sent a copy, NA,
PRO 30/24/22/7, pp. 7–8: see Barrell, 75–7, 94–6, 247–51. That Shaftesbury had been reading a
proof copy of Coste’s translation and not a manuscript is shown by Coste’s mention of page- and
line-numbers that are identical with those in the printed edition. The letter also contains on its final
page a set of notes in Shaftesbury’s hand correcting various faults in the printing. The translation
was published by mid-January: see De la Motte to Des Maizeaux, 17 Jan. 1710, BL, Add. MS
4286, fo. 100.
88 Essai sur l’usage de la raillerie, viii–x, xii, 57, 60, 66, 69–70.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 215

Measure, than mere Fashion and Vogue.”89 Coste’s note supplied the identification,
though in a curiously indirect way:
Je n’ai pû découvrir de moi-même à qui en veut ici mon Auteur: mais un de mes Amis
qui a frequenté long-temps en Angleterre les meilleures Compagnies, et qui connoı̂t les
bons Livres de ce Paı̈s-là, m’a assuré qu’il s’agit ici de Mr. Locke, qui dans son Essai sur
l’Entendement appelle la Vertu la Loi d’Opinion (Liv. II. Chap. 28. §7.10.) et la Loi de
Coûtume, §13.90

There was nothing very offensive about this, and perhaps the most significant feature
of the note is the extreme care that Coste was taking to conceal his own identity: as
the translator of Locke’s Essay he would have known very well to whom Shaftes-
bury had been alluding, and would certainly not have needed to ask a friend who
had lived in England for advice. In public at least he was still being very cautious.
After Shaftesbury’s death this was to change.

IV

In 1720 Pierre Des Maizeaux published A Collection of Several Pieces of Mr. John
Locke, a volume containing a variety of writings that had either not previously been
printed, or else had not hitherto been publicly attributed to Locke.91 While this
was in the press he was sent an English translation of Coste’s memoir of Locke
together with a letter, apparently anonymous, requesting—or rather ordering—him
to insert the memoir in his collection. Des Maizeaux obeyed, but chose to publish
the anonymous letter as well, which he had not been asked to do.
The letter explained why Des Maizeaux had been sent the translation of Coste’s
memoir. What had annoyed its writer was the contrast between the praise Coste
had lavished on Locke immediately after his death and the tone of his more recent
utterances:
The Letter was written some time after Mr. Locke’s Death; and appears to be the production
of a man in raptures, and struck with the highest admiration of Mr. Locke’s Virtue, Capacity,
and of the excellency of his Writings; and under the deepest affliction for the loss of a
person, to whom in his life-time he had paid the most profound respect, and for whom he
had constantly express’d the greatest esteem, and that even in writings whereof Mr. Locke
did not know him to be the Author.
And therefore, Mr. Locke’s Friends judge its publication necessary, not only, as they
think it contains a just Character of Mr. Locke, as far as it goes; but, as it is a proper Vin-
dication of him against the said Mr. Coste, who in several Writings, and in his common

89 Sensus Communis: An Essay on the Freedom of Wit and Humour (London, 1709), 32.
90 Essai sur l’usage de la raillerie, 42n–43n.
91On this, see Philip Milton, “Pierre Des Maizeaux, A Collection of Several Pieces of Mr. John
Locke, and the Formation of the Locke Canon,” Eighteenth-Century Thought 3 (2007): 255–91.
216 John Milton

Conversation throughout France, Holland, and England has aspers’d and blacken’d the
Memory of Mr. Locke; in those very respects, wherein he was his Panegyrist before.92

This was a brutal and very public denunciation of Coste, and its publication perma-
nently damaged his relations with Des Maizeaux.93
The letter had ostensibly been sent on behalf of an (un-named) group of Locke’s
friends, but there can be little if any doubt that it came from Anthony Collins, who
had written privately to Des Maizeaux some years earlier to express his feelings
about Coste’s behaviour:
However, this much I owe to the memory of Mr Locke, as to think of some plan of a
vindication of him from the treatment of Mr Le Clerc and Mr Coste; who both servily
flatterd him during his life and made panegyricks upon him immediately after his death. Mr
Coste not only in his Travels thro France and Holland, but in republishing works, which
he thought it a glory to translate, has acted the part of a calumniator both in the manner of
attacking him, and in the attacks themselves which are the efforts of a man who has Persons
and not things in view. I think that deserves to be calld servile flattery, which is said to a
man in his life time, and contradicted afterwards.94

What Coste had done to bring such denunciations upon himself has never been
adequately explained.95 Such little information as survives on the matter suggests
that in the years immediately after Locke’s death Collins’s relations with Coste had
been entirely friendly: Coste had discussed Shaftesbury’s writings with Collins, had

92 A Collection of Several Pieces of Mr. John Locke, ii–iii, italics reversed. A manuscript of the
anonymous letter in Collins’ hand is among Des Maizeaux’s papers, BL, Add. MS 4282, fos.
174–5; a full text is given in Milton, “Pierre Des Maizeaux.” In this Coste was also accused of
disrespect towards the memory “of the late Incomparable Earl of Shaftsbury since his death, and
of others who had been Benefactors to him”; these remarks were omitted when the letter was
published.
93Coste to Newton, 16 Aug. 1721, The Correspondence of Isaac Newton, ed. H.W. Turnbull et al.
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1959–77), 7: 148; Vie de Coste, 260; see also Goldgar,
Impolite Learning, 129–31 for De la Motte’s reaction.
94 Collins to Des Maizeaux, 28 Feb. 1716[7], BL, Add. MS 4282, fo. 125. The actions by Le Clerc
that had annoyed Collins probably relate to his review of Locke’s Paraphrase and Notes in the
Bibliothèque choisie, 13 (1707): 37–178; see Locke, Paraphrase and Notes, 60–1. Le Clerc also
had the temerity to compare Locke’s philosophical abilities unfavourably with those of Limborch,
who in “his Letters to Mr Locke. . .happily explain’d the Nature of Liberty; of which that Great Man
had not an exact idea,” Jean Le Clerc, A Funeral Oration upon the Death of Mr. Philip Limborch
(London, 1713), 25.
95 The issue is discussed in Goldgar, Impolite Learning, 123–4, Milton, “Pierre Des Maizeaux,”
and Rumbold, Traducteur huguenot, 19–20. Some years earlier Coste had been described in the
Mémoires pour l’histoire des sciences et des beaux arts [Journal de Trévoux], Mai 1707, p. 934,
as being the author of a “Lettre écrite à Mr. l’Abbé Dauxi par Mr. de la Coste” replying to earlier
attacks on Locke. He denied this in a letter to Jacques Bernard of 30 Oct. 1708, Bibliothèque de la
Société de l’Histoire du Protestantisme Français, Paris, MS 295, lettre 14, quoted and discussed in
Rumbold, Traducteur huguenot, 21–2.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 217

made use of his library, and had even gone with to St Giles to see Shaftesbury’s
infant son.96 Why then did things change?
One part of Collins’s accusation was that Coste had “aspers’d and blacken’d the
Memory of Mr. Locke” in conversation, especially while travelling in Holland and
in France. Collins would have been well placed to gain information about Coste’s
activities abroad: he had himself been in the Netherlands between January and
September 1713,97 and may well have met him or heard reports of what he had
been saying to others. Coste could certainly be extremely indiscreet. In 1714 he was
staying in Paris, where his conversations with Nicolas Remond were reported by
Remond to Leibniz:
Mons. Coste qui est encore ici pour quelques mois . . . m’a promis de me faire un extrait en
françois de ce qui peut vous regarder dans les lettres posthumes de M. Lock; il juge aussi
que ce qui y est rapporté de vos jugemens est tout ce qu’il y a de bon dans ce recueil.98

It would seem that Coste’s estimation of Some Familiar Letters had not risen in the
six years that had elapsed since he had written about it to Shaftesbury: the criticisms
of Locke’s Essay which Leibniz had sent to Thomas Burnet were—Coste now felt
—the only item of value in the entire collection.99 Collins is unlikely to have known
of Remond’s letter, but it would appear that he did possess what he saw as irrefutable
evidence of Coste’s misdeeds: among Des Maizeaux’s papers there is a draft of a
letter apparently intended as a reply to a review of A Collection of Several Pieces
that had appeared in the Bilbliothèque Angloise, in which the editor of that journal
was assured that if Coste ever attempted to deny these accusations, the Friends of
Mr Locke would prove them in a way that would leave him with no reply.100 This
information can only have come from Collins himself.
The second part of Collins’s accusation was that Coste had been disrespect-
ful towards Locke in his writings, and specifically in his translations of Locke’s
works. The only new editions of these that had appeared since Locke’s death were
De l’education des enfans (1708, 1711, 1715) and Le Christianisme raisonnnable

96Coste to Shaftesbury, 5 Sept. 1708, HRO, 9M73/G255/19; Coste to Shaftesbury, 25 June 1709,
NA, PRO 30/24/45/80, fo. 541; Coste to Shaftesbury, nd [c.1710], HRO, 9M73/G255/42; Shaftes-
bury to Coste, 12 Jan. 1712 (NS), PRO 30/24/23/8, p. 98; Coste to Shaftesbury, 1 May 1712 (NS),
PRO 30/24/45/80, fos. 574–5; Barrell, 128, 150, 200.
97James O’Higgins, Anthony Collins: The Man and his Works (The Hague, 1970), 79–80. Coste
was abroad between 1712 and 1714: see n. 37 above.
98 Remond to Leibniz, 5 May 1714 (NS), Philosophischen Schriften, 3: 617.
99 These were sent to Locke by Burnet and a copy then passed on to Molyneux: Burnet to Locke,
14 Mar. 1697, Locke to Molyneux, 10 Apr. 1697, Correspondence, 6: 60–2, 86–93; Some Familiar
Letters between Mr. Locke, and Several of his Friends (London, 1708), 196–205.
100 “. . .si Mr. Coste s’avise jamais de nier le fait dont on l’accuse les Amis de Mr. Locke sont
prets à le lui prouver sans replique,” BL, Add. MS 4222, fo. 261, italicised passage underlined in
MS. The review was in the Bibliothèque Angloise 7 (1720): 285–343. The same letter (fo. 262)
suggests that it was Coste’s conversations “surtout dans les pays etrangers” which had provoked
Locke’s friends.
218 John Milton

(1715).101 In her valuable discussion of the problem Anne Goldgar has suggested
that “Given the timing of Collins’ complaints, it seems likely that the true provo-
cation of ‘the friends of Mr. Locke’ came from the 1715 translation of The Rea-
sonableness of Christianity”102 One can agree that Collins and the other members
of his circle might not have been much pleased by the rather bumptious tone of
Coste’s “Avertissement du Traducteur”:
Pour moi je prendrai la liberté de déclarer ici, que je n’adopte pas tous les raisonnemens de
Mr. Locke, quoi que je me sois donné la peine de mettre son Livre en François. On en verra
des preuves en un ou deux endroits de cette nouvelle Edition. Il m’auroit été facile d’en
grossir le nombre, si j’eusse voulu critiquer les deux ou trois prémiers Chapitres du Prémier
Volume, où sur des explications de quelques Passages de l’Ecriture, assez incertaines, Mr.
Locke s’est engagé dans des raisonnemens qui ne paroissent pas fort solides. . .103

Any irritation that they might have felt would certainly not have been mollified if
they had then gone on to read the two notes that Coste had shown to Shaftesbury.
Nevertheless it is unlikely that this edition was the immediate cause of Collins’
anger: by the time he wrote to Des Maizeaux other even more inflammatory com-
ments by Coste had become public.
In 1716 a selection of the letters that Shaftesbury had written to his young
protégé Michael Ainsworth was published as Several Letters written by a Noble
Lord to a Young Man at the University. Locke was mentioned several times, most
conspicuously in a letter of 3 June 1709, where he was accused of subverting the
foundations of morality: “’Twas Mr. Locke that struck at all Fundamentals, threw all
Order and Virtue out of the World, and made the very Ideas of these (which are the
same as those of God) unnatural, and without Foundation in our Minds.’104 There
was also an unkind—and distressingly memorable—reference to “the credulous Mr.
Locke’ as a gullible devourer of unreliable travel narratives.105

101 The1714 edition of the Essai philosophique concernant l’entendement was merely a reissue of
sheets from the 1700 edition with a new title-leaf, and accordingly contained no new notes: see
Yolton, Bibliography, 123–4.
102 Impolite Learning, 125–6.
103 Le Christianisme raisonnnable. (Amsterdam, 1715), 1: iii–iv.
104 Several Letters Written by a Noble Lord (London, 1716), 39. Neither Shaftesbury nor
Ainsworth was mentioned by name in this edition, but as several of the letters were signed “S∗∗∗∗”
the identification of the noble lord who had written them can hardly have caused much difficulty.
The original letter is NA, PRO 30/24/20/143; the texts of both this and the version published
in 1716 are printed in Anthony Ashley Cooper, Third Earl of Shaftesbury: Standard Edition, ed.
Wolfram Benda et al., (Stuttgart: Frommann-Holzboog, 1981–), 2.4: 402–3.
105 Similar remarks on Locke’s defects as a philosopher can be found in a letter Shaftesbury
wrote to James Stanhope on 7 Nov. 1709, NA, PRO 30/24/27/23; another copy in Shaftesbury’s
letter-book, PRO 30/24/22/7, pp. 9–14. This was printed by Barrell in Appendix A to his edition
(pp. 239–43) but supposed by him to have been written by Shaftesbury to Coste before Locke’s
death, though as Coste had certainly never employed his leisure hours “aboard Fleets and with the
Command of Armys’ he seems an unlikely recipient. It is printed with the correct addressee in
Rand, Shaftesbury, 413–17.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 219

The publication of these letters was not authorised by Shaftesbury’s family, and it
is very unlikely that Coste was involved in any way.106 He did, however, report their
publication in an (anonymous) letter of his own to the Nouvelles de la république des
lettres, in which Shaftesbury was explicitly identified as their author.107 Locke was
mentioned several times. Coste noted that he had been praised for having delivered
philosophy from the barbarities of the schoolmen, but felt that others—presumably
the Cartesians108 —deserved the main credit for this:
On le louë d’avoir travaillé à dégager la Philosophie de la barbarie, qui l’avoit entiérement
éloignée du commerce du Monde. Il semble même qu’on lui attribuë la gloire d’avoir faites
les premiéres ouvertures. Mais cèt Ouvrage avoit été commencé, &étoit déja fort avancé,
avant que Mr. Locke eût écrit.109

In other words, Locke was not the trail-blazer that his admirers believed him to be.
More damagingly, he was accused of having contributed more than anyone to the
corruption of philosophy and natural theology. Hobbes had begun this, but what
Shaftesbury called “the Poyson of his Philosophy’ had been made less effective by
his notorious advocacy of absolute government. Locke’s irreproachably whiggish
politics made him much more dangerous: “il a comme exterminé du Monde la Vertu
& l’Ordre, en établissant que les idées de l’Ordre & de la Vertu, qui sont les mêmes
que celles de Dieu, n’ont point fondement naturel dans notre Esprit.’110 Shaftes-
bury’s jibe at “the credulous Mr. Locke’ was translated for the benefit of continental
readers:
Et que le crédule Mr. Locke ne vienne point ici nous amuser par ses Contes Indiens &
Barbares, de peuples sauvages, qui n’ont point de pareilles idées, comme l’en ont assuré
des Voyageurs, Auteurs d’un rare savoir, gens d’une sincérité à toute épreuve, & sur tout
grands Philosophes . . . 111

It would seem very likely that it was the publication of this letter in the Nouvelles
de la république des lettres that provoked the anger Collins expressed in his letter

106 The anger felt by the fourth Earl is apparent in comments he made to Thomas Birch in the late
1730s in connection with the biography of his father that Birch was writing, describing it as “a
fraudulent and sinister publication’ and putting the blame for its publication (very plausibly) on
Ainsworth himself, BL, Add. MS 4254, fo. 240.
107 “Fragment d’une Lettre écrite de Londres à l’Auteur de ces Nouvelles, où il est parlé de deux
Livres Nouveaux,” Nouvelles de la république des lettres (Nov. & Dec. 1716) 762–7. The letter is
dated 17 Sept. 1716; Coste’s authorship was acknowledged in a subsequent “Lettre de Mr. Coste
à l’Auteur de ces Nouvelles, au sujet du Fragment de Lettre inséré dans celles de Novembre &
Décembre. pag. 762,” ibid., Jan. & Fev. 1717: 124–8.
108 Compare the note added to the 1729 edition of Coste’s translation of the Essay, at II. xxiii.
25: “Il est pourtant très-certain que les Cartesiens ont démontré, long-temps avant que M. Locke
eût songé à composer son Livre, que les Idées des Saveurs & des Odeurs sont uniquement dans
l’Esprit de ceux qui goûtent les Corps qu’on nomme savoureux, & qui flairent les Corps qu’on
nomme odoriferans. . ..”
109 Nouvelles de la république des lettres (Nov. & Dec. 1716), 764.
110 Ibid., 765.
111 Ibid., 765–6, italics reversed.
220 John Milton

of 28 February 1717. The dates fit: copies of the November–December issue of the
journal would probably have reached England by the end of the year, and copies of
the January–February issue two months later. The wording of Collins’ letter also
indicates that he found himself in some difficulty because Coste’s unfavourable
remarks about Locke were difficult if not impossible to disentangle from similar
statements made by Shaftesbury. It began:
Instead of the Remarks, which you expect from me, I here send you some few on Mr Pictet’s
book. I am very unwilling to say any thing, even in the softest manner, with relation to my
Lord Shaftsbury, whose freinds will take it very unkindly from me; and therefore I have not
begun what I intended, since I could not have separated my Lord from Mr Coste.112

Shaftesbury had been dead for four years, but still had powerful friends to protect
his memory. The remarks which Collins had promised to send to Des Maizeaux
therefore remained unwritten, and for the time being Coste escaped public censure.

It is clear from the account given above that within a few years of Locke’s death,
Coste was making unappreciative and often hostile remarks about both his charac-
ter and his writings. There is no reason to believe that he was not wholly sincere.
Coste would have been aware that Shaftesbury had come to detest several aspects
of Locke’s philosophy, and was presumably confident that he would not object to
reading unflattering comments on Locke’s character, but he was himself under no
obligation to say what he did: if he had still admired Locke he could have defended
him, or at least kept quiet.
As Coste readily acknowledged, it was through his discussions with Shaftesbury
that he acquired his aversion for Locke’s moral philosophy: all his earlier disagree-
ments seem to have arisen out of his attachment to the Cartesian tradition in which
he had been educated, and to a feeling that Locke had disparaged this without hav-
ing properly understood it.113 The cult of Virtue was new, and clearly came from
Shaftesbury himself. It is, however, unlikely that Shaftesbury’s influence was the
only—or even the main—cause of the dislike of Locke so manifest in Coste’s letters.
All this raises a question which it is not easy to answer: how deeply estranged
from Locke did Coste become during Locke’s own lifetime, while they were both
living together at Oates? Our only evidence for bad relations comes from De la

112 BL, Add. MS 4282, fo. 125. Mr Pictet was the Genevan minister Bénédict Pictet, the third edi-
tion of whose Traité contre l’indifférence des religions (Geneva, 1716) had attacked both Collins’s
Discours sur la liberté de penser (“London” [Amsterdam?], 1714)—a translation of A Discourse
of Freethinking—and Le Christianisme raisonnnable. It does not mention either Shaftesbury or
Coste. The remarks on Pictet’s book that Collins mentioned were printed in the second edition of
his Discours (“London,” 1717), iv–x, as a “Lettre. . .à M. D∗∗∗∗,” dated 28 Feb. 1717.
113 He confessed to Shaftesbury that though he now found the theological hedonism of the Rea-
sonableness of Christianity repellent, “sans vous je n’y verrois encore rien de choquant,” Coste to
Shaftesbury, nd [c.1708–9], HRO, 9M73/G255/37.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 221

Motte’s biography, and though the main source for this was undoubtedly Coste
himself, we do not know how much of the information came from letters written
at the time, and how much from later letters or conversations. Coste’s own memoir
conveys no hint of any ill-feeling towards Locke: its tone is on the contrary one of
unrestrained admiration. The conventions governing an obituary of this kind were,
of course, quite restrictive: revelations of private gripes and disappointments would
have been wholly out of place. Nevertheless Coste was under no obligation to write
anything, and if he had begun to dislike his former patron he could easily have
remained silent. Anthony Collins, who had been a frequent visitor to Oates during
Locke’s last years, seems not to have noticed any disaffection on Coste’s part—in
the 1720 letter to Des Maizeaux he described him as having paid the most pro-
found respect to Locke during his lifetime, and as having constantly expressed the
greatest esteem for him. Clearly there was no obvious divergence between Coste’s
public demeanour and the adulatory tone of his memoir: if he harboured any private
resentments he must have kept them well hidden. Perhaps the safest conclusion is
that the seeds of his later hostility were sown at Oates while Locke was still alive
and further nourished by Locke’s failure to leave anything to him in his will, but
only came to flower as he brooded unhappily in what the Third Earl himself called
“allmost five Year’s Confinement in the Desarts of Chiply.”114

Appendix

There remains one final problem: what was the book by Locke that Coste had nearly
finished translating in June 1707? There are several possibilities.
1. It might have been the revised and expanded edition of De l’education des
enfans published in 1708. This was a translation of the fifth English edition (1705),
and was described on its title-page as more than a third longer than its predecessor,
which had been based on the first edition of 1693. The preface is dated “A Chipley
dans la Province de Somerset, le 2. d’Avril 1708.”115 This might seem to suggest
that the translation had been completed only a short time before, but Coste’s letters
in the Malmesbury papers show that he had been working on it in the summer of
1706. In August he told Shaftesbury:
je suis actuellement engagé à retoucher ma traduction du Livre que Mr. Locke a composé
sur l’Education. J’y joins en même temps quantité d’additions que Mr. Locke y a fait depuis.
C’est un ouvrage de commande, qui ne peut être differé.116

114 Shaftesbury to Coste, 25 July 1712 (NS), NA, PRO 30/24/23/9, fo. 34; Barrell, 207.
115 De l’education des enfans (Amsterdam, 1708), xxxii; I am grateful to Professor M.A. Stewart
for checking the precise wording of this in a copy in Edinburgh University Library. Since the book
was published not later than mid-June 1708, when Coste was sent three copies, the preface was
probably written after the printing of the main part had been completed: see De la Motte to Des
Maizeaux, 15 Jun. [1708] (NS), BL, Add. MS 4286, fo. 62.
116 Coste to Shaftesbury, 23 Aug. 1706, HRO, 9M73/G255/7.
222 John Milton

Shaftesbury must have enquired why he was doing this, since Coste’s next letter
explained why he had agreed to undertake a task that he now clearly regarded as
extremely tiresome:
Et en même temps un autre Libraire m’ayant demandé les additions du Livre de l’Education
de Mr. Locke, je n’en ai pû les lui refuser. Mais cette traduction finie, j’espere employer mon
temps à quelque chose de meilleur.117

The implication of this is that he had either finished the translation or was about to
do so. Whatever Coste was translating in the summer of 1707, it would seem not to
have been Some Thoughts concerning Education.
2. Another possibility is that Coste had translated something included in the Oeu-
vres diverses de Monsieur Jean Locke (Rotterdam, 1710).118 This contained some
of the material published in the Posthumous Works of 1706: the Conduct of the Un-
derstanding, the New Method of a Commonplace book, the Discourse of Miracles,
and the memoir of Shaftesbury, together with Le Clerc’s memoir of Locke and a
translation of the Epistola de Tolerantia. Apart perhaps from the Epistola, the only
items that would have required translation were the Conduct and the Discourse of
Miracles; all the others had already appeared in French in either the Bibliothèque
universelle or the Bibliothèque choisie.119
It might seem that this possibility is ruled out by an account Coste wrote many
years later: after listing all the works by Locke that he had translated, he added:
Voilà tout ce que j’ai traduit des ouvrages de M. Locke. On a publié après sa mort un
livre intitulé Œuvres diverses de M. Locke, chez Frédéric Bernard, libraire d’Amsterdam.
M. Locke me les avait montrées en manuscrit. Je n’ai eu aucune part à l’édition de ces
opuscules, si l’on excepte quelques lettres de M. Locke et de M. Limborch, qu’on a insérées
dans ce recueil de pièces posthumes.120

This might seem enough to settle the issue, but as we have seen, one of the pieces
included in the 1710 Oeuvres diverses—Locke’s memoir of Shaftesbury—certainly
had been translated by Coste. If he had forgotten this or (more likely) had not
remembered that it had been included in the Oeuvres diverses, then it is possible
that his memory was imperfect on other matters. This does seem, however, a fairly
remote possibility: the wording of Coste’s letter to Shaftesbury—“la traduction du
Livre de Mr Locke”—seems to indicate that he had been translating an entire book
and not merely one item in a collection. The letters between Locke and Limborch
that Coste did admit to translating were not included in the 1710 edition of the

117 Coste to Shaftesbury, 20 Sept. 1706, HRO, 9M73/G255/8.


118 For a fuller description, see Yolton, Bibliography, 426–7.
119A French translation of the Epistola had been made in 1689 but not published: see John
Locke, Epistola de Tolerantia, ed. R. Klibansky and J. W. Gough (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968),
xxvii–xxix. No copy is known to have survived, and it is uncertain whether it was used by the
compilers of the Oeuvres diverses. I am grateful to Delphine Soulard for reminding me of this.
120 Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, MS Fr. 24414, fo. 218, printed in Robert Shackleton, “Ren-
seignements inédits sur Locke, Coste et Bouhier,” Revue de littérature comparée 27 (1953):
319–22, from which the text here has been taken.
12 Pierre Coste, John Locke, and the Third Earl of Shaftesbury 223

Oeuvres diverses, but appeared in the expanded edition published in Amsterdam in


1732.121 They were first printed in Some Familiar Letters (1708), and had therefore
not yet appeared when Coste wrote to Shaftesbury in June 1707.
3. The final—and perhaps the most likely—possibility is that Coste was trans-
lating the Two Treatises of Government (or more probably the Second Treatise
alone). Jean Le Clerc had reported in his own “Eloge de feu Mr. Locke” that such a
translation was being undertaken, though without identifying who was doing it.122
Evidence that Coste did indeed start work comes from the Vie de Coste. According
to De la Motte:
Son dessein étoit aussi de traduire tous les Ouvrages Posthumes qu’on imprimeroit les uns
après les autres en commençant par le Gouvernement civil. Je vous dirai tout de suite
pourquoi il ne le fit pas. M. Collins, qui étoit alors fort de ses Amis, et l’un des Execu-
teurs du Testament de M. Locke, se mit dans l’esprit de savoir quelle étoit la somme assez
considerable (ce sont les termes mêmes de la lettre de M. Locke) qui étoit destinée par M.
Locke à M. Coste pour sa traduction de ce Traité du Gouvernement civil. M. Collins, dis-je,
aprit enfin que c’étoit dix pièces, de quoi il fut fort surpris. Quand M. Coste vint à savoir ce
vilain, lui qui traduisoit cet Ouvrage sans aucune vûe de récompense de l’Auteur, brûla ce
qu’il avoit deja fait, quoi qu’on lui ait offert plus d’une fois beaucoup plus qu’il n’a eu pour
ses traductions.123

Coste, it would seem, had started work on the translation without any specific indi-
cation of what the somme assez considerable promised by Locke was going to be,
though presumably with the hope that it would be reasonably generous. On hearing
from Collins that he was to be paid ten pounds—or perhaps ten guineas—he felt
so insulted by Locke’s stinginess that he destroyed his own work. If indeed this
happened, it would certainly go a long way towards explaining the tone of Coste’s
remarks in his letters to Shaftesbury. It would be ironical if an action by Collins
had helped contribute to the estrangement from Locke that Coste came to feel in the
years following Locke’s death, and for which Collins was himself to rebuke him so
severely.

121 Yolton, Bibliography, 427–9.


122 “Nous en aurons bien-tôt une Edition Angloise beaucoup plus correcte que les précedentes,
aussi bien qu’une meilleure version Françoise,” Bibliothèque choisie 6 (1705): 381.
123 Vie de Coste, 244–5, italics in original. As often, De la Motte was inaccurate on points of detail
concerning affairs in England: Collins was not one of the executors of Locke’s will, the “full and
sole Executor” being Peter King, Correspondence, 8: 424.
Chapter 13
Toleration and its Place: A Study of Pierre Bayle
in his Commentaire Philosophique

Ian Harris

Toleration might seem at first blush to be a topic that comprises only a few
elements—some matter, such as the believer’s conscience, its relation to the pres-
ence or absence of political or social sanction, and the authority from which the
latter proceeds—but there again simplicity has not been the same as isolation since
the Garden of Eden closed. For if the question is, how to regard conscience, the
answer depends very much upon aspects of thought, including presuppositions, that
have much wider reference.
I am not sure that this is ultimately a very controversial claim, but it is one that
tends to be overlooked, and more especially its consequences are rather less promi-
nent in contemporary thought than they deserve. For instance, the propositions that
metaphysics may condition views about toleration or coercion, and that toleration
in its turn may have a revisionary effect on other aspects of thought are not received
commonly amongst modern philosophers: with whom the opinion that justice does
not presuppose metaphysical tenets is not unknown,1 and who write about toleration
with little sustained reference to those aspects of thought which lie beyond political
theory. Intellectual historians, on the other hand, are more likely to be receptive to
those propositions. It is fitting, then, that this essay honours one who has approached
philosophy through its past, and has emphasized the relationship between Locke’s
epistemology and his views about toleration.2
This essay considers one of Locke’s contemporaries. It argues that the view of
liberty of conscience developed by Pierre Bayle was conditioned by metaphysical
beliefs, namely his conception of an epistemological order, his conception of God,
and his natural theology, and by a concurrent political position, that is to say, his
conception of the positive relation of state to church. It argues, further, that this

1 John Rawls, “Justice as Fairness: Political not Metaphysical,” in his Collected Papers, ed. Samuel
Freeman (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999), ch.18. For a pertinent question,
Jean Hampton, “Should Political Philosophy be Done without Metaphysics?” Ethics 99 (1989):
791–814, and compare Andrew Vincent, The Nature of Political Theory (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
2007).
2 See especially G.A.J. Rogers, Locke’s Enlightenment (Hildesheim: Olms, 1998).

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 225
and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 225–243.
226 Ian Harris

view of toleration, in its turn, conditioned his views about the Old Testament and
about soteriology.
The argument advanced here comprises three claims. The first is that one crucial
component in Bayle’s argument against a magisterial right to coerce religious belief
derives from his conception of epistemological certainty, not from scepticism or fal-
libilism. It is this postulate of certainty that makes liberty of religious conscience the
sole outcome possible in terms of knowledge as understood by Bayle. The second
claim relates to Bayle’s natural theology, in terms of which, though there is no mag-
isterial right to coerce, there is a magisterial duty to support the church and certain
aspects of morality: Bayle thought that the church should have this relationship to
the state because the latter had a positive role to play in upholding the former and in
encouraging religious study; and he thought, too, that church and state should sup-
port some virtues and suppress some vices. The third claim is that though liberty of
conscience derives from certainty according to Bayle, it also requires doubts about
some established claims concerning the Old Testament, and about soteriology. So
Bayle’s commitment to toleration, which itself points to epistemological and theo-
logical claims, requires revisions, including some in versions of Christian doctrine
current in his day.
If this argument shows that one view of toleration both required metaphysical
postulates and tended to promote change in other departments of thought, it provides
a cue for asking whether contemporary attention to toleration might not benefit from
being broadened in its intellectual scope. It also suggests certain emphases in writing
about Bayle. Scholars have given much attention to the question of scepticism in
his thought. The classical form of the question has been about Bayle’s beliefs—
whether he was a Christian or whether he was an atheist, and, indeed, whether he
was an orthodox Calvinist or someone devoted to undermining Christian belief.3

3 Ludwig Feuerbach, Pierre Bayle. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Philosophie und Menscheit
(Ansbach: Bruegel, 1838); Arsène Deschamps, La Genèse du scepticisme érudite chez Bayle
(Liège:Vaillant-Carmanie, 1878); James Fitzjames Stephen, “The Scepticism of Bayle,” in his
Horae Sabbaticae (3 ser., London: Macmillan, 1892), ser. ii, essay 11; Cornelia Serrurier, Pierre
Bayle en Hollande: étude historique et critique (Apeldoorn: Dixon, [1913]); Howard Robinson,
Bayle the Sceptic (New York: Columbia University Press, 1931); J. Chaix-Ruiy, “La philosophie
de Pierre Bayle. Scepticisme, criticisme ou fideisme?” Giornale di Metafisica 2 (1947): 517–27;
W.H. Barber, “Pierre Bayle: Faith and Reason,” in W.G. Moore et al., eds., The French Mind,
Studies in Honour of Gustave Rudler (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1952), 109–25; E.D. James,
“Scepticism and fideism in Bayle’s Dictionnaire,” French Studies 16 (1962): 307–24; H.T. Mason,
“Pierre Bayle’s Religious Views,” French Studies 17(1963), 205–17; H.M. Bracken, “Bayle not
a skeptic?” Journal of the History of Ideas 25 (1964): 169–80; K.C. Sandberg, “Pierre Bayle’s
Sincerity in His Views on Faith and Reason,” Studies in Philology 61(1964): 74–84; Idem, At the
Crossroads of Faith and Reason, An Essay on Pierre Bayle (Tucson: University of Arizona Press,
1966); Craig B. Brush, Montaigne and Bayle (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1966); E.D. James, “Pierre
Bayle on Belief and “Evidence”,” French Studies 27(1973): 395–404; Idem, “Faith, Sincerity and
Morality: Mandeville and Bayle,” in I. Primer, ed., Mandeville Studies (The Hague: Nijhoff, 1975);
M. Heyd, “A Disguised Atheist or a Sincere Christian? The enigma of Pierre Bayle,” Bibliotheque
d’Humanisme et Renaissance 39 (1977): 157–65; Gianni Paganini, Analisi della fede e critica della
ragione nella filosofia di Pierre Bayle (Florence: Nuova Italia, 1980); Oscar Kenshur, “Pierre Bayle
13 Toleration and its Place 227

This topic has been broadened in the more recent past into one about scepticism
in a more strategic sense, that is to say about the possibility of reaching certain
knowledge, about the variety of scepticism involved, and about whether scepticism
or fallibilism would be a more appropriate term for Bayle’s positions.4 Alongside
these questions, there has been sustained attention to Bayle’s undoubted role as a
proponent of liberty of conscience: attention which explores its character in a variety
of ways, some of which make reference to scepticism or fallibilism.5 It is no part

and the Structures of Doubt,” Eighteenth-Century Studies 21(1988): 297–315; Ruth Whelan, “The
anatomy of superstition,” Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century, no.259 (1989); A.C.
Kors, Atheism in France, 1650–1729, vol.1 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990), 244–62;
Hubert Bost, Pierre Bayle et la religion (Paris: Champion, 1994); O. Abel and P.F. Moreau, eds.,
Pierre Bayle: la foi dans le doute (Geneva: Labor et Fides, 1995); David Wootton, “Pierre Bayle,
libertine?,” Studies in Seventeenth-Century European Philosophy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997),
ed. M.A. Stewart, 197–226; Anthony McKenna, “Rationalisme moral et fidéisme” in Hubert Bost
and Philippe de Robert, eds., Pierre Bayle, Citoyen du Monde (Paris: Champion, 1999), 257–74;
Gianluca Mori, Bayle: philosophe (Paris: Champion, 1999); and, for a position sustained for many
years in many publications, see especially Richard Popkin, The High Road to Pyrrhonism (San
Diego: Austin Hill Press, 1980), and his History of Scepticism from Savonarola to Bayle (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 2003). Compare J-J. Bouchardy, Pierre Bayle et la “nature des choses” (Paris :
Champion, 2001), and Hans Bots & Jan de Vet, Stratégies Journalistiques de l’ancien régime
(Amsterdam : APA Holland University Press, 2002).
4 John Kilcullen, Sincerity and Truth. Essays on Arnauld, Bayle, and Toleration (Oxford: Claren-
don Press, 1988), esp. p.101; Jose Maia Neto, “Academic Skepticism in Early Modern Philosophy,”
Journal of the History of Ideas 58 (1997): 199–220; Thomas M. Lennon, “Bayle’s Anticipation of
Popper,” Journal of the History of Ideas 58 (1997): 695–705; idem, “Bayle, Locke, and the Meta-
physics of Toleration,” Studies in Seventeenth-Century European Philosophy, ed. Stewart, 177–95;
idem, Reading Bayle (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1999); idem, “What Kind of a Skeptic
Was Bayle?’, Midwest Studies in Philosophy 26 (2002): 258–79; idem, “Pierre Bayle,” Stanford
Encyclopaedia of Philosophy (http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/bayle), (2003), General Editor, Ed-
ward N. Zalta; and idem, “Bayle and Socinianism: a Cautionary Note,” in Anthony McKenna and
Gianni Paganini, eds., Pierre Bayle dans la république des lettres (Paris: Champion, 2004), 171–91
at 184–5 on the Commentaire.
5 W.J. Stankiewicz, Politics and Religion in Seventeenth-Century France (Berkeley, CA: Uni-
versity of California Press, 1960); Elisabeth Labrousse, Pierre Bayle, 2 vols. (The Hague : Ni-
jhoff, 1963–4), vol.2, pt. iv, chs.18–19; Jean P. Jossua, “Pierre Bayle, précurseur des théologies
modernes de la liberté religieuse,” Revue des Sciences Religieuses 39(1965) : 113–57; Elisabeth
Labrousse, Bayle trans. Denys Potts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1984), esp. 80–85; Harry
M. Bracken, “Toleration Theories: Bayle, Jurieu, Locke” in his Mind and Language; Essays on
Descartes and Chomsky (Dordrecht: Foris, 1984), 83–96; Amie Godman Tannenbaum, Pierre
Bayle’s Philosophical Commentary. A Modern Translation and Critical Interpretation (New York:
Lang, 1986); Harry M. Bracken, “Pierre Bayle and Freedom of Speech,” in E.J. Furcha, ed, Truth
and Tolerance (Montreal: McGill University, 1990), 28–42; idem, “Toleration Theories: Bayle vs.
Locke,” in E. Greffier and M. Paradis, eds., The Notion of Tolerance and Human rights. Essays
in Honour of Raymond Klibansky (Ottawa: Carleton University Press, 1991), 1–11; Sally L. Jenk-
inson, “Rationality, Pluralism and Reciprocal Tolerance: a Reappriasal of Pierre Bayle’s Political
Thought,” in Iain Hampsher-Monk, ed., Defending Politics: Bernard Crick and Pluralism (London:
British Academic Press, 1993), 22–45; Oscar Kenshur, “Bayle’s Theory of Toleration: the Politics
of Certainty and Doubt” in his Dilemma of Enlightenment: Studies in the Rhetoric and Logic of
Ideology (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), ch.3, pp.77–111; Harry M. Bracken,
“Bayle and the Origins of the Doctrine,” in Freedom of Speech: Words are not Deeds (Westport:
228 Ian Harris

of the purpose of this essay to suggest that these topics are unimportant, but rather
to suggest that emphasis upon them does not direct our attention to other matters,
which should claim our attention because they have at least equal importance. These
are the dependence of the rights of conscience on knowledge; the natural theology
with which the latter is connected, and which bears upon Bayle’s view of church and
state; the positive role of the state in morality and religion; and the ways in which
the terms of Baylean toleration suggested to their proponent revisions in theology.
This essay, then, explores aspects of Bayle’s thought which suggest ways of
thinking anew about his positions.6 After all, if scepticism might ground intoler-
ance,7 we can ask if certainty might support toleration. It is worth emphasizing,
in particular, that underlying those of Bayle’s views considered here are terms of
natural theology. The supposition that God, and duties flowing from Him, could be
apprehended by natural faculties is one that Bayle made, and from which he drew
conclusions about epistemology, morality and religion.
This treatment of Bayle calls for a prefatory word about his manner of argu-
ing more generally. Bayle’s principal statement about toleration, the Commentaire

Praeger, 1994), 1–19; Sally L. Jenkinson, “Two Concepts of Tolerance: why Bayle is not Locke,”
Journal of Political Philosophy 4(1996): 302–22; Gianluca Mori, “Pierre Bayle, the Rights of
Conscience, the “Remedy” of Toleration,” Ratio Juris 10(1997): 45–59; Barbara Sher Tinsley,
“Sozzini’s Ghost: Pierre Bayle and Socinian Toleration,” Journal of the History of Ideas 57(1996):
609–24; J.C.Laursen, “Baylean Liberalism: Tolerance Requires Nontolerance,” in J.C. Laursen and
C.J. Nedermam, eds., Beyond the Persecuting Society. Religious Toleration Before the Enlighten-
ment (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1998), 197–215; Sally L. Jenkinson, “Bayle
and Leibniz: Two Paradigms of Tolerance and Some Reflections on Goodness without God,” in
J.C. Laursen, ed., Religious Toleration. “The Variety of Rites” from Cyrus to Defoe (Basingstoke:
Macmillan, 1999), 173–89; idem, “Introduction” in Jenkinson, ed., Bayle, Political Writings (Cam-
bridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), xviii–xli; idem, “The Public Context of Heresy. Bayle,
Maimbourg, and Le Clerc,” in J.C.Laursen, ed., Histories of Heresy in Early Modern Europe. For,
Against, and Beyond Persecution and Toleration (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2002), 119–38; Barbara
Sher Tinsley, Pierre Bayle’s Reformation (Selinsgrove, Pa: Susquehannah University Press, 2001);
Perez Zagorin, How the Idea of Religious Toleration Came to the West (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 2003), ch.7; John Kilcullen and Chandran Kukuthas, “Introduction” in Bayle,
Philosophical Commentary (Indianapolis: Liberty Press, 2005), esp. xvii–xviii; John Marshall,
John Locke, Toleration and Early Enlightenment Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2006); Jonathan Israel, Enlightenment Contested: Philosophy, Modernity, and the Emancipation of
Man, 1670–1752 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2006), ch.6.
6 This is not to suggest that there are not ways besides those stated in the preceding notes. See,
for example, Pierre Dibon, ed., Pierre Bayle: le Philosophe de Rotterdam (Amsterdam: Publi-
cations de l’Institut Français de Amsterdam, 1959); Pierre Rétat, Le Dictionnaire de Bayle et la
lutte philosophique au XVIIIe siècle (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1971); J.P. Jossua, Pierre Bayle
ou l’obsession du mal (Paris: Auber Montaigne, 1997); James A. Harris, “Answering Bayle’s
Question: Religious Belief in the Moral Philosophy of the Scottish Enlightenment,” Oxford Stud-
ies in Early Modern Philosophy, 1(2003), eds. Daniel Garber and Steven Nadler, 229–253; John
Robertson, The Case for Enlightenment: Scotland and Naples 1680–1760 (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2005), chs.5–6.
7 Richard Tuck, “Scepticism and Toleration in the Seventeenth Century,” Susan Mendus, ed., Jus-
tifying Toleration (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), ch.1.
13 Toleration and its Place 229

philosophique, was written in a style more familiar to his time than to ours, that is to
say, as an exegesis of a specific text. The principles fundamental to his view of tol-
eration accordingly appear as facets of a commentary rather than as propositions in-
troduced in their own right, and established in the course of continuous logomachy.
So it would be a long task to expound Bayle’s arguments in their entirety; and the
result, perhaps, would leave a misleading impression of his thought. For underlying
the dialectical criticism to which he subjected the advocates of coercion is a pattern
of postulates about knowledge and God, postulates with political consequences. It
is to these postulates that this essay turns first in order to show how Bayle meant to
establish the claims of religious conscience, and what intellectual force he required
to debar coercion.

I
Bayle’s primary postulate was that there is a standing form of divine order, an order
disclosed by both nature and scripture. This order should not be opposed by human
dissent, for that would be to contradict God’s ordinances. God Himself, the great ex-
emplar, could not commit a contradiction of any sort, and if people contradicted the
divine order they committed iniquities. As the divine method of winning converts—
more precisely Christ’s—was persuasion rather than force, it is hardly surprising
that Bayle concluded that the coercion of conscience about worship was ultra vires
for the state. It followed that Christ’s injunction to “compel them to come in”—the
compelle intrare of the Vulgate8 —could not be understood to authorise force in
making converts.
Bayle’s conception of this standing order, so far was developed in his Com-
mentaire, was expressed in epistemological terms. It was—to be more precise—
conducted in terms not just of a theory of knowledge, but also of the substantive
conclusions at which reason, and a scripture capable of being correlated with reason,
were said to arrive. Bayle emphasized the understanding because he wished to dis-
count the claim compelle intrare by showing that it failed to cohere with knowledge
as he understood it.9

8 Luke 14: 23.


9 There is, of course, recognition by many scholars that Bayle treated reason as a final judge, albeit
without connecting this point with toleration, e.g. Jean-Michel Gros, in idem (ed.), Bayle, De la
Tolérance (Paris: Pocket, 1992) [ = parts one and two of Commentaire philosophique with some
supporting materials], 21, 23–4, 35–7. There have been, however, recognitions in passing of some
points made central here. See Ernst Cassirer, The Philosophy of the Enlightenment, trans. Fritz C.A.
Koelln and James P. Pettegrove (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1951), 167–8 (mentions
“most certain moral principles”); Walter E. Rex, Essays on Pierre Bayle and Religious Controversy
(The Hague: Nijhoff, 1965), 157 (some axioms are so certain they cannot be disbelieved), 161–2
(basic truths of ethics are very clear), and 173 (infallibility of reason); Kenshur, “Bayle’s Theory of
Toleration,” 86 (states that “Bayle has to assert that we have an innate awareness of our obligations
towards God that is no less clear and distinct than our awareness that the whole is greater than its
part”); J.B. Schneewind, “Bayle, Locke, and the Concept of Toleration,” in Mahdi Amin Razavi
230 Ian Harris

His technique was to emphasize, firstly, the epistemological priority of the natural
understanding and of Christian revelation, and, secondly, to emphasize the divine
origin of these sources of information—and therefore to emphasize the authority
of the conclusions that they yielded. The natural understanding, he claimed firstly,
was incontestable: it offered an “original and indefeasible light,” and this light was a
resource “for distinguishing infallibly between truth and falsehood.”10 If the natural
understanding was so certain, one would expect a complementary emphasis to the
effect that the scriptures, rightly understood, would agree with the criteria of rea-
son. The expectation is fulfilled. If “the governing and original rule . . . is the natural
light,” then the Gospel was “a rule which is verified on the purest ideas of right
reason.”11 That Bayle meant his, or God’s order to have epistemological authority
could scarcely be less ambiguous.
Bayle’s move of attributing divine authorship to his epistemological scheme was
crucial. If the natural understanding was a faculty “for distinguishing infallibly be-
tween truth and falsehood,” that was so because “God . . . wanted . . . to provide the
soul with a resource that would never fail for distinguishing infallibly between truth
and falsehood.”12 It is this assumption about divine authorship which makes sense
of the claims that reason is infallible, and that such “natural light” is “natural rev-
elation,” indeed “the original, permanent & universal revelation.”13 Scripture itself,
of course, had a function in the divine scheme—revelation, insofar as it came via
Christ, improved the quality of reason’s findings: His was “a doctrine, which far
from being contrary to the ideas of natural reason and to the purest principles of
natural equity, extended these, clarified them, developed them, perfected them.”14
Reason and Christian revelation, to Bayle’s mind, would be aspects of a continuous
scheme which enjoyed divine authority.
What was the content of this scheme? Some of the content may seem banal if
we look at Bayle’s examples, but its banality serves to underline the point which,
we shall see, Bayle wished to emphasize. He offered the small change of platitude,
reminding his reader that “the whole is greater than the part, that it is appropriate

& David Ambuel (eds.), Philosophy, Religion, and the Question of Intolerance (Albany, NY: State
University of New York Press, 1997), 3–15, at 7 (mentions that “reason shows us undeniable prin-
ciples of morals’); and McKenna, “Rationalisme moral et fidéisme,” 266 (says that “le rationalisme
moral fonde la défense des droits de la conscience”). None of these explain these points or explore
their bearings. Rex’s 161–2 is cited by Laursen, “Baylean Liberalism,” 204–5 for the claim that the
inequity of persecution is one of the certain moral truths. This does not appear to be the position of
either Rex or Bayle, the latter of whom spent much time explaining his objections to persecution.
10Commentaire Philosophique, I. i., i OD, 2 : 368r cf. 370l. Bayle’s works, except the Dictio-
nnaire, are cited from his Oeuvres Diverses of 1727 (hereafter cited as OD) as reprinted and
augmented by Elisabeth Labrousse, 5 vols. (Hildesheim: Olms, 1964–82). Page numbers are aug-
mented with “l’ and “r’ where necessary to distinguish left and right columns.
11 Ibid., I. iii., OD, 2: 372r.
12 Ibid., I. i., OD, 2: 368r.
13 Ibid., I. iii cf I. i., OD, 2: 373l, 372r, 370l.
14 Ibid., I. iii., OD, 2: 373l.
13 Toleration and its Place 231

to be grateful to benefactors, not to do unto others what we would not have done
to ourselves, to keep our word, and to act in good conscience.”15 Yet the smallness
of the change is consistent with an elegant economy of means. These examples are
propositions which no one at the time would have paused to doubt, and it was an
uncontroversial claim that Bayle required to establish a more pointed conclusion.
He would take one of these claims, and turn it to support his case for liberty of
conscience.
We should beware of supposing that he intended to accept only such scriptural
statements that reason could discover for itself, or that he supposed that there should
be no limits upon rational speculation.16 It was to the sphere of morals that Bayle
drew attention as a proper field for reason. For “if it is possible to maintain certain
limitations in respect of speculative truths, I don’t believe there should be any with
regard to those practical and general principles which [we call] common morals.”17
Such a concern with practice, as we shall see, was sufficient for Bayle’s purpose in
respect of toleration.
For the Baylean order was one in which elementary axioms, such as the ones just
mentioned, were not to be contradicted. His assumption was that the epistemological
order is all of a piece. If a principle was founded in terms of reason and revelation,
it was unthinkable that it should be subject to qualification by another principle
of equal validity—the moral economy was self-consistent. It was self-consistent
because it was a divine economy, and Bayle adduced the time-honoured assumption
that “God . . . is incapable of contradicting Himself.”18 Conformably, the Gospel
illustrates the conformity of God’s ways to man’s. “Do they want infinite examples
of the conformity of the ways of God to those of man” Bayle exclaimed, “one has
only to read the Gospel.”19
What was the outcome of this reasoning? If Bayle’s reading of divine purpose
were admitted, it followed that a certain sort of pattern was being held up for
our obedience. If, for instance, God wished people to act in accordance with their
conscience—and we have seen that this was on Bayle’s list of incontrovertible
claims—it followed that an unimpeachable pattern was being offered to mankind,
one not liable to contradiction in other terms warranted by God. It followed from
this account, ceteris paribus, that to permit liberty of conscience, not to coerce it,
was required of the magistrate.
Bayle’s examples of divine action all tell in favour of toleration. The baylean
deity, indeed, did not wish us to belie our conscience. Rather conscience, as Bayle
claimed more forcefully, was “the voice and law of God” for each individual per-
son.20 Where does this lead the reader? If Bayle’s standing order was indefeasible,

15 Ibid., I. i, OD, 2: 370l.


16 Ibid., I. i, OD, 2: 368r.
17 Loc.cit.
18 Ibid., I. iii, OD, 2: 374l.
19 Ibid., II. ii, OD, 2: 398l.
20 Ibid., I. vi, OD, 2: 384r, cf. I. v, 2: 379v.
232 Ian Harris

it followed that what contradicted it was unacceptable. That order treated a person’s
allegiance to conscience as a matter of priority, warranted the priority as divinely es-
tablished, and suggested that prima facie coercion of conscience was unacceptable.
Furthermore, scriptural texts or reasoning which did contradict baylean order
could not be accepted. So, for instance, if the text compelle intrare were taken to au-
thorise coercion it was simply being misconstrued because, so taken, it contradicted
the divine order Bayle had identified. The literal sense of the text, to Bayle’s mind,
was not the sense intended but a mere human invention of a later day. Bayle specified
as a “fundamental principle,” and the “surest key for understanding Scripture well,
that if by taking it literally, it obliges people to commit crimes or (not to mince
words) to commit actions that the natural light, the precepts of the Decalogue and
the morality of the Gospel prohibit to us, it is necessary to take for granted that the
sense presumed is mistaken, & that in place of a divine revelation one is offering
one’s own imaginings, passions and prejudices to people.”21 Bayle, armed with a
conception of divine order, could distinguish what he wished to receive from the
Bible.
Bayle identified the contents of his standing order with care. His choice of the
Decalogue and the Gospels requires some notice. Bayle’s preference within the
Bible was definitely for the New Testament. The exemplary figure of Christ, whom
Bayle could depict as a paragon of persuasion, was an obvious resource. What, then,
of the Decalogue? This was indispensable if Bayle was to claim that morality was
integral to the order he sketched and, in any case, would have been taken by his
contemporaries to be congruent with reason.
It can scarcely surprise, after all this, that Bayle’s conceptual array was incon-
sistent with government’s exerting coercion against religious conscience as such.
Bayle deployed the argument from contradiction in addressing the two sources of
political authority most commonly assumed by his contemporaries, that is to say
an immediate derivation from God and a derivation from Him via popular consent.
Bayle asserted with respect to both that the conscience of the believer is “the voice
and law of God in him,” and correspondingly could not be denied without contempt
of the Deity. A magistrate entitled to coerce conscience would be authorised to
induce people to hate God—so that a manifest contradiction of God’s (or Bayle’s)
order would arise. It followed that the magistrate could not have such authority. For
“to command . . . to act against conscience and to command to hate or hold God
in contempt are the same thing; consequently, God, being incapable of conferring
the power to order the hatred of contempt of Himself, could not have conferred
the authority of commanding that one act against one’s conscience.”22 On parallel
grounds it was impossible to think that people could authorise a government entitled
to make them act thus: for this too “would be a contradiction in terms; for if a man
is not under restraint, he will never allow anyone to command that he hate his God,
and to despise the laws dictated to conscience so clearly and valuably, & engraved

21 Ibid., I. vi, OD, 2: 367r, cf. I.vi, 2: 380l.


22 Ibid., I. vi, OD, 2: 384r.
13 Toleration and its Place 233

on his heart.”23 In short, there could be no magisterial right to coerce conscience,


because that would contradict the standing order of God.
Thus epistemological certainty, as understood by Bayle, establishes liberty of
conscience and prohibits magisterial coercion against conscience. It is certain on
Bayle’s terms that God requires us to follow our consciences, and consequently that
He has not established any undue barriers to our doing so. Conversely, no human,
magistrate or otherwise, can contradict His order. Thus certainty is a central feature
of Bayle’s argument about toleration. One can go further. If the case for toleration
is thus far established certainly, and cannot be contradicted, it follows that no set of
contradictory conclusions can be established. So baylean certainty would establish
liberty of conscience as the only proper outcome.
This essay does not maintain that there is nothing but purported certainty to
Bayle’s argument in his Commentaire. It draws most heavily on part one of the book,
and says relatively little about the later parts;24 and it does not deny that one of its
author’s tactics was to raise doubts about intolerance and the positions that Bayle
thought went with it. Indeed, the third section of this essay explores some of the
doubts that Bayle raised against these—doubts that his positions about knowledge
and toleration required. All that this section has sought to demonstrate is that claims
to certainty were a crucial means of establishing toleration for Bayle, and it has done
its work if the reader no longer thinks it sufficient to say that “Bayle’s support [for
toleration] rests on . . . a sceptical attitude towards truth, and a moral argument which
asserts the rights of conscience above any religious revelations,”25 but instead sees
that this support required certainty, with which some parts of revelation belonged
on Bayle’s view.

II

If this route of Bayle’s towards toleration—epistemological certainty—is a surprise,


his destination is not unexpected. In the present section of this paper, his destination
itself is the surprise. The advocate of toleration is not the person we expect to be also
the proponent of state support for the church, and of state inculcation of religion,
especially if our attention has been claimed, as it has been claimed, for doubt of
various sorts. But Bayle was a proponent of these positions.
His certainty about knowledge proceeded from theological assumptions. These
were not those of revealed religion, but rather those of natural religion. We have seen
that “God . . . wanted . . . to provide the soul with a resource that would never fail for

23 Ibid., I. vi, OD, 2: 384r.


24 The next section of this essay draws more on part two.
25 H.T.Mason, Pierre Bayle and Voltaire (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963), 136. The emphasis of
Brush, Montaigne and Bayle, 240, that Commentaire was the first place where Bayle developed a
sustained scepticism is of the same family.
234 Ian Harris

distinguishing infallibly between truth and falsehood.”26 Bayle thought that reason
was this resource, that it was infallible, and that such “natural light” was “natural
revelation”—indeed was “the original, permanent & universal revelation.”27 If natu-
ral reason thus had authority from God, what else did Bayle presume in his argument
for toleration? Plainly, the existence of God, and the possibility of knowing suffi-
ciently about Him and His moral requirements to conduct ourselves in this world via
our natural faculties. Bayle referred to “natural light” and “natural law.”28 It was the
certainty of “natural light,” in fact, which enabled Bayle to approve Christ’s morals.
For
all the moral teachings of Jesus Christ are such that being tried in the balance of natural
religion they will be found to be good metal. . . . He performed miracles to uphold a doctrine,
which, far from opposing the notions of Reason, and the purest principles of natural equity,
extended, clarified, developed and perfected them; He spoke, then, on behalf of God.29

So natural reason approved these Christian teachings. It did not approve all readings
of the Bible: for instance the literal interpretation of compelle intrare (which we
have seen Bayle reject already) was unacceptable because it was “contrary to the
lights of natural Religion, the unadulterated and original law of equity.”30 Natural
reasoning did not serve only for liberty of conscience, of course, but had wider
functions.
One was to establish a morality of a broad scope, that is to say, both a proper
attitude towards God and towards others. For Bayle regarded it as “certain” that one
should “do acts of virtue, & of love of God.” That this was “certain” implies that he
treated God’s existence and natural law, which would recommend both worship and
virtuous conduct, as beyond doubt. Bayle observed that “one cannot be a Sceptic or
Pyrrhonist in religion throughout one’s life,” and one must fix on something, “true
or false”: it was with this reference that the “certain” status of loving God and acting
virtuously was enunciated.31 Whatever else was doubtful about religion, these facts
were certain.
Bayle took these terms of natural religion as “evident.” The evident included a
duty for the state to sustain society against what tended to subvert it. For the “eternal
and immutable order gives to magistrates the power of punishing felony & sedition,
& whatever else subverts the laws of the State.”32 Bayle’s catalogue of views subject
to magisterial coercion because they promoted that subversive class was extensive.
It included opinions encouraging sedition, theft, murder and perjury,33 as also the

26 Commentaire philosophique, I. i., OD, 2: 368r.


27 Ibid., I. iii cf I. i., OD, 2: 373l, 372r, 370l.
28 Ibid., II. iv, OD, 2: 410l.
29 Ibid., I. iii, OD, 2: 372r–373l.
30 Ibid., 374l.
31 Ibid., II. viii, OD, 2: 427r.
32 Ibid., II. iv, OD, 2: 408l.
33 Ibid., II. v, OD, 2: 412l. cf. II. iv, OD, 2: 408r.
13 Toleration and its Place 235

propagation of pro-opinions about “Sodomy, adultery, Murder.”34 In other words,


an extensive range of opinions and actions were to be coerced because they were
taken to undermine society.
Bayle, though he excluded coercive action by the state against conscience as
such, thus admitted it in another connection: his state had coercive authority to
maintain society, including authority over relevant opinions. There was more. For
if Bayle thought that to allow a state to touch legitimate conscience was to under-
mine his order, there was an obvious limitation. Conscientious disturbance of civil
order was unacceptable. For instance, the state was said to be entitled to deal with
any manifestations of religion that undermined society. Bayle considered that if a
religious group threatened “the public good,” its adherents should be persuaded to
act otherwise and, if recalcitrant, expelled from the state.35 Coercion should apply
not least to religious groups that sought to undermine existing religion by force.36
This view made sense in terms of Bayle’s assumption of an order complicit with
ordinary morality. For he assumed, as we have seen, that some moral conduct was
necessary to the continuance of state and society: and as such morality was a portion
of God’s standing order, it followed to that extent that an enforcement of some
morals and the consequent maintenance of society were authorised by Him. It also
followed that a Christian church, if it inculcated worship of God and good morals,
was valuable. As Bayle thought that the church was an agency that restrained “cu-
pidities,” evidently he thought it did good in that respect.37
It is clear, more pointedly, that Bayle supposed that if government should support
civil order, it should also support Christianity. This is not to say that he supposed that
the state was entitled to suppress what it took to be false religion, for that implied
contravening some conscientious (if perhaps mistaken) belief. Half of the prince’s
traditional function—to suppress false religion—was thus excluded, but the other
part—to uphold Christianity—remained. Bayle’s terms are graphic. “Nothing,” he
wrote,
Nothing is more advantageous to the Church than Princes who protect & cherish it; who see
to it that it should be served by wise & educated pastors, & who found and endow Colleges
and Academies for this purpose: who spare no necessary charge for its needs; who take
care to punish scandals & bad ways amongst the clergy so that others may take heed and
walk in the path of integrity their profession demands: who by their own good lives, and by
their laws foster the practice of virtue especially, and last of all, are always ready to punish
severely those who would try to oppress the liberty of the Church.

And so there can be no doubt that Bayle supposed that the state should uphold the
church in a variety of ways.38

34 Ibid., II. ix, OD, 2: 431l–432l.


35 Ibid., I. vi, OD, 2: 385l.
36 Ibid., II. vi, OD, 2: 416r.
37 Ibid., II. vi, OD, 2: 416r.
38 Ibid., II. vi, OD, 2: 416r.
236 Ian Harris

Neither is this an isolated passage—for it is clear, too, that the baylean magis-
trate was entitled to act in order to promote people’s religious welfare as he under-
stood it. Even when Bayle insisted that magistrates could not coerce people from
one belief into another, he asserted that they were entitled to direct them to pay
attention to religion—indeed that “they can . . . command them to examine, to study
a religion.”39 Whilst Bayle eschewed the coercion of conscience, he countenanced
religious study, including the study of some faith, at magisterial command. Neither
this political didacticism nor state support for the church suggest that he favoured
the separation of church and state in every respect: just that the latter was supposed
to underwrite Christian worship in a variety of ways, and to inculcate the study of
religion.
This point is sufficiently far from the received emphasis on Bayle as an exponent
of toleration—one does not say in contradiction to it—to provoke further enquiry.40
That is true especially because this linkage of church and state involved important
consequences for other departments of Bayle’s thought.
Bayle evidently meant to admit the state into ecclesiastical affairs to the degree
that it supported religion, and to exclude it to the degree that it threatened what
he understood by religion. This may seem doubly curious, for Bayle’s position is
often linked with Locke’s, but Locke’s mature position is obviously different. To
Locke’s mind the state had no business with the creeds and worship as such.41 The
baylean magistrate, however, not only performs the lockean function of upholding
civil society but also undertakes the non-lockean function of upholding religion.
Why the difference?
It is important to avoid discounting Bayle as an inferior version of Locke. This
is so especially because there is little doubt that Locke’s arguments about toleration
are philosophically superior to Bayle’s. Instead, the emphasis falls here on the point
that their theoretical intentions were different, that some of the differences which
distinguish their positions can be used to illuminate Bayle’s intentions, and to under-
line the consequences of his views about toleration for the character of his broader
thought. Locke’s position about toleration is free from the assumptions about the
corporate identity of communities which are emphasized in much of the Christian
thought of his time. Some of these assumptions—though by no means all—are to
be found in Bayle, and their presence reflects the role that he attributed to the state.
The notion of corporate identity implied that one would be responsible for the
many, and, as the one did well or ill, the many would fare well or ill. This was not a
replication of the classic observation that quicquid delirant reges, plecuntur achivi.

39 Ibid., I. vi, OD, 2: 386r. My emphasis.


40 Compare the curious judgement of Labrousse, Pierre Bayle, 2: 555, “Bayle a pu nous sembler
timide quand il s’agissait de fixer des bornes précises aux prérogatives de l’état.”
41 Epistola de Tolerantia, ed. Raymond Klibansky (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), 66, “Because
in truth the whole jurisdiction of the magistrate looks solely to these civil goods, all right and
command of civil authority is both defined by and limited to the care and promotion of them only,
neither ought it nor can it be extended to the cure of souls.”
13 Toleration and its Place 237

It was an assumption about representation and responsibility. The first case was that
in which God appointed Adam to represent the human race at the earliest point in
its history, and in which, when Adam fell, all humanity suffered punishment for his
sin. Yet the logic applied not only to burdens but also to benefits, for if Adam repre-
sented mankind, so too did Christ, and as its representative He took upon himself the
punishment that fell upon it.42 The logic, whatever its burdens or benefits, presumed
that a representative stood for the represented in the fullest sense—that they were
liable for whatever he did, whether for good or evil, and without any obvious sub-
stantive concurrence in what he did. The presumption (though situated in a very
different style of argument) was continued by Hobbes,43 but he was by no means
the only thinker to apply such logic to politics. Bossuet for one suggested that people
suffer justly for the sins of their rulers.44
Two assumptions at least lay behind this view in is theological manifestations.
One was that the person appointed to represent the many has endowments superior
to theirs—as Adam and Christ alike were supereminent in understanding,45 and
Christ (though not Adam) in goodness also—and that the many were clearly inferior
in this connection, so much so that they required to be directed for their own good.
The other assumption was that this superior person was in fact appointed by the
Deity in order to represent the many, and that God would pursue the representative’s
actions through the medium of particular providence.
This model obviously lent itself to a unitary state and to a unitary church accom-
panying it. For it suggests that the state would have a single head, and fits readily
with the suggestion that the church should be constituted in the same way. It lent
itself, also, to the view that one person should be head of church and state alike,
and so unite the community more fully. That such a model should recommend itself

42 For the model, and Locke’s rejection of it, Ian Harris, “The Politics of Christianity,” in G.A.J.
Rogers, ed., Locke’s Philosophy: Content and Context (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), 197–215,
esp. 198–200, 212–14.
43 There is little sign that Hobbesian people, once a sovereign is instituted and subsists, have an op-
portunity to authorise it, though they are reckoned to be authors of its actions; and the same applies
to those under sovereignty by acquisition. More remarkably, Hobbes stated that not only those who
had refused their consent at institution, but also those who were neither involved nor consulted,
were obliged to submit or to suffer the consequences. Though the refusers can be reckoned to
covenant tacitly, it is not clear that the latter category can. “For if he entered into the Congregation
of them that were assembled [to institute a sovereign], he sufficiently declared thereby his will (and
therefore tacitely covenanted) to stand to what the major part should ordayne. . . And whether he
be of the Congregation, or not; and whether his consent be asked, or not, he must either submit
to their decrees, or be left in the condition of warre he was in before; wherein he might without
injustice be destroyed by any man whatsoever,” Leviathan (London: Crooke, 1651), II. xviii, p.90
(my emphasis).
44Politique tirée des propres paroles de l’écriture sainte, ed. Jacques Le Brun (Geneva : Droz,
1967), VII, a.5, prop.16.
45For example, Adam’s superiority in point of perception, and therefore in naming entities; on
which, Hans Aarsleff, “Leibniz on Locke on language,” in his From Locke to Saussure (London:
Athlone Press, 1982), ch.1.
238 Ian Harris

in an era of state-building and that the clergy of established churches should fall in
with it cannot surprise. No doubt it would be too epigrammatic to say that Adam
inaugurated the modern state: yet the notion that the whole community would be
upheld by God if its leader did well (as by upholding true religion) was pervasive.
Correspondingly, the notion of schism from a unitary church (that is to say, assuming
this to be a true church) was dangerous to the whole community.46
Locke broke decisively with such views. For him, each man consents for himself
in order to be represented, and retains substantive control over his representative’s
subsequent actions. So, for instance, no man can transact on behalf of his children or
more remote descendants.47 Correspondingly, when we turn to ecclesiastical mat-
ters, and to theodicy, we find that no one can transact with God save on his own
behalf, and that notions of a true church and even of particular providence are left
mostly in the background.48 Church and state could be treated by Locke as indepen-
dent and consequently separate organisations.
Bayle was less thoroughgoing in his treatment of church and state because he
was less radical than Locke about corporate identity, at least when he wrote the
Commentaire philosophique. Hitherto Bayle’s chief reference to the subject had
been to unpick connections between particular providence, collective punishment
and true religion. His Pensées diverses sur la Comète had rebutted the suggestion
that a comet could presage God’s displeasure against government and peoples (and
therefore, implicitly, for religious error in their midst, and so could portend their col-
lective punishment for permitting the deviance of a few).49 The correlation between
religious deviance within a group, such as a state, and God’s displeasure against the
group as a whole for permitting it, presumed that the group had a corporate iden-
tity and that its leaders had a responsibility to regulate its common beliefs. Indeed,
Bayle famously went further, and implicitly queried a correlation between religious
deviance and the weakening of society. He argued in his Pensées that atheism and
idolatry did not seem to be inconsistent with society,50 and made a related point in

46 For more on the political consequences of the doctrine, Ian Harris, “Tolérance, église et état
chez Locke” in Les fondements philosophiques de la tolerance, ed. Y.C. Zarka, F. Lessay and
G.A.J. Rogers, 3 vols. (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2002), 1: 175–218, esp. 184–99.
47 “he . . . cannot by any Compact whatsoever, bind his Children or Posterity,” Two Treatises,
II.viii.116, p.364.
48 Harris, “Tolérance, église et état chez Locke,” 204–06, 213–14. Locke’s rejection of atheism
was not cast in terms of averting the strokes of particular providence that their presence might
provoke, but rather their own character and its results, ibid., 215–6.
I intend to write about the theme of corporate identity and its political effects at greater length
elsewhere.
49 ss. 52–60 (comets neither causes nor signs of ills to come), s.229, 235 (impossible that comets
could be the efficient cause of the ills they presage), OD, vol.3, pp.37–42, 139, 142. On previous
writing about this topic, see Geoffroy Atkinson, “Précurseurs de Bayle et de Fontenelle. La comète
de 1664–1665 et l’incredulité scavante,” Revue de Litterature comparée 25 (1951) : 12–42.
50 Pensées, ss. 132–4, OD, 3: 84–7.
13 Toleration and its Place 239

his Commentaire by suggesting that heretics as such do not damage the state.51 Ev-
idently, if particular providence functioned, it did not do so in a way that obviously
correlated religious deviance with collective punishment.
Yet the notion that the magistrate was a religious guardian had not receded from
Bayle’s thought. A title to guide the governed was implied in his persuasive role,
whether in directing those of religions other than his own to study the latter, or in
reasoning with the anti-social religious. It is true that such a role is not coercive,
for Bayle excluded that (though coercion on behalf of the public good would be
admitted), but that there should be such a role implies a responsibility for the spir-
itual welfare of the governed. Bayle, as we have seen, emphasized the role of the
magistrate in upholding the church and in inculcating religion. We can add now
that this role had divine approval. For if “God promises her [the church] the love
and protection of earthly sovereigns as a special blessing,”52 we may presume that
princes who love and protect the church are doing His will.
Why did Bayle, unlike Locke, emphasize state support for the church? The an-
swer lies no doubt, in part, with the circumstances in which his lot was cast. The
French state had provided protection to the Huguenots in the face of the enmity
of the Roman Catholic Church—a point whose significance is underlined by the
uncomfortable position of Merlat’s treatise.53 To this point can be added Bayle’s
personal situation in the United Provinces, where on occasion the government pro-
vided a bulwark against Calvinist inroads against liberty of conscience—including,
perhaps, protection for the author of Commentaire philosophique from the conse-
quences of ecclesiastical censure.54 In these circumstances, it would be intelligible
if Bayle were reluctant to probe the character of the state’s corporate function when
he wrote his Commentaire. It was otherwise for an Englishman, whose own govern-
ment had been on occasion the source as well as the agent of religious coercion.
Bayle, then, was a proponent of liberty of conscience in his Commentaire rather
than an assailant of all political intervention in religious matters. In respect of such
attention, his practical circumstances and his intellectual position agreed with one
another. The latter presupposed a natural theology, as did the epistemology which
established liberty of conscience. Yet if Bayle maintained, or at least failed to re-
vise, a traditional position about corporate identity in his Commentaire, the view of
toleration he developed there involved moves in other areas of his thought, moves
which may appear to be aggressive, but which served to close gaps in his intellectual
defences.

51 Commentaire, II. vi, OD, 2: 417l.


52 Ibid., II. vi, OD, 2: 416r, cf. 416l.
53 [Elie Merlat], Traité du pouvoir absolu des souverains: pour server d’instruction, de consolation
et d’apologie aux églises Reformées de France qui sont affligées (Cologne : Cassander, 1685).
54Brush, Montaigne and Bayle, 240 points out that the Walloon clerical response to the book was
condemnation.
240 Ian Harris

III

At least two topics of the first importance were left in a state of uncertainty by
Bayle’s manner of argument in his Commentaire. One was the status of the Old
Testament. The other was soteriology. Both received attention in his later writings
as well as in the Commentaire itself, and its character owes something to his concern
with toleration. In particular, the way in which Bayle had developed his argument for
toleration left some salient points vulnerable to attack, and so called for defensive
moves from him. These moves were to put question marks against the presumptions
that supported those corporate positions that were inconsistent with his conclusions.
The uncertainty related in the first instance to innovation. The Old Testament was
not uniformly convenient for Bayle. In the first place, it gave prominence to a view
of divine action which had a content that differed significantly from the solidarity
of reason and Christian revelation that he had given as a basis for his claims against
magisterial coercion of religious conscience. The uniform pattern of this divine
order, however, was quite different from that supposed in an older view of God’s
dealings with mankind. For Isaiah reminds us that His ways are not our ways, and
His thoughts are not ours.55 This contention militates against the characterisation
of divine order that Bayle postulated—for the order of reason and Christian reve-
lation might be far distant from His real intentions if Isaiah were right. Then there
were the non-irenic claims and activities of the prophets. The behaviour of Moses
and his successors was less pacific than Christ’s, so that the Old Testament could
hardly have suited Bayle’s purpose even had he been able to jettison Isaiah quietly.
How then did Bayle deal with this uncomfortable situation in his Commentaire?
He insinuated that the Old Testament was inferior in value to the New, as Moses
was inferior to Christ because he had authorised coercion,56 and so implied that
the Pentateuch at least was not up to scratch. Much of the rest is silence within
Commentaire Philosophique. Indeed a case might be constructed to the effect that
the Old Testament as a whole did not serve Bayle’s turn on the topic of toleration.
This position was inconvenient in that the claim that reason and revelation together
provided certainty was a preamble to arguing that certainty supported liberty of
conscience. The Old Testament was doubly inconvenient, for it was the source of
those corporate assumptions that had been used against liberty of conscience. Some-
thing had to give if Bayle was to maintain his claims about toleration in the face of
contrary evidence and assumptions. That something would be the Old Testament. In
Dictionnaire Philosophique it received the glare of Bayle’s attention.
For if Bayle was at once the advocate of the independence of conscience and
the proponent of state supervision over other aspects of ecclesiastical affairs, he
needed to establish that conscience was properly the province of its possessor, not
the magistrate. There was a difficulty in this task, a difficulty which had its roots
in the Old Testament. One need hardly point out that the Fall of Man could be

55 Isaiah, 55: 8.
56 Commentaire, I. iii, OD, 2: 373l–r.
13 Toleration and its Place 241

understood to offer grounds for the supervision of conscience. If the Fall was held
to have obscured the intellect and weakened the will, it might be supposed that
some people, rescued by grace from this plight, should have the spiritual and civil
supervision of the rest, who were not so blessed. It was true that the Old Testament
did not specify the consequences of the Fall for human abilities with any precision,
but it was true too that it offered a ground upon which theologians had constructed
arguments for the authority of church over the believer, and for the state as the
church’s assistant in that respect. For Bayle to ensure that this train of thought hit
the buffers of dialectic, and so to save the independence of conscience, required a
decisive change. This was to do away with Adam’s representative role. It appears,
from the article about Eve in his Dictionnaire, that Bayle was happy to imply that
Adam (or for that matter Eve) had no endowment adequate to a role as mankind’s
representative:
There never was an undertaking of such importance: the destiny of the human race for all
centuries to come was at stake . . . and yet there never was a matter settled so promptly . . . it
must be admitted that the two heads to whom God had confided the well-being of mankind
protected it in a manner that was worse that useless . . . they put up less resistance than a
child when someone wishes to take its doll.57

From this, one would infer that Adam was not qualified to represent mankind, and
so could not have been intended for that role by God, and consequently whatever
mankind suffered at the Fall was not by way of punishment. Thus, if the Old Testa-
ment could not be ignored, nor perhaps treated in a directly critical manner, it could
be reassessed and the warrant that it might afford to corporate identity and so to
corporate direction would be abridged where it touched conscience. The move was
perhaps all the more necessary for Bayle because of the juxtaposition of individual
conscience and state protection of religion within the Commentaire.
If the specific effects of the Fall could be questioned, so too was the specific
salience of Christianity itself. For the argument of the Commentaire depends in an
important sense of our being ignorant of the identity of the true church, and gives rise
to a doctrine of soteriology which displaces Christianity from its central position.
Why must we be ignorant of the true church in order that Bayle might maintain
his view of toleration? The answer is that one of the central components of the
case against toleration of religious difference was the claim to know better. The
true church, the church that embodied God’s intentions for mankind, had a warrant
superior to all others, this warrant might be supposed to extend to other churches
being brought into conformity with it, and to the consciences of their adherents
being corrected. If so, there was no legitimate room for individual conscience which
did not correspond to the tenets of the true church.
Bayle recognised as much, dwelling on the assumption of persecutors that they
were right.58 His response was the obvious one, that is to say, to imply that the true

57 “Eve,” Note A, Dictionnaire Historique et Critique (edn., 16 vols., Paris, 1820–24, repr. Geneva:
Slatkine, 1969), 6: 329.
58 II. vii, OD, 2: 419–22.
242 Ian Harris

church cannot be known. This was not a position that anyone would have cared to
enunciate explicitly, but Bayle’s view that everyone holds themselves to be ortho-
dox59 suggests that the evidence in the case was less than decisive. Certainly, though
Bayle discussed the church in his Commentaire, he was very far from identifying a
true church there or from allowing others to proceed on the premise that they had
done so.
This line corresponds to a remarkable manoeuvre, whose effect is to diminish the
soteriological necessity of Christianity. The manoeuvre was to place emphasis in the
winning of salvation upon the disposition of the enquirer after truth rather than on
his or her success in discovering religious truth.
Whilst Christian doctrine required that two criteria be met if someone was to
be saved, Bayle required only one. Christian doctrine had dwelt, firstly, on action
in conformity to the Decalogue, and, secondly, on that action proceeding from an
appropriate disposition, that is to say one in which obedience flowed from a love
of God, and not from any terrestrial motive or selfish ground; or, failing complete
conformity in both action and disposition, an animating faith in God to justify the
sinner.
Bayle reduced these two criteria to one by insisting that though the proper dis-
position was necessary to be saved, yet attaining to any specific truth was not. The
doctrine may sound odd, well-known though it is, but it was certainly present in the
Commentaire, for Bayle wrote that,
the sole law that God, in His infinite wisdom, could set to man with regard to truth, is to
love every thing that seems to him true, after having employed all his faculties in order to
discover it.60

And indeed Bayle had prefaced this conclusion with the doctrine that a disposition
was adequate for goodness in cases of conduct where people acted under misinfor-
mation.61
Why did he maintain the sufficiency of disposition in such cases? Here again we
encounter the question of truth. The claim to possess truth was one of the qualifi-
cations to coerce. It was a title, we may add, which belonged not only to the true
church in its dealings with mistaken Christians but also to any Christian dealing
with non-Christians. Now the protection of non-Christians fell under Bayle’s aegis
as a direct consequence of his treatment of conscience. Conscience for Bayle was
a law to its possessor. Bayle argued that what signified was a sincere search for
truth, and an adherence to it in one’s conduct. If so, the significant matter is the
conscientiousness of the belief, which is considered without reference to and so
regardless of the validity of the belief, and without reference to action that coheres
with it. In this light, the conscience of the non-Christian is as significant as that of
the Christian—and this light, of course, is the light of Bayle’s epistemological order.

59 I. x; II. viii, OD, 2: 391r, 427l.


60 Commentaire, II. x, OD, 2: 437l.
61 Ibid., II. ix, OD, 2: 432r–33r.
13 Toleration and its Place 243

Its illumination suggested that Christian and non-Christian alike be exempted from
coercion, ceteris paribus.
The soteriological consequence is evident. An earnest belief and a diligent search
for truth, rather than a specific object of belief, are the grounds of salvation. This is a
conclusion that does not wholly agree with Christian doctrine—for that is nothing if
not insistent about the necessity of certain beliefs to salvation. Whilst Bayle himself
concluded that “I die a Christian philosopher,” it is less than obvious that his philo-
sophical case for liberty of conscience tends to support the necessity of Christianity
to salvation. At any rate, it has been argued here that a distinctive account of salva-
tion, and a questioning attitude towards the Old Testament are required by Bayle’s
position on toleration.

This essay suggested at the outset that toleration is not a topic that can be treated
to best effect in isolation. On this reading, a view of conscience is properly a view
of conscience in its place. What is that place, according to Bayle? Now that it has
been located, it is timely to recollect that long ago one of his most appreciative
readers gestured towards it. The Commentaire Philosophique was “the most usefull
work Bayle ever wrote, and the least sceptical.” The reader should have known, for
he was Edward Gibbon.62 The baylean location of conscience is one that implied
an epistemological order whose dialectical use was to outflank the claims that had
reposed on a scriptural text. Bayle’s doctrine had a wider setting still. It rests upon
a view of natural theology, in which not only epistemology but also morals and
religion had their place, and in which the state enforced some morals, and had a role
in respect of religion. Bayle’s view of toleration had an effect in relation to his view
of the state and of corporate identity, a view tempered by the institutional situation
of his thought. Baylean toleration and its setting in natural theology had intellectual
consequences that touch other, apparently distant but really contiguous portions of
his thought, whether about the Bible or about soteriology. So to see toleration in its
place brings in view a new Bayle.

62D.M. Low, ed., Gibbon’s Journal to January 28th , 1763. My Journal, I, II & III and Ephemerides
(London: Chatto & Windus, 1929), 101 (entry for 23 July 1762). For some English readers of
Bayle, see Justin Champion, “ ‘Most Truly . . . A Protestant’: reading Bayle in England,” McKenna
and Paganini, eds., Pierre Bayle, 503–26.
Chapter 14
Rousseau Juge de Locke or Reading Some
Thoughts on Education after Émile

Sylvana Tomaselli

The seventeenth-century philosopher most likely to spring to mind in connection


with Jean-Jacques Rousseau today is Thomas Hobbes; this is probably so even if
one does not confine one’s thoughts to England, and all the more certain if one
does think of Rousseau qua political thinker and the author of Du Contrat Social
(1762). This is the Rousseau that seems to predominate in current perceptions of
him, and there is no doubt that Du Contrat Social (1762) shows a real engagement
with Hobbes’ conception of political legitimacy. Much as it does now, Rousseau’s
name did evoke a political persona in his own time, one that was identified with
a peculiar conception of the state of nature and a distinctively radical critique of
civilization; for some, Rousseau was also a constitutional authority as exemplified
by the requests he received to draft the constitutions of Corsica and of Poland. First
and foremost in the eighteenth century, however, Rousseau was identified with a
pedagogical vision. Considered primarily as the author of Julie, ou La Nouvelle
Héloı̈se (1761) as well as Émile, ou De L’Education (1762) (which Rousseau indi-
cated contained his first principles despite being his last work for publication in his
life time),1 the seventeenth-century English philosopher to whom one might think
Rousseau was most indebted would be John Locke—the Locke who prevailed for
most of the eighteenth century, the author of the Essay on Human Understanding
(1689) as well as of Some Thoughts on Education (1693).
This is not to seek to belittle the mark Locke’s Two Treatises on Civil Government
(1689) left on Rousseau’s political works or indeed on the whole of his writings.2
The centrality of property and the nature of the means of its legitimate acquisition to
Rousseau’s discussion of the foundations of society is but one starting point in estab-
lishing the influence of the Englishman’s political thought on that of the Genevan.
Yet even within Rousseau’s political texts, it could be argued that the Locke who
principally affected him was the epistemologist, the Locke of the way of ideas, who

1 Rousseau Juge de Jean Jacques, in Oeuvres Complètes, Bernard Gagnebin and Marcel Raymond
(eds) 4 vols (Paris : Gallimard, 1964), 1: 933. (Oeuvres Complètes hereafter cited as OC).
2 For an account of the reception of Locke’s Treatises in Europe, see, S.-J. Savonius,” “Locke
in French, the Du Gouvernement Civil of 1691, and its Readers,” Historical Journal 41(2004),
1: 47–79.

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 245
and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 245–260.
246 Sylvana Tomaselli

led him to search for the birthplace of our ideas of meum and tuum or of the self.
Locke was the thinker whom Rousseau acknowledged to have led him to examine
the origins of ideas. As he put it in a poem first published in1739 and entitled “Le
Verger de Madame la Barronne de Warens”:

Dans ce verger charmant, j’en partage l’espace,


Sous un ombrage frais, tantôt je me délasse,
Tantôt avec Leibnitz, Mallebranche (sic), et Newton,
Je monte ma raison sur un sublime ton,
J’examine les Loix des corps et des pensées :
Avec Locke je fais l’histoire des idées :
Avec Kepler, Wallis, Barrow, Rainaud, Pascal,
Je devance Archiméde, et je suis l‘Hôpital.3

(In this charming orchard, I share its space,


Under a refreshing shadow, sometime I rest,
Sometime with Leibnitz, Mallebranche (sic), and Newton,
I raise my reason to a sublime pitch,
I examine the laws of objects and of thoughts:
With Locke I study the history of ideas:
With Kepler, Wallis, Barrow, Rainaud, Pascal,
I overtake Archimedes, and I follow l‘Hôpital.)

The history of ideas, the quest for their genesis in mankind as well as in his own
self, was central to Rousseau’s theoretical as well as psychological preoccupations.
When and how natural man came to acquire a notion of his individuality, of love,
property, and abstractions generally, was a study whose importance to Rousseau was
only matched by his relentless self-analysis and search for the how and when of his
emotional and intellectual make-up.
In many ways, Rousseau could be argued to have sought to be Lockean through
and through, to live and think in accordance with what he took to be Locke’s
empiricism. Rousseau’s entire oeuvre has in fact been read as an application of
Locke’s empiricism or, perhaps more accurately, the sensationalism often associ-
ated with him, especially so through the prism of Condillac.4 Though it cannot be
explored here, this is an attractive interpretation of Rousseau that needs to be born
in mind, especially as it concerns the comprehensiveness of Rousseau’s adoption
of another’s philosophical outlook; for surprising though this might seem given the
eagerness with which he sought to shun any appearance of discipleship in his most
famous works, we know that Rousseau discovered that, initially at least, he could
only truly comprehend a philosophical position or system of thought by immersing
himself in it.

3 “Le Verger de Madame de Warens,” OC, 2:1128. The translations that follow are mine.
4 This is the learned view of Marcel Raymond editor of Les Rêveries du Promeneur Solitaire; see
for e.g. OC, 1:1821.
14 Rousseau Juge de Locke 247

Recalling his auto-didactic days whilst living with Madame de Warens, “Ma-
man,” at Charmettes, Rousseau describes in Book VI of the posthumous Les Con-
fessions 5 how after a morning of outdoor prayers and contemplation, he lunched
with her, and following a couple of hours of conversation would devote his after-
noons to reading philosophical books, such as, “la Logique de Port-royal, l’Essai
de Locke, Malebranche, Leibnitz, Descartes, etc.”6 Finding all philosophers to dis-
agree amongst themselves, he laboured vainly to reconcile them, and was ultimately
forced to adopt another method altogether, one to which he attributed all his intel-
lectual progress despite (as he seemed to enjoy emphasising) his severely limited
capacity to study. “En lisant chaque Auteur,” he writes, “ je me fis une loi d’adopter
et suivre toutes ses idées sans y mêler les miennes ni celles d’un autre, et sans jamais
disputer avec lui.” 7 After some years, Rousseau found himself with a sufficient store
of knowledge to become intellectually independent and to reflect “sans le secours
d’autrui.”8 By dint of having engrossed himself in various thinkers’ distinct points
of view, Rousseau tells us that, when without books, for instance when travelling,
he could recall what he had read and compare ideas, weigh them in the light of
reason, and separate the true from the false. Despite having embarked on this way
of studying relatively late in life, he discovered that his discernment had lost none of
its vigour, and that when he came to publish his own thought “on ne m’a pas accusé
d’être un disciple servile, et de jurer in verba magistri.” 9
Although this account of the history of his originality is by no means unproblem-
atic, it might be best, when thinking of Rousseau’s relationship to Locke or indeed
to any author, not to focus overly on either acknowledgements, or even confronta-
tions, but to seek also less tangible, but possibly deeper, marks of parentage. One
might of course also wish to take Rousseau’s word on the nature of his reflections,
and shun recognition of any family ties and thus see him as beholden to no one.
This might seem particularly appropriate in relation to Émile, for in its foreword
Rousseau claimed, as he was wont to, that despite all that had been written on it, the
subject of education was entirely new before he came to address it. What is more,
he singled out Locke’s pedagogical work as having left the topic untouched.10 That
Rousseau should have done so is a testimony, were one needed, of the esteem in
which he could assume his readership might hold Locke’s Thoughts. Why then did
Rousseau just appear to brush it aside? Why not engage with it?
With these reflections in mind, let us consider how Some Thoughts on Education
so thoroughly failed to make a mark on “l’utilité publique, la première de toutes les

5 Rousseau composed the Confessions between the end of 1766 and the end of 1770.
6 OC, 1:237.
7Ibid. “Whilst reading each author,” he wrote, “I made it a rule to adopt and follow all his ideas
without mixing mine nor those of anyone else, and without ever arguing with him.”
8 Ibid. “Without anyone else’s help.”
9 Ibid., 238. “I was not accused of being a servile disciple, and of swearing in in verba magistri.”
10 Ibid., 4:241.
248 Sylvana Tomaselli

utilités, qui est l’art de former des hommes,”11 Rousseau’s opening gambit might be
deemed simply to reveal the depth and shamelessness of his ingratitude, but it merits
some consideration, if only as it might heighten, or, at least alter, our sensibilities in
reading Locke’s text.12 Did Locke’s thoughts extend no further, or not much further,
than to the well-being of an individual or, for that matter, to that of any number of
them, but in a manner unrelated to public utility? Unwittingly Rousseau’s dismissal
of Some Thoughts alerts its reader—for it must be read again—to the very feature
he denied it and helps the reader see it as it should be seen, namely as a pedagogical
text written within a specific social and political context.
Some Thoughts arose out of an exchange of letters between its author and Ed-
ward Clarke, who had consulted Locke on the education of his son. That Locke
was concerned with the welfare of individuals, no one could wish to deny. That he
thought the burden of responsibility for it rested with the individuals themselves and
their parents through the upbringing they had received from them is no less clear.
One of the first points the philosopher made plain was his position on the cause of
happiness and misery. Locke famously believed that “Mens Happiness or Misery
is most part of their own making. He, whose Mind directs not wisely, will never
take the right Way; and he, whose Body is crazy and feeble, will never be able to
advance in it.” This led him to assert that apart from the lucky few who “are from
their Cradles carried towards what is Excellent; and by the Privilege of their happy
Constitutions, are to do Wonders,” nine out of ten men “are what they are, Good or
Evil, useful or not, by their Education.”13
That Locke focused on the education of a particular group of individuals is also
indisputable. He was explicit about the class and gender of those individuals who
were the principal objects of his Thoughts. Although he did not wish to commit
himself in this publication as to where the difference between the sexes lay, Locke
wrote it not for the education of daughters, but that of sons; his aim being to ex-
plain “how a young Gentleman should be brought up from his Infancy.”14 Locke
did discuss girls’ education privately as when he wrote to Mary Clarke, wife of
the dedicatee of Some Thoughts, in the mid 1680s. This said, he did not entirely
exclude girls from his published reflections, and they came to mind in relation to
clothing, which Locke thought ought to be loose for both the sexes, although he
was particularly critical of tight bodices on young girls.15 Women were mentioned
further when discussing the pros and cons of educating boys at home. Interestingly,
Locke evoked the example of daughters to show that being educated at home did
not “make them less knowing or less able Women,” adding: “Conversation, when
they come into the World, soon gives them a becoming assurance.”16 It is in relation

11 “public utility, the first of all utilities, which is the art of forming men.”
12 Pierre Burgelin comments on Rousseau’s ingratitude, see OC, 4.4: 1290–1.
13 Locke, STCE, 83, #1.
14 Ibid., 86, #6.
15 Ibid., 90–91, #11–12.
16 Ibid., 129, #70.
14 Rousseau Juge de Locke 249

again to language that women’s education makes another favourable appearance in


the book as Locke notes that many ladies, who have never been taught grammar, but
have spent their time in “Well-bred Company” speak as correctly as most gentlemen
taught in grammar schools.17 Thus it may well be that Locke, while not entirely
shying away from the subject of girls” education, simply felt ill at ease publishing
on it as he might have considered he had insufficient experience to justify doing
so; but there is nothing in his Thoughts that could not in principle be extended to
them provided one did not wish to make women into a qualitatively different kind
of creature from men. Indeed, in her Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792) as
well as her more specifically pedagogical texts, Mary Wollstonecraft, who certainly
had no such desire, might be said to have applied Locke’s philosophy of education
to the weaker sex in order that they ceased to be thought such ever more. That
Locke himself wanted women to be as he wanted men is made explicit in his letter
to Mary Clarke: “Since therefore I acknowledge no difference of sex in your mind
relating. . .to truth, virtue and obedience, I think well to have no thing altered in it
from what is [writ for the son].”18
In keeping with his opening sentence, “A sound Mind in a sound Body,” Locke’s
attention had first turned to the body.19 Refraining from overly protecting children
from the elements was one of Locke’s principal injunctions; indeed, he urged parents
to expose their progeny to the inclemency of the weather, and seemed particularly
keen on thin shoes so that they might let in water in winter. Mothers were responsible
for the overly pampered upbringing that Locke was writing against and motherly
love would, he thought, stand in the way of the implementation of such a harsh
regime.20 Predictably, Locke thought diet “ought to be very plain and simple,” but
he also believed it should be without meat at least until the child reached his second
or third year. While both parents were likely to take exception to this, given the
over consumption of meat amongst his contemporaries, Locke did single out “fond
Mothers and foolish Servants” as being particularly responsible for feeding meat
to very young children, and in over-abundance to boot.21 Likewise, Locke frowned
upon sugar, salt and spices, wine and strong drinks, some, though not all, fruit,
and, despite being (or possibly because he was) a physician warned against reliance
on medicine, but thought well of butter and cheese, and especially bread; indeed, he
urged that only bread be given between meals: “I impute a great part of our Diseases
in England to our eating too much Flesh, and too little Bread.”22

17 Ibid., 225, #168. See also, 218, #165.


18 John Locke: Selected Correspondence, ed. Mark Goldie (Oxford: OUP, 2002), 106. The differ-
ences Locke allowed for girls’ upbringing were few and very minor, for example that they might
be kept out of the hottest sun for the sake of their complexion.
19 STCE, 83, #1.
20 Ibid., 84, #4; 87, #7.
21 Ibid., 92, #13.
22 Ibid., 93, #14.
250 Sylvana Tomaselli

In addition, Locke braved appearing “soft and effeminate” in recommending un-


restricted sleep for young children: “In this alone they [children] are to be permitted
to have their full Satisfaction.”23 That, however, should be on hard beds. Life ought
also be punctuated by “Going to Stool regularly”24 and this seems to have been the
only instance in which habituation to a set timing was advocated by Locke, whereas
he advised parents not to feed their young children at regular times, for he was very
wary of opening the door to dependency of any kind in matters of food and drink.25
With this, Locke was able to reduce his advice on physical education to a “few and
easily observable Rules”:
Plenty of open Air, Exercise and Sleep; Plain Diet, no Wine or Strong Drink, and very little
or no Physick; not too Warm and Straight Clothing, especially the Head and Feet kept cold,
and the Feet often used to cold Water, and exposed to Wet.26

Children should thus not be accustomed to anything except that which would
strengthen and invigorate their bodies. At a more general level, the subject of habit-
uation is one of the more important ones to emerge from Locke’s intervention.
The task with regard to the development of the mind ran along similar lines: “As
the Strength of the Body lies chiefly in being able to endure Hardships, so also does
that of the Mind.”27 The sentence that follows makes it abundantly clear that by the
education of the mind, Locke actually meant the formation of moral character:
And the great principle and Foundation of all Vertue and Worth, is placed in this, That a
Man is able to deny himself his own Desires, cross his own Inclinations, and purely follow
what Reason directs as best, tho” the appetite lean the other way.28

John Rogers has convincingly argued that Locke held a teleological view of man and
believed God to have made man with the capacities to know the good and pursue it.29
Furthermore, as John and Jean Yolton put it, “It would be only a slight exaggeration
to say that Locke’s Some Thoughts is mainly a treatise on moral education,” adding
that for Locke, “Virtue is the health of the soul, the aim of education is to produce a
healthy, virtuous person.”30 The mistake most parents made was in failing to ensure
that the mind of their boys be disciplined and “pliant to Reason” early enough. They

23 Ibid., 97, #21.


24 Ibid., 99, #23.
25 Ibid., 94, #15.
26 Ibid., 102, #30.
27 Ibid., 103, #33.
28 Ibid. See also, 173, #113 where Locke writes one of his more Stoical passages: “The many
Inconveniences this Life is exposed to, require we should not be too sensible of every little hurt.
What our Minds yield not to, makes but a slight impression, and does us but very little harm: “Tis
the suffering of our Spirits that gives and continues the pain.”
29 See, for instance, his “Locke and the Sceptical Challenge,” in The Philosophical Canon in the
17 th and 18th Centuries: Essays in Honour of John W. Yolton (Rochester, N.Y.: University of
Rochester Press, 1996), 49–67.
30 STCE, Editors’ Introduction, 18.
14 Rousseau Juge de Locke 251

were not trained to curb their passions and appetites. Here again, it was not parental
neglect but parental fondness that was at fault, as vices were not nipped in the bud
under the mistaken belief that they were innocent in the very young and remediable
in later years. What parents failed to grasp was that “the Principle of all Vertue and
Excellency lies in a power of denying our selves the satisfaction of our own Desires,
where Reason does not authorize them.” 31
The rigorous, but not harsh, discipline applied to younger children, would, Locke
believed, lead to awe and respect, and these would render debasing corporal pun-
ishments, which lead to slavish characters, unnecessary especially as children grew
up. Finding that “Children are very sensible of Praise and Commendation,” Locke
suggested means to “make them in love with the Pleasure of being well thought on”
and “in love with all the ways of Vertue.”32 “Concerning Reputation,” he wrote,
I shall only remark this one Thing more of it; That though it be not the true Principle and
measure of Vertue, (for that is the Knowledge of a Man’s Duty, and the Satisfaction it is to
obey his Maker, in following the Dictates of that Light God has given him, with the Hopes of
Acceptation and Reward) yet it is that, which comes nearest to it: And being the Testimony
and Applause that other People’s Reason, as it were by common Consent, gives to virtuous
and well-ordered Actions, it is the proper Guide and Encouragement of Children, till they
grow able to judge for themselves and to find what is right, by their own Reason.33

In addition, children were not to be burdened with too many rules, nor taught by
them. Emulation was the means that Locke favoured most; manners, deportment,
and conduct ought especially to be taught by example.34 Locke was also emphatic
that education had to be suited “to the Child’s natural Genius and Constitution,” for
“God has stampt certain Characters upon Mens Minds, which, like their Shapes,
may be perhaps a little mended; but can hardly be totally alter’d, and transform’d
into the contrary.”35 Time was also to be allowed to work its effect, as Locke be-
lieved it would particularly in relation to civility.36
On the question of whether boys should or should not be educated at home, Locke
weighed the inconveniences and, as already been mentioned above, took comfort in
the example of girls who, in his view, did not suffer from being kept away from
schools and thereby from bad company. He noted further, “whatsoever, beyond that,
there is of rough and boisterous, may in Men be very well spared too: For Courage
and Steadiness, as I take it, lie not in Roughness and ill Breeding.”37 We will return
to Locke’s mention of courage below; what is of interest here is that in relation to
home schooling as throughout the text, Locke’s foremost concern was not only with
the acquisition, but also the preservation, of virtue: “Vertue is harder to be got, than

31 Ibid., 107, #38.


32 Ibid., 116, #57 and 117, #58.
33 Ibid., 119, #61.
34 Ibid., 124, #67.
35 Ibid., 122, #66.
36 Ibid., 125, #67.
37 Ibid., 129, #70.
252 Sylvana Tomaselli

a Knowledge of the World; and if lost in a Young Man is seldom recovered.”38 As


the case of young women coming into the world proved, Locke argued, confidence
would soon be gained when needed in young men. For those at all able to have
one, Locke thus recommended a private tutor, who would be better able to attend
to the child’s particular pedagogical needs and matters of deportment as well as
“more manly Thoughts, and a Sense of what is worthy and becoming, with a greater
Proficiency in Learning into the Bargain, and ripen him up sooner into a Man, than
any School can do.”39
While mothers had been the inadvertent corrupters of the very young through
their misguided fondness, it was fathers who, in their eagerness for worldly success,
spoilt boys in the later years:
But Fathers observing, that Fortune is often most Successfully courted by bold and bustling
Men, are glad to see their Sons pert and forward betimes; take it for an happy Omen, that
they will be thriving Men; and look on the Tricks they play their Schoolfellows, or learn
from them, as a Proficiency in the Art of Living, and making their Way through the World.
But I must take the liberty to say, that he, that lays the Foundation of his Son’s Fortune
in Vertue, and good Breeding, takes the only sure and warrantable way. And ’tis not the
Waggeries or Cheats practised amongst School-boys, ’tis not their Roughness one to an-
other, nor the well-laid Plots of Robbing an Orchard together, that make an able Man; But
the Principles of Justice, Generosity and Sobriety, joyn’d with Observation and Industry,
Qualities, which I judge School-boys do not learn much of one another.40

Lest it be thought that Locke might have been intent on ensuring that his advice
produce manly men of virtue for their own sake or that of their family only, it should
be noted that these comments were quickly followed by the philosopher’s wish “that
those, who complain of the great Decay of Christian Piety and Vertue every where,
and of Learning and acquired Improvements, in the Gentry of this Generation, would
consider how to retrieve them in the next.”41 That there was, moreover, a patri-
otic backdrop to Locke’s pedagogical reflections is made abundantly clear when he
warns that unless “Innocence, Sobriety, and Industry” be instilled and maintained in
the present youth, it will be ridiculous to expect that the next generation “should
abound in that Vertue, Ability, and Learning, which has hitherto made England
considerable in the World.”42 And he went on to declare:
I was going to add Courage too, though it has been looked on as the Natural Inheritance
of Englishmen. What has been talked of some late Actions at Sea, of a kind unknown to
our Ancestors, gives me occasion to say, that Debauchery sinks the Courage of Men: And
when Dissoluteness has eaten out the Sense of true Honour, Bravery seldom stays long
after it. And I think it impossible to find an instance of any Nation, however renowned for
their Valour, who ever kept their Credit in Arms, or made themselves redoubtable amongst
their Neighbours, after Corruption had once broke through, and dissolv’d the restraint of

38 Ibid.
39 Ibid., 130, #70.
40 Ibid., 131, #70.
41 Ibid.
42 Ibid., 131–2, #70.
14 Rousseau Juge de Locke 253

Discipline; and Vice was grown to such an head, that it durst shew it self bare-faced, without
being out of Countenance. 43

As we saw above, Locke was eager to dissociate the idea of courage from those
of roughness and lack of breeding, and anxious that the nature of moral excellence
was rightly conceived and not taken as a given. For him all considerations had to
give way to that of inspiring virtue in the young and this was of consequence not
only to young men as individual moral agents in this world and the next, nor only
to the gentry as a class, but to the nation as a whole, if only because of the duty that
class had to it. Locke himself carried his patriotism on his sleeve and while he was
wary of those who in Parliament cloaked their self-interest in the language of the
“Publique Good,” he was determined to fight for the prosperity of his country and
was not embarrassed to say so: “And whilst I have any breath left I shall always be
an Englishman.” 44
His discourse on education was thus alert to misconceptions about the nature
and source of true manliness and concerned that anything he might suggest might
be deemed to lead to effeminacy or not to suppress it.45 Like many of the Ancient
philosophers before him, he thought of self-command and particularly self-denial
as providing the keys to the felicity of individuals, but also as being the root of
national survival and distinction. Like the Ancients, he believed edifying models to
play an essential role in the formation of moral character, and imitation was one
of the principal modes of learning for him. It is in this context that he expressed
his strong disapproval of the involvement of servants in the raising of children.
Education was very much a parental matter for Locke, though this by no means
precluded the employment of tutors. While his Thoughts are replete with detailed
practical advice on the rearing of very young and adolescent boys, it is obvious that
any parent wishing to follow it would have to be a model, although perhaps not
quite a paragon, of wisdom and self-control or would have to endeavour to become
one as an essential prerequisite to the successful up-bringing of their children. The
tutors they hired would of necessity have to be very remarkable moral characters
too, a topic to which Locke devoted a good portion of his book.46 Locke was keen
to insist that education had to be tailored to each child, but he was unambiguous
about imitation:
But of all the Ways whereby Children are to be instructed, and their manners formed, the
plainest, easiest and most efficacious, is, to set before their Eyes the Examples of those
Things you would have them do, or avoid. Which, when they are pointed out to them, in
the Practice of Persons within their Knowledge, with some Reflection on their Beauty or
Unbecomingness, are of more force to draw or deterr their Imitation, than any Discourses
which can be made to them.47

43 Ibid., 132, #70. It is thought that Locke had the Battle of Beachy Head in June 1690 in mind;
see Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 132, n. 26.
44 Selected Correspondence 227 and 263.
45 STCE, 169, #109, for instance as well as his discussion of sleep above.
46 Ibid., 148–158.
47 STCE, 143, #82.
254 Sylvana Tomaselli

Nor was the setting of good examples to be a temporary expedient, but to be used
by fathers as long as they thought fit: “Nothing sinking so gently, and so deep, into
Men’s Minds, as Example.”48
The practicality of what is effectively an instruction manual should thus not ob-
scure the fact that Some Thoughts amounts to a quiet, but discernable, call for the
moral reformation of the country. It is a critique. Amidst discussions of fencing, of
how and when to acquire languages, to receive religious education, and to travel,
and of the need for even a gentleman to learn a trade, if only book-keeping, there
is a running lesson for parents. Mothers as well as fathers would have to reconsider
the true nature of parental love and duty as well as the true nature of virtue and
end of life. We have had a glimpse earlier of their misconstruction of the good
and how their feelings often stood in the way of raising a physically and morally
strong new generation. Locke also urged fathers to reflect on the quality of their
relationship with their sons and recommended that they show them friendship and
trust and cease being reserved and distant as he indicated was all too common
amongst his contemporaries.49 Those with estates should draw their sons into their
confidence and gradually teach them the proper management of the family prop-
erty. Ultimately, Locke hoped that his treatise would encourage parents to “dare
venture to consult their own Reason, in the Education of their Children, rather than
wholly to rely upon Old Custom.”50 His Thoughts may have been for the education
of sons, but it was no less, and I would venture far more, for the re-education of their
parents.
What consulting reason seemed to lead Locke to reconsider was whether custom-
ary ways of raising children succeeded in making them what they ought to be given
the world they were to enter.51 From what he had seen of the raising of children
amongst his acquaintances and what he knew of the practice more generally, the
means seemed to be inconsistent and unlikely to produce their intended results,
nor was the nature of the latter unquestionable or sufficiently thought through. The
pampering of early years, followed by a mixed regime of indulgence and arbitrary
restrictions punctuated by rather ruthless physical punishments, teaching methods
that stunted any desire for knowledge or fitted the young “rather for the University,
than the World’52 , and the absence of edifying company at best produced youths ill
prepared for the vicissitudes of life.

48 Ibid. See also the same advice directed to tutors, 147, #147.
49 Ibid., 160, #96.
50 Ibid., 265, #217.
51 Ibid., 158, #95.
52 Ibid., 157, #95. See, also in Selected Correspondence, Locke’s letter to the Earl of Monmouth
of 1690 (?) in which he questions the need to turn a gentleman into “a thorough scholar,” 146.
14 Rousseau Juge de Locke 255

The world for Locke was one of temptations.53 It was also one where corruption
was rife.54 Only those endowed with wisdom, fortitude, and self-control could make
their way in it and lead the nation away from vice and self-destruction. John Dunn
has rightly argued that Locke did not think his society in imminent danger of polical
collapse and that in the last two decades of the seventeenth century he was relatively
confident of its ability to continue reproducing itself.55 This should not, however,
eclipse the apprehensions apparent in his correspondence and Some Thoughts about
the moral state of the nation and his belief that the character formation of the gentry
was in very serious need of attention. It is in this context that his pronouncements
on the subject have to be seen and this is especially so of his insistence that curbing
self-love or molding it in the direction of public utility had to begin as early as
possible. Locke warned parents to eradicate any tendency toward covetousness and
injustice as soon as they and like vices made their appearance. Liberality and a
sense of justice had to be inculcated in gentlemen at an early stage, but as justice
was a complex matter that could only begin to be comprehended much later through
understanding of the notion of legitimately acquired property, parents had to be
imaginative:
The first Tendency to any injustice, that appears, must be supprest with a shew of Wonder
and Abhorrency in the Parents and Governours. But because Children cannot well compre-
hend what Injustice is, till they understand Property, and how particular Persons come by it,
the safest way to secure Honesty, is to lay the Foundations of it early in Liberality, and an
Easiness to part with to others whatever they have or like themselves. This may be taught
them early, before they have Language and Understanding enough to form distinct Notions
of Property, and to know what is theirs by a peculiar Right exclusive of others.56

Read alongside his bemoaning the narrow-mindedness and misguided sense of self-
interest of his compatriots in government, the Church, and various parts of civil
society in his correspondence of the 1690s, say, in relation to the Naturalization Bill
or reforms in manufactures or the Poor Law, it would seem that Locke thought the
spirit of liberality in very short supply in his time:
[. . .] I could say much on This, but I must then find fault with our Legislators, who to [sic]
often examine thinges by the touchstone of their own Interest, and either thro them out, or
coolely let them fall, as they answer that end; I wish That House were better fild with men

53 See, for instance, his letter to John Alford who had just left Christ Church, Oxford, and whom
Locke warned that he would need “courage that may defend and secure your virtue and religion”
and that “there are more dangerous theeves, than those that lay wait for your purse, who will
endeavour to rob you of that virtue which they care not for themselves.” Selected Correspondence,
34.
54 “The corruption of the age gives me so ill a prospect of any success in designs of this kind” he
wrote to William Molyneux in February 1697 in connection to new practices in linen manufacture.
Selected Correspondence, 238.
55John Dunn, The Political Thought of John Locke: an Historical Account of the Argument of the
“Two Treatises of Government” (Cambridge, 1969), 237.
56 STCE, 170–1, #110.
256 Sylvana Tomaselli

of publique spirits than it is; our Taxes might be raysed with more Ease, our Trade better
secured, and our Mony made to goe farther towards the use of the Warr, . . .57

These are perhaps timeless and common enough laments, but their ubiquity does not
lessen their force. Nor should it be forgotten that Edward Clark, whose correspon-
dence with Locke about the education of his son led to the composition of Some
Thoughts, was a Member of Parliament.
As with any hint of injustice, so any sign of timorousness had to be promptly
attended to by parents and educators. Perhaps partly because of the scandal (alluded
to above) caused by the Earl of Torrington, the Admiral whose timid command of
the English Fleet, abandonment of England’s Dutch allies and retreat before the
French had brought great shame on the nation, Locke discussed the question of
eliminating fear and developing courage in children. Though he did not wish to be
seen to recommend the Spartan approach, that is, recommend that boys be whipped
so as to fortify them again pain, he did offer suggestions as to how to hardened
them against the fear of pain and danger.58 Yet, however keen he was that his work
led to the making of men of courage, Locke was equally, if not more, apprehensive
lest it fail to ensure that they were not cruel. The torture of animals was not to be
tolerated as “they who delight in the suffering and destruction of inferiour Creatures,
will not be apt to be very compassionate or benigne to those of their own kind.”59
An abhorrence of killing any creature ought, in Locke’s view, to be nurtured in all
children.
In the light of this, it is difficult to see how Rousseau could justify the claim that
even after Locke’s Some Thoughts on Education the art of making men, the foremost
of public good, was left open for him to have to explain. Judging by some of the
comments Locke received following its publication, his contemporaries appeared to
think that he had gone beyond offering practical advice of the kind to be expected
in pedagogical guides. Apologizing for troubling Locke, with whom he was not
acquainted personally, for advice, James Hamilton wrote in February 1694:
I am not only prompted by the ingenious solid and practical notions you have layde downe,
as welle for the inculcateing and cherishing Moralitye in Youthe, as the improvement of
theyr understandeing, but I am farther incouraged by the generous and publicke spiritte
which shines throughout your booke, and is very particularly expressed in the middle of the
second paragraph of the epistle dedicatorye to that booke.60

Hamilton was referring to Locke’s pronouncement: “For I think it every Man’s in-
dispensable Duty, to do all the Service he can to his Country: And I see not what
difference he puts between himself and his Cattel, who lives without that thought.”61
Rousseau was not to know how Locke’s book had been received, nor how it fitted

57 Selected Correspondence, 228.


58 STCE, 178–9, #115.
59 Ibid., 180 116.
60 Selected Correspondence, 194.
61 “To Edward Clarke of Chipley, Esq.,” STCE, 79.
14 Rousseau Juge de Locke 257

with his political preoccupations and proposals, but it is hard to see how anyone
could overlook the purpose of the book or deny that, however much it might be
deemed to have been unsuccessful for one reason or another, Some Thoughts was a
contribution to the art of forming men, and, more to the point, to form them for civil
society and indeed political office.
It might be thought that Rousseau was writing in bad faith or just carelessly. If,
arguably, little hangs on his motive, the question raised here remains an interesting
one as it leads one to read Locke’s work not only as a “treatise on moral education,”
as it has rightly been seen, but also as a political work in its aims to produce a
ruling class psychologically open to social and economic changes Locke considered
necessary to England’s future prosperity. Some Thoughts is often read in the light of
An Essay concerning Human Understanding (1690) to test the extent to which the
former conforms to what might be taken as the epistemological prescription deriv-
able from the latter. That is all well and good, but the work’s epistolary origins must
not be forgotten, and it should also be seen against Locke’s everyday but long-term
worries about the blinkered and narrowly self-interested views of his compatriots.
What did this leave for Rousseau to undertake as for the first time? As all com-
mentators agree, he seemed to be following Locke’s footsteps most closely in his
early pedagogical reflections, those relating to his position as tutor in the household
of M. de Mably in 1740, Projet pour L’Éducation de Monsieur de Sainte-Marie. The
extent of the influence is difficult to ascertain since both Locke and Rousseau had
absorbed the views of a number of educationalists and philosophers, amongst whom
Montaigne may well be the most noticeable.62 Be this as it may, Rousseau’s first
thoughts on education closely resemble Locke’s. Borrowing from Peter Jimack’s
summary in his extensive study of Rousseau’s Émile, Rousseau’s Projet is highly
critical of corporal punishment; he argues, as Locke had, that it should be replaced
by the tutor or parent’s overt contempt, and recommends a similar plan of rewards
for good behaviour; he also discourages excessively long and tiring lessons, and
draws up a programme of studies that aims to develop the child’s ability to reason.63
Most importantly, as Jimack further notes, Rousseau’s goal, like that of Locke, is to
prepare the child to become a gentleman.
However it is precisely in this respect that the two texts differ most sharply. Were
one in need of imagining what Locke’s Some Thoughts might have been without
what I have suggested is its public aspect, Rousseau’s Projet would give a fair sense
of it. To be sure, the Projet is no more than a memorandum; it is much shorter
and not the product of mature reflection. However much Rousseau’s intentions as a
tutor seem to be to follow Locke’s prescriptions, the two texts cannot in all fairness
be compared in any sense approaching that of weighing one against the other. This
said, the Projet is written for a particular gentleman’s son and, if set besides Locke’s

62 See Yolton and Yolton’s introduction to STCE, 12–13, and Peter D. Jimack’s excellent La
Genèse et la redaction de l’Emile de J-J. Rousseau: Etude sur l’histoire de l’ouvrage jusqu’à
sa parution (Geneva: SVEC, 1960), 273–90.
63 Jimack, La Genèse, 290.
258 Sylvana Tomaselli

Thoughts, helps discern the moral and political dimension that could so easily have
been missing from the Englishman’s work whilst still fulfilling its pedagogical brief.
As Rousseau himself invites the comparison, one may ask how Émile succeeds
where Some Thoughts failed. While Émile is the result of considered opinion and
a far more extensive study than the Projet, it is not at all obvious how Rousseau’s
substantial pedagogical treatise uniquely fulfils the requirements that he set in its
preface: “l’utilité publique, la première de toutes les utilités, qui est l’art de former
des hommes.” 64
Despite what one cannot but describe as feigned criticisms, Rousseau follows
Locke almost to the letter in numerous respects. Hardening children physically, not
indulging them, ensuring that they remain eager to learn, teaching them through
play, dressing them in loose clothing, letting them sleep, feeding them simple and
plain food, avoiding meat, alcohol — all these counsels and more are to be found in
Émile. Rousseau may be more or less insistent on any one point, but all of the topics
he addressed are at the very least touched upon by Locke or arise from following
the logic of his thought. However, as Jimack has remarked, some or most of the
similarities might simply be commonplaces of contemporary pedagogical writings;
but this is not so of the need to learn a trade, for example, nor, I would add, the
manner in which travelling is discussed in both the works.65 That Rousseau wrote
with Locke in hand is further demonstrated by incidental remarks. Thus, not only
does Rousseau, like Locke, prefer boys to be educated at home, but he also supports
his case by drawing on the example of girls just as we have seen Locke to have
done.66 The likeness is such that one is reminded of what Rousseau told of his own
method of learning, mentioned at the beginning of this essay, namely one of total
and uncritical immersion in the author under study.
Countering the many parallels is at least one important and well-noted difference,
however, that is, that whilst Locke in Some Thoughts wrote with real men, indeed,
specific gentlemen in mind, Rousseau’s Émile has an imaginary child in an imagi-
nary situation as its subject. The implication of this for the question addressed in this
chapter is that Some Thoughts is more, rather than less, likely to be of public conse-
quence, at least in the short term. For Rousseau’s contrivance eliminates parents and
places a fictive tutor centre stage in Émile.67 The public utility that the latter work
might or might not realise cannot therefore be of a reformist kind, there being no
question of changing parental attitudes or modifying existing practices or moulding
existing characters. Moreover, as we have seen, albeit briefly, imitation played a
crucial role in the learning process for Locke. This made it essential that the adults
that were being imitated were worthy of imitation. Were all the gentry to follow
Locke’s advice and seek to be models worthy of emulation, society would have

64 See n. 9 above.
65 Jimack, La Genèse, 294.
66 OC, 4: 654–5.
67 In this, Rousseau reveals his debt to Fénelon’s highly influential Télémaque (1699), which has
a mentor prepare the eponymous character for the kingship to which he is destined.
14 Rousseau Juge de Locke 259

become a radically different place from what it was. Locke’s hopes are not likely to
have stretched anything like that far, but he did seem to believe that something could
be done by at least some parents and governors. While Rousseau was not committed
to the view that the world was entirely bereft of noble models, this was not a belief
he allowed to permeate his Émile. Apart from himself, whom he made the ideal tutor
in his pedagogical novel, Rousseau did not put much store on existing potential role
models.
For him, any social transformation would have to be effected through a newly
brought up generation. Émile is to be educated away from the world, but in order
to enter society eventually. As Geraint Parry succinctly put it, “Rousseau’s aim in
Émile is to show how a child can be turned into a man in civil society or, more
accurately, despite civil society.”68 While Locke recommended educating children
at home to protect them from bad influences, he was not so determined to delay
knowledge of the world. Indeed, he thought no one likely to cope with its difficulties
and evils, who was not gradually made aware of its nature. Through the visits of
family friends and acquaintances as well as a worldly wise tutor, Locke made for
the measured introduction of civil society into the domestic arena. However wanting
it was, civil society did contain the means of its own redemption for Locke. Not so
for Rousseau. The wedge between the two works was driven by a difference in social
and political opinions.
This is not the only dissimilarity between Some Thoughts and Émile, but it is
in my view the most important one given our concerns here. Comparisons between
Locke and Rousseau have, for instance, led commentators to note that unlike his
English predecessor, the Swiss educationalist did set a specific programme of edu-
cation according to age. Tied to this consideration, they have tended to stress that
what differentiates Rousseau’s from Locke’s educational project is, above all else,
that Émile is premised on the natural goodness of man and thus that the difference
between the two works is that the eighteenth-century one proposes a programme of
learning for a naturally good man and, by implication, that the seventeenth-century
one doesn’t.69 But this is misleading.
That Locke believed God made individuals each with their peculiar traits and
tendencies we have seen him make clear earlier. That he believed it essential to
recognise the nature of each child’s temper and to modify it so that it be capable of
virtue has also been noted and cannot be overemphasized.70 That he thought chil-
dren could be made better or worse by their education and their social environment
is undeniable, hence the attention he gave to education. He would not, it is true, have

68 Geraint Parry, Émile: Learning to be Men, Women, and Citizens, in The Cambridge Companion
to Rousseau, ed. Patrick Riley (Cambridge: CUP, 2001), 250.
69 For the view that the distinctiveness of Émile rests on its basis in natural human goodness, see
for instance, Jimack, La Genèse, 317, or Nicholas Dent, Rousseau (London: Routledge, 2005),
81–122.
70 John Yolton emphasized throughout his scholarly work that Locke did not think of the mind as
being a complete blank. See, for instance, “Tabula Rasa” and “Tempers” in A Locke Dictionary
(Oxford: Blackwell, 1983), 288–291.
260 Sylvana Tomaselli

followed Rousseau in claiming, as the latter did when defending himself after the
publication of Émile in a letter to Christophe de Beaumont the Archbishop of Paris,
that the fundamental principle of morality is that:
l’homme est un être naturellement bon, aimant la justice et l’ordre; qu’il n’y a point de
perversité originelle dans le cœur humain, et que les premiers mouvements de la nature
sont toujours droits.71

The reason for that is not that Locke adhered to the doctrine of original sin; he did
not. Rather, it is because the pronouncement makes very little philosophical sense
to anyone who thinks, as Locke did, that man is born devoid of ideas, principles
and truths, including, or one might even say, especially, moral principles and truths,
and that his primary innate tendency is to seek pleasure and avoid pain. How far
Rousseau himself was from holding that view is a fair question; one that needs to
be pressed on those who all too readily take his claim about the natural goodness
of man as a coherent and meaningful proposition and, what is more, the basis of
his overall philosophy. But the natural goodness of man, if it was a considered
belief of his (and in my view it was not) was certainly not the corner stone of
his philosophy. What was, as many commentators have argued, was the quest for
the meaning of, and all the more the psychological, social and political conditions
for, moral autonomy. At the risk of appearing to accuse him of being “un disciple
servile, et de jurer in verba magistri,” Rousseau was at one with Locke in this respect
as well; both authors sought to establish and preserve moral autonomy and hoped
their pedagogical works would lead to its acquisition. Locke thought it achievable,
albeit under specific reflective as well as political conditions, within the existing
culture. Not so Rousseau. Autonomy for him required a degree of detachment from
the prevailing civilization that Locke thought neither necessary nor possible. They
differed subtly, but importantly, on the subject of imitation. In Émile, only Sophie
learns with and through her mother’s teaching, and thus receives the very education
from which Rousseau was eager to preserve Émile. It is a pity that one of the few
leads Rousseau did not take from Locke is one that would have made it possible for
women to attain moral autonomy as well.72

71 OC, 4:935. “Man is naturally good, loving justice and order; that there is no original perversity
in the human heart, and that the first movements of nature are always righteous.”
72 That was Wollstonecraft’s reproach against Rousseau; Locke did not give her cause to do so.
Chapter 15
Locke’s “Things Themselves” and Kant’s
“Things in Themselves”: The Naturalistic
Basis of Transcendental Idealism

Yasuhiko Tomida

Introduction

It is well known that Kant objects to the corpuscular hypothesis, takes the plenist
position, and treats the concept of force as a basic one in his physical theory.1 On this
point he draws a sharp line between himself and Locke, who attempts to establish
an epistemology on the basis of the corpuscular hypothesis. Moreover, according to
Kant, such Lockean epistemology is merely a “physiology of the human understand-
ing.”2 In other words, it is an example of the Quinean “naturalistic” epistemology
that cannot play its authentic role—that is, the role of rightly determining the possi-
bility and range of our knowledge. However, it is clear that Kant is well acquainted
with Locke’s views in the Essay and even inherits some part of them; for example,
he accepts a distinction that corresponds to the Lockean distinction between primary
and secondary qualities.
Kant himself does not say much about the relationship between his philosophy
and Locke’s. However, we can to a considerable extent confirm the relationship
between the two on the basis of his writings of the critical period. Interestingly, such
investigations suggest that the framework of Kant’s transcendental idealism has a
certain problematic structure. For despite the fact that his transcendental idealism
seems to be modeled on the framework of Lockean theory of ideas, Kant refutes the
latter. In this essay I will clarify this problematic structure. To do this I will adduce
as an important clue a fact of correspondence, that is, the fact that Kant’s “things
in themselves”, “affection,” and sensible “representations” correspond to Locke’s
“things themselves”, “affection,” and sensible “ideas,” respectively.

1 See Immanuel Kant, Metaphysische Anfangsgründe der Naturwissenschaften, in Kants gesam-


melte Schriften (Berlin: Georg Reimer/Walter de Gruyter, 1902–), 4: 465–565 and Martin Carrier,
“Kant’s Theory of Matter and His Views on Chemistry,” in Kant and the Sciences, ed. Eric Watkins
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 205–30. Incidentally, for Kant’s pre-critical view on sci-
ences, see Martin Schönfeld, The Philosophy of the Young Kant: The Precritical Project (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2000).
2 Immanuel Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, ed. Jens Timmermann (Philosophische Bibliothek,
505; Hamburg: Felix Meiner, 1998), AIX.

Sarah Hutton, Paul Schuurman (eds.), Studies on Locke: Sources, Contemporaries, 261
and Legacy, C Springer Science+Business Media B.V. 2008, 261–275.
262 Yasuhiko Tomida

For many Kant scholars this correspondence is already almost self-evident.3


In this essay, however, I begin with reconfirming the correspondence as carefully
as possible. I first take up Kant’s argument against Berkeleyan “dogmatic” ide-
alism by showing that we can identify his sensible representations with Berke-
ley’s “ideas of sense.” Then, through the medium of the close relationship be-
tween the framework of Berkeley’s theory of ideas and that of Locke’s, I further
confirm that Kant’s sensible representations are identifiable with Locke’s sensible
ideas. If this identity is confirmed, then we can also confirm that Kant’s “affection”
corresponds to Locke’s and that Kant’s “things in themselves,” which affect our
senses (or minds), corresponds to Locke’s “things themselves,” which also affect our
senses.
Confirmed in this way, the correspondence between Kant’s “things in them-
selves” and Locke’s “things themselves” makes their difference in character all
the more noticeable. Whereas Locke’s “things themselves” are objects of scientific
investigations (especially by the corpuscular hypothesis), Kant’s “things in them-
selves” are thoroughly unknowable. But despite their unknowability Kant affirms
the existence of things in themselves, and this has been viewed for a long time as
one of the serious problems in Kant’s philosophy. According to Kant, things in space
(and their properties) are nothing but representations “in us,” and appearances qua
representations necessarily demand the existence of things in themselves (though
these are unknowable). From an historical point of view, however, if Descartes” and
Locke’s theories of ideas do not precede it, such a view must be unintelligible. If
I may limit my consideration to Locke and Kant, perhaps we can say that Kant’s
“things in themselves” are the product of a degeneration of Lockean “things them-
selves.” In other words, Kant’s concept of “things in themselves” would not make
sense without the model of Locke’s naturalistic theory of ideas,4 and as a result

3 For example, Gardner’s following words about sensation suggest that he regards the correspon-
dence in question as self-evident: “Having agreed with empiricism that sensation is a posteriori
and originates through the subject’s being somehow impinged upon from the outside, Kant will
say nothing more about sensation itself other than that it composes a “manifold” (multiplicity).
In contrast with Locke’s meticulous typology of sensible ideas, everything that Kant will go on
to say about sense experience has to do with what the mind makes of its manifold of sensation.”
(Sebastian Gardner, Kant and the Critique of Pure Reason [London: Routledge, 1999], 67).
4 Seeing that in his natural philosophy Descartes located sensible “ideas” as internal items in
contradistinction to a newly posited external world of bodies qua a mechanistic one, and that
Locke inherited the idea language from Descartes, Descartes’ view must play an important role
in our inquiry. However, since we can find in Locke some items that not only in their contents
but also in their expressions correspond to Kant’s “things in themselves” and “affection” more
properly, I discuss here exclusively bearing Locke in mind. Incidentally, for my interpretation of
Descartes’ theory of ideas, see my “Descartes, Locke, and “Direct Realism”, in Stephen Gaukroger,
John Schuster, and John Sutton (eds.), Descartes’ Natural Philosophy (London: Routledge, 2000),
569–75 and my The Lost Paradigm of the Theory of Ideas: Essays and Discussions with John W.
Yolton, Philosophische Texte und Studien, 87 (Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 2007), 177–184.
15 Locke’s “Things Themselves” and Kant’s “Things in Themselves” 263

of its degeneration, the framework of his transcendental idealism seems to have a


distorted logic. To make this clear, I begin with a consideration of Kant’s argument
against Berkeleyan idealism.

From the Göttingen Review


Among early criticisms of Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason there is a so-called
“Göttingen Review” (Feder/Garve review).5 After several arguments the reviewers
conclude:
when, to assume the most extreme position with the idealist [such as Berkeley], everything
of which we can know and say something is merely representation and law of thought, when
representations in us, modified and ordered in accord with certain laws are just that which
we call object and world, why then the fight against this commonly accepted language, why
then and from where this idealist differentiation?6

In brief, the anonymous writers say that Kant’s position is identical with Berkeleyan
idealism.7
As is well known, in the Appendix of the Prolegomena Kant vehemently argues
against the reviewers” criticism.8 Interestingly, he allows the reviewers to identify
his position with Berkeley’s to some extent, but by saying that the full identification
reveals their inability to understand the biggest task of the Critique of Pure Reason,
he rejects their conclusion. In fact, he asserts that “Space and time, together with
everything contained in them, are not things (or properties of things) in themselves,
but belong instead merely to the appearances of such things”9 and by saying that
“thus far I am of one creed with the previous idealists,”10 he suggests that he shares

5 Zugabe zu den Göttingischen Anzeigen von gelehrten Sachen (January 19, 1782), 40–8. “Die
Göttinger Recension,” in Immanuel Kant, Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die
als Wissenshaft wird auftreten können, ed. Karl Vorländer (Philosophische Bibliothek, 40; Ham-
burg: Felix Meiner, 1969), 167–74.
6 “Die Göttinger Recension,” 174. English translation is from: Brigitte Sassen, Kant’s Early Crit-
ics: The Empiricist Critique of the Theoretical Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2000), 58. Following the conventions of the Cambridge editions of the works of Immanuel
Kant, the translator indicates emphasis through bold type.
7 As Margaret Wilson says, the reviewers do not repeatedly mention the proper name “Berkeley.”
See Margaret Dauler Wilson, Ideas and Mechanism: Essays on Early Modern Philosophy (Prince-
ton: Princeton University Press, 1999), 289, n. 8. However, it is certain that both the reviewers and
Kant himself acknowledge that Berkeley is one of the idealists in question.
8Immanuel Kant, Prolegomena zu einer jeden künftigen Metaphysik, die als Wissenshaft wird
auftreten können, in Kants gesammelte Schriften, 4: 371ff. Henceforth, Prolegomena.
9 Ibid., 374. English translation is from: Immanuel Kant, Prolegomena to Any Future Metaphysics
That will be Able to Come Forward as Science, trans. Gary Hatfield, in Immanuel Kant, Theoretical
Philosophy after 1781, ed. Henry Allison and Peter Heath (Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press, 2002), 162.
10 Kant, Prolegomena, 374. English translation: 162.
264 Yasuhiko Tomida

the same view with Berkeley to some extent. However, to show that there is a critical
difference between them, he continues:
But these idealists, and among them especially Berkeley, viewed space as a merely empiri-
cal representation, a representation which, just like the appearances in space together with
all of the determinations of space, would be known to us only by means of experience or
perception; I show, on the contrary, first: that space (and time as well, to which Berkeley
gave no attention), together with all its determinations, can be cognized by us a priori, since
space (as well as time) inheres in us before all perception or experience as a pure form of our
sensibility and makes possible all intuition from sensibility, and hence all appearances.11

“The real problem” of the Critique of Pure Reason is, of course, to clarify “the
possibility of synthetic cognition a priori,” whose existence Kant believes has al-
ready been shown by pure mathematics and pure natural science.12 And to solve
this problem he asserts that space and time “can be cognized by us a priori.” There-
fore, it seems to Kant that the Göttingen review—which merely regards his idealism
as Berkeleyan, and neglects the problem concerning the possibility of synthetic
cognition a priori—does not understand what “the real problem” is.According to
Kant, when synthetic judgments a priori are seen from the empiricist viewpoint and
treated as empirical judgments, they lose their universality and necessity.13 There-
fore, whereas empiricists reject innate cognitive elements and base all cognition on
experience,14 Kant asserts that our sensibility and understanding have some cogni-
tive forms a priori and space and time are a priori pure forms of sensible intuition.
They are nothing but the forms that appearances qua representations have a priori,
and are inapplicable to things in themselves. As we know, this is one of the most
important characteristics of his position.
As mentioned above, Kant refers to Berkeley’s idealism as “dogmatic.”15 In
dogmatic idealism space and time are not regarded as pure forms of sensibility
and there is no room for things in themselves that affect our senses. Therefore,
there are some conspicuous differences between Kant’s and Berkeley’s positions.
However, the fact that Kant sometimes explains his position by comparing it with
Berkeley’s—and especially the fact that he treats his sensible “representations” as

11 Ibid., 374–5. English translation: ibid.


12 See ibid., 377. English translation: 164–5.
13For Kant’s view that empirical cognition is lacking in universality and necessity, see Kant, Kritik
der reinen Vernunft, AXV, A1–2, B3–4, etc.
14 This “standard”’interpretation of empiricism does not apply to Locke. For this matter, see
Locke’s treatment of mathematics and morality mentioned in the next section, and my comment
on the affinity between Locke and Plato in Yasuhiko Tomida, Inquiries into Locke’s Theory of
Ideas (Philosophische Texte und Studien, 62; Hildesheim: Georg Olms, 2001), 14–15. Henceforth,
Inquiries.
15 Kant, Prolegomena, 375; idem, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, B274. Incidentally, in the first edition
of the Critique of Pure Reason Kant does not mention Berkeley. In the second edition we find his
name in B71 as well as in B274.
15 Locke’s “Things Themselves” and Kant’s “Things in Themselves” 265

the items that correspond to Berkeley’s “ideas of sense’16 —affords an important


clue to our understanding of Kant. If we can identify Kant’s sensible representations
with Berkeley’s ideas of sense, this identification serves as a ground for the iden-
tifiability of Kant’s sensible representations with Locke’s sensible ideas. For, as I
discussed on another occasion, it seems that Berkeley’s idealist framework is formed
by eliminating “things themselves” (qua matter) from Locke’s three-term-relational
framework comprising things themselves, ideas, and the mind.

Homology between Locke and Kant

I have already discussed the formation of Locke’s theory of ideas on several oc-
casions.17 In his theory of ideas, some items different from the ordinary things on
some points are, for several reasons, posited as new “things themselves.”18 They are
single corpuscles or aggregates of corpuscles that only possess primary qualities like
shape, size, and solidity. In other words, Locke accepts the corpuscular hypothesis as
the seemingly best hypothesis for grasping various natural phenomena adequately,
and posits new “thingsthemselves,” as it were, beyond the ordinary things that pos-
sess not only primary qualities but also colour, taste, heat or coldness, and so on.
If we refer to such ordinary things as “experiential objects,” by introducing the
new things themselves the experiential objects that have thus far been treated as
external “things” change their status into that of “ideas in the mind.” The three-
term-relational framework of his theory of ideas—comprising things themselves,
ideas, and the mind—is established in this manner.19 The newly posited “things
themselves” are in a wider sense “causally” related to the sensible ideas produced
in the mind.20 According to Locke, when things themselves “affect” our senses, and
motions are communicated from sense organs to the brain, ideas are produced in the
mind correspondingly.21

16For Berkeley’s distinction between “ideas of sense” and “ideas of imagination,” see George
Berkeley, A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge, in The Works of George
Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne, ed. A.A. Luce and T.E. Jessop, 9 vols. (London: Nelson, 1948–57),
Vol. II, Part I, §§ 30 and 33; idem, Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, in The Works of
George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne, 2: 235; idem, Philosophical Commentaries, in The Works of
George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne, vol. I, ##818 and 823.
17For example, my Inquiries, Part I, Chapter 5; idem, “Locke’s Representationalism without Veil,”
British Journal for the History of Philosophy, 13 (2005): 675–96.
18 On this, see my “Locke’s Representationalism without Veil,” 686–7.
19For this reason Locke’s ideas cannot be a veil. See my “Locke’s Representationalism without
Veil.”
20For Lockean causal view on influxus physicus, see Eric Watkins, Kant and the Metaphysics of
Causality (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 24–5.
21 See my “Locke’s Representationalism without Veil,” 678–82. For examples of Locke’s use of
the word “affect,” see Locke, Essay, II. i. 3, II. i. 6, II. i. 25, II. ii. 1, II. vii. 5, etc.
266 Yasuhiko Tomida

Concerning the ideas, Locke says that “our Ideas [are] nothing, but actual Per-
ceptions in the Mind, which cease to be any thing, when there is no perception of
them.”22 For Locke, who rejects innate ideas, this is quite natural; ideas can exist
only when the mind perceives them. Berkeley’s thesis, “esse is percipi,” can be
seen as a variant of this Lockean view. As he says at the beginning of Part I of the
Principles, experiential objects are, for Berkeley, nothing but “sensible things” qua
“collections of ideas.”23 Therefore, they cannot exist without being perceived.24
As is known, Locke’s ideas are not limited to sensations and mental images.25
By contrast, Berkeley’s interpretation of ideas is imagistic, and by appealing to the
Likeness Principle, the Master Argument, an argument against abstract ideas, and so
on, he refutes materialism, including Locke’s.26 As a result, in Berkeley’s idealism,
“things themselves” qua matter are erased from the Lockean three-term-relational
framework, and only ideas and the mind remain.27 Therefore, if Kant’s sensible
representations and Berkeley’s “ideas of sense” are identified with one another, and
the latter is further identified with Locke’s sensible ideas produced in the mind by af-
fection of things themselves, then by employing the sensible ideas shared by Locke
and Kant as common elements, we can compare Kant’s framework with Locke’s.
And by this comparison we realize that there is a conspicuous homology between
their frameworks.
In Locke’s case, “things themselves” affect our senses, and as a result sensible
ideas are produced in our minds. In Kant’s case, “things in themselves” affect our
senses or minds, and as a result sensible representations are produced in our minds.
If we can identify Locke’s sensible ideas with Kant’s sensible representations, then
by means of the “affection” that acts as the occasion to produce ideas or representa-
tions in us, we can confirm that Kant’s “things in themselves” precisely correspond
to Locke’s “things themselves.”28
The possibility that Kant’s “representations” can be identified with Locke’s
“ideas,” it is also suggested by the fact that when Kant mentions Locke’s prototyp-
ical distinction between analytic and synthetic judgments in the Essay, he refers to

22 Essay II. x. 2.
23 Berkeley, A Treatise Concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge, Part I, §1.
24 For this matter, see my “Locke, Berkeley, and the Logic of Idealism,” Locke Studies 2 (2002),
227–31. Incidentally, Kant accepts Locke’s view on ideas (representations) and says: “To have
representations and nevertheless not to be conscious of them, therein there seems to be a con-
tradiction. For if we are not conscious of them, how can we know that we have them? Locke
already pointed this out. Therefore, he also rejected the existence of such representations [as we
can have without consciousness]. (Immanuel Kant, Anthropologie in pragmatischer Hinsicht, in
Kants gesammelte Schriften, 7: 135. Translation is mine.)
25 See note 33 below.
26I do not think, however, that Berkeley’s arguments are sound. See my “Locke, Berkeley, and the
Logic of Idealism II,” Locke Studies 3 (2003): 63–91.
27 See ibid., 77ff.
28There are several passages in the Critique of Pure Reason where Kant mentions the “affection.”
See e.g., Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, A190/B235.
15 Locke’s “Things Themselves” and Kant’s “Things in Themselves” 267

Locke’s “idea” as “representation,” i.e., as “Vorstellung.”29 Furthermore, an impor-


tant clue for the correspondence between Kant’s “things in themselves”, “affection,”
and sensible “representations” on the one hand, and Locke’s “things themselves”,
“affection,” and sensible “ideas” on the other, is given by Kant’s treatment of the
Lockean distinction between primary and secondary qualities. In his Prolegomena
Kant says:
That one could, without detracting from the actual existence of outer things, say of a great
many of their predicates: they belong not to these things in themselves, but only to their
appearances and have no existence of their own outside our representation, is something
that was generally accepted and acknowledged long before Locke’s time, though more com-
monly thereafter. To these predicates belong warmth, color, taste, etc. That I, however, even
beyond these, include (for weighty reasons) also among mere appearances the remaining
qualities of bodies, which are called primarias: extension, place, and more generally space
along with everything that depends on it (impenetrability or materiality, shape, etc.), is
something against which not the least ground for uncertainty can be raised; and as little
as someone can be called an idealist because he wants to admit colors as properties that
attach not to the object in itself, but only to the sense of vision as modifications, just as
little can my system be called idealist simply because I find that even more of, nay, all of
the properties that make up the intuition of a body belong merely to its appearance: for the
existence of the thing that appears is not thereby nullified, as with real idealism, but it is
only shown that through the senses we cannot cognize it at all as it is in itself.30

In this passage Kant takes up Locke’s so-called “ideas of secondary qualities” such
as warmth (heat), color, and taste, and confirms that “they belong not to these things
in themselves, but only to their appearances and have no existence of their own
outside our representation,” that is, that they are Lockean sensible ideas. In addition
to that, he asserts that “the remaining qualities of bodies, which are called primarias:
extension, place, and more generally space along with everything that depends on
it,” are also “mere appearances.” Thus, Kant characterizes his view as the view
which holds that “all of the properties that make up the intuition of a body belong
merely to its appearance.”31 Interestingly, in this statement Kant not only identifies
his representations with Lockean ideas, but also suggests that he is thinking about
his “things in themselves” in comparison with Locke’s “things themselves.” The
warmth, color, and taste that Kant thinks “have no existence of their own outside
our representation” are, in Locke’s case, “ideas” in the mind. Kant accepts this,
and further asserts that the so-called primary qualities are not qualities of things in
themselves but merely ideas in the mind. In brief, he deprives things in themselves
not only of warmth, color, and so on but also of the primary qualities that Locke
gives to things themselves.

29 Kant, Prolegomena, 270. Incidentally, Kant also mentions this subject in his Über eine Entdeck-
ung, nach der alle neue Kritik der reinen Vernunft durch eine ältere entbehrlich gemacht werden
soll, in Kants gesammelte Schriften, 8: 245.
30 Kant, Prolegomena, 289. English translation: 84.
31However, as already mentioned above, Kant nevertheless tries to distinguish between the two.
For this, see Section 5 below.
268 Yasuhiko Tomida

The correspondence explained above is not the only correspondence between


Kant’s and Locke’s frameworks. For Kant, sensible representations are produced
according to the forms of our sensibility, and as he emphasizes in the Transcendental
Aesthetic, in the case of our outer sense they appear with a spatial character. That is,
though the representations appear in the mind, they are perceived as something in
space. By contrast, Locke does not view space as an a priori form of our sensation,
but as his argument in the chapter on perception in the Essay shows, the sensible
“complex ideas of substances” appear as something in space in spite of their general
determination of “being in the mind,” and in our ordinary life we regard them as
“things” qua experiential objects. As is well known, in the chapter on perception
Locke analyzes the process of our spatial perception, and discusses the close rela-
tionship between our visual and tactual sensations.32 Thus, though Kant’s view is
profoundly different from Locke’s, their framework shares important similarities.
In fact, we can find further interesting correspondences between Locke’s and
Kant’s frameworks. One of them is concerned with their treatments of mathematics.
To explain why mathematical judgments are not empirical and have universality and
necessity, Kant regards space itself—to which shape, size, and the like belong—not
as something empirical but as something which a priori belongs to our cognitive
power. On the contrary, Locke thinks that the idea of space is originally acquired
through our perception of experiential objects, and he applies the idea in positing
new “things themselves.” Therefore, according to Locke, corpuscles—“things them-
selves” that affect us—are in space, and on this point he is clearly opposed to Kant,
who views space as an a priori form of our sensibility, locates it merely in us, and
does not apply the idea of space to things in themselves. However, Locke does not
think that all knowledge is empirical. Leaving Kantian analytic truth aside, he thinks
that in mathematics and morality a sort of non-empirical knowledge is possible.
Locke’s discussion about this is not detailed, but it is clear that he views “ideas of
modes”—which mathematics and morality treat—to be ideas that have no external
archetypes and can be framed independently of our experience. Thus, according to
Locke, though mathematical ideas do not belong to the mind a priori, nonetheless
they are in an important sense independent of our experience, and relying on this
view, he tries to explain the special character of mathematics.33

Kant’s Tacit “Theory”

These correspondences between Kant’s and Locke’s frameworks point up some


character differences between their corresponding elements. One such difference is

32 See my Inquiries, 46ff.


33 For this see e.g., Locke’s discussion in the Essay IV. iii. 18–19. Incidentally, it is sometimes
still said now that Locke is an imagist and on this point his view is quite different from that of
Kant, who acknowledges concepts as well as sensations. But the imagist interpretation of Locke
is mistaken. For detailed discussions on this matter, see my “Sensation and Conceptual Grasp in
Locke,” Locke Studies 4 (2004): 59–87 and “‘Separation’ of Ideas Reconsidered,” Locke Studies 5
(2005): 39–56.
15 Locke’s “Things Themselves” and Kant’s “Things in Themselves” 269

that between “things themselves” and “things in themselves.” As already mentioned,


Locke’s “things themselves” are single corpuscles or aggregates of corpuscles that
possess only primary qualities (and powers based on them). They affect our sense
organs qua aggregates of corpuscles, and accordingly a sort of motion is communi-
cated to the brain. As a result, sensible ideas are produced in the mind. By contrast,
in Kant’s case, “things in themselves” are not known to us, and since space is a
form of our sensibility, the idea that things in themselves are in space does not make
sense. But though he has such a view, Kant repeatedly emphasizes that sensible
representations are given to us by “things in themselves” affecting our minds or
senses.
Why does Kant assert the existence of the unknown “things in themselves’? To
this question various answers have been given. To consider the question adequately
I examine several sub-questions concerning the premises that Kant employs in his
Critique of Pure Reason. The most important sub-question is: why does Kant take
it for granted that things in space are representations in the mind?
As is known, in the time of Berkeley, the view that immediate objects of our
experience are ideas in the mind comes to be almost self-evident. This means that
the spread of the Cartesian-Lockean theory of ideas this view has become quasi-
intuitive knowledge.34 however, it was originally one established by introducing a
new view of bodies; in this sense, it is a result of a scientific theory. In fact, as his
Dialogues explicitly shows, even Berkeley had to demonstrate the view in question
not intuitively but by presenting a similar theory. And in explaining his view that
ideas are “in the mind,” even Berkeley, who denied the existence of external matter,
had to do that by comparing ideas with something “without” the mind. As is known,
to clarify the logic of his theory of ideas, Berkeley employs “the argument from
identification with pleasure and pain”, “the argument from relativity” and so on,
and tries to demonstrate that all sensible qualities of experiential objects are ideas in
the mind. Interestingly, in all these arguments the ordinary premise that experiential
objects exist outside the mind is always tacitly employed, though it is explicitly
denied in the conclusion of the overall argument. For example, a tacit premise is
used as an inevitable support of pain’s determination of “being in the mind,” and
in this sense the premise plays a central role in his “argument from identification
with pleasure and pain.” That is, even in Berkeley’s case, the view that experiential
objects are collections of ideas in the mind is a result of a “theory” based on a tacit
premise concerning the existence of external things.35
Thus, not only in Locke’s case but also in Berkeley’s, the view that experiential
objects are ideas is based on a certain rather concrete theory about external things.
Locke gives his “things themselves” a cluster of theoretical determinations including
that of “possessing only primary qualities.” In the case of Berkeley too, when he
begins his arguments in the Dialogues, he tacitly employs various determinations
that we ordinarily believe experiential objects possess. Thus, whereas the determi-
nation that Kant gives to things in themselves is quite thin (it is just that “we cannot

34 For this matter, see my “Ideas without Causality: One More Locke in Berkeley,” forthcoming.
35 For Berkeley’s tacit premise, see my “Locke, Berkeley, and the Logic of Idealism,” 234ff.
270 Yasuhiko Tomida

know what they are, but they surely exist and affect us”), in Locke’s and Berkeley’s
cases some items that possess much more concrete determinations play the role of
determining the internality of ideas.
Now it will be seen that behind Kant’s positing unknowable “things in them-
selves” and reinterpreting the ordinary external things in space as internal represen-
tations, the naturalistic logic of the seventeenth-century theories of ideas is tacitly
operating. If this were not the case, he would have no reason for regarding the ob-
jects of our experience as internal from the start and for grasping them as appear-
ances in contrast to things in themselves. Further, the view that things in themselves
“affect” our senses would not make sense without our ordinary experience con-
cerning the causal process of sense perception (or some physical view framed by
sophisticating it). That is, it seems that the very framework of Kant’s transcendental
idealism could not be established if it were not based on our ordinary experience or
more sophisticated physical view.
Originally that bodies in space are representations in the mind is not our apodictic
knowledge. Otherwise we would ordinarily take for granted that such bodies are in
us; but the fact is otherwise. Therefore, when Kant regards such things and their
properties as internal representations, he must tacitly employ a sort of theory that
enables him to do so. In the time of Kant, it was already regarded as self-evident
that the immediate objects of our perception are representations (or ideas) in the
mind—as if this were apodictic truth. In fact, Kant himself says that “everyone
immediately knows what a representation is,”36 clearly demonstrating this. And as
his writings suggest, it was chiefly Locke (as well as Descartes)37 who prepared the
way for him.
As mentioned above, Locke regards experiential objects and their properties as
“ideas” because he must posit new “things themselves” for some reason. Similarly
Descartes, introduces a new sort of body that possesses only shape and size, and in
relation to this he regards the objects of our sense perception as something in the
mind.38 Further, such a view is based on various important suggestions from ancient
atomism; therefore, it has its roots in ancient Greek science. But in any case, at least

36 Immanuel Kant, Logik Blomberg, in Kants gesammelte Schriften, 24: 40. Translation is mine.
37 That Kant inherits a part of Descartes’ view is known, e.g., from his view of apperception.
However, what I am now bearing in mind is the fact that Kant shares with Descartes the view
that representations inherent in our consciousness have absolute certainty. In discussing Descartes’
“problematic” idealism Kant suggests this and says: “I am no more necessitated to draw inferences
in respect of the reality of external objects than I am in regard to the reality of the objects of my
inner sense (my thoughts), for in both cases they are nothing but representations, the immediate
perception (consciousness) of which is at the same time a sufficient proof of their reality.” (Kant,
Kritik der reinen Vernunft, A371. English translation is from: Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure
Reason, trans. Paul Guyer and Allen W. Wood [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998],
427.)
38 For this matter, see my Amerika Gengo Testugaku no Shiten [The Viewpoints of American
Philosophy of Language] (Kyoto: Sekaishisosha, 1996), Part II, Chapter 1.
15 Locke’s “Things Themselves” and Kant’s “Things in Themselves” 271

it is certain that the view concerning the internality of our immediate objects is based
on a scientific introduction of the new sort of things.
Indeed, in the first edition of the Critique of Pure Reason Kant says that “it . . .
follows naturally from the concept of an appearance in general that something must
correspond to it which is not in itself appearance.”39 Seeing that Kant’s “appear-
ance” means “sensible representation,” it is clear that for Kant too, representations
maintain their character of “internality” only in relation to something external. Con-
cerning the necessity of the existence of things in themselves (qua the correlates of
sensible representations), Kant does not give any further explanation. But if we bear
in mind the correspondence between Kant’s and Locke’s frameworks and Kant’s
comments on his predecessors, it may fairly be presumed that he formed his frame-
work by converting that of the seventeenth-century, naturalistic theory of ideas.40

Elimination of Hypothetical Thinking


When we bear in mind the fact that Locke’s “things themselves” are posited on the
basis of a hypothesis, it is clear that by regarding “things in themselves” as utterly
unknowable, Kant rejects hypothetical thinking at least concerning the things that
affect our senses. Since Locke acknowledges the value of hypothetical thinking,
there is no logical difficulty in employing the corpuscular hypothesis.41 In contrast,
as discussed below, when Kant regards things in themselves as unknowable, a log-
ical difficulty arises. The old suspicion against his view—How can we know the
existence of unknowable things in themselves?—is, in this sense quite natural. But
why does he, nevertheless make such an alteration in the character of the things at
all? Perhaps the most important reason for it must consist in his general view of
science, especially that of natural science.
According to some scholars, including G.A.J. Rogers, in the seventeenth century
some leading scientists had already reached a consensus about the probable charac-
ter of natural science.42 In contrast, according to Kant, science must be, at least at
its core, apodictic in character. This absolutist tendency is already suggested by the
fact that he finds samples of “synthetic judgments a priori” in pure mathematics and

39 Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, A251. English translation, 348.


40 Seeing that the expression “affection’ itself is also found in Spinoza, it is not necessarily certain
whether Kant immediately received it from Locke’s Essay. However, as Kant’s words concerning
the distinction between primary and secondary qualities cited above suggest, it is clear that when
he thinks of the relationship between things that play the role of affecting on the one hand and the
representations produced through the affection on the other, he bears Locke’s view in mind.
41 See my “Locke’s Representationalism Without Veil,” 687–8.
42 G.A.J. Rogers, “Boyle, Locke, and Reason,” Journal of the History of Ideas, 27 (1966): 214–15;
M.J. Osler, “John Locke and the Changing Ideal of Scientific Knowledge,” Journal of the History
of Ideas, 31 (1970): 3–16.
272 Yasuhiko Tomida

pure natural science. Further, in the Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science,


published in 1786, he says:
A rational doctrine of nature . . . deserves the name of a natural science, only in case the fun-
damental natural laws therein are cognized a priori, and are not mere laws of experience.43

Judging from such a view on science, it seems impossible for Kant to build hypo-
thetically posited items into the basic part of his epistemological framework. In fact,
in the Preface of the first edition of the Critique of Pure Reason he says:
As far as certainty is concerned, I have myself pronounced the judgment that in this kind
of inquiry it is in no way allowed to hold opinions, and that anything that even looks like
an hypothesis is a forbidden commodity, which should not be put up for sale even at the
lowest price but must be confiscated as soon as it is discovered. For every cognition that is
supposed to be certain a priori proclaims that it wants to be held for absolutely necessary,
and even more is this true of a determination of all pure cognition a priori, which is to be
the standard and thus even the example of all apodictic (philosophical) certainty.44

If he denies the existence of something external, he not only loses the grounds
for internality of the internal items, but also his position will be identified with
Berkeley’s idealism. Therefore, despite his rejection of hypothetical thinking, Kant
maintains the existence of things in themselves. However, to explain the possibility
of “synthetic judgments a priori” Kant transfers space and time as well as some
important concepts into the area of Cartesian certainty (i.e., into the mind), and the
result is the Kantian problematic characterization of “things in themselves’—that
they are “utterly unknowable.”
When Kant strips things in themselves of any concrete determination and de-
scribes them as “being unknowable” instead, he must bear in mind his doubts about
Locke’s theory of ideas. The following words of Kant clearly suggest this:
4866. 1776–78. M IX–X.
Locke a physiologist of reason, the origin of concepts. He committed the error of taking the
occasion for acquiring these concepts, namely experience, as their source. Nevertheless he
also made use of them beyond the bounds of experience.45

When Locke hypothetically posits things themselves (that is, imperceptible corpus-
cles), he applies to them several ideas acquired from experience.46 In this sense we
can say that Locke “made use of [ideas] beyond the bounds of experience.” Kant
rejects such a procedure. Therefore, it is natural that Kant cannot apply various
determinations such as spatiality and temporality to things in themselves.

43Kant, Metaphysische Anfangsgründe der Naturwissenschaften, 468. English translation is from:


Immanuel Kant, Metaphysical Foundations of Natural Science, trans. Michael Friedman, in idem,
Theoretical Philosophy after 1781, 184.
44 Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, AXV. English translation: 102.
45 Immanuel Kant, Handschriftricher Nachlaß: Metaphysik, in Kants gesammelte Schriften, 18:
14. English translation is from: Immanuel Kant, Notes and Fragments, ed. Paul Guyer, trans. Curtis
Bowman, Paul Guyer, and Frederick Rauscher (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005),
197.
46 For this matter, see my “Sensation and Conceptual Grasp in Locke.”
15 Locke’s “Things Themselves” and Kant’s “Things in Themselves” 273

In this connection, there is one more thing I must mention. Kant’s view that
things in themselves are unknowable corresponds to Locke’s view that our knowl-
edge concerning things themselves is very limited.47 The results of hypothetical
investigations are still regarded as essentially probable, but in the present sciences
this probability is generally viewed as very high. However, for various historical
reasons, Locke could not rate their results highly, although he acknowledged the
value of hypothetical methods. In view of this, we can assume that, in his account of
science (discussed above) Kant amplified Locke’s moderate valuation of hypotheti-
cal methods, and that this led to Kant’s unknowability thesis.

Remaining Suspicions
However, just as Berkeley distorted the logic of ideas by applying his arguments
against the real existence of secondary qualities also to primary qualities,48 so we
must say that Kant distorts the logic of ideas by making the hypothetically intro-
duced “things themselves” into unknowable items the existence of which is nev-
ertheless assured. For this reason, many philosophers including Jacobi and Fichte
were skeptical of Kant’s concept of “things in themselves.” But in this section I
take up two other sorts of logical suspicions, one of which is concerned with the
distinction between primary and secondary qualities.
As previously mentioned, Kant accepts the distinction between “primary quali-
ties” and “secondary qualities” in Berkeley’s sense (according to Locke’s original
wording, the distinction between “ideas of primary qualities” and “ideas of sec-
ondary qualities”). He distinguishes shape, size, etc. from color, taste, etc., and says
that the former are the qualities that bodies qua appearances originally possess, but
that the latter are merely our senses” modifications. According to Locke’s original
view, the distinction is based on the relationship between the qualities of “things
themselves” and the sensible ideas in the mind. Since Kant does not acknowledge
that things in themselves possess spatial determinations such as shape and size, even
if Kant accepts the distinction, he cannot explain it in the Lockean way. Therefore,
in Kant’s explanation of the distinction, things in themselves play no part.
In fact, when he introduces the distinction into the framework of his transcen-
dental idealism, his explanation does not depend on things in themselves. In the
Critique of Pure Reason he says:
Besides space . . . there is no other subjective representation related to something external
that could be called a priori objective. Hence this subjective condition of all outer appear-
ances cannot be compared with any other. The pleasant taste of a wine does not belong to the
objective determinations of the wine, thus of an object even considered as an appearance,
but rather to the particular constitution of sense in the subject that enjoys it. Colors are not

47 For Locke’s view, see Essay, IV. iii. 11–16.


48 See my “Locke, Berkeley, and the Logic of Idealism” and “Locke, Berkeley, and the Logic of
Idealism II.”
274 Yasuhiko Tomida

objective qualities of the bodies to the intuition of which they are attached, but are also only
modifications of the sense of sight, which is affected by light in a certain way. Space, on the
contrary, as a condition of outer objects, necessarily belongs to their appearance or intuition.
Taste and colors are by no means necessary conditions under which alone the objects can
be objects of the senses for us. They are only combined with the appearance as contingently
added effects of the particular organization. Hence they are not a priori representations, but
are grounded on sensation, and pleasant taste is even grounded on feeling (of pleasure and
displeasure) as an effect of the sensation. And no one can have a priori the representation
either of a color or of any taste: but space concerns only the pure form of intuition, thus
it includes no sensation (nothing empirical) in itself, and all kinds and determinations of
space can and even must be able to be represented a priori if concepts of shapes as well
as relations are to arise. Through space alone is it possible for things to be outer objects
for us.49

In this passage Kant distinguishes three sorts of items: “space”, “intuition of bod-
ies,” and “representations of colors” or “representations of tastes.” The first (space)
and the third (representations of colors and representations of tastes) are connected
with the second (intuition of bodies) in different ways. Since space is a subjective
condition of outer objects, it is necessarily connected with the “intuition of bodies.”
By contrast, though “representations of colours” and “representations of tastes” are
connected with the “intuition of bodies”, “representations of colours” are “modifi-
cations of the sense of sight, which is affected by light in a certain way” and are
“contingently added effects of the particular organization.” Therefore, we recog-
nize their connection with the intuition of bodies only a posteriori. (In the case of
“representations of tastes” too, the situation is basically the same. But according to
Kant, in the case of “the pleasant taste of a wine,” the taste is not a mere sensation
contingently connected with the intuition of a body. It also shares our “feeling . . . as
an effect of the sensation.”)
According to Kant, space is an a priori determination of sensibility, and modifi-
cations of space, such as shape and size, are variants of the a priori spatial quality
that belongs to the mind. Since their basis (space itself) is an a priori form of intu-
ition, they have a character basically different from that of colour and taste, which
are merely “effects of the particular organization.”
Thus, Kant’s explanation of the distinction in question is certainly not based on
determinations of things in themselves, and in this sense it is consistent. But we
must take note of the origin of the distinction itself. It was originally established, by
Locke and others, by a hypothetical investigation; therefore, it is probable. In Kant’s
framework, however, the distinction is based on a pure form of our sensibility, and
accordingly, the character of the distinction changes into that of an absolute one.
Thus, it seems to me that though Kant’s epistemology is in several ways tacitly
based on hypothetical investigations, officially he does not acknowledge it.
The other logical suspicion concerns the non-causality of representations. Ac-
cording to Berkeley, an idea cannot be a cause of another idea, and on the basis of
this view he regards the world as a world of signs. As discussed on another occasion,

49 Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft, A28–9. English translation, 161.


15 Locke’s “Things Themselves” and Kant’s “Things in Themselves” 275

Berkeley’s view is based on Locke’s, whose materialism he criticizes.50 For Locke,


an idea cannot be a cause. For in the case of sensible ideas, they are results produced
by things themselves and such ideas in the mind cannot be external causes of other
ideas.
Locke’s view on ideas is, of course, not so simple. As I have repeatedly argued,
in Locke’s case, the ideas applied to “things themselves” are originally acquired
in our ordinary experience of experiential objects.51 The idea of causation is one
of these. In positing new “things themselves” it is given to them as a component,
and accordingly experiential objects change their status into that of ideas—that is,
that of items produced in the mind by things themselves affecting our senses. Thus,
things themselves bear causality, and ideas produced in the mind are, as the results
of affection, void of causal character.
Berkeley’s view of the world as signs is a legacy from Locke. Whereas Locke’s
newly posited “things themselves” bear the causal character, Berkeley denies the
existence of matter (Lockean things themselves), and God plays a role instead.
If we bear the non-causal character of Locke-Berkeleyan ideas in mind, Kant’s
theory of representations seems incompatible with original logic of ideas (repre-
sentations). Kant’s things in themselves, which correspond to Locke’s things them-
selves, affect our senses and in this sense they certainly bear a quasi-causal char-
acter. However, the concept of cause that Kant regards as one of the pure concepts
of understanding is applicable only to appearances qua representations. That is, for
Kant, things qua representations possess causal character. Thus, Kant’s theory of
representations seems to have another logical distortion.
Hegelians and Kantians often say that Kant synthesizes empiricism and rational-
ism. Indeed, on the one hand, he acknowledges the affection by things in themselves
and regards the objects of our experience as mental; on the other hand, he acknowl-
edges various a priori items in the mind and regards their rational consequences as
important. However, his synthesis is performed by tacitly accepting the naturalistic
logic of ideas that Locke shares with Descartes, and at the same time distorting it.
In this sense, Kant’s anti-naturalistic, transcendental idealism rests on a tacit natu-
ralistic basis.

50 See my “Ideas without Causality: One More Locke in Berkeley.”


51 For example, see my “Sensation and Conceptual Grasp in Locke,” 59–63.
List of Publications by G.A.J. Rogers∗

Books
1. Locke’s Enlightenment. Aspects of the Origin, Nature and Impact of his Philosophy. Europaea
Memoria. Hildesheim: Olms, 1998.
2. Perspectives on Thomas Hobbes. Edited by G.A.J. Rogers and Alan Ryan. Oxford: Clarendon
Press, 1988.
3. John Locke, Drafts for the Essay Concerning Human Understanding and Other Philosophical
Writings, vol. I. Edited by Peter H. Nidditch and G.A.J. Rogers. Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1990.
4. John Locke: Content and Context. Edited by G.A.J. Rogers. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994.
5. Thomas Hobbes, Human Nature & De Corpore Politico. Edited by G.A.J. Rogers. Key Texts
Series. Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 1994.
6. Leviathan. Contemporary Responses to the Political Theory of Thomas Hobbes. Edited by
G.A.J. Rogers. Key Issues Series. Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 1995.
7. The Philosophical Canon in the 17th and 18th Centuries. Edited by G.A.J. Rogers and Sylvana
Tomaselli. Rochester NY: Rochester University Press, 1996.
8. The Cambridge Platonists in Philosophical Context. Politics, Metaphysics and Religion.
Edited by G.A.J. Rogers, J. M. Vienne and Y. C. Zarka. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1997.
9. Hobbes and History. Edited by G.A.J. Rogers and Tom Sorell. London: Routledge, 2000.
10. Les Fondements Philosophiques de la Tolérance en France et en Angleterre au XVIIe siecle.
3 vols. Edited by Franck Lessay, G.A.J. Rogers and Y.C. Zarka. Paris: Presses Universitaires
de France, 2002.
11. Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan. 2 vols. Edited by G.A.J. Rogers and Karl Schuhmann. Bristol:
Thoemmes Press, 2003. Reprinted, London: Continuum 2005.
12. Analytic Philosophy and History of Philosophy. Edited by G.A.J. Rogers and Tom Sorell.
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005.
13. John Locke, Drafts for the Essay Concerning Human Understanding and Other Philosophical
Writings. Vol. 2. Edited by G.A.J. Rogers. Oxford: Clarendon Press, forthcoming.

Articles and Chapters


1. “The Hypothesis of Harmony. An Interpretation of the Scientific Revolution of the Seventeenth
Century.” The Listener, 18 October 1965, 261–264.
2. “Boyle, Locke and Reason.” Journal of the History of Ideas 27 (1966): 205–216.
3. “Newton, the Ether, and Seventeenth-Century Science.” In Actes du XIe Congrès International
d’Histoire des Sciences, 349–354. Wrocaw: Ossolineum, 1968.


The editors would like to thank Jo Rogers and Merilyn Holme for their assistance in compiling
this list.

277
278 List of Publications by G.A.J. Rogers

4. “Descartes and the Method of English Science.” Annals of Science 29 (1972): 237–255.
5. “The Veil of Perception.” Mind 84 (1975): 210–224.
6. “Locke’s Essay and Newton’s Principia.” Journal of the History of Ideas 39 (1978): 217–232.
7. “Locke, Newton and the Enlightenment.” Vistas in Astronomy 22 (1978): 471–476.
8. “Locke, Newton and the Cambridge Platonists on Innate Ideas.” Journal of the History of Ideas
40 (1979): 191–205.
9. “The Empiricism of Locke and Newton.” In Philosophers of the Enlightenment, edited by
S. Brown, 1–30. Brighton: Harvester Press, 1979.
10. “Galileo”, “Locke” , and “Newton”. In A Dictionary of Philosophy, edited by Antony Flew.
London: Pan Books and Macmillan Press, 1979.
11. “L’empirismo di Locke e Newton.” Rivista di Filosofia 70 (1979): 421–446.
12. “Locke, Law, and the Laws of Nature.” In John Locke, edited by R. Brandt, 146–152. Berlin:
W. de Gruyter, 1981.
13. “The System of Locke and Newton.” In Contemporary Newtonian Research, edited by
Z. Bechler, 215–238. Dordrecht: Reidel, 1982.
14. “The Basis of Belief. Philosophy, Science and Religion in Seventeenth-Century England.”
History of European Ideas 6 (1985): 19–39.
15. “Descartes and the English.” In The Light of Nature, edited by. J.D. North and J.J. Roche,
281–302. Dordrecht: Martinus Nijhoff, 1985.
16. “Die Cambridger Platoniker.” In Friedrich Ueberwegs Grundriss der Geschichte der Philoso-
phie, Die Philosophie des 17. Jahrhunderts. Bd. 3, England, edited by J.P. Schobinger,
240–282, 285–90. Basel: Schwabe, 1988.
17. “Die philosophischen Lehrstätte. 2. Cambridge.” Ibid., 10–12, 28–29. Basel: Schwabe, 1988.
18. “Naturphilosophie, Aufbruch der Wissenschaft, Newton. Einleitung.” Ibid. 343–347. Basel:
Schwabe, 1988.
19. “Hobbes’s Hidden Influence.” In Perspectives on Thomas Hobbes, edited by G.A.J. Rogers
and Alan Ryan, 189–205. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988.
20. “More, Locke and the Issue of Liberty.” In Henry More 1614–1687, edited by Sarah Hutton,
189–199. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1989.
21. “Why not learn the Ethical Dimensions of Medical Practice?” Horizons, December 1989,
811–816.
22. “Richard I. Aaron.” The Locke Newsletter 20 (1989): 11–13.
23. “Descartes and the Mind of Locke. The Cartesian Impact on Locke’s Philosophical
Development.” In Descartes: Il Metodo e i Saggi, 2 vols, edited by Giulia Belgioioso, Guido
Cimino, Pierre Costabel and Giovanni Papuli, 689–697. Roma: Instituto Della Enciclopedia
Italiana, 1990.
24. “Religion and the Explanation of Action in the Thought of Thomas Hobbes.” In Thomas
Hobbes. Le Ragioni del Moderno tra Teologia e Politica, edited by Giofranco Borrelli, 35–50.
Napoli: Morano, 1990.
25. “L’influence cachée de Hobbes.” In Thomas Hobbes. Philosophie Premiere, Théorie de la
Science et Politique, edited by Yves Charles Zarka and Jean Bernhardt, 209–222. Paris:
Presses Universitaires de France, 1990.
26. “L’influence nascosta di Thomas Hobbes.” In Hobbes Oggi, edited by Francesco Barone,
473–489. Milan: Franco Angeli Libri, 1990.
27. “The Cambridge Platonists: Ancient Philosophy, Modern Science and Christian Theology.”
In Images de Platon et lectures de ses oeuvres, edited by Ada Neschke, 237–253. Lausanne:
Editions du Cerf, 1990.
28. “John Locke.” In Dictionary of Literary Biography, vol. 101, British Prose Writers
1600–1800, First Series, edited by Donald Siebert, 202–219. Detroit: Gale, 1991.
29. “Locke and the Latitude-Men: Ignorance as a Ground for Toleration.” In Philosophy, Religion
and Science 1640–1700, edited by Richard Kroll et al., 230–252. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, Cambridge, 1992.
List of Publications by G.A.J. Rogers 279

30. “Francis Bacon” and “Innate Ideas.” In A Companion to Epistemology, edited by Jonathan
Dancy and Ernest Sosa, 40 and 216–217. Oxford: Blackwell, 1992.
31. “Contexte des rapports intellectuels entre Hobbes et Locke.” Archives de Philosophie, Tome
55, Cahier 4 (1992): 531–551.
32. “Locke, Anthropology and Models of the Mind.” History of the Human Sciences 6 (1993):
73–87.
33. “The History of Philosophy and the Reputation of Philosophers.” Journal of the History of
Philosophy 31 (1993): 113–118.
34. Introduction to Locke’s Philosophy. Content and Context, edited by G.A.J. Rogers, 1–27.
Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994.
35. “Gassendi and the Birth of Modern Philosophy.” Studies in History and Philosophy of Science
26 (1995): 681–687.
36. “John Locke, Conservative Radical.” In The Margins of Orthodoxy: Heterodox Writing and
Cultural Response, 1660–1800, edited by Roger Lund, 97–116. Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1995.
37. “Innate Ideas and the Infinite: the Case of Locke and Descartes.” The Locke Newsletter 26
(1995): 49–67.
38. “Locke and the Problem of Scepticism.” In The Philosophical Canon in the 17th and 18th
Centuries, edited by G.A.J. Rogers and Sylvana Tomaselli, 49–66. Rochester NY: University
of Rochester Press, 1996.
39. “Science and British Philosophy: Boyle and Newton.” In Routledge History of Philosophy,
vol. 5, edited by Stuart Brown, 43–68. London: Routledge, 1996.
40. “Innate Ideas and the Ancient Philosophy in Cudworth’s Epistemology.” In Mind Senior to
the World, edited by Marialuisa Baldi, 149–161. Milan: Francoangeli, 1996.
41. “Charleton, Gassendi et la réception de l’atomisme epicurien en Angleterre.” In Gassendi et
L’Europe, edited by Sylvia Murr, 213–225. Paris: Vrin, 1997.
42. “The Other-Worldly Philosophers and the Real World: The Cambridge Platonists, Theology
and Politics.” In The Cambridge Platonists in Philosophical Context, edited by G.A.J. Rogers,
J.M. Vienne and Y.C. Zarka, 3–15. Kluwer: Dortrecht, 1997.
43. “Die Cambridge-Platoniker und das neue Wissen.” Platon in der Abendländischen Geis-
tesgeschichte, edited by Theo Kobusch and Burkhard Mojsisch, 155–169. Darmstadt:
Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1997.
44. “La religion et la loi naturelle selon Hobbes. Les Lois de la nature et la loi morale.” Politque,
Droit et Théologie chez Bodin, Grotius et Hobbes, edited by Luc Foisneau, 265–282. Paris:
Editions Kimé, 1997.
45. “Zur Entstehungsgeschichte des Essay Concerning Human Understanding.” In John Locke.
Essay über den menschlichen Verstand, edited by Udo Thiel, 11–38. Berlin: Akademie
Verlag, 1997.
46. “Hobbes and Locke on Authority.” Hobbes Studies 10 (1997): 38–50.
47. “John Locke’s State of Nature as Utopian Ideal.” Anglophonia 3 (1998): 77–87.
48. “Hobbes.” In Columbia History of Western Philosophy, edited by Richard H. Popkin,
346–351. New York: Columbia University Press, 1998.
49. “Locke.” In Columbia History of Western Philosophy, edited by Richard H. Popkin, 382–389.
New York: Columbia University Press, 1998.
50. “Newton and the Guaranteeing God.” In Newton and Religion. Context, Nature and Influence,
edited by James E. Force and Richard H. Popkin, 221–236. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1998.
51. “Stillingfleet, Locke and the Trinity.” In Judaeo-Christian Culture in the Seventeenth Century.
A Celebration of the Library of Narcissus Marsh (1638–1713), edited by Richard H. Popkin,
Allison P. Coudert, Sarah Hutton and Gordon M. Weiner, 207–24. Dordrecht: Kluwer, 1998.
52. “Popkin, Scepticism and the History of Modern Philosophy.” In Everything Connects: in
Conference with Richard H. Popkin: essays in his honor, edited by James E. Force and David
S. Katz, 279–291. Kluwer: Dordrecht, 1998.
280 List of Publications by G.A.J. Rogers

53. “The 17th Century and the Reconstruction of Knowledge.” In The Proper Ambition of
Science, edited by Joseph Wolff and Martin Stone. London: Routledge, 1998.
54. “Samuel Bold”, “Walter Charleton” and “Joseph Glanvill.” In the Routledge Encyclopedia of
Philosophy, edited by Edward Craig. London: Routledge, 1998.
55. “Locke, Stillingfleet et la tolérance.” In Les Fondements Philosophiques de la Tolérance en
France et en Angleterre au XVIIe Siecle, 3 vols, edited by Frank Lessay, G.A.J. Rogers and
Y.C. Zarka, 1: 91–113. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1998.
56. “John Locke,” “Isaac Newton,” “John Sergeant,” “James Tyrrell,” and “John Wynne.” In
Dictionary of Eighteenth Century British Philosophers, edited by John W. Yolton, John
Valdimir Price and John Stephens. Thoemmes Press: Bristol, 1999.
57. “Harrington, Locke and Aristotle: the Natural and the Unnatural in Commonwealth and
Nature.” In James Harrington and the Notion of Commonwealth, edited by Luc Borot,
131–150. Montpellier: Centre d’études et de recherches sur la Renaissance anglaise, 1998.
58. “La religion et la loi naturelle selon Hobbes. Les lois de la nature et la loi morale.” In Politque,
Droit et Théologie chez Bodin, Grotius et Hobbes, edited by Luc Foisneau, 265–282. Paris:
Editions Kimé, 1997.
59. “The Limit of State Authority: John Locke and the Invention of the Private.” In Dal Necessario
al Possibile. Determinismo e libertà nel pensiero anglo-olandese del XVII secolo, edited by
Luisa Simonutti, 99–115. Milan: Franco Angeli, 1998.
60. “John Bramhall,” “John Eachard”, “Thomas Hobbes,” “Edward Hyde,” “George Lawson,”
“John Locke,” “Isaac Newton,” “Samuel Parker,” “John Sergeant,” “James Tyrrell,”
“John Whitehall,” and “John Wynne.” In The Dictionary of Seventeenth-Century British
Philosophers, 2 vols. Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 2000.
61. “Locke, Therapy and the abuse of Langauge.” In La philosophie comme médecine de l’âme
à l’âge classique, edited by Geneviève Brykman, 117–130. Paris: Le Temps Philosophique,
2003.
62. “Hobbes, Sovereignty and Consent.” Rivista di Storia Della Filosfia 59 (2004) 241–248.
63. “In Memoriam: John W. Yolton.” Journal of the History of Ideas 67 (2006): 419–421.
64. “Locke, Plato and Platonism.” In Platonism at the Origins of Modernity, edited by Douglas
Hedley and Sarah Hutton. 193–205. Dordrecht: Springer 2007.

Editorship
The British Journal for the History of Philosophy. Founding Editor G.A.J. Rogers vols 1–7,
Bristol: Thommes Press, 1993–1997. Vols. 8– continuing, London: Routledge/Taylor and Francis.

Reprints (Selection)
Ralph Cudworth, The True Intellectual History of the Universe. Introduction by G.A.J. Rogers.
Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 1994.
Henry More, Major Philosophical Works. 9 vols. Introduction by G.A.J. Rogers. Bristol:
Thoemmes Press, 1997.
Thomas Hobbes, Opera Philosophica. 5 vols. Edited by William Molesworth. Introduction by
G.A.J. Rogers. Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 1999.
Edward Stillingfleet, The Philosophy of Edward Stillingfleet; including his Replies to John Locke.
6 vols. Introduction by G.A.J. Rogers. Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 1999.
Edward Stillingfleet, Origines Sacrae. Preface by Alan Sell. New Introduction by G.A.J. Rogers.
Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 2000.
List of Publications by G.A.J. Rogers 281

Reprinted Articles
1. “Boyle, Locke and Reason.” In Philosophy, Religion and Science in the 17th and 18th
Centuries, edited by John W. Yolton, 339–81. Rochester: University of Rochester Press, 1990.
2. “Locke, Newton and the Cambridge Platonists on Innate Ideas.” In Philosophy, Religion
and Science in the 17th and 18th Centuries, edited by John W. Yolton, 351–65. Rochester:
University of Rochester Press, 1990.
3. “Locke’s Essay and Newton’s Principia.” In Philosophy, Religion and Science in the 17th
and 18th Centuries, edited by John W. Yolton, 366–81, Rochester: University of Rochester
Press, 1990.
4. “Boyle, Locke and Reason.” In John Locke, edited by Richard Ashcraft, 462–75. London:
Routledge, 1991.
5. “Descartes and the Method of English Science.” In Essays on Early Modern Philosophers. Vol.
7 Natural Scientists, edited by Vere Chappell, 65–84. New York: Garland Publishing, 1992.
6. “The System of Locke and Newton.” In Essays on Early Modern Philosophers. Vol. 7 Natural
Scientists, edited by Vere Chappell, 315–38. New York: Garland Publishing, 1992.
7. “Locke, Law and the Laws of Nature.” In Essays on Early Modern Philosophers, Vol. 8
John Locke. Theory of Knowledge, edited by Vere Chappell, 502–18. New York: Garland
Publishing, 1992.
8. “Locke, Law and the Laws of Nature.” In Locke. Edited by John Dunn and Ian Harris. 2 Vols.
1: 505–21.Cheltenham: Elgar, 1997.

Reviews
About 120 reviews in 16 different academic journals and the TLS and THES.
Index

A Barrell, R.A., 201, 204, 209–211, 214, 217,


Aaron, R.I., 60, 62, 66, 67, 84 218, 221
Aarsleff, H., 237 Barrow, I., 246
Abel, O., 227 Bartas, Guillaume de Salluste, Sieur du, 21
Acosta, U., 167 Bayle, P., xi, xiv, xv, 161, 209, 225–236,
Acworth, R., 179 238–243
Adam, 13, 22, 23, 39, 130, 133–136, 237, Beaumont, C. de, 260
238, 241 Beaurepaire, P.-Y., 211
Adam, C., 77 Bechler, Z., 75
Adams, R.M., 124 Beconsall, T., xi, xiii, 127–141
Aetius, 7 Beer, E.S. de, 164, 180, 198
Aikenhead, T., 169, 170 Bellers, J., 141
Aikman, J., 51 Benda, W., 218
Ainsworth, M., 218, 219 Bennett, J., 6, 91, 99–101, 103, 108, 117, 118
Airy, O., 51 Bentley, R., 21, 145, 146, 157
Alexander, P., 87 Beran, H., 49
Alford, J., 255 Berkeley, G., 60, 62, 262–266, 269, 270,
Allison, H., 263 272–275
Alllix, P., 150 Bermudez, J.L., 78
Ambuel, D., 230 Bernagie, P., 160
Anstey, P.R., 169 Bernard, F., 222
Aoki, S., xii, xvii Bernard, J., 201, 216
Archimedes, 246 Bernard, J.F., 160
Aristotle, 12, 29, 48, 110, 118, 119, 136, Bettenham, J., 160
152, 153 Bianchi, D., 168
Arnauld, A., xii, 65, 99, 101 Biddle, J., 168, 169
Birch, T., 219
Ashcraft, R., 145, 197
Blanc, J.-B. le, 198
Ashley, M., 213
Blasius, G., 160
Ashley Cooper, see Shaftesbury
Blaustein, A.P., 45
Ashworth, E.J., 59
Bloch, O., 94
Astell, M., 128, 142
Bodin, J., 134, 135
Aston, S., 127
Boer, T.J. de, 197
Atkinson, G., 238
Bolton, M. Brandt, xiii, xvii, 115, 116, 126
Atticus, T. Pomponius, 92
Bonno, G., 160, 178, 196
Ayers, M.R., viii, xii, xvii, 69, 177 Bossuet, J.-B., 237
Bost, H., 227
B Bots, H., 227
Balibar, É., 94, 99 Bowman, C., 272
Barber, K., 115 Boyle, R., 75, 76, 81–84
Barber, W.H., 161, 226 Bracken, H.M., 226, 227
Barbeyrac, J., 202 Breckle, H.E., 63
Barnes, J., 110 Brewer, H., 141

283
284 Index

Bright, G., 21 Cottingham, J., 77


Broad, J., 150 Courtenay, W.J., 100
Brooke, C., 89 Craig, M., 169, 170
Brounower, 198 Cranston, M., 76, 197
Brown, N.O., 136 Crates of Thebes, 214
Brown, S., xii, xvii, 126, 148 Cromwell, O., 51, 52, 141, 164
Brun, J. le, 237 Cropley, J., 212
Brush, C.B., 226, 233, 239 Cruickshanks, E., 210
Buchanan, G., 51, 54, 56 Cudworth, R., xi, xiv, 144–157, 159, 195, 206
Buickerood, J.G., 86 Cudworth, D., see Masham, Damaris
Bull, J., 198 Cusanus, N., 48
Burgelin, P., 248 Cyprianus, A., 160
Burnet, G., 51
Burnet, T., 129, 217 D
Davies, C.G., 94
Delcker, F., 193
C
Democritus, 147, 149, 152, 153
Calvin, J., 5
Dent, N., 259
Care, H., 141
Derrida, J., viii
Carey, D., 131
Des Chene, D., 112
Carrier, M., 261
Des Maizeaux, P., 160, 162, 171, 179,
Cass, F., 91
200–202, 205, 207, 212, 214–218, 220, 221
Cassirer, E., 229
Descartes, R., viii, xi, xii, 75–88, 96, 97, 103,
Cavendish, C., 81
147, 148, 151, 155, 190, 198, 199, 247,
Cazzaniga, G.M., 90
262, 270, 275
Chaix-Ruiy, J., 226
Deschamps, A., 226
Champion, J., 243
Dibon, P., 228
Chapell, V., 59, 69, 70, 115 Diderot, D., 46
Charles I, 51, 141 Diels, H., 7
Charles II, 54, 208 Digby, K., 81
Charleton, W., 81 Doble, C.E., 128
Charpentier, J., 153 Duchesneau, F., 181
Christ, 21–24, 165–167, 172, 201–203, 205, Dunn, J., 16, 255
212, 229, 230, 232, 234, 237, 240 Dybikowski, J., 211
Chudleigh, M., 142
Churchill (brothers), 200, 202–204, 212 E
Chyrsippus, 4 Edwards, J., 170, 171
Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 3–5, 15, 92, 129, 149 Epictetus, 3
Clark, E., 256 Epicurus, 152, 153, 213
Clarke (children), 210 Estrange, R. l’, 142
Clarke, B., 210
Clarke, D.M., 78 F
Clarke, E., 144, 171, 209–211, 248 Fénelon, François de Salignac de la Mothe-,
Clarke, M., 209, 210, 248, 249 258
Clerc, J. le, 160, 161, 167, 178, 196, 207–209, Feuerbach, L., 226
214, 216, 223, 228 Fichte, J.G., 273
Coke, E., 92 Ficino, M., 146, 152, 153
Colie, R., 197 Filmer, R., xii, 27, 54, 133–135
Collins, A., 197, 216–221, 223 Firmin, T., 165, 168, 171
Colmero, M., 51 Flanz, G.H., 45
Cooper, J.M., 4, 12, 15 Foakes-Jackson, F.J., 6
Cope, K.L., 86 Foisneau, L., xiii, xvii
Coste, P., xi, xiv, 6, 89, 93–95, 159, 170, 171, Foot, D., 164
195–223 Forster, T., 208
Index 285

Frede, D., 10 Hedley, D., 21, 144


Frede, M., 9 Hedworth, H., 164
Freeman, S., 225 Helmont, F. van, 161
Freytag Löringhoff, B. von, 63 Henry III, 50
Friedman, M., 272 Heyd, M., 226
Furcha, E.J., 227 Higgins-Biddle, J.C., 213
Furly, A., 206–209 Hobart, J., 204
Furly, B., xiv, 144, 146, 160, 161, 163, 171, Hobbes, T., xi–xiii, 27–43, 49, 52, 56, 71, 81,
206, 207 83, 89–93, 95–100, 102–105, 133–135,
137, 148–150, 154, 155, 191, 192, 214,
G 219, 237, 245
Gagnebin, B., 245 Hollis, T., 202
Garber, D., 78, 85, 88, 228 Hooker, B., 150
Garcia, J., 115 Hooker, R., 54
Gardner, S., 262 Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus), 211
Gassendi, P., 147, 148, 151 Hudde, J., 197
Gaudemar, M. de, 104 Huggard, E.M., 100
Gaukroger, S., 78, 262 Hunter, M., 169
Geach, P., 115 Hunton, P., 54
Gellius, Aulus, 3 Hutton, S., ix, xiv, xviii, 21, 144, 145, 147,
Gendzier, S.J., 46 148, 159, 161, 171
George, B., 193
Gerhardt, C.I., 89, 119, 214 I
Gibb, J., 62 Ibbett, K., 89
Gibbon, E., 243 Inwood, B., 3, 9, 15
Goldgar, A., 196, 200, 216, 218 Israel, J., 228
Goldie, M., xiii, xvii, 128, 140, 171, 249
Gordon, J., 169 J
Gough, J.W., 48, 49, 54, 197 Jacobi, H.J., 273
Grafton, A., 145 Jacovides, M., 109
Grafton, T., 147 Jaffro, L., 211
Greffier, E., 227 James II, 54
Griffiths, P., 140 James, E.D., 226
Gros, J.-M., 229 James, S., 3
Grotius, H., 2, 3, 139 Jaume, L., 96
Guenellon, P., 160 Jenkinson, S.L., 227, 228
Guyer, P., 270, 272 Jessop, T.E., 265
Jimack, P.D., 257–259
H John, Saint, 167
Häseler, J., 211 Johnston, C., 178–180
Hall, M.B., 81 Jolley, N., 83, 85, 118
Hamilton, B., 51 Jossua, J.P., 227
Hamilton, J., 256 Justel, H., 159, 160
Hampsher-Monk, I., 227
Hampton, J., 225 K
Hankinson, R.J., 7, 8 Kant, I., viii, xi, xv, 261–275
Harrington, J., 141 Kargon, R.H., 81
Harris, I., xiv, xv, xvii, 237, 238 Kelsey, F.W., 139
Harris, J., 205, 206, 208, 209, 211 Kenshur, O., 226, 227, 229
Harris, J.A., 228 Kepler, J., 246
Harrison, J., 145, 154, 200 Kilcullen, J., 227, 228
Hatfield, G., 263 Kim, H.-K., 126
Hearne, T., 128, 130, 133 King, P., 162, 171, 179–181, 200, 203, 205,
Heath, P., 263 207, 208, 223
286 Index

Kiplin, T., 198 Lucretius, 147, 152


Klever, W., 197 Lufneu, H., 161
Kley, D. van, 46
Klibansky, R., 197, 236 M
Knight, M., 210 Méchoulan, H., 163, 171
Koelln, F.C.A., 229 Mably, M. de, 257
Kohlhans, T.L., 161 Mackie, J.L., 61, 66, 67
Kolbrener, W., 128 Maclean, A.H., 54
Kors, A.C., 227 MacNeill, J.T., 5
Krausman Ben-Amos, I., 140 Magdelaine, M., 161
Kristeller, P., 3 Maimbourg, L., 165
Kroll, R., 145 Maimbourg, T. de, 165
Kukuthas, C., 228 Malebranche, N., xi, xiv, 61, 65, 94, 177–188,
193, 199, 246, 247
Malmesbury (family), 206
L
Malmesbury (papers), 201, 206, 221
Labrousse, E., 227, 230, 236
Mandeville, B., 142
Lactantius, 3
Mariana, J. de, xii, 49–51, 54, 56
Laertius, D., 3
Marshall, J., 167, 228
Lake, K., 6
Martinich, A.P., 97
Lascano, M., 126
Mary II, 54
Laslett, P., xii, 27, 159, 200–203, 205
Mary, Queen of Scots, 51
Laursen, J.C., 228, 230
Masham, Damaris, xiv, 76, 120, 121, 146, 150,
Lautenbach, M. of, 48 159, 163, 170, 171, 195, 204–207
Lawson, G., 54 Masham, E., 207
Lee, H., 129 Masham, Francis Cudworth, 159, 195, 197,
Leibniz, G.W., xi–xiii, 89–91, 93, 95, 97, 206, 207
99–105, 107, 108, 117–124, 126, 214, 217, Masham, Sir Francis, 159, 195, 197, 206, 207
246, 247 Mason, H.T., 226, 233
Leitz, R.C., 86 Mattern, R., 109, 111, 112
Lennon, T.M., 181, 227 Mazel, D., 204
Lennox, see Richmond McKenna, A., 161, 211, 227, 230, 243
Leslie, C., 128, 142 Mendus, S., 228
Lessay, F., 92, 238 Menn, S., 118
Leucippus, 148, 149, 152 Mercer, C., 6, 85
Lewin, S., 206 Merlat, E., 239
Lewy, G., 51 Michelson, M., 128
Leyden, W. von, 5, 16 Miege, G., 142
Lightfoot, J., 21 Mill, J.S., 56
Lilburn, J., 52 Miller, J., 15
Limborch, F. van, 171 Milton, J.R., xiv, xviii, 76, 197, 216
Limborch, P. van, 160, 161, 168, 169, 171, Milton, P., 215
197, 198, 216, 222 Mitsis, P., 15
Lipsius, J., 2, 3 Molina, L. de, 51
Lodge, P., 124 Molyneux, W., 128, 129, 171, 180, 181, 195,
Loemker, L.E., 119, 120, 123, 125 198, 212, 217, 255
Long, A.A., 3, 4, 7–9 Monmouth, Charles Mordaunt, Earl of (later
Long, P., 198 third Earl of Peterborough), 171, 254
Lough, J., 178 Montaigne, M. de, 257
Low, D.M., 243 Montuori, M., 197, 198
Lowde, J., 129, 132 Moore, G.A., 50
Lowe, E.J., 116 Moore, W.G., 226
Luce, A.A., 265 More, H., 145, 147
Index 287

Moreau, P.F., 227 Peyrère, I. de la, 137


Mori, G., 227, 228 Phemister, 120, 124, 126
Moschus, 147, 152, 153 Philodemius, E., 52
Moses, 23, 147, 167, 240 Pictet, B., 220
Motte, C. de la, 195, 198–207, 212, 214, 216, Pitassi, M.-C., 161, 169, 195, 197, 198
221, 223 Plato, 12, 145, 147, 149–153, 264
Moutaux, J., 94 Plotinus, 152
Mulsow, M., 145 Plutarch, 3, 7
Murdoch, D., 77 Popkin, R.H., 153, 163, 171, 189, 227
Popple, W., xi, xiv, 163–168, 171, 173
N Porphyry, 64
Nadler, S., 182, 228 Poser, H., 124
Nedermam, C.J., 228 Posidonius, 152
Nelson, A., 126 Potts, D., 227
Neto, J.M., 227 Power, H., 81, 82, 84, 118, 188
Newton, I., 6, 75, 76, 129, 143, 171, 191, Pralard, A., 178
216, 246 Priarolo, M., 168, 169
Nicole, P., xii Primer, I., 226
Noah, 23 Prior, A.N., 150
Noonan, H., 115 Proclus, 144, 146
Norris, J., 178–181 Procopé, J.F., 12
Nuovo, V., xi, xviii, 144, 169 Protagoras, xiv, 149–154
Nye, S., 165–169 Przypkowsky, S., 169
Pufendorf, S. von, 54, 135, 136, 138, 139
O Pyle, A., 76
O’Higgins, J., 217 Pyrrho, 152, 153
O’Neill, E., 6, 85 Pythagoras, 38, 101, 151
Oldfather, W.A., 135
Ollion, H., 197 Q
Olscamp, P.J., 181 Quina, A., 160
Origen (Origines Adamantius), 3 Quine, W., viii
Orobio de Castro, I., 167
Osler, M.J., 78, 271 R
Overton, R., xii, 52, 53 Régis, P.S., 178
Ovid, 101 Rétat, P., 228
Rabus, P., 161
P Rainaud, 246
Pécharman, M., 90 Rand, B., 208, 218
Pâques, M., 89 Rauscher, F., 272
Padfield, C.F., 92 Rawls, J., 49, 225
Paets, A., 161 Ray, A., 120
Paganini, G., 161, 226, 227, 243 Raymond, M., 245, 246
Pahlan, H., 142 Razavi, M.A., 229
Paleologus, J., 169 Remnant, J., 91, 108, 117
Panaetius, 3 Remond, N., 217
Paradis, M., 227 Rex, W.E., 229, 230
Parry, G., 259 Rey, A., 120
Pascal, B., 246 Rey-Debove, J., 120
Pateman, C., 136 Richmond, Charles Lennox, first Duke of, 165
Paul, Saint, 22, 24 Ricuperati, G., 163, 171
Pawling, R., 207 Riley, P., 259
Petitdemange, G., 89 Robertson, J., 228
Pettegrove, J.P., 229 Robinson, H., 226
Petty, W., 81, 138 Rodis-Lewis, G., 177, 178
288 Index

Rogers, G.A.J., vii, viii, xv, 40, 45, 59, 75, 76, Socrates, vii, 93, 103
82, 85, 87, 88, 126, 130, 132, 144, 159, Sommerville, J.P., 134
193, 225, 237, 238, 250, 271 Sonnemans, A., 161
Roper, A., 127 Sorabji, R., 11, 12
Rose, J., 142 Sorell, T., xii, xviii, 3
Rousseau, J.-J., xi, xv, 46, 245–248, 256–260 South, R., 169
Rumbold, M.E., 196, 216 Spellman, W.M., 168
Spinoza, B., 3, 5, 148, 149, 167, 192, 197, 271
S Springborg, P., 91, 142
Salamonius, M., 48 Stanhope, J., 218
Sandberg, K.C., 226 Stankiewicz, W.J., 227
Santucci, A., 161 Statt, D., 138
Sardanapalus, 213, 214 Stephen, J.F., 226
Sassen, B., 263 Stephens, W., 164
Savage, R., 20 Steucho, A., 147
Savonius, S.-J., 202, 245 Stewart, M.A., 167, 189, 221, 227
Schönfeld, M., 261 Stillingfleet, E., xiii, xiv, 108, 112, 113, 115,
Schaffer, S., 82, 83 129, 130, 145, 170, 177, 188–193, 196
Schelte, H., 196, 204 Stone, L., 142
Stoohoff, R., 77
Schlichtingius, J., 169
Strabo, 152
Schmaltz, T., 126
Strange, S.K., 12
Schmitt, C., 156
Strauss, L., 9
Schneewind, J.B., 229
Stuart, M., 115
Schuhmann, K., 89
Suárez, F., 51
Schuster, J., 262
Sutton, J., 262
Schuurman, P., ix, xiv, xviii, 12
Sylvester, J., 21, 22
Schøsler, J., 196, 199
Scribano, E., 168, 169 T
Sedley, D.N., 4, 7, 9 Tönnies, F., 91
Seneca, Lucius Annaeus, 3, 12, 13, 21 Tannenbaum, A.G., 227
Serranus, I., 152 Tannery, P., 77
Serrurier, C., 226 Taylor, A.E., 144
Sextus Empiricus, 146, 152, 153 Thomas Aquinas, 48, 50
Shackleton, R., 222 Thomas, K., 140, 141
Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, first Earl Timmermann, J., 261
of, 141, 207, 208 Tinsley, B.S., 228
Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, fourth Tomaselli, S., xv, xviii, 132, 142, 159
Earl of, 219 Tomida, Y., xv, xviii, 66, 264
Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, third Torrington, Arthur Herbert, Earl of, 256
Earl of, 161, 171, 198, 200, 201, 204–223 Totaro, P., 159
Shapin, S., 82, 83 Tuck, R., 31, 92, 228
Sharp, A., 53 Tully, J., 136
Shaw, W., 208 Turnbull, H.W., 216
Sherlock, W., 129, 169 Tyrrell, J., 129, 201
Simmons, A.J., 27
Simon, R., 167 V
Simonutti, L., xiv, xviii, 159, 161, 163, 168, Vair, G. du, 3
169, 171, 173 Vanbrugh, J., 142
Sina, M., 171, 207 Veen, E., 160
Sina, M.G., 207 Vet, J. de, 227
Skinner, Q., 45, 48, 51, 91 Vincent, A., 225
Slade, M., 160 Voitle, R., 197, 209, 212, 214
Socinus, F., 168, 169, 200 Volder, G. de, 120, 125
Index 289

Vorländer, K., 263 Wood, A.W., 270


Voss, S., 78 Woodhouse, A.S.P., 52
Woolhouse, R.S., 76, 81, 85, 170
W Wootton, D., 27, 54, 227
Wallis, J., 246 Wright, J.K., 46
Wallis, John, 246 Wyche, B., 211
Walmsley, J., xii, 59–67, 69–73
Warens, Louise-Éléonore, Baronne de, 247 Y
Watkins, E., 261, 265 Yolton, J.S., 13, 196, 202, 218, 222, 223,
Weil, R., 142 250, 257
Whelan, R., 161, 227 Yolton, J.W., 13, 128, 131, 177, 178, 250,
Whipple, J., 126 257, 259
Whitaker, S.F., 206
White, J., 164 Z
William III, 54, 55, 133, 163 Zagorin, P., 145, 228
Wilson, M.D., 263 Zalta, E.N., 227
Winstanley, G., 141 Zarka, Y.C., 90, 92, 238
Wissowaty, S., 169 Zeus, 4, 15
Wollstonecraft, M., 249, 260 Zupko, J., 12

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