Part IV, Chapter XLVI, 3

Aristotle and other pagan philosophers define good and evil by human appetite; and rightly enough, so long as we consider each person governed by his own law. For among people who have no law but their own appetites, there can be no general rule for good and evil actions. But in a Commonwealth this measure is false: not private appetites but the law, which is the will and appetite of the state, is the measure. Yet this doctrine is still practiced: people judge the goodness or wickedness of their own actions, of others’ actions, and of the actions of the Commonwealth itself, by their own passions. No one calls anything good or evil except what appears so in his own eyes, without regard to public laws—except monks and friars, who are bound by vow to the simple obedience to their superior to which every subject ought to consider himself bound, by the Law of Nature, to the civil Sovereign. This private measure of good is a doctrine not only vain but harmful to the public state.

It is also vain and false philosophy to say that the act of marriage is opposed to chastity or continence, and thereby to make marriage a moral vice, as those do who invoke chastity and continence as grounds for denying marriage to the clergy. For they admit that it is merely a church ordinance that requires those in holy orders who continually attend the altar and administer the Eucharist to abstain continually from women, under the name of perpetual chastity, continence, and purity. Thus they call the lawful enjoyment of wives a lack of chastity and continence, and make marriage a sin, or at least something so impure and unclean as to make a man unfit for the altar. If the law was made because relations with wives are incontinence and contrary to chastity, all marriage is vice. If it was made because such relations are too impure and unclean for a man consecrated to God, then still more should other natural, necessary, daily acts performed by everyone disqualify men from being priests, since they are more unclean.

But the hidden foundation of this prohibition of marriage to priests is unlikely to have rested so lightly on errors in moral philosophy, or on the preference for single life over matrimony. That preference came from the wisdom of St. Paul, who saw how inconvenient it would be for preachers of the Gospel, forced in those days of persecution to flee from country to country, to be burdened with the care of wife and children. Rather, the foundation lay in the design of later popes and priests to make themselves the clergy—that is, the sole heirs of the Kingdom of God in this world. For this it was necessary to deny them marriage, because our Savior says that at the coming of his Kingdom the children of God shall “neither marry nor be given in marriage, but shall be as the angels in heaven”; that is, spiritual. Having taken the name spiritual upon themselves, they could not, without inconsistency, have allowed themselves wives when there was no need.

From Aristotle’s civil philosophy they learned to call every form of Commonwealth except popular government—such as Athens then had—a tyranny. They called all kings tyrants, and called the aristocracy of the thirty governors established at Athens by the Lacedaemonians who conquered it the thirty tyrants; they also called the people’s condition under democracy liberty. Originally, tyrant meant simply monarch. But when that form of government was later abolished in most of Greece, the name came to signify not only what it had signified before, but also the hatred popular states bore it. Similarly, the name king became hateful after the kings were deposed in Rome: it is natural for people to suppose that an epithet used in contempt against a great enemy must signify some great fault. And when these same people grow discontented with those who administer a democracy or aristocracy, they have no trouble finding disgraceful names to express their anger: they readily call one anarchy, the other oligarchy, or the tyranny of a few. What offends the people is simply that they are governed not as each of them personally wishes, but as the public representative, whether one man or an assembly, thinks fit—that is, by arbitrary government. For this they give their superiors evil names, never realizing (perhaps until shortly after a civil war) that without such arbitrary government war must be perpetual, and that men and arms, not words and promises, give the laws their force and power.

Another error in Aristotle’s Politics, therefore, is that in a well-ordered Commonwealth the laws, not men, should govern. What person of natural sense, even one unable to read or write, does not find himself governed by those he fears and believes can kill or hurt him if he disobeys? Who believes the law can hurt him—that is, words and paper without the hands and swords of men? This is among the harmful errors: whenever people dislike their governors, it leads them to side with those who call them tyrants and to think it lawful to wage war against them. Yet the clergy often encourage these errors from the pulpit.

Another error in their civil philosophy, learned neither from Aristotle nor Cicero nor any other pagan, extends the power of the law—which regulates actions only—to people’s very thoughts and consciences, through examination and inquisition into what they believe, even when their words and actions conform to the law. Thus people are either punished for answering truthfully about their thoughts or compelled, for fear of punishment, to answer falsely. A civil magistrate wishing to appoint a minister to teach may certainly ask whether he is willing to preach certain doctrines and, if he refuses, deny him the appointment. But to force him to accuse himself of opinions when his actions are not forbidden by law is against the Law of Nature, especially when done by those who teach that a man dying with a false opinion about an article of Christian faith will be damned to eternal and extreme torments. For who, knowing the danger of error is so great, is not compelled by natural concern for himself to stake his soul on his own judgment rather than on that of another man who has no stake in his damnation?

It is another error in politics for a private person, without the authority of the Commonwealth—that is, without its representative’s permission—to interpret the law by his own spirit. This error is not drawn from Aristotle or any other pagan philosopher. None of them denies that the power to make laws includes the power to explain them when necessary. And wherever the Scriptures are law, are they not made law by the Commonwealth’s authority, and consequently part of the civil law?

It is an error of the same kind when anyone but the Sovereign restricts a power in a person that the Commonwealth has not restricted. This is what those do who reserve preaching the Gospel to a particular order of men where the laws have left it open. If the state permits me to preach or teach—that is, does not forbid me—no one else can forbid me. If I find myself among the idolaters of America, should I, a Christian though not ordained, think it a sin to preach Jesus Christ before receiving orders from Rome? Or, after preaching, should I not answer their questions and explain the Scriptures to them—that is, should I not teach? Someone may say that in these cases, as also in administering the sacraments to them, necessity is held to provide sufficient authorization. This is true. But it is equally true that wherever necessity warrants an exemption, no exemption is needed if there is no law forbidding the act. To deny these functions to people to whom the civil Sovereign has not denied them is therefore to take away a lawful liberty, contrary to the doctrine of civil government.

More instances of vain philosophy brought into religion by the doctors of scholastic theology could be given; others may observe them for themselves if they wish. I shall add only that the writings of scholastic theologians are for the most part nothing but meaningless chains of strange and barbarous words, or words used otherwise than they are in ordinary Latin—words that would baffle Cicero, Varro, and all the grammarians of ancient Rome. Anyone who wants proof should see, as I have said before, whether he can translate any scholastic theologian into a modern language, French, English, or another language rich in expression; for what cannot be made intelligible in most such languages is not intelligible in Latin. Though I cannot call this meaninglessness of language false philosophy, it has the power both to hide the truth and to make people think they possess it and stop looking further.

Lastly, among errors introduced from false or uncertain history, what is the whole legend of invented miracles in the lives of the saints? What are all the stories of apparitions and ghosts alleged by doctors of the Roman Church to establish their doctrines of hell and purgatory, the power of exorcism, and other doctrines warranted neither by reason nor Scripture? What are all the traditions they call the unwritten Word of God, if not old wives’ tales? Though they find traces of these scattered in the writings of the ancient Fathers, those Fathers were men who could too easily believe false reports. Citing their opinions as testimony to the truth of their beliefs has no other effect among those who, following the counsel of St. John (1 Epist. chap. 4. verse 1.), test the spirits: in everything concerning the power of the Roman Church, whose abuse they either did not suspect or profited by, their too-ready belief in reports discredits their testimony. Even the most sincere men, without great knowledge of natural causes—as the Fathers were—are especially prone to such belief; for the best people are naturally the least suspicious of fraud. Pope Gregory and St. Bernard have some stories of apparitions of ghosts that said they were in purgatory, as does our Bede; but nowhere, I believe, except at second hand. If they or anyone else relate such stories from their own knowledge, they will not thereby confirm these vain reports, but expose their own weakness or fraud.

To the introduction of false philosophy we may add the suppression of true philosophy by men qualified to judge the truth neither by lawful authority nor by adequate study. Our own voyages make it plain, and everyone learned in the human sciences now acknowledges, that there are antipodes. Every day it becomes more apparent that years and days are determined by motions of the Earth. Nevertheless, ecclesiastical authorities have punished men merely for supposing such a doctrine in their writings as an occasion to present arguments for and against it. What reason is there for this? Is it that such opinions conflict with true religion? If they are true, that cannot be. Let competent judges examine their truth first, or let those claiming to know the contrary refute them. Is it that they conflict with the established religion? Then let the laws of those to whom their teachers are subject silence them—that is, the civil laws. For those who teach even true philosophy in defiance of the laws may lawfully be punished for disobedience. Is it that they tend to disorder in government, by supporting rebellion or sedition? Then let them be silenced and their teachers punished by the power of the one charged with maintaining public peace: the civil authority. For whatever power ecclesiastics assume in their own right, in any place where they are subject to the state, is usurpation, even if they call it God’s right.

Aristotle and other non-Christian philosophers define good and evil by what people desire. That works well enough when we consider each person governed by their own law. When people have no law besides their own desires, there can be no general rule about which actions are good or evil. But in a Common-wealth this measure is wrong. The measure is not what private people want. It is the law, which expresses the will and desires of the state. Yet people still follow this teaching. They judge their own actions, other people's actions, and even the actions of the Common-wealth by their own Passions. No one calls anything good or evil except what looks that way to them, without considering public laws. The only exception is monks and friars. Their vows bind them to unquestioning obedience to their superior, the same obedience that every subject should consider themselves bound by the Law of Nature to give the civil Soveraigne. Using one's own measure of good is not only a useless teaching. It also harms the public state.

It is also useless and false philosophy to say that marital sex conflicts with chastity or self-restraint, and therefore to treat marriage as a moral vice. That is what people do when they cite chastity and self-restraint as reasons to forbid clergy to marry. They admit that it is only a rule of the church that requires those in holy orders who constantly attend the altar and administer the Eucharist to abstain from women constantly. They call this abstinence continual chastity, self-restraint, and purity. So they call lawful sex with one's wife a lack of chastity and self-restraint. In this way they make marriage a sin, or at least so impure and unclean that it makes a man unfit to serve at the altar. If the rule exists because marital sex is a lack of self-restraint and contrary to chastity, then every marriage is a vice. If instead it exists because sex is too impure and unclean for a man dedicated to God, other natural, necessary things that everyone does daily should make men still less fit to be priests, since those things are more unclean.

But the hidden basis of the ban on priests marrying was probably not something as flimsy as these mistakes in moral philosophy. Nor was it the preference for single life over marriage that came from the wisdom of St. Paul. He saw how inconvenient it would be for preachers of the Gospel, forced during those times of persecution to flee from one country to another, to be burdened with caring for a wife and children. Rather, the basis was the plan of later popes and priests to make themselves the clergy: the sole heirs of the Kingdome of God in this world. To do this, they needed to give up marriage. Our Savior says that when his Kingdome comes, God's children will “neither marry nor be given in marriage, but will be like the angels in heaven”; that is, they will be spiritual. Since these men had taken the name “spiritual” for themselves, it would have been inconsistent to let themselves have wives of their own when there was no need for them to do so.

From Aristotle's political philosophy they learned to call every kind of Common-wealth except government by the people a tyranny. Athens had such a popular government at the time. They called all kings tyrants. They also called the aristocracy of thirty governors installed in Athens by its Spartan conquerors the Thirty Tyrants. And they called the people's condition under democracy liberty. Originally a tyrant simply meant a monarch, nothing more. But after monarchy was abolished in most parts of Greece, the name came to express both its original meaning and the hatred popular states felt toward it. Likewise, the word “king” became hateful after Rome deposed its kings. People naturally assume that an insulting title applied to a great enemy must point to some serious fault. When the same people are unhappy with those who run a democracy or an aristocracy, they have no trouble finding insulting names to express their anger. They quickly call the first anarchy and the second oligarchy, or the tyranny of a few. What actually offends the people is simply that they are governed not as each person wishes but as the public representative sees fit, whether that representative is one man or an assembly. In other words, they object to government that decides according to its own judgment. They give their superiors ugly names for this reason. They never understand, perhaps until a little after a civil war, that without such government war must go on forever. They also fail to understand that people and weapons, not words and promises, give laws their force and power.

That is why another mistake in Aristotle's Politics is his claim that in a well-ordered Common-wealth laws, rather than people, should govern. Anyone with their natural senses, even someone who cannot read or write, knows they are governed by those they fear and believe can kill or hurt them if they disobey. Who believes that a law, mere words and paper, can hurt them without people's hands and swords? This is a harmful mistake. When people dislike their governors, it leads them to side with those who call the governors tyrants and to think they may lawfully go to war against them. Yet the clergy often encourage such mistakes from the pulpit.

There is another mistake in their political philosophy, though they did not learn it from Aristotle, Cicero, or any other non-Christian writer. They extend the power of law, which only governs actions, to people's very thoughts and consciences. They examine and investigate what people believe even when their words and actions comply with the law. This either punishes people for honestly reporting their thoughts or forces them to lie for fear of punishment. A civil magistrate who plans to employ a minister to teach may certainly ask whether he agrees to preach particular doctrines. If he refuses, the magistrate may deny him the job. But forcing him to accuse himself of holding opinions, when none of his actions is forbidden by law, violates the Law of Nature. This is especially true of those who teach that a person who dies with a false opinion about an article of Christian faith will suffer extreme and eternal torment. Who, knowing that an error poses such a danger, would let their natural concern for themselves make them stake their soul on someone else's judgment rather than their own, when that other person has nothing to lose from their damnation?

It is another error in politics for a private person, without the authority of the Common-wealth—that is, without the permission of its representative—to interpret the law according to their own spirit. But this error does not come from Aristotle or any other non-Christian philosopher. None of them denies that the power to make laws includes the power to explain them when needed. Wherever the Scriptures have the force of law, are they not made law by the authority of the Common-wealth? Are they not, consequently, part of civil law?

A similar mistake occurs when anyone except the Soveraigne restricts a power that the Common-wealth has not restricted. That is what people do when they reserve the preaching of the Gospel for one particular order of men, though the laws leave it open to others. If the state permits me to preach or teach—if it does not forbid me—no one else can forbid me. Suppose I find myself among the idol worshipers of America. Though I am a Christian who has not been ordained, should I think it a sin to preach Jesus Christ until I have received ordination from Rome? And after preaching, should I refuse to answer their questions and explain the Scriptures to them? Should I refuse to teach? Someone may say that necessity will count as sufficient authorization for this, and for giving them the sacraments. That is true. But it is also true that whenever necessity calls for an exemption, no exemption is needed if there is no law prohibiting the act. Therefore, denying these functions to people whom the civil Soveraigne has not barred takes away a lawful liberty. This goes against the teaching of civil government.

More examples could be given of the useless philosophy brought into religion by the teachers of scholastic theology. Others can find them for themselves if they wish. I will add only this: most writings by scholastic theologians are nothing more than meaningless strings of strange and crude words, or words used differently from ordinary Latin. They would puzzle Cicero, Varro, and every grammarian of ancient Rome. Anyone who wants proof should try, as I have said before, to translate a scholastic theologian into French, English, or another modern language with a rich vocabulary. If a statement cannot be made understandable in most of these languages, it is not understandable in Latin either. I cannot classify this meaningless language as false philosophy. Still, it can hide the truth and also make people think they have found it, so that they stop looking.

Finally, consider the errors drawn from false or uncertain history. What are the legends of imaginary miracles in the lives of saints, or the stories of apparitions and ghosts cited by teachers of the Roman Church to support their doctrines of hell, purgatory, exorcism, and other teachings supported by neither reason nor Scripture? What are all those traditions they call the unwritten Word of God? They are old wives' tales. They do find some of these stories scattered through the writings of the ancient Fathers. But the Fathers were human and could too easily believe false reports. Citing their opinions as proof of the stories they believed has no persuasive force for people who, following the advice of St. John (1 Epistle, chapter 4, verse 1), test spirits. In all matters concerning the power of the Roman Church—a power whose abuses the Fathers either did not suspect or benefited from—such citations instead discredit their testimony, because they believed reports too readily. The most honest people, if they know little about natural causes, are especially likely to do this, as the Fathers did. Good people are naturally the least likely to suspect fraud. Pope Gregory, St. Bernard, and our Bede say something about ghosts that claimed to be in purgatory. But I believe they got their stories entirely from others. If they or anyone else claim firsthand knowledge of such stories, they will not confirm these empty reports. They will only expose their own weakness or fraud.

We may add to the introduction of false philosophy the suppression of true philosophy by people who have neither lawful authority nor enough learning to judge what is true. Our own voyages prove that people live on the opposite side of the earth, and everyone educated in the human sciences now acknowledges this. It also becomes clearer each day that the movements of the earth determine years and days. Yet church authorities have punished people merely for proposing this view in their writings as an opportunity to lay out the arguments for and against it. What reason is there for doing so? Is it that such opinions conflict with true religion? They cannot, if the opinions are true. Let competent judges examine their truth first, or let those who claim to know otherwise refute them. Do they conflict with the established religion? Then silence them through the laws governing their teachers—that is, civil laws. Those who teach even true philosophy against the law may lawfully be punished for disobedience. Do the opinions encourage disorder in government by supporting rebellion or sedition? Then let the authority charged with keeping the public peace silence them and punish their teachers. That authority is civil. Any power church officials claim in their own right where they are subjects of the state is an unlawful seizure of power, even if they call it God's right.