puritan politics

University of Chicago Press and Southern Political Science Association are collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The Journal of Politics.

http://www.jstor.org

Direct Democracy and the Puritan Theory of Membership Author(s): Joshua Miller Source: The Journal of Politics, Vol. 53, No. 1 (Feb., 1991), pp. 57-74Published by: on behalf of the University of Chicago Press Southern Political Science

AssociationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2131720Accessed: 10-11-2015 01:15 UTC

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at http://www.jstor.org/page/ info/about/policies/terms.jsp

JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

This content downloaded from 108.60.33.5 on Tue, 10 Nov 2015 01:15:15 UTCAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

http://www.jstor.org

http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=ucpress

http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=spsa

http://www.jstor.org/action/showPublisher?publisherCode=spsa

http://www.jstor.org/stable/2131720

http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp



Direct Democracy and the Puritan Theory of Membership

Joshua Miller Lafayette College

This essay explores the political implications of seventeenth century American Congrega- tionalism. The essay describes the Puritan theory of church membership and relates it to contemporary liberal and democratic notions of citizenship. While the relationship of American Puritanism with liberalism has been previously examined, few commentators have discussed the Puritan connection with direct democracy. Following Wolin and others, I sharply distinguish between the political theories of democracy and liberalism, and discover that the Puritans were "proto-democrats" in their advocacy of small, highly autonomous participatory communities. The Puritan theory of covenanted church membership reveals the nature of citizenship in a direct democracy. "Universal membership" is more characteristic of the large nation than it is of the small democratic community because the latter places more power and responsibility in the hands of the citizenry, and because a democracy is identified with its citizens rather than with its leaders or agents.

Iolitical scientists have not paid much attention to the American Puritans. Few textbooks in American politics even mention them. Most Puritan scholarship has come from students of history, religion, and English (e.g., Miller 1933, 1982; Bercovitch 1975, 1978; Foster 1971; Rutman 1965).' As a result, the contribution of the Puritans to a living tradition of American political theory has not been fully recognized. Nevertheless, I would contend that the political ideas and practices of the Puritans should be of interest to social scientists, political theorists in particular, and to political actors who seek to revive direct democracy.2 The Puritan effort to create a localist church structure may serve as an instructive example for those who today seek to de- centralize power. As repellent as some of their ideas and practices may

'Important exceptions include McWilliams (1973) and Perry (1944). The politics of the En- glish Puritans has been far more extensively explored. Current bibliographies appear in Wood- house ([1938] 1986) and Wootton (1987). I do not mean to imply that the others have not made a significant contribution to understanding American politics and political thought.

2Democratic theorists include Boyte and Riessman (1986); Schaar (1981); Barber (1984); Mansbridge (1980). Democratic actors are described in Boyte (1980); Boggs (1988); Spretnak and Capra (1986).

I would like to thank Charles Hersch, Brian Wiener, and Eric Ziolkowski for their criticisms and suggestions for revision of earlier drafts of this essay.

JOURNAL OF POLITICS, Vol. 53, No. 1, February 1991 X 1991 by the University of Texas Press



58 Joshua Miller

seem, the Puritans have an important place in the indigenous democratic tradition within American political thought.

I.

The most recent scholarship on the Puritans has sought to correct a per- ceived bias in the classic work of Perry Miller by stressing the theological purposes and vocabulary of Puritan theory (Caldwell 1983; Coolidge 1970; Cohen 1986; Collinson 1983; Hall 1987). Although a truer picture of Puritan religious practices may be emerging from these studies, the political aims of the Puritans are in danger of being overlooked. Contemporary students of the Puritans may have lost the balance contained in Tocqueville's assertion that "Puritanism was not merely a religious doctrine, but it corresponded in many points with the most absolute democratic and republican theories" (1961, vol. 1, 19). If either the religious or the political element is unduly stressed, a false picture of the New England Puritans emerges.

Although the Puritans were deeply Christian, they were not primarily aca- demic theologians; their theology was profoundly political, and their religious thought was infused with such political concepts as power, participation, and autonomy. Both town and church were taken to be small bodies politic. According to leading Puritan theologian, Thomas Hooker, the church was "a visible politick body" ([1648] 1972, part 1, 15). The blurring of Puritan ideas of religion and politics can be seen further in the fact that they did not sharply distinguish the principles of membership in church and town. The members of both bodies were generally joined by a covenant.3 Both towns and churches claimed the right to exclude those who they believed were morally unfit for membership. In this essay, I will interchangeably draw on texts describing the Puritan theory of membership in church and in town.

As Tocqueville indicated, several tenets of Puritan thought were closely related to direct democracy, the self-government of citizens in communities. These tenets included the principle of autonomy for churches and communities, the identification of churches with their members, the concept of covenant, ritual, and popular election of church officers. The Puritan practice of allowing all adult male members of the community and church to vote for their magistrates and clergy made the polities of New England among the most, if not the most, democratic in the world. The principle of local autonomy was embodied in their theory of church organization, and it was also the basis of their struggle with England over the right of self-governance. As Nathaniel Hawthorne (1987) wrote, "[The Puritans] looked with most jealous scrutiny to the exercise of power which did not emanate from themselves" (37; see also Winthrop 1908, vol. 2, 24).

3The Puritans did not sharply distinguish between membership in the town and in the church. Both town and church were conceived of small bodies politic created by covenants (Burrage 1904, chap. 7).



Direct Democracy and the Puritan Theory of Membership 59

The Puritans criticized the Anglican and Roman Catholic churches for being centralized, hierarchical, and universal: power in those churches issued from the central authority down to local congregations; that authority was made up of ranked church officers (bishops, cardinals, etc.); and everyone in a certain area was admitted to the church or required to be a member of it. The Puritans, on the other hand, equated the -church with the body of Christ; to admit everyone, even open and unrepentant sinners, to the church was to pollute Christ's body (Hooker [1648] 1972, part 1, 15; see also Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 282; Morgan 1963; Miller 1933, 77, 85).

In England, the Puritan criticism of the church remained theoretical; in New England, the Puritans developed an alternative structure of small, autonomous churches in which the membership, not the church officers, had sovereign authority. To be a member of a Congregational church, said Hooker, allows one to choose the officers of the congregation ([1648] 1972, part 1, 64; see also Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 110). "Every man hath right," said Hooker, "to meddle with the Congregation whereof he is a member" ([1648] 1972, part 1, 65).

The Puritans believed that the model for their church system could be found in the New Testament. In his treatise, "The Ways of Congregational Churches Cleared," New England Minister John Cotton claimed that the Christian churches in the second century A.D. were "almost"' democratic and certainly congregational. In one important passage he links the primitive church with democracy: "[I]f a man search the approved authors of this age, he shall see the form of the government, to be almost like to a democracy: for every single church had equal power of preaching the word, administering sacraments, excommunicating heretics and notorious offenders, absolving penitents, choosing, calling, ordaining ministers, and upon just and weighty causes deposing them again: power also of gathering conventions and synods, etc. (Ziff 1968, 297).

Cotton did not fully embrace the principle of democracy; the Puritan system of church governance was not based on equality of membership. Al- though in one sense all of those chosen for salvation were equal in the eyes of God, the Puritans divided the community into high and low, elders and brethren, magistrates and citizens, church officers and laity, and then sought to unite them all. The congregational church was made up of members, called brethren, elders, deacons, a minister, and a teacher. In their introduc- tion to Cotton's essay, Keys to the Kingdom of Heaven, English Puritans Thomas Goodwin and Philip Nye wrote: "In commonwealths, it is a disper- sion of several portions of power and rights into several hands, jointly to con- cur and agree in acts and process of weight and moment, which causeth that healthful [mixture] and constitution of them, which makes them lasting and preserves their peace, but none of all sorts find they are excluded, but as they have a share of concernment, so that a fit measure of power or privilege is left and betrusted them" (Ziff 1968, 73). Lack of equality between elders



60 Joshua Miller

and brethren did not mean that power was restricted to those on top of the social scale: all members were given a share of power, privilege, and authority. The assent of both elders and brethren were needed for a church to take collective action (Ziff 1968, 80). The brethren elected the church officers, including the minister (Ziff 1968, 80; see also Hooker [1648] 1972, part 1, 9, and Morgan 1963, 11, 28). The Cambridge Platform of 1648 said that the powers of the church members included not only the election of officers, but the admission and removal of members, and the right to bring a dispute between officers and members to the whole body (Walker 1960, 218).

The town government was parallel to that of the church. In fact, in the early days of the Massachusetts Bay Colony, church and town government were virtually indistinguishable (Rutman 1965, 62, 65). From 1631 to 1634 all members of the Massachusetts company were members of the General Court which met once a year (Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 63, note 4, and 74). Day-to-day governing was done by assistants, elected by the freemen, and by the governor and deputy governor, elected by the assistants. This ar- rangement was approved by the Massachusetts freemen during the first General Court (Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 75, note 1). Later, in 1634, the governing system moved away from direct democracy and toward representa- tion: a group of deputies elected by the people was added to the ruling body (Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 122-25).

The element of hierarchical authority in the Puritan scheme of town and church governments cannot be denied. Although the members elected their officers, the Cambridge Platform states that the everyday governing of the church is to be left to the elders. The members should obey the elders unless there is "sufficient and weighty cause" (Walker 1960, 219). The people have the right to choose their magistrates, said Winthrop, but once they do so, the people must obey as if the magistrate's voice was that of God (1908, vol. 1, 303). Winthrop wrote, "when the people have chosen men to be their rulers, and to make their laws, and bound themselves by oath to submit thereto, now to combine together (a lesser part of them) in a public petition to have any order repealed, which is not repugnant to the law of God, savors of re- sisting an order of God; for the people, having deputed others, have no power to make or alter laws, but are to be subject . . ." (Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 303). Winthrop tried to sustain the tension between active popular participation in decision making and the preservation of authority. This was not easy to do, and his journal is full of instances of the people seeking more power. For example, when it was rumored that some magistrates wanted to appoint governors for life, the people demanded, and won their demand, that the principle of annual elections be publicly reaffirmed (Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 302-305; see also vol. 1, 79, 133, 143, 323).

These demands on the part of the people should not be taken simply as signs that the Puritan government was authoritarian. The Puritan experiment itself taught the people that they legitimately possessed a share of




power. When the people sought more power, they were emphasizing half of the Puritan ideal; in stressing the necessity for submission to authority, Winthrop emphasized the other half. The Puritan political system is thus dif- ferent from one that forbids the people to become involved in politics. Histo- rian Stephen Foster wrote: "Puritan doctrine itself tended to contradict its own social ideal. Advocates of political hierarchy would do well to base their franchise on something other than church membership; governors who rule by God's ordinance should not make their offices dependent on popular elections.... [A]bove all, anyone who maintains traditional concepts of social relationships should not found them on voluntary contracts.... Though it sounds strange to say it, few societies in Western culture have ever de- pended more thoroughly or more self-consciously on the consent of their members than the allegedly repressive 'theocracies' of early New England (1971, 7, 156).4

The Puritan political outlook cannot accurately be described as liberal. They did not believe in privacy or individual rights such as freedom of speech. On or about June 14, 1631, a servant, Philip Ratcliff "being convict . .. of most foul, scandalous invectives against our churches and government, was censured to be whipped, lose his ears, and be banished the plantation, which was presently executed" (Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 64). Later in the year "a young fellow was whipped for soliciting an Indian squaw to incontinency. Her husband and she complained of the wrong, and were present at the exe- cution, and very well satisfied" (Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 67). At the same court one Henry Linne was whipped and banished for criticizing ("slander- ing") the colony in letters to England (Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 67). In 1634, Abigail Gifford was sent back to England for "being found . . . sometimes distracted, and a very burdensome woman..." (Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 144; see also vol. 1, 147).

The Puritan lack of tolerance was, in part, a result of the seriousness with which they took ideas. They believed that their own ideas about the correct form of worship were true, and they defined liberty as the right to put those ideas into practice. They feared that radical dissent which challenged the fundamental principles of Congregationalism would divide and destroy their fragile experiment (Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 239; see also Miller 1970, 23).5

Although they set limits on dissent, the Puritans publicly discussed the most important religious and political questions facing the community. They co- erced their opponents only after debate proved unsuccessful. Winthrop's Journal (1908) describes many such dialogues (e.g., vol. 1, 66, 211-18). For example, Winthrop writes, "A proposition was made by the people, that every company of trained men might choose their own captain and officers;

4See also Perry (1944, 107) and Ziff (1968, 18, 28-29, 58). 5A contrast to Puritan intolerance can be seen in the theory of Roger Williams. See Miller

(1970) and Perry (1944, 97).



62 Joshua Miller

but the governor giving them reasons to the contrary, they were satisfied without it" (1908, vol. 1, 79). Democracy is impossible without public delib- eration; citizens must be able to express their ideas about public matters, and to hear various viewpoints on those issues. The Puritans encouraged public discussion, but they set limits upon it that would be intolerable today. Dissenters could persist until they "were so divided from the rest of the country in their judgment and practice, as it could not stand with the public peace, that they should continue amongst us. So, by the example of Lot in Abraham's family, and after Hagar and Ishmael, he saw they must be sent away" (vol. 1, 257; see also vol. 1, 286, 328-89).6

To say that the Puritan leaders were not liberals does not imply that they were self-consciously democratic. If asked, Cotton and Winthrop might have called their government an elected aristocracy or a mixed government, i. e., one that combined monarchical, aristocratic, and democratic components. Winthrop said, "The best part of a community is always the least, and of that best part the wiser is always the lesser" (1908, vol. 2, 121). Cotton wrote, "Democracy, I do not conceive that ever God did ordain as a fit government either for church or commonwealth" (in Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 125, note 1; also cited in Ziff 1968, 27). I am suggesting that the Puritans were proto- democrats, i.e., certain elements of their theory and practice were highly democratic and conflicted with, and eventually undermined, those elements in it that were undemocratic.

One reason why the democratic elements in Puritan political thought have not been generally recognized is because of the frequent conflation of democracy and liberalism. Recent scholarship has pointed to crucial differences between the two theories.7 The essence of direct democracy is the self-governing community of equal citizens. Thus, democracy implies participation, autonomy, equality of power, and small-scale community; liberalism does not. Unlike liberalism, democracy values political participation and the existence of a common good. One of Sheldon S. Wolin's most important contributions to the understanding of eighteenth century American political thought is the link that he has discovered between liberalism and the state. Wolin has re- vealed that the founders of liberal political thought were as preoccupied with the creation of a powerful state as they were with protecting individual rights (1980, 1989). Unlike liberalism, direct democracy is antithetical to the strong state insulated from the lives of ordinary people.

A crucial distinction between liberal and democratic theory is their respec- tive locations of power. In liberal theory, the people transfer their power to representative institutions, and thereby authorize the actions of their representatives. The representatives in the liberal state are popularly elected, yet

6For just one of many extensive open debates about public matters see Winthrop (1908, vol. 1, 211-18).

7See Wolin (1981, 1982), McWilliams (1980), and Barber (1984).




the people do not actively wield power. In a direct democracy, power not only originates in the people but is often exercised by them.

The differing locations of power in liberal and democratic political thought have led to divergent theoretical preoccupations. Although liberalism pos- sesses a theory of human nature, its primary concern is with the world exter- nal to human beings. John H. Schaar suggests that liberal thought in the United States "teaches us to see the political world existing 'out there'-ex- ternal to ourselves, given, somehow objective and constituted by its own laws" (1981, 53). By comparison, it may be said that, whatever its interest in institutions, democratic political thought focuses its attention on the citizens. Issues of education, friendship, virtue, and patriotism are at the heart of democratic thought. Because the citizens wield the power in a democracy, their character is of crucial concern to the community.

Democrats are forced to consider the question that divided national from congregational churches: should all the residents of a particular area necessarily be included in the citizenry?8 Should all those who seek to join the polity, regardless of their character or purposes, be admitted? Is anyone to be excluded, and if so, upon what grounds? These questions were at the heart of the Puritan theory of membership, and they arose, I believe, not simply from Puritan elitism, but from the willingness of the Puritans to hand over to ordinary people a great deal of power in their churches and communities.

When democracy is properly distinguished from liberalism, the affinity between Puritanism and democracy becomes more apparent.9 Although they fit neatly into neither category, Puritan theories of town and church membership are closer to democracy than to liberalism.'0 To study the interrela- tionship of Puritanism and direct democracy is to illuminate hidden, albeit problematic, aspects of both.

II.

The American Puritans, or Congregationalists, rejected the idea of "membership-in-general" in both town and church. Whereas all Christians and all true churches (i.e., Protestant) might be loosely linked in loving brother- hood, a person could only be a member of the particular church and of the political community or whose covenant he or she had publicly affirmed. Only in that community could the person become a full citizen, and only that

8Liberals might also address the question of membership. After all, American citizenship at the national level is restricted. But my interest is primarily in face-to-face membership in smaller political bodies such as cities and towns.

9As I interpret his great work on the Puritans, Perry (1944) blurred the distinction between liberalism and democracy.

'0Puritan leaders used the term "democracy" only in a pejorative sense. See Winthrop (1908, vol. 2, 118, 121, 235), and Ziff (1968, 27-28).



64 Joshua Miller

church could administer the sacraments to him or her; similarly, a clergyman could only administer the sacraments to the members of the church that had elected him.

In contrast, Hillaire Belloc has described his pleasure in attending Catho- lic mass at every town along the path of his pilgrimage to Rome. The Puritan abroad knew no such solace. When John Winthrop's nascent community ar- rived at Salem on the Arabella in 1630, they presented a newborn baby to the Puritan church there for baptism. Because its parents were not in covenant with their church, the Salem minister refused to baptize the baby. Winthrop promptly wrote to John Cotton, an influential minister then living in England, pleading for his condemnation of this unbrotherly act. Cotton acceded because at that point he believed that a church covenant was desir- able but not essential. Soon the Puritans of Massachusetts Bay, including Cotton and Winthrop, converted to Salem's position (Ziff 1968, 12, 18, 41; Morgan 1963, 85-87; Winthrop 1908, vol. 1, 107; Hooker [1648] 1972, part 1, 62-63).

What were the key elements of this system of church organization that so carefully and sharply distinguished between members and nonmembers? An examination of the Puritan theory of church organization is necessary in order to set the context for their ideas concerning the restriction of town and church membership. The essential features of the Puritan theory of church organization and membership included the identification of the church with its members, the restriction of the authority of a church and its clergy to its own members, the idea of covenant, and autonomy afforded to local churches (Ziff 1968, 2; Baritz 1964, 35; Scholz 1972, 403).

In the theory of church organization that came to be called the New En- gland Way, each particular church was identified at once with its covenanted members and, paradoxically, with the body of Christ. "There is no greater church than a Congregation," read the Cambridge platform of 1648, "which may ordinarily meet in one place" (Walker [1893] 1960, 207; see also Hooker [1648] 1972, part 1, 45; Lindsay 1943, 117). The church did not derive its identity from its building or clergy but from its members. William Ames (1638), a theoretical founder of Congregationalism, described a church as a fellowship of faithful believers (136-140).

The Puritans directly linked the citizen to the bodies politic of church and town, and to God, through covenants (Lutz 1988, 27; Ames 1638, 140-41; Hooker [1648] 1972, part 1, 45; Miller 1970, 37). Although their principles were essentially the same, there were actually two covenants, one for the church and one for the town. Donald Lutz (1988) writes that the covenant form was repeated throughout New England, parts of the central colonies (including the Dutch colonies), and later in the Southern piedmont. "Wher- ever dissenting Protestantism went," said Lutz, "so too went their church covenants" (1988, 25). The covenant to the Puritans expresses the essence of




the Puritan mission (Ziff 1968, 41-68; Ames 1638, 140-41). "Mutual cove- nanting and confederating of the Saints in the fellowship of the faith according to the order of the Gospel, is that which gives Constitution and being to a visible church," wrote Hooker ([1648] 1972, part 1, 46).

The covenant consisted of a set of mutually binding promises to love one another and to obey the laws of Christ (Lutz 1988, 17-27). The original covenant of the Charlestown-Boston church said: "Wee whose names are here- under written, being by His most wise, & good Providence brought together in this part of America in the Bay of Massachusetts, & desirous t6 unite our selves into one Congregation, or Church, under the Lord Jesus Christ our Head, in such sort as becometh all those whom He hath Redeemed, & Sanc- tifyed to Himselfe, do hereby solmnly, and religiously ... Promisse, & bind orselves, to walke in our wayes according to the Rule of the Gospell, & in all sincere Conformity to his holy Ordinaunces, & in mutuall love, and respect each to other, so neere as God shall give us grace" (Walker 1960, 131; see also Baritz 1964, 13; Lockridge 1970, 4-5; Lutz 1988, 25).

Because it was an actual document, sworn and signed by each member, the covenant unified members differently than did the fictional social contract described in liberal political theory. Whereas the Lockean contract recognized boundaries on individual freedom of will and movement in order to retain rights of property and security, the Puritan covenant made no mention of individual rights (Wolin 1986; Niebuhr 1954; Lutz 1980; Miller [1932] 1982; Cohen 1986). The liberal social contract, according to Hanna Pitkin (1965), justified the tacit, passive consent of the citizens to the actions of the government. The covenant went beyond consent (Lutz 1988, 17). To sub- scribe to the covenant was an actual act that created a body politic and thus changed the relationships among those subscribing to it (Hooker [1648] 1972, part 1, 46). The members had been isolated individuals; they were now openly declared brothers and sisters. Subscription to the covenant was a voluntary act that indicated that the new member understood and embraced the principles and goals of the community before binding himself or herself to it. Hooker ([1648] 1972) said, "There can be no necessary tye of mutual accord and fellowship come, but by free engagement, free (I say) in regard of any human constraint" (part 1, 47). The covenant, Hooker continued, is "that cement which soders them all, that soul as it were, that acts all the parts and particular persons so interested in such a way, for there is no man constrained to enter such a condition, unless he will: and he that will enter, must also willingly bind and engage himself to each member of society to promote the good of the whole, or else a member actually he is not" (part 1, 50).

There is much to praise in the covenant as a model of creating political bodies, particularly its emphasis on individual will and choice. On the other hand, it must be noted that the covenant sharply distinguishes between those inside and those outside of it, and therefore it is difficult for those in-



66 Joshua Miller

side not to feel superior to those who are outside (Bercovitch 1978). In contrast, Roger Williams, in most ways an orthodox Puritan, rejected the idea that God had a covenant with any community since the one He made with ancient Israel, and for that reason Williams was the Puritan most tolerant of other religions and cultures, particularly that of the Indians (Miller 1970, 52, 183 and passim).

Each covenanted church was seen by the Puritans as a small, self-governing body politic. Hooker ([1648] 1972) said, "We deny that Christ hath given power of jurisdiction to one particular congregation over another" (part 1, 65). Winthrop (1908), writing in his journal, said, "[N]o church or person can have power over another church . . ." (vol. 1, 113). The one central authority among the local churches was the synod, comprised of ministers from the various churches in a given area (Ziff 1968, 2; Baritz 1964, 35; Scholz 1972, 403). The synod met to discuss matters of common concern, such as theological controversies and questions of church organization (Rutman 1965, 132-33). In their preface to Cotton's The Keys to the Kingdom of Heaven, English Puritan theorists Thomas Goodwin and Philip Nye described the purpose of the synods and the limits upon their power: "And because these particular congregations, both elders and people, may disagree and miscarry, and abuse this power committed to them; he [Christ] therefore . . . asserteth an association or communion of churches, sending their elders and messengers into a synod. . ." (Ziff 1968, 75). The aim of the synod, said Goodwin and Nye, was "rectifying maladministration and healing dissen- tion in particular congregations, and the like cases. . . ." (Ziff 1968, 76). When a controversy of faith "disturbed the peace of particular congregations," or when a particular case became too troublesome for a single church to handle, then it should be brought to a synod (Ziff 1968, 76).

Immediately after describing the powers of the synods, Goodwin and Nye carefully stated the limits on their power. Synods could only discern matters of fact and censure a particular church or party. They could not excommuni- cate a member or a congregation, and could only withdraw communion from that church. The synods' power was circumscribed by the principle of local autonomy, a principle sanctioned by the authority of Christ. 11

"And also for the extent of this power in such assemblies and association of churches, he limits and confines that also unto cases, and with cautions ... to wit, they . .. should not entrench or impair the privilege of entire jurisdiction committed unto each congregation (as a liberty purchased them by Christ's blood) but leave them free to the exercise and use thereof, until they abuse that power, or are unable to manage it; and in this case only to assist,

"1The synod system surely influenced the design of the first New England Confederation which occurred in 1643. This confederation sought to achieve limited purposes and guaranteed autonomy to each member (Winthrop 1908, vol. 2, 100-101).




guide, and direct them, and not take on them to administer it for them, but with them, and by them" (Ziff 1968, 76-77).

In other words, at least in theory, the synods lacked the power to interfere regularly with the affairs of local congregations.'2 The unity among the churches would not come primarily from a central institution, but from the members who had professed a faith in the teachings of the Old and New Tes- taments, read by the light of Congregational principles. Unity replaced the Anglican and Catholic ideas of uniformity imposed by a church hierarchy (Bainton 1964, 73).13

The Congregational theory of church organization emerged from the Pu- ritans' desire to limit the power of the church hierarchy in order to prevent the power of church leaders from usurping that of the members and of Christ. I have shown that the Puritans restricted the power of the hierarchy not only by making them subject to election by church members, but by de- fining the church as a congregation of covenanted members and by asserting the autonomy of that church. It remains to be examined, however, why the Puritans restricted their membership to those they believed understood the principles of their community and showed that they were capable of carrying out those principles.

III.

There was nothing automatic about the process of becoming a member of a Puritan church or community. The fact that individuals moved to town did not necessarily mean that they would be received as members (Hooker [1648] 1972, part 1, 13). "It is not habitation in the same Towne," wrote Pu- ritan leader Richard Mather, "that distinguisheth Churches, and Church- members from other men, but their mutuall agreement and combination and joyning themselves together in a holy covenant with God" (Burrage 1904, 103). John Cotton stated, "We do not open the doors of our churches so wide as to receive all the inhabitants of a nation, or of every town, into our churches . . ." (Ziff 1968, 186). Turks, atheists, the profane, and "men of strange languages," said Thomas Hooker, could not join a Puritan church ([1648] 1972, part 1, 14). Those who wished to join had to affirm the covenant; in order to do so they had to demonstrate in their actions and speech that they possessed good characters and were not open sinners.

In addition to the covenant principle, the theological basis for discriminat-

12The synods became more powerful as Puritanism declined (Scholz 1972, 406; Perry 1944,

110). The rise of the synods was a deviation from the theory of Congregationalism which was

based on local autonomy. Perry (1944), however, suggests an interesting line of theoretical in-

quiry that cannot be pursued here when he writes that "There was . .. an inherent conflict

between the idea of the single church as an autonomous group of believers, and the idea that

there was one authentic polity and doctrine which was prescribed for all churches" (110).

'3For a diametrical view, see Miller (1933).



68 Joshua Miller

ing between those who were worthy and unworthy to join the church was the doctrine of "visible saints." According to Hooker, "Visible Saints only are fit matter appointed by God to make up a visible church of Christ" (1972, part 1, 14). Following Augustine and Calvin, the Puritans believed that God had chosen some people for salvation and rejected others; those saved were the saints. Although no one could infallibly separate the saved from the damned, the Puritans felt obliged to determine who was most likely to be chosen. The "saints" were obliged to convince the community of their election before being admitted to the congregation.

What criteria were to be used to separate the visible saints from the visible sinners? The Puritans employed three interconnected standards of increasing strictness: desire to join, outward deportment, and public confession of grace (Morgan 1963). In the first days of the Puritan experiment, those who said that they were willing to sign the covenant were generally accepted as saved. There was surely good reason for thinking so since the journey to America was arduous and the conditions there bleak. While no sure way existed to know whom God had saved, it was generally believed that those who walked in an upright, moral fashion in this world would probably be saved in the next (Morgan 1964, 88-89). And although it was in God's power to save them, the irreligious and the profane could probably count on being consigned to hell. Hooker, the most generous of the New England leaders on the question of church membership, argued that it was absurd to allow visible sinners to become church members.

Not to separate those who openly sinned from those who appeared to be righteous would lead to chaos, said Hooker ([1648] 1972), and to think that an outward sinner could be a saint would lead to "folly and madness." "For then such who to the judgment of charity are members of the devil, may be conceived members of Christ. Those, who to the eye of reason, are servants to sin, may be servants of righteousness and of Christ: and those, who are under the kingdom of darkness by the rule of reasonable charity, by the same rule, at the same time, they may be judged under the kingdom of light. Those may be counted fit to share in the covenant and the priviledges thereof, as sacraments and church society, who are strangers from the covenant, and without God in the world. All which are absurdities, that common sense will not admit" (part 1, 17). Nevertheless, Hooker did not want to be too strict. His goal was not to make the church free of all sin and disagree- ment. He sought to establish the criterion of "rational charity" for admission to church membership. He did not want to exclude all sinners, but only those who did not repent of their sin ([1648] 1972, part 1, 24). He would admit those who were willing to change, "if they come to see their sin, and to reform their evil ways" (1972, part 1, 18). One could differ with the others on some points of church doctrine and still be a member ([1648] 1972, part 1, 60-61). He said, "The church consists of some who are faithful and sincere




hearted: some counterfeit and false hearted. Some really good, some really bad, only those who appear so bad and vile should not be accepted" ([1648] 1972, part 1, 22).

During the course of the church's development in Massachusetts, the Pu- ritans put increasing emphasis on a third criterion for becoming a church member, a public proclamation of one's conversion experience (Winthrop 1908, vol. 2, 199; Morgan 1963, 89). Historian Edmund Morgan (1963) saw in this development an effort to narrow the distance between the visible and invisible churches (93; see also Emerson 1956, 138-40). While recent scholars have disputed his contention, arguing that the conversion narratives became formulaic so that just about any believer who sought membership could attain it, even Morgan (1963) concedes that at least until 1636, "all well-behaved inhabitants" in the Puritan community could become church members (104-105; see also Collinson 1983, chaps. 1 and 20; Middlekauff 1971, 49; Baritz 1964, 13; Rutman 1965, 56; Lockridge 1970, 11; Brown 1963; Coolidge 1975, 65; Foster 1971). No matter how generous the quotid- ian practice of the Puritans was, it is important to note that, contrary to the accepted rule in contemporary American localities, the New England Pu- ritans denied membership to some people who sought it and banished others from the community because of antisocial or immoral behavior and because of serious doctrinal differences stubbornly held and publicly proclaimed.

According to the Puritans, because it was formed by the free consent of its members, the community possessed the right to select as new members only those who would help the enterprise, or at least would pose no obvious threat to it (Hooker [1648] 1972, part 1, 54, 66). Hooker ([1648] 1972) wrote, "[B]ecause the work ... is of so great a weight" it is essential to "be carefull and watchfull to search sedulously, and labour to be acquainted with each others fitness and sufficiency in judgment . . ." (part 1, 47). And John Winthrop said, "[I]t is lawful to take knowledge of all men before we receive them . . . [The desire is] to have none received into any fellowship with it who are likely to disturb the same. . ." (Morgan 1965, 92-93).

However much one may respect the Puritans, Winthrop's view is trou- bling. Recalling Socrates, one might assert that a political community needs to be disturbed from time to time, and that some of the most disturbing people are precisely the ones who should be welcomed into the community and protected from a hostile public and defensive leaders. The second gen- eration of Puritans perpetrated great crimes in persecuting those who disturbed them, like Quakers and witches, as they tried to enforce increasingly rigid religious beliefs and practices. One reason that today we are offended by the Puritans and reject their model of town and church membership is because modern society is more generous and respectful of diversity than were the Puritans of New England. To the extent we are more generous and respectful, we can take pride in progress.



70 Joshua Miller

But the Puritans disturb us for another set of reasons, above all because they rejected values and ideas now widely held that deserve to be recon- sidered. One of these values, already mentioned above, is mobility, which is too often embraced without sufficient regard for the personal and political costs of transience. Another modern idea that requires reexamnination is the sharp distinction made in liberal thought between the public and private realms which allows the latter to be concerned with individual character and belief but not the former. In many aspects of American life, membership in a particular organization or group is restricted to those who apply for it, who are qualified to join, and who believe in the purposes of the collectivity. Most colleges, for example, matriculate only those students who seem to possess the ability and will to study. And decision-making bodies of public interest organizations, such as the Amnerican Civil Liberties Union and the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People would not long tolerate someone on their board of directors who repudiated the idea of individual rights or racial equality. Yet, in the public realm, liberals insist that membership in communities cannot be restricted based on the speech or ideas of the members, no matter how much those members affront or even repudiate the ideals of the community.14

Unlike modern liberals, the Puritans attributed to the public realm a sense of purpose and mission that required the active support of its citizens. Government, to the Puritans, was not a set of institutions whose purpose was merely to protect individuals in their persons, property, and rights. '- Rather than viewing politics as a means to make the world stable enough to allow individuals to pursue their private aims, the Puritans believed that civil and religious communities were formed to attain communal and personal re- demption and to serve as models for others.'6 To be permitted to be a member of such a self-governing community was, for the Puritans, the essence of genuine liberty. In contrast to "natural liberty" or unrestricted freedom, Winthrop called this type of liberty "civil," "federal," or "moral, in reference to the covenant between God and man, in the moral law, and the political covenants and constitutions, amongst men themselves" (Miller and Johnson [1938] 1963, 206-207).

This rich conception of the public realm led the Puritans to think differently about the standards for membership in the community. In his speech,

14Given the fact that most communities in America are not based upon covenanted membership, obnoxious speech should generally be tolerated within them. But special communities such as the Amish deserve the power to censure those rare individuals in their midst who, by their behavior or speech, attempt to destroy the community. Whether or not college campuses should attempt to restrict "hate speech" directed at gays, women, African-Americans, Jews, etc. is not for me an easily resolvable question.

"5For a Puritan theory of a more constricted public sphere, see Roger Williams in Morgan (1965, 203-213).

"6See Winthrop, "A Model of Christian Charity," in Morgan (1965, 75-93).




"A Model of Christian Charity," delivered during the voyage from England to America in 1630, John Winthrop linked the mission of the colony with the actions of the community members: "Now the only way to avoid this ship- wreck and to provide for our posterity is . .. to do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God. For this end, we must be knit together in this work as one man; we must entertain each other in brotherly affection; we must be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities, for the supply of others' necessities . . . always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, our community as members of the same body. (Morgan 1965, 92-93).

The Puritans restricted their membership to those who publicly proclaimed support for principles of the community. Although there are legitimate reasons for democrats today to criticize the Puritan viewpoint, they should also examine the coherence of their own position. The Puritan concern with the criteria for admission to community membership emerged largely from their conception of the public realm as a cause whose success required the active engagement of the citizens. Radical democrats today also see political community as a cause. The massive decentralization of power called for by contemporary democrats would require communitarian experiments like those undertaken by the Puritans; decentralization would devolve a great deal of power upon the citizens. On what grounds could a revived democracy be less restrictive than the Puritan community in admitting new members?'7

IV.

Traditionally, democracies have been more exclusive than large, centralized governments. Yet, some contemporary democrats have called for "universal democracy," which would not sharply discriminate between citizens and noncitizens. For example, political theorist Mary G. Dietz writes, "All too often, self-proclaimed populists and 'patriots' exhibit the dark side of collective bonds of association when they exclude, exploit, or harass those deemed unworthy of or unsuitable for inclusion in the community" (Boyte and Riessman, 1986, 269). Another of the most insightful universal democrats is Charles Douglas Lummis (1982) who writes: "Athenian democracy, to which we owe so much, was a democracy among the masters.... In a world in which we do not know how to establish democracy universally, it is a time-honored strategy to establish it partially by surrounding it with a wall of discrimination . . ." (16). Lummis argues that democracy must become universal because "the myths and self-deceptions" on which exclusions used to be made have been "exploded" (16). Lummis clearly believes that the ancient connection between democracy and exclusivity can be severed today. But who would be admitted to membership in Lummis's democracy: every-

170n the potentially repressive aspects of direct democracy, see Connolly (1987, 3-16).



72 Joshua Miller

one who wants to join? Fair enough, but what about the people who do not want to join? What would happen to those who want to remain in the community or enter it, but who do not wish to become citizens?

As attractive and generous as Lummis's vision is, the very nature of democracy, even as Lummis himself defines it, seems to make "universal democracy" impossible. Admittedly, because democracy implies equality, there would seem to be little basis for treating any residents or outsiders as less worthy than the citizens: all should be admitted and given equal power. And yet one of the characteristics that Lummis identifies as essential to democracy seems to preclude "universal democracy." Democracy, according to Lummis, requires "political virtue," defined by him as patriotism or love of the community. "Political virtue," Lummis writes, "is the commitment to, knowledge of, and ability to stand for the whole, and is the necessary condition for democracy." Choice of officers by lot, says Lummis, "the symbol of radical democracy, is an expression of trust . .. that no matter who is chosen he . .. will not turn out to be a demagogue, or a political fool, or a knave who will run off with the public funds" (15).

But demagogues, fools, and knaves will inevitably appear, and what should be done about them? The large state in which power has been safely ensconced in distant institutions and then checked and balanced, can afford to let the fools prattle; it will arrest the knaves when they go too far. But a democracy, which places virtually all political power in the hands of the citizens, must ask itself: what if some members of the community, or those who wish to join it, do not share its goals or do not care to accept the responsibili- ties of citizenship? And what should be done if individuals publicly advocate apathy and withdrawal, profit and privacy? What power or place should be given in a democratic community to those who reside in the community, or seek to join it, yet do not believe in democracy and who have shown by their speech and action that they do not desire to exercise power for the common good or are not capable of doing so? I realize that these questions cannot be easily answered, and although I have no ready answers to offer, I am pretty sure that those who call for democracy's revival must address them. What makes the Puritans so interesting and difficult to take is that they forthrightly took up these painful questions.

The theoretical problem of membership in democracies is, I believe, real and difficult. One reason that democratic theorists often avoid the issue is because they are constrained by a liberal vocabulary that insists that all human beings have equal power by virtue of their birth and not as a result of their commitments. This view is easier to hold when most power is invested in institutions rather than wielded by ordinary human beings: suffrage may be universal, but the voters have little power. There is no need to be more restrictive in admitting members to America's towns and cities so long as ordinary people do not run them. But if a devolution of power were to begin,




we would have to think as much about the character of the citizens as we do now about the qualifications of representatives and the design of political and economic institutions.

Manuscript submitted 17 July 1989 Final manuscript received 7 May 1990

REFERENCES

Ames, William. 1638[?] The Marrow of Sacred Divinity. London: n.p. Bainton, R. H. 1964. Christian Unity and Religion in New England. Boston: Beacon. Barber, Benjamin. 1984. Strong Democracy. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Baritz, Lauren. 1964. City on a Hill. New York: Wiley. Bercovitch, Sacvan. 1975. The Puritan Origins of the American Self. New Haven: Yale Univer-

sity Press. Bercovitch, Sacvan. 1978. The American Jeremiad. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Boggs, Carl. 1988. Social Movements and Political Power. Philadelphia: Temple University

Press. Boyte, Harry C., and Frank Riessman, eds. 1986. The New Populism. Philadelphia: Temple

University Press. Boyte, Harry C. 1980. Backyard Revolution. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Brown, B. Katherine. 1963. Puritan Democracy: A Case Study. Mississippi Valley Historical

Review 49:377-96. Burrage, Champlain. 1904. The Church Covenant Idea: Its Origins and Development. Phila-

delphia: American Baptist Publications Society. Caldwell, Patricia. 1983. The Puritan Conversion Narrative. New York: Cambridge University

Press. Cohen, C. L. 1986. God's Caress. New York: Oxford University Press. Collinson, Patrick. 1983. Godly People. London: Hambledon. Connolly, William. 1987. Politics and Ambiguity. Madison: University of Wisconsin. Coolidge, John S. 1970. The Pauline Renaissance in England. New York: Oxford University

Press. Foster, Stephen. 1971. Their Solitary Way. New Haven: Yale University Press. Hall, David D. 1987. "On Common Ground: The Coherence of American Puritan Studies."

William and Mary Quarterly, third series 44:193-229. Hamilton, Alexander, James Madison, and John Jay. 1961. The Federalist Papers. Ed. Jacob E.

Cooke. Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. Hawthorne, Nathaniel. 1987. "My Kinsman, Major Molineux." In Young Goodman Brown and

Other Tales, ed. Brian Harding. New York: Oxford University Press. Hooker, Thomas. [16481 1972. A Survey of the Summe of Church-Discipline. Reprint. New

York: Arno Press. Lindsay, A. D. 1943. The Modern Democratic State. New York: Oxford University Press. Lockridge, Kenneth. 1970. A New England Town. New York: W W Norton. Lummis, Charles Douglas. 1982. "The Radicalism of Democracy." Democracy 2:9-16. Lutz, Donald S. 1980. "From Covenant to Constitution in American Political Thought." Publius

10:101-133. Lutz, Donald S. 1988. The Origins of American Constitutionalism. Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana

State University Press. Mansbridge, Jane. 1980. Beyond Adversary Democracy. New York: Basic Books.



74 Joshua Miller

McWilliams, Wilson Carey. 1973. The Idea of Fraternity in America. Berkeley: University of California Press.

McWilliams, Wilson Carey. 1980. "Democracy and the Citizen: Community, Dignity, and the Crisis of Contemporary Politics in America." In How Democratic is the Constitution?, eds., R. A. Goldwin and W. A. Schambra. Washington, DC: American Enterprise Institute.

Middlekauff, Robert. 1971. The Mathers. New York: Oxford University Press. Miller, Joshua. 1991. The Rise and Fall of Democracy in Early America: The Legacy for Con-

temporary Politics. University Park, PA: Penn State Press. Miller, Perry. 1933. Orthodoxy in Massachusetts. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Miller, Perry. [1939] 1982. The New England Mind: The Seventeenth Century. Reprint. Cam-

bridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Miller, Perry. 1970. Roger Williams: His Contribution to the American Tradition. New York:

Atheneum. Miller, Perry, and Thomas H. Johnson, eds. [1938] 1963. The Puritans: A Sourcebook of Their

Writings, vol. 1. Reprint. New York: Harper Torchbooks. Morgan, Edmund S. 1963. Visible Saints. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Morgan, Edmund. 1965. Puritan Political Ideas. Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill. Niebuhr, H. Richard. 1954. "The Idea of Covenant and American Democracy." Church History

23:126-35. Parrington, V. L. 1930. Main Currents in American Thought. New York: Harcourt, Brace. Perry, Ralph Barton. 1944. Puritanism and Democracy. New York: Vanguard. Pitkin, Hanna Fenichel. 1965. "Obligation and Consent." American Political Science Review

59:990-99. Rousseau, Jean-Jacques. 1968. The Social Contract. Ed. Maurice Cranston. New York: Penguin. Rutman, Darrett B. 1965. Winthrop's Boston. New York: W. W. Norton. Schaar, John H. 1981. Legitimacy in the Modern State. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction. Scholz, R. F. 1972. "Clerical Consociation in Massachusetts Bay." William and Mary Quarterly,

third series 29:391-414. Spretnak, Charlene, and Fritjof Capra. 1986. Green Politics. Santa Fe, NM: Bear Publishing. Tocqueville, Alexis de. 1961. Democracy in America. Trans. Henry Reeve. New York:

Schocken. Walker, Williston, ed. [1893] 1960. The Creeds and Platforms of Congregationalism. Reprint.

Boston: Pilgrim Press. Winthrop, John. 1908. Winthrop's Journal. Ed. J. K. Hosmer. New York: Charles Scribner. Wolin, Sheldon S. 1981. "The People's Two Bodies." Democracy 1:9-24. Wolin, Sheldon S. 1980. "The Idea of the State in America." Humanities in Society 3:151-68. Wolin, Sheldon S. 1982. "Revolutionary Action Today." Democracy 2:17-28. Wolin, Sheldon S. 1986. "Contract and Birthright." In The New Populism, ed. Harry Boyte and

Frank Riessman. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Wolin, Sheldon S. 1989. The Presence of the Past: Essays on the State and the Constitution.

Baltimore: Johns Hopkins. Woodhouse, A. S. P., ed. [1938] 1986. Puritanism and Liberty. Reprint. London: Dent, Every-

man Press. Wootton, David, ed. 1987. Divine Right and Democracy. New York: Penguin. Ziff, Larzer, ed. 1968. John Cotton on the Churches of New England. Cambridge: Harvard Uni-

versity Press.

Joshua Miller is assistant professor of government and law, Lafayette Col- lege, Easton, PA 18042.



puritan politics

Documents

political ideas

american puritans

political theorists

political implications

political actors

american politics

puritan effort

puritan connection