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‘To whet our sythe at the Philistims forge’: WILLIAM BRIDGE and the paradox of ANTI-poperyAuthor: Pearson Samuel, Durham University, United Kingdom Revisionist historians dispute the relative importance of religious versus political motivations for opposition to King Charles I in the early 1640s. In 1984 John Morrill set forth the ‘wars of religion’ model stressing the primacy of religious incentives in the English Civil War[1]. Morrill compartmentalised reasons for protest during the Long Parliament into ‘the localist, the legal-constitutionalist, and the religious’ and assigned ultimate agency to the latter[2]. Two strands of historiography then marshalled responses to Morrill, notes Glenn Burgess. Whig-liberal history perpetuated a teleological fallacy - the notion that because an Enlightened, modern, individualistic liberty eventuated from the English Revolution, the revolution’s instigators must have intended that liberty[3]. In contrast, while commending Morrill for restoring religious motivations to mainstream Civil War historiography, the revisionist approach adopted in this article rejects Morrill’s partition between religion and politics as an anachronism incomprehensible to early modern people[4]. Instead, it acknowledges with Glenn Burgess the ‘intricate discursive connections between religion and politics’ in the early modern mind[5]. Tracing this holistic approach to early modern political thought, we find Stuart Clark in 1980 proposing sixteenth-century accounts of witchcraft as expressions of inversion. Early modern people interpreted such anomalies not simply as distortions of the normal but as capsized antipodes of order[6]. Likewise, in 1981 R.W. Scribner identified the dialectic process by which Lutheran printers and artists framed their identity as purity and truth against an antithesis of Catholic corruption and deception[7]. Adopting inversion theory, Peter Lake explained ‘anti-popery’ as the process by which ‘every negative characteristic imputed to Rome implied a positive cultural, political or religious value which Protestants claimed as their own exclusive property’[8]. Anti-popery emerged as a language of expression unto itself. The amorphous nature of the label ‘popery’ enabled Protestants to apply it to anything they considered contradictory to their confessional vision of the national future, reduce political decisions to polar opposites by which they defined their identities, and command Protestant solidarity against doctrines, decrees, or persons they deemed popish[9]. Lake’s inversion theory has since demonstrated the successful attempt of an inchoate seventeenth-century English republi-canism to cast itself as a choice for liberty over popery[10]. Finally, a parallel line of thought in Conal Condren’s linguistic scholarship allows an interpretation of Protestant resistance theory as casuistry: the rhetorical manoeuvres involved in vindicating rebellion and maintaining ‘a verbal and moral space quarantined from Luciferian pollution’[11]. Restricting the study to two Civil War tracts by Cambridgeshire Independent minister William Bridge (1600-1671)[12] permits an examination of Jesuit influence on an individual Puritan as well as an in-depth exploration of what loyalty and treason meant during the tempestuous debates of 1642/3[13]. Bridge’s Royalist target Henry Ferne, following suit with Robert Filmer’s account in Patriarcha of the inception of kingship in Genesis[14], elaborated a patriarchal vision of the properly ordered society already deeply entrenched in Tudor England[15] in his Resolving of Conscience (1642) and Conscience Satisfied (1643)[16]. Ferne asserted that ‘[t]he first Fathers of Mankinde, were the first Kings and Rulers’. Monarchy began with Noah. His progeny dispersed ‘into Countries farre distant’ where their fathers ruled as kings inheriting power ‘by primogeniture’[17]. Bridge’s counterattack in The Wovnded Conscience Cvred (1642) and The Truth of the Times Vindicated (1643) invoked the spectre of popery to malign his enemy’s patriarchal history as contradictory to Protestant values and biblical history[18]. His response reveals less about Ferne’s affinity for Catholicism (probably negligible and certainly immaterial to the present study) than it does about Puritan attitudes toward loyalty and sedition[19]. This article affirms the validity of Lake’s inversion methodology for Bridge’s anti-popery while incorporating commentary from Condren on resistance theory as casuistry. In the first section, we apply Peter Lake’s inversion theory to Bridge’s portrayal of the evils of divine-right monarchy. Tracing monarchy’s origins to Edomite rebellion against God, Bridge invoked the trope of a papal conspiracy to corrupt the king in order to legitimate armed resistance. Having portrayed monarchy as nefarious and unbiblical, Bridge presented the alternative contractual government as righteous and scriptural. Herein lies the paradox of Bridge’s anti-popery: he appropriated Jesuit contractual theories of government to legitimate an alternative to Ferne’s patriarchy.[20] Evidence of Catholic influence on Bridge provides a platform for discussing the interpretive merits of the ‘influence model’ for the history of ideas in section two. In section three we test and affirm the influence model with Jesuit influence upon Bridge as a case study. Finally, the fourth section brings the paradox full circle, examining the casuistic language which Bridge invoked to parry accusations of popery for Jesuit influence on his thought. I As illustrated above, Peter Lake’s study on inversion reconstructed the identity of early Stuart Protestantism with respect to anti-popery[21]. A typical tactic of anti-popery reduced political decisions to two absolutes: catholicity versus heterodoxy or fidelity versus treason, for example[22]. Ferne advertising monarchy as the only form of government established ‘by divine example and insinuation’ and dismissing ‘Aristocracy’ and ‘Democracy’ as ‘meer inventions of man’[23] provoked Bridge to present his own vision of the properly ordered society in Truth of the Times[24]. Repudiating absolute monarchy as sinful and rebellious implied the righteousness and fidelity of its mirror image Parliamentarianism. Furthermore, given the tainted association of ‘resistance’ in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century England - mutiny against the king, rebellion against God, and popery - casuistic definitions of resistance became a survival tactic for Parliamentarians anxious to prove the legitimacy of their cause[25]. Bridge cast monarchy as rebellion against God in order to invert resistance to Charles as an act of loyalty to Protestant England in accordance with Scripture[26]. The Hebrew for ‘to rebell [sic]’ was, after all, eponymous for Nimrod, monarch over Babel, the first ‘kingdome after the flood’. For ‘in erecting his Kingdome, he had rebelled against the way of government which before wasused [sic] if not appointed.’ Presiding as recalcitrant despot over Edom, Nimrod differed from Abraham in kind, not just degree. To Bridge, Scripture affirmed ‘not that Abraham was a King, or that his government was Monarchical but rather the contrary’. Indeed, legitimate ‘Kingly government’ only emerged ‘in the fourth age of the world’ (the era between King David and the Babylonian Captivity)[27]. Bridge thus dichotomised Old Testament history for polemical purposes. The Edomites under ‘Nimrod, ... that cursed and wicked posterity of Noah’ revelled in monarchical apostasy while the Hebrews flourished in virtuous pre-political fellowship. For ‘the Jewes did not constitute a Common-wealth, but a family’ until (as outlined in section three) deciding to appoint Saul king[28], Thus Bridge diplomatically affirmed God’s approval for orderly government, deprived divine-right theory of its traditional celebrities Adam and Noah[29], and swapped Nimrod for the patriarchs as monarchy’s primogenitor. Bridge asserting genesis of monarchy in uprising against God denied the legitimacy of divine-right theory as a prop for the Stuart administration. Despite casting monarchy in terms of rebellion, Bridge hesitated to urge the masses into resistance against Charles. Instead he adopted what Lake has defined as the ‘evil counsellors’ scheme which mandated war as an expression of one’s fidelity to the king even against His Majesty’s wishes[30]. The Civil War according to this paradigm targeted not the king but ‘those that are malignant about the Kings person, notwithstanding the Kings command to the contrary’[31]. A papal conspiracy to corrupt the king and supplant English liberty with tyrannical despotism licenced swift, decisive action.[32] The righteous crusade ‘to destroy those nests of Jesuites and Jesuited persons’ busily adulterating the kingdom justified Parliament’s militarisation[33]. For, Bridge warned, ‘if the Papists get the upper hand,... either they wil force the King to another Supremacie, or else quickly make a hand of him’[34]. Bridge then recast resistance in the vocabulary of fealty in asking, ‘[w]hat better service therefore can a true subject performe to his Majesties person, then by force of Armes to deliver him out of the hands of those spoylers that lye in waite for his pretious soule?’[35] Here Bridge employed Conal Condren’s casuistry. By invoking the kingdom as an authority higher than the king and colouring resistance as defence of the king’s person against his advisors, Bridge purchased the moral space necessary to promote war[36]. Another trope of casuistry presented resistance as defence of order and religion against a self-interested faction hell-bent on corrupting a wholesome, ostensibly Puritan majority[37]. Thus Bridge portrayed Parliament’s struggle as a ‘defensive war’ and alleged that Ferne ‘speaks evill of the Rulers of the people... & seeks to withdraw people from obedience to authority’ as if Ferne were an agent provocateur corrupting a rational, dutiful citizenry[38]. ‘Rulers’ indubitably implied a representative body. Yet determining who those ‘Rulers’ were - the authorities Bridge later set forth as polar opposites to monarchical despots - compels us more intensively to study the influences operating on Bridge’s contractual government. For, like most Civil-War resistance theorists, Bridge did not intend Charles’ deposition[39]. Rather, he contended for contractual limitations against the king on behalf of the ultimate arbiter of national government: Parliament[40]. II A brief survey of Bridge’s contractual theory of government reveals the Catholic influences acting upon it. Yet intellectual historians contest the adequacy of ‘influence’ as a descriptor for the transmission of ideas between writers. Harold Bloom having identified ‘anxiety of influence’ in the field of literary criticism in 1973[41], Francis Oakley appropriated the term in 1996 to describe a recent phenomenon: historians’ disquiet with the potential for one idea to influence another[42]. Oakley traced historiographical unease surrounding influence to a salvo of articles from Quentin Skinner. In 1969 Skinner posed a litmus test for influence: ‘(i) that there should be a genuine similarity between the doctrines of A and B; (ii) that B could not have found the relevant doctrine in any writer other than A; (iii) that the probability of the similarity being random should be very low’[43]. Taking up Skinner’s ‘influence model’, Oakley tested the influence of conciliar theory[44] on seventeenth-century English constitutionalism [45]. Noting numerous examples of English Parliamentarians who cited councils and conciliar writings, Oakley located ‘a path from Constance to 1644’.[46] Tracing continental and Catholic influence then, with proper attention to detail, may serve as a valid methodology for observing the intellectual inspiration for parliamentary theorists. Further, Catholic influence, if demonstrated, will illustrate the hypocrisy of Puritan diatribes against popery: Puritans could simultaneously embrace Catholic political thought and denounce popery. Indeed, the central paradox of Calvinist theories of resistance lay in their Catholic pedigree. As Skinner admitted in 1978, ‘the main foundations of the Calvinist theory of revolution were in fact constructed entirely by their Catholic adversaries’[47]. Specifically, Jesuit faculties in sixteenth-century Spanish universities formulated contractual theories of government from a medieval Thomist tradition. Elaborated from earlier Spanish Dominican scholarship on Aquinas, the Thomist revival presented natural law - the moral obligations discernible to all human beings outside Scripture - as inseparable from God’s moral law revealed in the Bible and as foundational for civil society. Considering the state of nature in which political communities are constituted, the Jesuits then addressed the moral quandary of resistance to monarchs. In doing so, the Jesuits supporting the papal deposing power[48]. To Jesuits Luis Molina and Francisco Suárez, God’s sanction could not apply to monarchical and popular rule alike. In order to resolve this discrepancy and advocate papal absolutism, Molina and Suárez followed Aquinas’ dichotomisation of power into the church, a spiritual sphere of divine institution under the pope with spiritual goals, and civil society, a political realm of human constitution for earthly purposes.[49] The pope thus remained exempt from deposition given that he represented Christ on earth. Only God could remove him. By contrast, considering that divine sanction only applied to them through the intermediary of the people, monarchs remained subject to the people’s deposing power given the pope’s approval[50]. Further, although Luis Molina[51] and Juan de Mariana[52] and Francisco Suárez posited the consensual beginnings of secular government in the state of nature, it was Suárez who popularised the language of ‘contract’[53]. His belief that men (male householders) are at liberty in the state of nature and decide to constitute rulers[54] thus situating original sovereignty in the hands of the community became easily applicable to seventeenth-century Parliamentarianism.[55] III Bridge’s response to patriarchy harkened to the Thomists’ commentary on contractual government in the Old Testament, which he considered inseparable from natural law[56]. He refuted Ferne’s theory of primogeniture with a chronicle of younger sons appointed to rule Israel extracted from John de Pineda’s 1613 De Rebus Salomonis[57]. Likewise, Bridge questioned Ferne’s patriarchy with Molina’s distinction between ‘paternall and civill power’, asserting that the latter, upon which civil government is based, ‘hath its origination from the will of Men’ and therefore still subject to the people’s rescindment[58]. His desire to represent contractual government as ‘no new upstart opinion’ - to prove the continuity of his ideas and absolve himself from the charge of religious innovation - led him to incorporate Catholic ideas[59]. Yet the most striking example of Jesuit influence arose from Spanish Jesuit Pedro Hurtado de Mendoza (1578-1641)[60]. Mendoza’s Old Testament commentary directed Bridge to I Samuel 12:13 where he gleaned that the inauguration of Hebrew kings, even those ‘immediatly appointed by God himselfe,’ remained subject to ‘the intervening choice of the people’[61]. Popular election reappeared with Saul’s coronation in I Samuel 11:15[62], upon which Bridge imposed a translation of Mendoza’s Latin commentary: ‘What is more plain? Neither could they [the Hebrews] make him King otherwise, then by conferring Kingly power upon him.’[63] Mendoza further informed Bridge that the Hebrew ‘Synedrion... were equal to Moses being appointed by God as Moses was,’ thereby confirming the Old Testament presence of a representative body alongside the patriarchate, which Bridge equated to seventeenth-century hereditary monarchy.[64] Bridge then prescribed a historical pattern in the formation of governments from states of nature. In a subtle twist on divine right theory, God’s sanction applied to the people’s collective choice for ‘[n]either are... Gods designation and mans election repugnant, but may stand together’[65]. Bridge’s construction of ideal government from Jesuit commentary on passages in I Samuel reflected a desire to extend scriptural sanction to his own version of contractual government and thereby imply the heterodoxy of Ferne’s patriarchy. Moreover, Bridge’s rampant citations of Jesuit authors in Truth of the Times - twice for Molina, four times for Pineda, and eight times for Mendoza, suggest influence, if not ‘influence’[66]. Truth meets two of Skinner’s three conditions. ‘Genuine similarity’ exists between Bridge and the Jesuits in the form of direct quotation and his meticulous citations rule out the likelihood of randomly re-occurring ideas[67]. However, one can only speculate as to where Bridge originally heard about contractual government: proving that the Jesuits first introduced him to the idea is nearly impossible. He does not cite Jesuits when discussing popularly constituted government in his earlier Wovnded Conscience, suggesting that he only turned to them to confirm ideas he acquired elsewhere[68]. However, Bridge’s own equivocal remarks on the appearance of Catholic ideas in his thought, alongside Ferne’s accusations of popery, affirm the contention that real influence occurred. To this paradoxical Puritan – Jesuit alliance, and the sophistry to which Bridge resorted to extricate himself from it, we now turn. IV Fraternity between Puritans and Catholics on contractual theories of government from natural law had already become, as Oakley has shown, commonplace by the 1640s[69]. The English Puritan appetite for conciliar theory expanded in the sixteenth century, traceable both to Henry VIII’s support of the royal prerogative over the pope in the 1530s as well as anti-papal writings in the 1550s from resistance theorists John Knox and John Ponet[70]. English-language publications of Gerson, d’Ailly, Mair, and Almain in 1606 and John of Paris in 1611 further familiarised English people with conciliarism.[71] Thus we find Stephen Marshall in 1643 invoking ‘the Councell of Basil’ to prove the superiority of council over pope and the ‘Kingdom above the King’[72]. At the same time, Catholic (especially Jesuit) political thought became increasingly treasonous in seventeenth-century England. The essentially Spanish gestation of Jesuit theories on contractual government, England’s turbulent sixteenth-century relationship with Spain, and the threatening images implied in the notions of the ‘Spanish Armada’ and plots against Queen Elizabeth made these theories especially inflammatory[73]. By the end of Elizabeth’s reign in 1603, ‘Jesuit’ connoted the pope’s power to dethrone monarchs, hostility to divine right, and foreign machinations against national sovereignty[74]. The 1605 Gunpowder Plot only intensified such fears[75]. Such Parliamentarian agitators as Henry Parker who insisted that ‘the maine Engineers in this Civill Warre are Papists, the most poisonous, serpentine, Iesuited Papists of the world’[76] accelerated the stereotyping of Jesuits as insurrectionists and ensured that the tropes of anti-popery remained a medium of disputation into the 1640s.[77] Royalists also sniffed out popery of a distinctly Jesuit flavour in theories of contractual government and exploited it for polemical purposes[78]. The tradition of Royalist polemic conflating Jesuits and Puritans in a subversive conspiracy[79] moved John Spelman to opine that the theory of the popular origins of government ‘had its first hatching in the Schoole of the Iesuite’[80]. Detecting the Catholic nature of parliamentary resistance theory, Ferne cautioned ‘all Misse-led People in this Land’ to avoid such ‘Jesuiticall practises’ as resisting their king, for ‘under pretence of keeping out Popery, you are led in this way of resistance by the like steps that brought Popery in [to England]’[81]. Ferne recognized as seditious the Puritan inclination toward the papal deposing power, a doctrine central to the Jesuit argument that secular authorities are man-made and hence deposable[82]. For among the Puritans’ ‘many weapons sharpened for... resistance at the Philistins forge’, they exulted in ‘the Popes power of curbing or deposing Kings in case of Heresie’[83]. In addition, John Maxwell lamented that the pontiff dethroning monarchs under the guise of maintaining orthodoxy had taught Puritans to ‘colour and lustre their ugly Treasons and Seditions with the Cloak of Religion and Righteousness’[84]. To these Royalists contractual government was only popery of a craftier variety. The stigma of popery in theories of the contractual origins of government forced Puritans to account for the integrity of their Protestantism[85]. Ferne’s accusations against Bridge for fraternising with popery left Bridge demanding, ‘[w]ho are most like to the Papists you, or wee, I referre you to all that knows us’ for ‘we doe differ much from them’[86]. Inverting the indictment, Bridge insinuated that Ferne himself frequented ‘the new forge of the Jesuites... which he reserve[d] to whet his owne weapons at’[87]. Having sullied Ferne’s reputation, Bridge turned to the reparation of his own. Asking rhetorically, ‘[i]s this to whet our Sythe at the Philistims Forge, to use the same Scripture for one purpose, which the Philistims doe for another[?]’, Bridge concluded that arguments do not become ‘Popish because they use the same Scripture to other purposes’[88]. Invoking Scripture - the fact that ‘Abraham’ would not ‘refuse the use of the Well because Ahimilechs men had used it’ - Bridge assimilated his popish predecessors into a biblical canon[89]. Simultaneously justifying his appropriation of Catholic natural law in the vocabulary of Puritanism, denying his culpability, and alleging Ferne’s fraternity with Catholicism, Bridge revealed an acute sensitivity to the force of anti-popery as a ‘language of politics’[90]. *** Bridge’s example has illustrated the nebulous nature of anti-popery. As Lake noticed, anti-popery could become a contradiction unto itself, a discourse rather than a political platform[91]. Catholicism lay ready to hand both as an incubator for ideas to marshal against divine right theory and a spectre to invoke against Royalism. For Bridge had borrowed a natural law discourse on the contractual origins of government yet manipulated popery to depreciate his foes as rebels against a Protestant God and traitors against a Protestant England. Then, having constructed a political theory at once scriptural and Catholic, Bridge resorted to inversion to extricate himself from Ferne’s quite justifiable allegations of popery. The same inversion is evident in the rhetorical contortions to which Bridge resorted to portray resistance as an act of duty unto the king. In light of Lake’s inversion theory and Condren’s casuistry, Bridge’s appropriation of scholastic thought provides evidence of a Puritan co-mingling reverence for natural law of a Catholic variety with anti-popery in the service of scripturally sanctioned order. The above study has been more vertical than horizontal, rendering problematic any attempt to extend it to Puritan culture as a whole without first incorporating more Puritan pamphleteers. Nevertheless, Bridge’s faith was a Puritanism more temporally, spatially, and religiously elastic than typically appreciated. His atavistic appetite for Jesuit ideas birthed in a thirteenth-century scholasticism traceable through Aquinas to Aristotle evidences a connexion between seventeenth-century Puritanism and medieval Christianity despite the Protestant rejection of scholasticism for sola scriptura.[92] Moreover, the essentially Spanish influence discussed above confirms Sommerville’s thesis of a continental, cosmopolitan perspective amongst at least select Stuart-era Protestants[93]. Lastly, Bridge’s willingness to quote Catholic doctrines demonstrates a precociously ecumenical outlook, which, if future scholarship can extend it beyond individual writers, may lower the boundaries between ‘Catholic’ and ‘Protestant’ resistance theories. To borrow Bridge’s phrase, perhaps seventeenth-century Puritanism was less of a ‘new upstart opinion’ and more of a synthesis of medieval and post-Reformation Christianity[94]. *The author is grateful to The British Library for permission to reproduce images of its copyrighted materials in this article. [1] John Morrill, ‘The religious context of the English Civil War’, TRHS, 5th ser., 34 (1984), p. 178. [2] Ibid., p. 157. [3] Glenn Burgess, ‘Religion and the historiography of the English Civil War’, in Charles W. A. Prior and Glenn Burgess (eds.), England’s Wars of Religion, Revisited (Ashgate, 2011), pp. 21-22; idem, ‘On Revisionism: An analysis of early Stuart historiography in the 1970s and 1980s’, HJ, 33 (Sep. 1990), p. 615. [4] Edward Vallance, ‘Preaching to the converted: Religious justifications for the English Civil War’, Huntington Library Quarterly, 65/3-4 (2002), p. 397. [5] Burgess, ‘Historiography’, p. 23. [6] Stuart Clark, ‘Inversion, misrule and the meaning of witchcraft’, P&P, 87 (May, 1980), p. 127. [7] R.W. Scribner, For the Sake of Simple Folk: Popular Propaganda for the German Reformation (Cambridge, 1981), pp. 241-244. [8] Peter Lake, ‘Anti-Puritanism: The structure of a prejudice’ in Peter Lake and Kenneth Fincham (eds.), Religious Politics in Post-Reformation England: Essays in Honour of Nicholas Tyacke (Woodbridge, 2006), pp. 81, 96; idem, ‘Anti-popery: The structure of a prejudice’ in Richard Cust and Ann Hughes (eds.), Conflict in Early Stuart England: Studies in Religion and Politics 1603-1642 (New York, 1989). [9] Ibid., pp. 80-83. [10] Clement Fatovic, ‘The Anti-Catholic roots of liberal and republican conceptions of freedom in English political thought’ Journal of the History of Ideas, 66/1 (Jan., 2005), pp. 38-40, 57-58, in reference to Milton, Locke, Algernon Sidney, and Edmund Burke. [11] Conal Condren, Argument and Authority in Early Modern England: The Presupposition of Oaths and Offices (Cambridge, 2006), p. 188; see also Edward Vallance, ‘The kingdom's case: The use of casuistry as a political language 1640-1692’, Albion, 34/4 (Winter, 2002), pp. 557-583. [12] Richard L. Greaves, ‘Bridge, William (1600/01–1671)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford University Press: 2004); [Web edn, Jan 2008. http:// www. oxforddnb. com/ view/ article/ 3389], accessed 5 Dec 2014. [13] David Wootton, ‘From rebellion to revolution: The crisis of the winter of 1642/3 and the origins of Civil War radicalism’, English Historical Review, 105/416 (Jul., 1990), pp. 654-669. [14] David Underdown, Revel, Riot and Rebellion: Popular Politics and Culture in England 1603-1660 (Oxford, 1985) pp. 9-11, 287; Although Patriarcha was published in 1680, Sommerville has dated its authorship to before the Civil War in Johann P. Sommerville (ed.), Patriarcha and Other Writings (Cambridge, 1991), pp. xxxiii-xxxiv; see also xvi-xvii and 27-34. [15] Underdown, Revel, Riot and Rebellion, pp. 9-11ff; for a challenge to historiographical assumptions about the universal acceptance of patriarchal dominance early modern England, see Anthony Fletcher, ‘Men's dilemma: The future of patriarchy in England 1560-1660’, TRHS, 6th ser., vol. 4 (1994), p. 80. [16] H[enry] Fern[e], The Resolving of Conscience (Cambridge, 1642), Wing F800, EEBO, Web, 2 Dec 2014; idem, Conscience satisfied, (Oxford, 1643), Wing F791, BL, TT, E 97[7], EEBO, Web, 30 Nov 2014. [17] Ferne, Conscience Satisifed, p. 8. [18] William Bridge, The Wovnded Conscience Cvred (London, 1642), Wing B4476, BL, TT, E 89[9], Early English Books Online, Web, 30 Nov 2014; idem, The Truth of the Times Vindicated (London, 1643), Wing B4467, BL, TT, E 61[20], EEBO, Web, 30 Nov 2014. [19] Lake, ‘Anti-popery’, pp. 73-74. [20] J. P. Sommerville has recognized Jesuit impact on Bridge but the paradox of Catholic influence on a Puritan has not been explored; in J. P. Sommerville, Royalists and Patriots: Politics and Ideology in England, 1603-1640 (New York, 2014), p. 222. [21] Lake, ‘Anti-popery’, p. 74. [22] Ibid., ‘Anti-Puritanism’, p. 90. [23] Ferne, Conscience Satisfied, pp. 8-9. [24] Bridge, Truth, pp. 1-4. Bridge did not advocate the abolition of monarchy, only the substitution of divine-right monarchy for a limited monarchy with divine sanction on the contractual election of monarchs. [25] Condren, Argument and Authority, pp. 186-189. [26] Conal Condren, The Language of Politics in Seventeenth-century England (New York, 1994), pp. 116-117. [27] Bridge, Truth, p. 10; Augustine divided history into six ages, Adam inaugurating the first and Christ the sixth. In Graeme Dunphy, ‘Six ages of the world’, in Graeme Dunphy (ed.) Encyclopedia of the Medieval Chronicle (Leiden, 2010), pp. 1367–1370. [28] Bridge, Truth, pp. 7, 11, quote at p. 10. [29] Schochet, Patriarchalism, p. 139-146. [30] Lake, ‘Anti-Puritanism’, p. 81. [31] Bridge, Truth, p. 20. [32] Lake, ‘Anti-popery’, p. 91. [33] Bridge, Truth, unnumbered page, fo. A2v, p. 18. [34] Ibid., Wovnded Conscience, p. 44. [35] Ibid., p. 44. [36] Condren, Argument and Authority, p. 188. [37] Ibid, Language of Politics, pp. 116-117; Lake, ‘Anti-popery’, p. 91. [38] Bridge, Wovnded Conscience, unnumbered page, fo. A2r. [39] Sommerville, Royalists and Patriots, p. 3. [40] Bridge, Wovnded Conscience, pp. 52-53. [41] Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence: A Theory of Poetry (New York, 1973), p. 148, 150. [42] Francis Oakley, ‘“Anxieties of Influence”: Skinner, Figgis, Conciliarism and Early Modern Constitutionalism’ Past & Present, 151 (May, 1996), p. 60ff. Oakley modelled his own study on John Neville Figgis, Political Thought from Gerson to Grotius: 1414–1625: Seven Studies (Kitchener, 1990; first pub. New York, 1960). [43] Quentin Skinner, ‘Meaning and understanding in the history of ideas’, History and Theory, 8/1 (1969), p. 26; idem, ‘The limits of historical explanations’, Philosophy, 41/157 (Jul., 1966), pp. 199-215. [44] The Councils of Constance (1414) and Basle (1431), proceeding from the Great Schism of 1378 to 1417, asserted the authority of councils over the papacy even to the point of deposing popes. In Antony Black, Political Thought in Europe 1250-1450 (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 169-178. [45] Oakley, ‘Anxieties’, pp. 76-94. [46] Ibid., pp. 93-94. [47] Quentin Skinner, The Foundations of Modern Political Thought, (2 vols., Cambridge, 1978), vol. II, p. 321. [48] Sommerville, Royalists and Patriots, pp. 13-18; Skinner, Foundations, II, pp. 137-138, 140, 145. [49] J.H.M. Salmon, ‘Catholic resistance theory, Ultramontanism, and the royalist response, 1580-1620’ in J.H. Burns and Mark Goldie (eds.) The Cambridge History of Political Thought 1450-1700 (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 237-238. [50] John Hittinger, Liberty, Wisdom, and Grace: Thomism and Democratic Political Theory (Boston, 2002), p. 40; Bernice Hamilton, Political Thought in Sixteenth-century Spain: A Study of the Political Ideas of Vitoria, De Soto, Suárez, and Molina (Oxford, 1963), p. 69-70. [51] Höpfl, Jesuit Political Thought, pp. 226-229. [52] Salmon, ‘Catholic resistance theory’, pp. 240-241. [53] Ibid., pp. 248-253. [54] Ibid., pp. 252-253. [55] Black, Political Thought in Europe, p. 178. [56] Oakley, ‘Anxieties’, p. 106-108; Bridge considered Scripture, especially the Decalogue, as inseparable from natural law: Truth, pp. 4, 14. [57] Bridge, Truth, p. 12, referring to John de Pineda, De Rebus Salomonis Regis vel Salomon Praevius (fol, n.p.: Sumptibus Antonij Hierati, 1613), pp. 73-82. Retrieved from Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Digital 25 November 2014 at http://goo.gl/M1l2NY. [58] Bridge, Truth, p. 11. On Molina’s view of resistance see Salmon, ‘Catholic resistance theory’, pp. 261, 266; for Molina’s contextual background, see Hamilton, Sixteenth-century Spain, pp. 180-184. [59] Bridge, Wovnded Conscience, pp. 10-11. [60] Daniel Novotny, Ens Rationis from Suarez to Caramuel: A Study in Scholasticism of the Baroque Era, (New York, 2013), p. 13. For a parallel theory to that of Mendoza in Huguenot thought, see Skinner, Foundations, II, pp. 326-338. [61] Bridge, Truth, p. 7; I Sam. 12:13 [King James Version]: ‘Now therefore behold the king whom ye have chosen, and whom ye have desired! . . .’ [62] I Sam. 11:15: ‘And all the people went to Gilgal; and there they made Saul king before the Lord...’ [63] Bridge, Truth, p. 7. [64] Ibid., p. 26. [65] Ibid., p. 7. [66] Ibid., passim. [67] Skinner, ‘Meaning and understanding’, p. 26. [68] Bridge, Wovnded Conscience, p. 209. [69] Oakley, ‘Anxieties’, pp. 76-94, 101-102; for the conciliar impact on constitutionalism, see Francis Oakley, The Conciliarist Tradition: Constitutionalism in the Catholic Church 1300-1870 (Oxford, 2003), pp. 217-249. [70] Ibid., Conciliarist Tradition, pp. 133-139. [71] Ibid.,‘Anxieties’, p. 83. [72] Stephen Marshall, A Copy of a Letter Written by Mr. Stephen Marshall (London, 1643), Wing M750, BL, TT, E 102[10], EEBO, Web, 30 Nov 2014, p. 9. [73] Charles Howard McIlwain (ed.), The Political Works of James I (Cambridge, 1918), pp. xxvi-xxviii. [74] Lake, ‘Anti-popery’, p. 79; Oakley, ‘Anxieties’, p. 88; Anthony Milton, Catholic and Reformed: The Roman and Protestant Churches in English Protestant Thought 1600-1640 (Cambridge, 1995), p. 42-43. [75] Milton, Catholic and Reformed, p. 43. [76] [Henry Parker], The Contra-Replicant, his Complaint to His Maiestie [London, 1642/3], Wing P400, BL, TT, 87[5], EEBO, Web, 30 Nov 2014, p. 9. [77] Anthony Fletcher, The Outbreak of the English Civil War (London, 1985), pp. 410-412; Milton, Catholic and Reformed, p. 92; Lake, ‘Anti-Popery’, p. 80. [78] Sommerville, Royalists and Patriots, p. 46, 50. [79] Oakley, ‘Anxieties’, p. 88. [80] [John Spelman], Certain Considerations upon the Duties Both of Princes and People (Oxford, 1642), p. 2; as quoted in Gordon Schochet, Patriarchalism in Political Thought: The Authoritarian Family and Political Speculation and Attitudes Especially in Seventeenth-century England (Oxford, 1975), p. 101. [81] Ferne, Resolving of Conscience, fo. ¶1r, ¶2v. [82] Hittinger, Thomism, p. 40; Hamilton, Sixteenth-century Spain, pp. 69-70. [83] Ferne, Resolving Conscience, p. 24. [84] John Maxwell, Sacro-sancta regum majestas (Oxford, 1644), Wing M1384, BL, TT, E 30[22], EEBO, Web, 9 Dec 2014, p. 27. [85] Oakley, ‘Anxieties’, p. 101. [86] Bridge, Truth, p. 49; see Ferne, Resolving of Conscience, p. 24 for context. [87] Bridge, Truth, p. 48. [88] Ibid., p. 47. [89] Ibid., p. 49. [90] Condren, Language of Politics. [91] Lake, ‘Anti-Puritanism’, p. 81. [92] Sommerville, Royalists and Patriots, pp. 14-15. [93] Ibid., p. 78. [94] Bridge, Wovnded Conscience, pp. 10-11. |
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