confidence in works, stating that a “true saint”—every Puritan’s personal goal—was overcome with a sense of his own helplessness. Rather than counting on duties for assurance, Cotton lectured, the sinner must look to God. The person who waited for Christ, whose heart was “emptied of every thing besides,” could be judged elect and hence eligible to join the church. No sanctification, Cotton emphasized, can help “evidence to us” our justification. This was in clear conflict with the orthodox view of salvation, and it is where Anne Hutchinson found much of her support.
Fifty-two-year-old John Cotton was seated in the courtroom, listening silently, as Thomas Dudley rebuked the defendant with whom the minister had a long and close connection. Cotton had spent years nourishing Anne’s spiritual development in Lincolnshire, he had invited her to follow him to New England, and he had supported—perhaps passively—her insurrection against his brethren. At repeatedmeetings with Winthrop and other ministers, Cotton had vouched for Hutchinson’s character and beliefs. In his view, “Mistress Hutchinson was well beloved, and all the faithful embraced her conference, and blessed God for her fruitful discourses,” both at her meetings and in her work as a midwife and nurse. The previous August, at the Religious Synod intended to address the conflict over salvation, he had carefully chosen his words. “The Spirit doth evidence our justification in both ways,” he said, conceding the validity of the other side without compromising his own. A pious and magnetic man who seemed to enjoy the admiration of all, Cotton was skilled at balancing opposing views. He had avoided any notice by the court. While someone else in his position might have been in a quandary, John Cotton enjoyed a preternatural calm.
In the courtroom Thomas Dudley, who towered over his fellow magistrates, lumbered toward his conclusion. “And therefore,” he cried, “being driven to the foundation [of our troubles], and it being found that Mistress Hutchinson is she that hath depraved all the ministers and hath been the cause of what is fallen out, why we must take away the foundation and the building will fall.”
Summoning her intellectual and physical resources, the wan defendant rose again to defend herself.
“I pray, sir, prove it,” Hutchinson said. If the magistrates could prove she had slandered the ministers of the colony, they could justify banishing her. The charge would be fomenting sedition—threatening the state’s stability, or breaching the peace—the same crime they had pinned on Wheelwright. To avoid the charge of sedition, Anne had decided to try a new approach. Rather than arguing with the magistrates over biblical interpretation, as she had done before, she would contest their charges. She would deny the allegations, as her father had done in his heresy trial, and if that were not possible because the charges were true, she would challenge her judges to provide evidence.
She also employed linguistic subterfuge. “Prove it that I said they preached nothing but a covenant of works,” she told Dudley, adding the nothing to make the charge more comprehensive, thus easier to deny.
Dudley caught this, showing more wile than the governor had. “ Nothing but a covenant of works!” he retorted. Of course she had saidother things, including some with which he might agree. “Why a Jesuit may preach truth sometimes!”
“Did I ever say they preached a covenant of works, then?” she relented.
“If they do not preach a covenant of grace clearly, then they preach a covenant of works,” Dudley replied, quoting what he had been told she said.
“No, sir,” she corrected him. “One may preach a covenant of grace more clearly than another, so I said.”
“When they do preach a covenant of works, do they preach truth?” he persisted, trying to corner her into admitting she had traduced, or maligned, the
Fifty-two-year-old John Cotton was seated in the courtroom, listening silently, as Thomas Dudley rebuked the defendant with whom the minister had a long and close connection. Cotton had spent years nourishing Anne’s spiritual development in Lincolnshire, he had invited her to follow him to New England, and he had supported—perhaps passively—her insurrection against his brethren. At repeatedmeetings with Winthrop and other ministers, Cotton had vouched for Hutchinson’s character and beliefs. In his view, “Mistress Hutchinson was well beloved, and all the faithful embraced her conference, and blessed God for her fruitful discourses,” both at her meetings and in her work as a midwife and nurse. The previous August, at the Religious Synod intended to address the conflict over salvation, he had carefully chosen his words. “The Spirit doth evidence our justification in both ways,” he said, conceding the validity of the other side without compromising his own. A pious and magnetic man who seemed to enjoy the admiration of all, Cotton was skilled at balancing opposing views. He had avoided any notice by the court. While someone else in his position might have been in a quandary, John Cotton enjoyed a preternatural calm.
In the courtroom Thomas Dudley, who towered over his fellow magistrates, lumbered toward his conclusion. “And therefore,” he cried, “being driven to the foundation [of our troubles], and it being found that Mistress Hutchinson is she that hath depraved all the ministers and hath been the cause of what is fallen out, why we must take away the foundation and the building will fall.”
Summoning her intellectual and physical resources, the wan defendant rose again to defend herself.
“I pray, sir, prove it,” Hutchinson said. If the magistrates could prove she had slandered the ministers of the colony, they could justify banishing her. The charge would be fomenting sedition—threatening the state’s stability, or breaching the peace—the same crime they had pinned on Wheelwright. To avoid the charge of sedition, Anne had decided to try a new approach. Rather than arguing with the magistrates over biblical interpretation, as she had done before, she would contest their charges. She would deny the allegations, as her father had done in his heresy trial, and if that were not possible because the charges were true, she would challenge her judges to provide evidence.
She also employed linguistic subterfuge. “Prove it that I said they preached nothing but a covenant of works,” she told Dudley, adding the nothing to make the charge more comprehensive, thus easier to deny.
Dudley caught this, showing more wile than the governor had. “ Nothing but a covenant of works!” he retorted. Of course she had saidother things, including some with which he might agree. “Why a Jesuit may preach truth sometimes!”
“Did I ever say they preached a covenant of works, then?” she relented.
“If they do not preach a covenant of grace clearly, then they preach a covenant of works,” Dudley replied, quoting what he had been told she said.
“No, sir,” she corrected him. “One may preach a covenant of grace more clearly than another, so I said.”
“When they do preach a covenant of works, do they preach truth?” he persisted, trying to corner her into admitting she had traduced, or maligned, the
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