assumed dominion over the faith of others,
setting up their own opinions and modes of thinking as the only true
and infallible, and as such endeavouring to impose them on others,
hath established and maintained false religions over the greatest part
of the world, and through all time; that to compel a man to furnish
contributions of money for the propagation of opinions which he
disbelieves, is sinful and tyrannical; . . . that to suffer the civil
magistrate to intrude his powers into the field of opinion and to
restrain the profession or propagation of principles, on the
supposition of their ill tendency, is a dangerous fallacy, which at
once destroys all religious liberty, because he being of course judge
of that tendency, will make his opinions the rule of judgment, and
approve or condemn the sentiments of others only as they shall square
with or differ from his own; that it is time enough for the rightful
purposes of civil government, for its officers to interfere when
principles break out into overt acts against peace and good order; and
finally, that truth is great and will prevail if left to herself, that
she is the proper and sufficient antagonist to error, and has nothing
to fear from the conflict, unless by human interposition disarmed of
her natural weapons, free argument and debate, errors ceasing to be
dangerous when it is permitted freely to contradict them:

_Be it therefore enacted by the General Assembly_, That no man shall
be compelled to frequent or support any religious worship, place or
ministry whatsoever, nor shall be enforced, restrained, molested, or
burthened in his body or goods, nor shall otherwise suffer on account
of his religious opinions or belief; but that all men shall be free to
profess, and by argument to maintain, their opinions in matters of
religion and that the same shall in no wise diminish, enlarge, or
affect their civil capacities.

LETTER TO HIS DAUGHTER, MARTHA JEFFERSON.

(_Written in France, May 21, 1787._)

I write you, my dear Patsy, from the canal of Languedoc, on which I am
at present sailing, as I have been for a week past,--cloudless skies
above, limpid waters below, and on each hand, a row of nightingales in
full chorus. This delightful bird had given me a rich treat before, at
the fountain of Vaucluse. After visiting the tomb of Laura, at
Avignon, I went to see this fountain--a noble one of itself, and
rendered forever famous by the songs of Petrarch, who live