Chapter XVI: Part 16

But may we not, it is next suggested, assume the possibility of a third nature—neither idea nor Spirit? Not, replies Philonous, if we are to keep to the rule of having meaning in the words we use. We know what is meant by a spirit, for each of us has immediate experience of one; and we know what is meant by sense-ideas and sensible things, for we have immediate and mediate experience of them. But we have no immediate, and therefore can have no mediate, experience of what is neither perceived by our senses, nor realised in inward consciousness: moreover, “entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem.”

Again, this conception of the realities implies, it is said, imperfection, because sentient experience, in God. This objection, it is answered, implies a confusion between being actually sentient and merely conceiving sensations, and employing them, as God does, as signs for expressing His conceptions to our minds.

Further, the negation of independent powerful Matter seems to annihilate the explanations of physical phenomena given by natural philosophers. But, to be assured that it does not, we have only to recollect what physical explanation means—that it is the reference of an apparently irregular phenomenon to some acknowledged general rule of co-existence or succession among sense-ideas. It is interpretation of sense-signs.

Is the proposed ideal Realism summarily condemned as a novelty? It can be answered, that all discoveries are novelties at first; and moreover that this one is not so much a novelty as a deeper interpretation of the common faith.

Yet it seems, at any rate, it is said, to change real things into mere ideas. Here consider on the contrary what we mean when we speak of sensible things as real. The changing appearances of which we are percipient in sense, united objectively in their cosmical order, are what is truly meant by the realities of sense.

But this reality is inconsistent with the _continued identity_ of material things, it is complained, and also with the fact that different persons can be percipient of the _same_ thing. Not so, Berkeley explains, when we attend to the true meaning of the word _same_, and dismiss from our thoughts a supposed abstract idea of identity which is nonsensical.

But some may exclaim against the supposition that the material world exists in mind, regarding this as an implied assertion that mind is extended, and therefore material. This proceeds, it is replied, on forgetfulness of what “existence in mind” means. It is intended to express the fact that matter is real in being an objective appearance of which a living mind is sensible.

Lastly, is not the Mosaic account of the creation of Matter inconsistent with the perpetual dependence of Matter for its reality upon percipient Spirit? It is answered that the conception of creation being dependent on the existence of finite minds is in perfect harmony with the Mosaic account: it is what is seen and felt, not what is unseen and unfelt, that is created.

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The _Third Dialogue_ closes with a representation of the new principle regarding Matter being the harmony of two apparently discordant propositions—the one-sided proposition of ordinary common sense; and the one-sided proposition of the philosophers. It agrees with the mass of mankind in holding that the material world is actually presented to our senses, and with the philosophers in holding that this same material world is realised only in and through the percipient experience of living Spirit.

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Most of the objections to Berkeley’s conception of Matter which have been urged in the last century and a half, by its British, French, and German critics, are discussed by anticipation in these _Dialogues_. The history of objections is very much a history of misconceptions. Conceived or misconceived, it has tacitly simplified and purified the methods of physical science, especially in Britain and France.

The first elaborate criticism of Berkeley by a British author is found in Andrew Baxter’s _Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul_, published in 1735, in the section entitled “Dean Berkeley’s Scheme against the existence of Matter examined, and shewn to be inconclusive.” Baxter alleges that the new doctrine tends to encourage scepticism. To deny Matter, for the reasons given, involves, according to this critic, denial of mind, and so a universal doubt. Accordingly, a few years later, Hume sought, in his _Treatise of Human Nature_, to work out Berkeley’s negation of abstract Matter into sceptical phenomenalism—against which Berkeley sought to guard by anticipation, in a remarkable passage introduced in his last edition of these _Dialogues_.

In Scotland the writings of Reid, Beattie, Oswald, Dugald Stewart, Thomas Brown, and Sir W. Hamilton form a magazine of objections. Reid—who curiously seeks to refute Berkeley by refuting, not more clearly than Berkeley had done before him, the hypothesis of a wholly representative sense-perception—urges the spontaneous belief or common sense of mankind, which obliges us all to recognise a direct presentation of the external material world to our senses. He overlooks what with Berkeley is the only question in debate, namely, the meaning of the term _external_; for, Reid and Berkeley are agreed in holding to the reality of a world regulated independently of the will of finite percipients, and is sufficiently objective to be a medium of social intercourse. With Berkeley, as with Reid, _this_ is practically self-evident. The same objection, more scientifically defined—that we have a natural belief in the existence of Matter, and in our own immediate perception of its qualities—is Sir W. Hamilton’s assumption against Berkeley; but Hamilton does not explain the reality thus claimed for it. “Men naturally believe,” he says, “that _they themselves_ exist—because they are conscious of a Self or Ego; they believe that _something different from themselves_ exists—because they believe that they are conscious of this Not-self or Non-ego.” (_Discussions_, p. 193.) Now, the existence of a Power that is independent of each finite Ego is at the root of Berkeley’s principles. According to Berkeley and Hamilton alike, we are immediately percipient of solid and extended phenomena; but with Berkeley the phenomena are dependent on, at the same time that they are “entirely distinct” from, the percipient. The Divine and finite spirits, signified by the phenomena that are presented to our senses in cosmical order, form Berkeley’s external world.

That Berkeley sows the seeds of Universal Scepticism; that his conception of Matter involves the Panegoism or Solipsism which leaves me in absolute solitude; that his is virtually a system of Pantheism, inconsistent with personal individuality and moral responsibility—these are probably the three most comprehensive objections that have been alleged against it. They are in a measure due to Berkeley’s imperfect criticism of first principles, in his dread of a departure from the concrete data of experience in quest of empty abstractions.

In England and France, Berkeley’s criticism of Matter, taken however only on its negative side, received a countenance denied to it in Germany. Hartley and Priestley shew signs of affinity with Berkeley. Also an anonymous _Essay on the Nature and Existence of the Material World_, dedicated to Dr. Priestley and Dr. Price, which appeared in 1781, is an argument, on empirical grounds, which virtually makes the data of the senses at last a chaos of isolated sensations. The author of the _Essay_ is said to have been a certain Russell, who died in the West Indies in the end of the eighteenth century. A tendency towards Berkeley’s negations, but apart from his synthetic principles, appears in James Mill and J.S. Mill. So too with Voltaire and the Encyclopedists.

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The _Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous_ were published in London in 1713, “printed by G. James, for Henry Clements, at the Half-Moon, in St. Paul’s churchyard,” unlike the _Essay on Vision_ and the _Principles_, which first appeared in Dublin. The second edition, which is simply a reprint, issued in 1725, “printed for William and John Innys, at the West End of St. Paul’s.” A third, the last in the author’s lifetime, “printed by Jacob Tonson,” which contains some important additions, was published in 1734, conjointly with a new edition of the _Principles_. The _Dialogues_ were reprinted in 1776, in the same volume with the edition of the _Principles, with Remarks_.

The _Dialogues_ have been translated into French and German. The French version appeared at Amsterdam in 1750. The translator’s name is not given, but it is attributed to the Abbé Jean Paul de Gua de Malves(780), by Barbier, in his _Dictionnaire des Ouvrages anonymes et pseudonymes_, tom. i. p. 283. It contains a Prefatory Note by the translator, with three curious vignettes (given in the note below) meant to symbolise the leading thought in each Dialogue(781). A German translation, by John Christopher Eschenbach, Professor of Philosophy in Rostock, was published at Rostock in 1756. It forms the larger part of a volume entitled _Sammlung der vornehmsten Schriftsteller die die Wirklichkeit ihres eignen Körpers und der ganzen Körperwelt läugnen_. This professed Collection of the most eminent authors who are supposed to deny the reality of their own bodies and of the whole material world, consists of Berkeley’s _Dialogues,_ and Arthur Collier’s _Clavis Universalis_, or _Demonstration of the Non-existence or Impossibility of an __ External World_. The volume contains some annotations, and an Appendix in which a counter-demonstration of the existence of Matter is attempted. Eschenbach’s principal argument is indirect, and of the nature of a _reductio ad absurdum_. He argues (as others have done) that the reasons produced against the independent reality of Matter are equally conclusive against the independent reality of Spirit.

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An interesting circumstance connected with the _Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous_ was the appearance, also in 1713, of the _Clavis Universalis_, or demonstration of the impossibility of Matter, of Arthur Collier, in which the merely ideal existence of the sensible world is maintained. The production, simultaneously, without concert, of conceptions of the material world which verbally at least have much in common, is a curious coincidence. It shews that the intellectual atmosphere of the Lockian epoch in England contained elements favourable to a reconsideration of the ultimate meaning of Matter. They are both the genuine produce of the age of Locke and Malebranche. Neither Berkeley nor Collier were, when they published their books, familiar with ancient Greek speculations; those of modern Germany had only begun to loom in the distance. Absolute Idealism, the Panphenomenalism of Auguste Comte, and the modern evolutionary conception of nature, have changed the conditions under which the universal problem is studied, and are making intelligible to this generation a manner of conceiving the Universe which, for nearly a century and a half, the British and French critics of Berkeley were unable to entertain.

Berkeley’s _Principles_ appeared three years before the _Clavis Universalis_. Yet Collier tells us that it was “after a ten years’ pause and deliberation,” that, “rather than the world should finish its course without once offering to inquire in what manner it exists,” he had “resolved to put himself upon the trial of the common reader, without pretending to any better art of gaining him than dry reason and metaphysical demonstration.” Mr. Benson, his biographer, says that it was in 1703, at the age of twenty-three, that Collier came to the conclusion that “there is no such thing as an external world”; and he attributes the premises from which Collier drew this conclusion to his neighbour, John Norris. Among Collier’s MSS., there remains the outline of an essay, in three chapters, dated January, 1708, on the non-externality of the _visible_ world.

There are several coincidences between Berkeley and Collier. Berkeley virtually presented his new theory of Vision as the first instalment of his explanation of the Reality of Matter. The first of the two Parts into which Collier’s _Clavis_ is divided consists of proofs that the Visible World is not, and cannot be, external. Berkeley, in the _Principles_ and the _Dialogues_, explains the reality of Matter. In like manner the Second Part of the _Clavis_ consists of reasonings in proof of the impossibility of an external world independent of Spirit. Finally, in his full-blown theory, as well as in its visual germ, Berkeley takes for granted, as intuitively known, the existence of sensible Matter; meaning by this, its relative existence, or dependence on living Mind. The third proposition of Collier’s system asserts the real existence of visible matter in particular, and of sensible matter in general.

The invisibility of distances, as well as of real magnitudes and situations, and their suggestion by interpretation of visual symbols, propositions which occupy so large a space in Berkeley’s Theory of Vision, have no counterpart in Collier. His proof of the non-externality of the visible world consists of an induction of instances of visible objects that are allowed by all not to be external, although they seem to be as much so as any that are called external. His Demonstration consists of nine proofs, which may be compared with the reasonings and analyses of Berkeley. Collier’s Demonstration concludes with answers to objections, and an application of his account of the material world to the refutation of the Roman doctrine of the substantial existence of Christ’s body in the Eucharist.

The universal sense-symbolism of Berkeley, and his pervading recognition of the distinction between physical or symbolical, and efficient or originative causation, are wanting in the narrow reasonings of Collier. Berkeley’s more comprehensive philosophy, with its human sympathies and beauty of style, is now recognised as a striking expression and partial solution of fundamental problems, while Collier is condemned to the obscurity of the Schools(782).

Dedication

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LORD BERKELEY OF STRATTON(783),

MASTER OF THE ROLLS IN THE KINGDOM OF IRELAND, CHANCELLOR OF THE
DUCHY OF LANCASTER, AND ONE OF THE LORDS OF HER MAJESTY’S MOST
HONOURABLE PRIVY COUNCIL.

MY LORD,

The virtue, learning, and good sense which are acknowledged to distinguish your character, would tempt me to indulge myself the pleasure men naturally take in giving applause to those whom they esteem and honour: and it should seem of importance to the subjects of Great Britain that they knew the eminent share you enjoy in the favour of your sovereign, and the honours she has conferred upon you, have not been owing to any application from your lordship, but entirely to her majesty’s own thought, arising from a sense of your personal merit, and an inclination to reward it. But, as your name is prefixed to this treatise with an intention to do honour to myself alone, I shall only say that I am encouraged by the favour you have treated me with to address these papers to your lordship. And I was the more ambitious of doing this, because a Philosophical Treatise could not so properly be addressed to any one as to a person of your lordship’s character, who, to your other valuable distinctions, have added the knowledge and relish of Philosophy.

I am, with the greatest respect,

My Lord,

Your lordship’s most obedient and most humble servant,

GEORGE BERKELEY.

The Preface(784)

Though it seems the general opinion of the world, no less than the design of nature and providence, that the end of speculation be Practice, or the improvement and regulation of our lives and actions; yet those who are most addicted to speculative studies, seem as generally of another mind. And indeed if we consider the pains that have been taken to perplex the plainest things, that distrust of the senses, those doubts and scruples, those abstractions and refinements that occur in the very entrance of the sciences; it will not seem strange that men of leisure and curiosity should lay themselves out in fruitless disquisitions, without descending to the practical parts of life, or informing themselves in the more necessary and important parts of knowledge.

Upon the common principles of philosophers, we are not assured of the existence of things from their being perceived. And we are taught to distinguish their _real_ nature from that which falls under our senses. Hence arise scepticism and paradoxes. It is not enough that we see and feel, that we taste and smell a thing: its true nature, its absolute external entity, is still concealed. For, though it be the fiction of our own brain, we have made it inaccessible to all our faculties. Sense is fallacious, reason defective. We spend our lives in doubting of those things which other men evidently know, and believing those things which they laugh at and despise.

In order, therefore, to divert the busy mind of man from vain researches, it seemed necessary to inquire into the source of its perplexities; and, if possible, to lay down such Principles as, by an easy solution of them, together with their own native evidence, may at once recommend themselves for genuine to the mind, and rescue it from those endless pursuits it is engaged in. Which, with a plain demonstration of the Immediate Providence of an all-seeing God, and the natural Immortality of the soul, should seem the readiest preparation, as well as the strongest motive, to the study and practice of virtue.

This design I proposed in the First Part of a treatise concerning the _Principles of Human Knowledge_, published in the year 1710. But, before I proceed to publish the Second Part(785), I thought it requisite to treat more clearly and fully of certain Principles laid down in the First, and to place them in a new light. Which is the business of the following _Dialogues_.

In this Treatise, which does not presuppose in the reader any knowledge of what was contained in the former, it has been my aim to introduce the notions I advance into the mind in the most easy and familiar manner; especially because they carry with them a great opposition to the prejudices of philosophers, which have so far prevailed against the common sense and natural notions of mankind.

If the Principles which I here endeavour to propagate are admitted for true, the consequences which, I think, evidently flow from thence are, that Atheism and Scepticism will be utterly destroyed, many intricate points made plain, great difficulties solved, several useless parts of science retrenched, speculation referred to practice, and men reduced from paradoxes to common sense.

And although it may, perhaps, seem an uneasy reflexion to some, that when they have taken a circuit through so many refined and unvulgar notions, they should at last come to think like other men; yet, methinks, this return to the simple dictates of nature, after having wandered through the wild mazes of philosophy, is not unpleasant. It is like coming home from a long voyage: a man reflects with pleasure on the many difficulties and perplexities he has passed through, sets his heart at ease, and enjoys himself with more satisfaction for the future.

As it was my intention to convince Sceptics and Infidels by reason, so it has been my endeavour strictly to observe the most rigid laws of reasoning. And, to an impartial reader, I hope it will be manifest that the sublime notion of a God, and the comfortable expectation of Immortality, do naturally arise from a close and methodical application of thought: whatever may be the result of that loose, rambling way, not altogether improperly termed Free-thinking by certain libertines in thought, who can no more endure the restraints of logic than those of religion or government.

It will perhaps be objected to my design that, so far as it tends to ease the mind of difficult and useless inquiries, it can affect only a few speculative persons. But if, by their speculations rightly placed, the study of morality and the law of nature were brought more into fashion among men of parts and genius, the discouragements that draw to Scepticism removed, the measures of right and wrong accurately defined, and the principles of Natural Religion reduced into regular systems, as artfully disposed and clearly connected as those of some other sciences; there are grounds to think these effects would not only have a gradual influence in repairing the too much defaced sense of virtue in the world, but also, by shewing that such parts of revelation as lie within the reach of human inquiry are most agreeable to right reason, would dispose all prudent, unprejudiced persons to a modest and wary treatment of those sacred mysteries which are above the comprehension of our faculties.

It remains that I desire the reader to withhold his censure of these _Dialogues_ till he has read them through. Otherwise, he may lay them aside in a mistake of their design, or on account of difficulties or objections which he would find answered in the sequel. A Treatise of this nature would require to be once read over coherently, in order to comprehend its design, the proofs, solution of difficulties, and the connexion and disposition of its parts. If it be thought to deserve a second reading, this, I imagine, will make the entire scheme very plain. Especially if recourse be had to an Essay I wrote some years since upon _Vision_, and the Treatise concerning the _Principles of Human Knowledge_; wherein divers notions advanced in these _Dialogues_ are farther pursued, or placed in different lights, and other points handled which naturally tend to confirm and illustrate them.

The First Dialogue

_Philonous._ Good morrow, Hylas: I did not expect to find you abroad so early.

_Hylas._ It is indeed something unusual; but my thoughts were so taken up with a subject I was discoursing of last night, that finding I could not sleep, I resolved to rise and take a turn in the garden.

_Phil._ It happened well, to let you see what innocent and agreeable pleasures you lose every morning. Can there be a pleasanter time of the day, or a more delightful season of the year? That purple sky, those wild but sweet notes of birds, the fragrant bloom upon the trees and flowers, the gentle influence of the rising sun, these and a thousand nameless beauties of nature inspire the soul with secret transports; its faculties too being at this time fresh and lively, are fit for those meditations, which the solitude of a garden and tranquillity of the morning naturally dispose us to. But I am afraid I interrupt your thoughts: for you seemed very intent on something.

_Hyl._ It is true, I was, and shall be obliged to you if you will permit me to go on in the same vein; not that I would by any means deprive myself of your company, for my thoughts always flow more easily in conversation with a friend, than when I am alone: but my request is, that you would suffer me to impart my reflexions to you.

_Phil._ With all my heart, it is what I should have requested myself if you had not prevented me.

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_Hyl._ I was considering the odd fate of those men who have in all ages, through an affectation of being distinguished from the vulgar, or some unaccountable turn of thought, pretended either to believe nothing at all, or to believe the most extravagant things in the world. This however might be borne, if their paradoxes and scepticism did not draw after them some consequences of general disadvantage to mankind. But the mischief lieth here; that when men of less leisure see them who are supposed to have spent their whole time in the pursuits of knowledge professing an entire ignorance of all things, or advancing such notions as are repugnant to plain and commonly received principles, they will be tempted to entertain suspicions concerning the most important truths, which they had hitherto held sacred and unquestionable(786).

_Phil._ I entirely agree with you, as to the ill tendency of the affected doubts of some philosophers, and fantastical conceits of others. I am even so far gone of late in this way of thinking, that I have quitted several of the sublime notions I had got in their schools for vulgar opinions. And I give it you on my word; since this revolt from metaphysical notions to the plain dictates of nature and common sense(787), I find my understanding strangely enlightened, so that I can now easily comprehend a great many things which before were all mystery and riddle.

_Hyl._ I am glad to find there was nothing in the accounts I heard of you.

_Phil._ Pray, what were those?

_Hyl._ You were represented, in last night’s conversation, as one who maintained the most extravagant opinion that ever entered into the mind of man, to wit, that there is no such thing as _material substance_ in the world.

_Phil._ That there is no such thing as what _philosophers_ call _material substance_, I am seriously persuaded: but, if I were made to see anything absurd or sceptical in this, I should then have the same reason to renounce this that I imagine I have now to reject the contrary opinion.

_Hyl._ What! can anything be more fantastical, more repugnant to Common Sense, or a more manifest piece of Scepticism, than to believe there is no such thing as _matter_?

_Phil._ Softly, good Hylas. What if it should prove that you, who hold there is, are, by virtue of that opinion, a greater sceptic, and maintain more paradoxes and repugnances to Common Sense, than I who believe no such thing?

_Hyl._ You may as soon persuade me, the part is greater than the whole, as that, in order to avoid absurdity and Scepticism, I should ever be obliged to give up my opinion in this point.

_Phil._ Well then, are you content to admit that opinion for true, which upon examination shall appear most agreeable to Common Sense, and remote from Scepticism?

_Hyl._ With all my heart. Since you are for raising disputes about the plainest things in nature, I am content for once to hear what you have to say.

_Phil._ Pray, Hylas, what do you mean by a _sceptic_?

_Hyl._ I mean what all men mean—one that doubts of everything.

_Phil._ He then who entertains no doubt concerning some particular point, with regard to that point cannot be thought a sceptic.

_Hyl._ I agree with you.

_Phil._ Whether doth doubting consist in embracing the affirmative or negative side of a question?

_Hyl._ In neither; for whoever understands English cannot but know that _doubting_ signifies a suspense between both.

_Phil._ He then that denies any point, can no more be said to doubt of it, than he who affirmeth it with the same degree of assurance.

_Hyl._ True.

_Phil._ And, consequently, for such his denial is no more to be esteemed a sceptic than the other.

_Hyl._ I acknowledge it.

_Phil._ How cometh it to pass then, Hylas, that you pronounce me a _sceptic_, because I deny what you affirm, to wit, the existence of Matter? Since, for aught you can tell, I am as peremptory in my denial, as you in your affirmation.

_Hyl._ Hold, Philonous, I have been a little out in my definition; but every false step a man makes in discourse is not to be insisted on. I said indeed that a _sceptic_ was one who doubted of everything; but I should have added, or who denies the reality and truth of things.

_Phil._ What things? Do you mean the principles and theorems of sciences? But these you know are universal intellectual notions, and consequently independent of Matter. The denial therefore of this doth not imply the denying them(788).

_Hyl._ I grant it. But are there no other things? What think you of distrusting the senses, of denying the real existence of sensible things, or pretending to know nothing of them. Is not this sufficient to denominate a man a _sceptic_?

_Phil._ Shall we therefore examine which of us it is that denies the reality of sensible things, or professes the greatest ignorance of them; since, if I take you rightly, he is to be esteemed the greatest _sceptic_?

_Hyl._ That is what I desire.

_Phil._ What mean you by Sensible Things?

_Hyl._ Those things which are perceived by the senses. Can you imagine that I mean anything else?

_Phil._ Pardon me, Hylas, if I am desirous clearly to apprehend your notions, since this may much shorten our inquiry. Suffer me then to ask you this farther question. Are those things only perceived by the senses which are perceived immediately? Or, may those things properly be said to be _sensible_ which are perceived mediately, or not without the intervention of others?

_Hyl._ I do not sufficiently understand you.

_Phil._ In reading a book, what I immediately perceive are the letters; but mediately, or by means of these, are suggested to my mind the notions of God, virtue, truth, &c. Now, that the letters are truly sensible things, or perceived by sense, there is no doubt: but I would know whether you take the things suggested by them to be so too.

_Hyl._ No, certainly: it were absurd to think _God_ or _virtue_ sensible things; though they may be signified and suggested to the mind by sensible marks, with which they have an arbitrary connexion.

_Phil._ It seems then, that by _sensible things_ you mean those only which can be perceived _immediately_ by sense?

_Hyl._ Right.

_Phil._ Doth it not follow from this, that though I see one part of the sky red, and another blue, and that my reason doth thence evidently conclude there must be some cause of that diversity of colours, yet that cause cannot be said to be a sensible thing, or perceived by the sense of seeing?

_Hyl._ It doth.

_Phil._ In like manner, though I hear variety of sounds, yet I cannot be said to hear the causes of those sounds?

_Hyl._ You cannot.

_Phil._ And when by my touch I perceive a thing to be hot and heavy, I cannot say, with any truth or propriety, that I feel the cause of its heat or weight?

_Hyl._ To prevent any more questions of this kind, I tell you once for all, that by _sensible things_ I mean those only which are perceived by sense; and that in truth the senses perceive nothing which they do not perceive _immediately_: for they make no inferences. The deducing therefore of causes or occasions from effects and appearances, which alone are perceived by sense, entirely relates to reason(789).

_Phil._ This point then is agreed between us—That _sensible things are those only which are immediately perceived by sense_. You will farther inform me, whether we immediately perceive by sight anything beside light, and colours, and figures(790); or by hearing, anything but sounds; by the palate, anything beside tastes; by the smell, beside odours; or by the touch, more than tangible qualities.

_Hyl._ We do not.

_Phil._ It seems, therefore, that if you take away all sensible qualities, there remains nothing sensible?

_Hyl._ I grant it.

_Phil._ Sensible things therefore are nothing else but so many sensible qualities, or combinations of sensible qualities?

_Hyl._ Nothing else.

_Phil._ _Heat_ then is a sensible thing?

_Hyl._ Certainly.

_Phil._ Doth the _reality_ of sensible things consist in being perceived? or, is it something distinct from their being perceived, and that bears no relation to the mind?

_Hyl._ To _exist_ is one thing, and to be _perceived_ is another.

_Phil._ I speak with regard to sensible things only. And of these I ask, whether by their real existence you mean a subsistence exterior to the mind, and distinct from their being perceived?

_Hyl._ I mean a real absolute being, distinct from, and without any relation to, their being perceived.

_Phil._ Heat therefore, if it be allowed a real being, must exist without the mind(791)?

_Hyl._ It must.

_Phil._ Tell me, Hylas, is this real existence equally compatible to all degrees of heat, which we perceive; or is there any reason why we should attribute it to some, and deny it to others? And if there be, pray let me know that reason.

_Hyl._ Whatever degree of heat we perceive by sense, we may be sure the same exists in the object that occasions it.

_Phil._ What! the greatest as well as the least?

_Hyl._ I tell you, the reason is plainly the same in respect of both. They are both perceived by sense; nay, the greater degree of heat is more sensibly perceived; and consequently, if there is any difference, we are more certain of its real existence than we can be of the reality of a lesser degree.

_Phil._ But is not the most vehement and intense degree of heat a very great pain?

_Hyl._ No one can deny it.

_Phil._ And is any unperceiving thing capable of pain or pleasure?

_Hyl._ No, certainly.

_Phil._ Is your material substance a senseless being, or a being endowed with sense and perception?

_Hyl._ It is senseless without doubt.

_Phil._ It cannot therefore be the subject of pain?

_Hyl._ By no means.

_Phil._ Nor consequently of the greatest heat perceived by sense, since you acknowledge this to be no small pain?

_Hyl._ I grant it.

_Phil._ What shall we say then of your external object; is it a material Substance, or no?

_Hyl._ It is a material substance with the sensible qualities inhering in it.

_Phil._ How then can a great heat exist in it, since you own it cannot in a material substance? I desire you would clear this point.

_Hyl._ Hold, Philonous, I fear I was out in yielding intense heat to be a pain. It should seem rather, that pain is something distinct from heat, and the consequence or effect of it.

_Phil._ Upon putting your hand near the fire, do you perceive one simple uniform sensation, or two distinct sensations?

_Hyl._ But one simple sensation.

_Phil._ Is not the heat immediately perceived?

_Hyl._ It is.

_Phil._ And the pain?

_Hyl._ True.

_Phil._ Seeing therefore they are both immediately perceived at the same time, and the fire affects you only with one simple or uncompounded idea, it follows that this same simple idea is both the intense heat immediately perceived, and the pain; and, consequently, that the intense heat immediately perceived is nothing distinct from a particular sort of pain.

_Hyl._ It seems so.

_Phil._ Again, try in your thoughts, Hylas, if you can conceive a vehement sensation to be without pain or pleasure.

_Hyl._ I cannot.

_Phil._ Or can you frame to yourself an idea of sensible pain or pleasure in general, abstracted from every particular idea of heat, cold, tastes, smells? &c.

_Hyl._—I do not find that I can.

_Phil._ Doth it not therefore follow, that sensible pain is nothing distinct from those sensations or ideas, in an intense degree?

_Hyl._ It is undeniable; and, to speak the truth, I begin to suspect a very great heat cannot exist but in a mind perceiving it.

_Phil._ What! are you then in that sceptical state of suspense, between affirming and denying?

_Hyl._ I think I may be positive in the point. A very violent and painful heat cannot exist without the mind.

_Phil._ It hath not therefore, according to you, any _real_ being?

_Hyl._ I own it.

_Phil._ Is it therefore certain, that there is no body in nature really hot?

_Hyl._ I have not denied there is any real heat in bodies. I only say, there is no such thing as an intense real heat.

_Phil._ But, did you not say before that all degrees of heat were equally real; or, if there was any difference, that the greater were more undoubtedly real than the lesser?

_Hyl._ True: but it was because I did not then consider the ground there is for distinguishing between them, which I now plainly see. And it is this: because intense heat is nothing else but a particular kind of painful sensation; and pain cannot exist but in a perceiving being; it follows that no intense heat can really exist in an unperceiving corporeal substance. But this is no reason why we should deny heat in an inferior degree to exist in such a substance.

_Phil._ But how shall we be able to discern those degrees of heat which exist only in the mind from those which exist without it?

_Hyl._ That is no difficult matter. You know the least pain cannot exist unperceived; whatever, therefore, degree of heat is a pain exists only in the mind. But, as for all other degrees of heat, nothing obliges us to think the same of them.

_Phil._ I think you granted before that no unperceiving being was capable of pleasure, any more than of pain.

_Hyl._ I did.

_Phil._ And is not warmth, or a more gentle degree of heat than what causes uneasiness, a pleasure?

_Hyl._ What then?

_Phil._ Consequently, it cannot exist without the mind in an unperceiving substance, or body.

_Hyl._ So it seems.

_Phil._ Since, therefore, as well those degrees of heat that are not painful, as those that are, can exist only in a thinking substance; may we not conclude that external bodies are absolutely incapable of any degree of heat whatsoever?

_Hyl._ On second thoughts, I do not think it so evident that warmth is a pleasure as that a great degree of heat is a pain.

_Phil._ I do not pretend that warmth is as great a pleasure as heat is a pain. But, if you grant it to be even a small pleasure, it serves to make good my conclusion.

_Hyl._ I could rather call it an _indolence_! It seems to be nothing more than a privation of both pain and pleasure. And that such a quality or state as this may agree to an unthinking substance, I hope you will not deny.

_Phil._ If you are resolved to maintain that warmth, or a gentle degree of heat, is no pleasure, I know not how to convince you otherwise than by appealing to your own sense. But what think you of cold?

_Hyl._ The same that I do of heat. An intense degree of cold is a pain; for to feel a very great cold, is to perceive a great uneasiness: it cannot therefore exist without the mind; but a lesser degree of cold may, as well as a lesser degree of heat.

_Phil._ Those bodies, therefore, upon whose application to our own, we perceive a moderate degree of heat, must be concluded to have a moderate degree of heat or warmth in them; and those, upon whose application we feel a like degree of cold, must be thought to have cold in them.

_Hyl._ They must.

_Phil._ Can any doctrine be true that necessarily leads a man into an absurdity?

_Hyl._ Without doubt it cannot.

_Phil._ Is it not an absurdity to think that the same thing should be at the same time both cold and warm?

_Hyl._ It is.

_Phil._ Suppose now one of your hands hot, and the other cold, and that they are both at once put into the same vessel of water, in an intermediate state; will not the water seem cold to one hand, and warm to the other(792)?

_Hyl._ It will.

_Phil._ Ought we not therefore, by your principles, to conclude it is really both cold and warm at the same time, that is, according to your own concession, to believe an absurdity?

_Hyl._ I confess it seems so.

_Phil._ Consequently, the principles themselves are false, since you have granted that no true principle leads to an absurdity.

_Hyl._ But, after all, can anything be more absurd than to say, _there is no heat in the fire_?

_Phil._ To make the point still clearer; tell me whether, in two cases exactly alike, we ought not to make the same judgment?

_Hyl._ We ought.

_Phil._ When a pin pricks your finger, doth it not rend and divide the fibres of your flesh?

_Hyl._ It doth.

_Phil._ And when a coal burns your finger, doth it any more?

_Hyl._ It doth not.

_Phil._ Since, therefore, you neither judge the sensation itself occasioned by the pin, nor anything like it to be in the pin; you should not, conformably to what you have now granted, judge the sensation occasioned by the fire, or anything like it, to be in the fire.

_Hyl._ Well, since it must be so, I am content to yield this point, and acknowledge that heat and cold are only sensations existing in our minds. But there still remain qualities enough to secure the reality of external things.

_Phil._ But what will you say, Hylas, if it shall appear that the case is the same with regard to all other sensible qualities(793), and that they can no more be supposed to exist without the mind, than heat and cold?

_Hyl._ Then indeed you will have done something to the purpose; but that is what I despair of seeing proved.

_Phil._ Let us examine them in order. What think you of _tastes_—do they exist without the mind, or no?

_Hyl._ Can any man in his senses doubt whether sugar is sweet, or wormwood bitter?

_Phil._ Inform me, Hylas. Is a sweet taste a particular kind of pleasure or pleasant sensation, or is it not?

_Hyl._ It is.

_Phil._ And is not bitterness some kind of uneasiness or pain?

_Hyl._ I grant it.

_Phil._ If therefore sugar and wormwood are unthinking corporeal substances existing without the mind, how can sweetness and bitterness, that is, pleasure and pain, agree to them?

_Hyl._ Hold, Philonous, I now see what it was deluded me all this time. You asked whether heat and cold, sweetness and bitterness, were not particular sorts of pleasure and pain; to which I answered simply, that they were. Whereas I should have thus distinguished:—those qualities, as perceived by us, are pleasures or pains; but not as existing in the external objects. We must not therefore conclude absolutely, that there is no heat in the fire, or sweetness in the sugar, but only that heat or sweetness, as perceived by us, are not in the fire or sugar. What say you to this?

_Phil._ I say it is nothing to the purpose. Our discourse proceeded altogether concerning sensible things, which you defined to be, _the things we immediately perceive by our senses_. Whatever other qualities, therefore, you speak of, as distinct from these, I know nothing of them, neither do they at all belong to the point in dispute. You may, indeed, pretend to have discovered certain qualities which you do not perceive, and assert those insensible qualities exist in fire and sugar. But what use can be made of this to your present purpose, I am at a loss to conceive. Tell me then once more, do you acknowledge that heat and cold, sweetness and bitterness (meaning those qualities which are perceived by the senses), do not exist without the mind?

_Hyl._ I see it is to no purpose to hold out, so I give up the cause as to those mentioned qualities. Though I profess it sounds oddly, to say that sugar is not sweet.

_Phil._ But, for your farther satisfaction, take this along with you: that which at other times seems sweet, shall, to a distempered palate, appear bitter. And, nothing can be plainer than that divers persons perceive different tastes in the same food; since that which one man delights in, another abhors. And how could this be, if the taste was something really inherent in the food?

_Hyl._ I acknowledge I know not how.

_Phil._ In the next place, _odours_ are to be considered. And, with regard to these, I would fain know whether what hath been said of tastes doth not exactly agree to them? Are they not so many pleasing or displeasing sensations?

_Hyl._ They are.

_Phil._ Can you then conceive it possible that they should exist in an unperceiving thing?

_Hyl._ I cannot.

_Phil._ Or, can you imagine that filth and ordure affect those brute animals that feed on them out of choice, with the same smells which we perceive in them?

_Hyl._ By no means.

_Phil._ May we not therefore conclude of smells, as of the other forementioned qualities, that they cannot exist in any but a perceiving substance or mind?

_Hyl._ I think so.

_Phil._ Then as to _sounds_, what must we think of them: are they accidents really inherent in external bodies, or not?

_Hyl._ That they inhere not in the sonorous bodies is plain from hence: because a bell struck in the exhausted receiver of an air-pump sends forth no sound. The air, therefore, must be thought the subject of sound.

_Phil._ What reason is there for that, Hylas?

_Hyl._ Because, when any motion is raised in the air, we perceive a sound greater or lesser, according to the air’s motion; but without some motion in the air, we never hear any sound at all.

_Phil._ And granting that we never hear a sound but when some motion is produced in the air, yet I do not see how you can infer from thence, that the sound itself is in the air.

_Hyl._ It is this very motion in the external air that produces in the mind the sensation of _sound_. For, striking on the drum of the ear, it causeth a vibration, which by the auditory nerves being communicated to the brain, the soul is thereupon affected with the sensation called _sound_.

_Phil._ What! is sound then a sensation?

_Hyl._ I tell you, as perceived by us, it is a particular sensation in the mind.

_Phil._ And can any sensation exist without the mind?

_Hyl._ No, certainly.

_Phil._ How then can sound, being a sensation, exist in the air, if by the _air_ you mean a senseless substance existing without the mind?

_Hyl._ You must distinguish, Philonous, between sound as it is perceived by us, and as it is in itself; or (which is the same thing) between the sound we immediately perceive, and that which exists without us. The former, indeed, is a particular kind of sensation, but the latter is merely a vibrative or undulatory motion in the air.

_Phil._ I thought I had already obviated that distinction, by the answer I gave when you were applying it in a like case before. But, to say no more of that, are you sure then that sound is really nothing but motion?

_Hyl._ I am.

_Phil._ Whatever therefore agrees to real sound, may with truth be attributed to motion?

_Hyl._ It may.

_Phil._ It is then good sense to speak of _motion_ as of a thing that is _loud, sweet, acute, or grave_.

_Hyl._ I see you are resolved not to understand me. Is it not evident those accidents or modes belong only to sensible sound, or _sound_ in the common acceptation of the word, but not to _sound_ in the real and philosophic sense; which, as I just now told you, is nothing but a certain motion of the air?

_Phil._ It seems then there are two sorts of sound—the one vulgar, or that which is heard, the other philosophical and real?

_Hyl._ Even so.

_Phil._ And the latter consists in motion?

_Hyl._ I told you so before.

_Phil._ Tell me, Hylas, to which of the senses, think you, the idea of motion belongs? to the hearing?

_Hyl._ No, certainly; but to the sight and touch.

_Phil._ It should follow then, that, according to you, real sounds may possibly be _seen_ or _felt_, but never _heard_.

_Hyl._ Look you, Philonous, you may, if you please, make a jest of my opinion, but that will not alter the truth of things. I own, indeed, the inferences you draw me into sound something oddly; but common language, you know, is framed by, and for the use of the vulgar: we must not therefore wonder if expressions adapted to exact philosophic notions seem uncouth and out of the way.

_Phil._ Is it come to that? I assure you, I imagine myself to have gained no small point, since you make so light of departing from common phrases and opinions; it being a main part of our inquiry, to examine whose notions are widest of the common road, and most repugnant to the general sense of the world. But, can you think it no more than a philosophical paradox, to say that _real sounds are never heard_, and that the idea of them is obtained by some other sense? And is there nothing in this contrary to nature and the truth of things?

_Hyl._ To deal ingenuously, I do not like it. And, after the concessions already made, I had as well grant that sounds too have no real being without the mind.

_Phil._ And I hope you will make no difficulty to acknowledge the same of _colours_.

_Hyl._ Pardon me: the case of colours is very different. Can anything be plainer than that we see them on the objects?

_Phil._ The objects you speak of are, I suppose, corporeal Substances existing without the mind?

_Hyl._ They are.

_Phil._ And have true and real colours inhering in them?

_Hyl._ Each visible object hath that colour which we see in it.

_Phil._ How! is there anything visible but what we perceive by sight?

_Hyl._ There is not.

_Phil._ And, do we perceive anything by sense which we do not perceive immediately?

_Hyl._ How often must I be obliged to repeat the same thing? I tell you, we do not.

_Phil._ Have patience, good Hylas; and tell me once more, whether there is anything immediately perceived by the senses, except sensible qualities. I know you asserted there was not; but I would now be informed, whether you still persist in the same opinion.

_Hyl._ I do.

_Phil._ Pray, is your corporeal substance either a sensible quality, or made up of sensible qualities?

_Hyl._ What a question that is! who ever thought it was?

_Phil._ My reason for asking was, because in saying, _each visible object hath that colour which we see in it_, you make visible objects to be corporeal substances; which implies either that corporeal substances are sensible qualities, or else that there is something beside sensible qualities perceived by sight: but, as this point was formerly agreed between us, and is still maintained by you, it is a clear consequence, that your _corporeal substance_ is nothing distinct from _sensible qualities_(794).

_Hyl._ You may draw as many absurd consequences as you please, and endeavour to perplex the plainest things; but you shall never persuade me out of my senses. I clearly understand my own meaning.

_Phil._ I wish you would make me understand it too. But, since you are unwilling to have your notion of corporeal substance examined, I shall urge that point no farther. Only be pleased to let me know, whether the same colours which we see exist in external bodies, or some other.

_Hyl._ The very same.

_Phil._ What! are then the beautiful red and purple we see on yonder clouds really in them? Or do you imagine they have in themselves any other form than that of a dark mist or vapour?

_Hyl._ I must own, Philonous, those colours are not really in the clouds as they seem to be at this distance. They are only apparent colours.

_Phil._ _Apparent_ call you them? how shall we distinguish these apparent colours from real?

_Hyl._ Very easily. Those are to be thought apparent which, appearing only at a distance, vanish upon a nearer approach.

_Phil._ And those, I suppose, are to be thought real which are discovered by the most near and exact survey.

_Hyl._ Right.

_Phil._ Is the nearest and exactest survey made by the help of a microscope, or by the naked eye?

_Hyl._ By a microscope, doubtless.

_Phil._ But a microscope often discovers colours in an object different from those perceived by the unassisted sight. And, in case we had microscopes magnifying to any assigned degree, it is certain that no object whatsoever, viewed through them, would appear in the same colour which it exhibits to the naked eye.

_Hyl._ And what will you conclude from all this? You cannot argue that there are really and naturally no colours on objects: because by artificial managements they may be altered, or made to vanish.

_Phil._ I think it may evidently be concluded from your own concessions, that all the colours we see with our naked eyes are only apparent as those on the clouds, since they vanish upon a more close and accurate inspection which is afforded us by a microscope. Then, as to what you say by way of prevention: I ask you whether the real and natural state of an object is better discovered by a very sharp and piercing sight, or by one which is less sharp?

_Hyl._ By the former without doubt.

_Phil._ Is it not plain from _Dioptrics_ that microscopes make the sight more penetrating, and represent objects as they would appear to the eye in case it were naturally endowed with a most exquisite sharpness?

_Hyl._ It is.

_Phil._ Consequently the microscopical representation is to be thought that which best sets forth the real nature of the thing, or what it is in itself. The colours, therefore, by it perceived are more genuine and real than those perceived otherwise.

_Hyl._ I confess there is something in what you say.