Chapter III: Part 3

Andrew Baxter’s _Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul_, referred to in Berkeley’s letter to Johnson, appeared in 1733. It has a chapter on “Dean Berkeley’s Scheme against the existence of Matter and a Material World,” which is worthy of mention because it is the earliest elaborate criticism of the New Principle, although it had then been before the world for more than twenty years. The title of the chapter shews Baxter’s imperfect comprehension of the proposition which he attempts to refute. It suggests that Berkeley argued for the non-existence of the things we see and touch, instead of for their necessary dependence on, or subordination to, realising percipient Mind, so far as they are concrete realities. Baxter, moreover, was a Scot; and his criticism is interesting as a foretaste of the protracted discussion of the “ideal theory” by Reid and his friends, and later on by Hamilton. But Baxter’s book was not the first sign of Berkeley’s influence in Scotland. We are told by Dugald Stewart, that “the novelty of Berkeley’s paradox attracted very powerfully the attention of a set of young men who were then prosecuting their studies at Edinburgh, who formed themselves into a Society for the express purpose of soliciting from him an explanation of some parts of his theory which seemed to them obscurely or equivocally expressed. To this correspondence the amiable and excellent prelate seems to have given every encouragement; and I have been told on the best authority that he was accustomed to say that his reasoning had been nowhere better understood than by this club of young Scotsmen(30).” Thus, and afterwards through Hume and Reid, Berkeley is at the root of philosophy in Scotland.

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The two years of indifferent health and authorship in London sum up what may be called the American period of Berkeley’s life. Early in 1734 letters to Prior open a new vista in his history. He was nominated to the bishopric of Cloyne in the south of Ireland, and we have now to follow him to the remote region which was his home for eighteen years. The interest of the philosophic Queen, and perhaps some compensation for the Bermuda disappointment, may explain the appearance of the metaphysical and social idealist in the place where he shone as a star of the first magnitude in the Irish Church of the eighteenth century.

III. Later Years (1734-53).

In May, 1734, Berkeley was consecrated as Bishop of Cloyne, in St. Paul’s Church, Dublin. Except occasional visits, he had been absent from Ireland for more than twenty years. He returned to spend eighteen years of almost unbroken seclusion in his remote diocese. It suited a growing inclination to a recluse, meditative life, which had been encouraged by circumstances in Rhode Island. The eastern and northern part in the county of Cork formed his diocese, bounded on the west by Cork harbour, and on the east by the beautiful Blackwater and the mountains of Waterford; the sea, which was its southern boundary, approached within two miles of the episcopal residence in the village of Cloyne.

As soon as he was settled, he resumed study “with unabated attention,” but still with indifferent health. Travelling had become irksome to him, and at Cloyne he was almost as much removed as he had been in Rhode Island from the thinking world. Cork took the place of Newport; but Cork was twenty miles from Cloyne, while Newport was only three miles from Whitehall. His episcopal neighbour at Cork was Bishop Browne, the critic of _Alciphron_. Isaac Gervais, afterwards Dean of Tuam, often enlivened the “manse-house” at Cloyne by his wit and intercourse with the great world. Secker, the Bishop of Bristol, and Benson, the Bishop of Gloucester, now and then exchanged letters with him, and correspondence was kept up as of old with Prior at Dublin and Johnson at Stratford. But there is no trace of intercourse with Swift, who was wearing out an unhappy old age, or with Pope, almost the only survivor of the brilliant society of other years. We are told, indeed, that the beauty of Cloyne was so described to the bard of Twickenham, by the pen which in former days had described Ischia, that Pope was almost moved to visit it. And a letter from Secker in February, 1735(31), contains this scrap: “Your friend Mr. Pope is publishing small poems every now and then, full of much wit and not a little keenness(32).” “Our common friend, Dr. Butler,” he adds, “hath almost completed a set of speculations upon the credibility of religion from its analogy to the constitution and course of nature, which I believe in due time you will read with pleasure.” Butler’s _Analogy_ appeared in the following year. But I have found no remains of correspondence between Berkeley and their “common friend”; the two most illustrious religious thinkers of the Anglican communion.

When he left London in 1734 Berkeley was on the eve of what sounded like a mathematical controversy, although it was in his intention metaphysical, and was suggested by the Seventh Dialogue in _Alciphron_. In one of his letters to Prior, early in that year, he told him that though he “could not read, owing to ill health,” yet his thought was as distinct as ever, and that for amusement “he passed his early hours in thinking of certain mathematical matters which may possibly produce something(33).” This turned, it seems, upon a form of scepticism among contemporary mathematicians, occasioned by the presence of mysteries of religion. The _Analyst_ was the issue. It was followed by a controversy in which some of the most eminent mathematicians took part. _Mathematica exeunt in mysteria_ might have been the motto of the _Analyst_. The assumptions in mathematics, it is argued, are as mysterious as those of theologians and metaphysicians. Mathematicians cannot translate into perfectly intelligible thought their own doctrines in fluxions. If man’s knowledge of God is rooted in mystery, so too is mathematical analysis. Pure science at last loses itself in propositions which usefully regulate action, but which cannot be comprehended. This is the drift of the argument in the _Analyst_; but perhaps Berkeley’s inclination to extreme conclusions, and to what is verbally paradoxical, led him into doubtful positions in the controversy to which the _Analyst_ gave rise. Instead of ultimate imperfect comprehensibility, he seems to attribute absolute contradiction to the Newtonian fluxions. Baxter, in his _Inquiry_, had asserted that things in Berkeley’s book of _Principles_ forced the author “to suspect that even mathematics may not be very sound knowledge at the bottom.” The metaphysical argument of the _Analyst_ was obscured in a cloud of mathematics.

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The social condition of Ireland attracted Berkeley almost as soon as he was settled in Cloyne. He was surrounded by a large native Irish population and a small group of English colonists. The natives, long governed in the interest of the stranger, had never learned to exert and govern themselves. The self-reliance which Berkeley preached fifteen years before, as a mean for “preventing the ruin of Great Britain,” was more wanting in Ireland, where the simplest maxims of social economy were neglected. It was a state of things fitted to move one who was too independent to permit his aspirations to be confined to the ordinary routine of the Irish episcopate, and who could not forget the favourite moral maxim of his life.

The social chaos of Ireland was the occasion of what to some may be the most interesting of Berkeley’s writings. His thoughts found vent characteristically in a series of penetrating practical queries. The First Part of the _Querist_ appeared in 1735, anonymously, edited by Dr. Madden of Dublin, who along with Prior had lately founded a Society for promoting industrial arts in Ireland. The Second and Third Parts were published in the two following years. _A Discourse to Magistrates occasioned by the Enormous Licence and Irreligion of the Times_, which appeared in 1736, was another endeavour, with like philanthropic intention. And the only important break in his secluded life at Cloyne, in eighteen years of residence, was when he went for some months to Dublin in 1737, to render social service to Ireland in the Irish House of Lords.

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His metaphysic, at first encountered by ridicule, was now beginning to receive more serious treatment. A Scotsman had already recognised it. In 1739 another and more famous Scotsman, David Hume, refers thus to Berkeley in one of the opening sections of his _Treatise of Human Nature_: “A very material question has been started concerning abstract or general ideas—whether they be general or particular in the mind’s conception of them. A great philosopher, Dr. Berkeley, has disputed the received opinion in this particular, and has asserted that all general ideas are nothing but particular ones, annexed to a certain term which gives them a more extensive signification, and makes them recall upon occasion other individuals which are similar to them. I look upon this to be one of the greatest and most valuable discoveries that has been made of late years in the republic of letters.” It does not appear that Berkeley heard of Hume.

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A curious interest began to engage him about this time. The years following 1739 were years of suffering in the Irish diocese. It was a time of famine followed by widespread disease. His correspondence is full of allusions to this. It had consequences of lasting importance. Surrounded by disease, he pondered remedies. Experience in Rhode Island and among American Indians suggested the healing properties of tar. Further experiments in tar, combined with meditation and much curious reading, deepened and expanded his metaphysical philosophy. Tar seemed to grow under his experiments, and in his thoughts, into a Panacea for giving health to the organism on which living mind in man is meanwhile dependent. This natural dependence of health upon tar introduced thoughts of the interdependence of all things, and then of the _immediate_ dependence of all in nature upon Omnipresent and Omnipotent Mind. The living Mind that underlies the phenomena of the universe began to be conceived under a new light. Since his return to the life of thought in Rhode Island, he had been immersed in Platonic and Neoplatonic literature, and in books of mystical Divinity, encouraged perhaps by the mystical disposition attributed to his wife. An eccentric ingenuity connected the scientific experiments and prescriptions with the Idealism of Plato and Plotinus. The natural law according to which tar-water was universally restorative set his mind to work about the immanence of living Mind. He mused about a medicine thus universally beneficial, and the thought occurred that it must be naturally charged with ’pure invisible fire, the most subtle and elastic of bodies, and the vital element in the universe’; and water might be the natural cause which enables this elementary fire to be drawn out of tar and transferred to vegetable and animal organisms. But the vital fire could be only a natural cause; which in truth is no efficient cause at all, but only a sign of divine efficiency transmitted through the world of sense: the true cause of this and all other natural effects must be the immanent Mind or Reason in which we all participate; for in God we live and move and have our being.

It is thus that Berkeley’s thought culminates in _Siris_, that _Chain of Philosophical Reflexions and Inquiries concerning the Virtues of Tar-water, and divers other subjects connected together and arising one from another_, which appeared in 1744. This little book made more noise at the time of its appearance than any of his books; but not because of its philosophy, which was lost in its medicinal promise to mankind of immunity from disease. Yet it was Berkeley’s last attempt to express his ultimate conception of the universe in its human and divine relations. When _Siris_ is compared with the book of _Principles_, the immense difference in tone and manner of thought shews the change wrought in the intervening years. The sanguine argumentative gladiatorship of the _Principles_ is exchanged for pensive speculation, which acknowledges the weakness of human understanding, when it is face to face with the Immensities and Eternities. Compare the opening sections of the Introduction to the _Principles_ with the closing sections of _Siris_. The contingent data of our experience are now felt to be insufficient, and there is a more or less conscious grounding of the Whole in the eternal and immutable Ideas of Reason. “Strictly, the sense knows nothing. We perceive, indeed, sounds by hearing and characters by sight. But we are not therefore said to understand them.... Sense and experience acquaint us with the course and analogy of appearances and natural effects: thought, reason, intellect, introduce us into the knowledge of their causes.... The principles of science are neither objects of sense nor imagination: intellect and reason are alone the sure guides to truth.” So the shifting basis of the earlier thought is found to need support in the intellectual and moral faith that must be involved in all reasonable human intercourse with the phenomena presented in the universe.

The inadequate thought of God, as only a Spirit or Person supreme among the spirits or persons, in and through whom the material world is realised, a thought which pervades _Alciphron_, makes way in _Siris_ for the thought of God as the infinite omnipresent Ground, or final sustaining Power, immanent in Nature and Man, to which Berkeley had become accustomed in Neoplatonic and Alexandrian metaphysics. “Comprehending God and the creatures in One general notion, we may _say_ that all things together (God and the universe of Space and Time) make One Universe, or τὸ Πᾶν. But if we should say that all things make One God, this would be an erroneous notion of God; but would not amount to atheism, as long as Mind or Intellect was admitted to be τὸ ἡγεμονικόν, or the governing part.... It will not seem just to fix the imputation of atheism upon those philosophers who hold the doctrine of τὸ Ἕν.” It is thus that he now regards God. Metaphysics and theology are accordingly one.

No attempt is made in _Siris_ to articulate the universe in the light of unifying Mind or Reason. And we are still apt to ask what the truth and goodness at the heart of all really mean; seeing that, as conceived in human minds, they vary in the gradual evolution of intellect and conscience in men. _Omnia exeunt in mysteria_ is the tone of _Siris_ at the end. The universe of reality is too much for our articulate intellectual digestion: it must be left for omniscience; it transcends finite intelligence and the _via media_ of human understanding. Man must be satisfied to pass life, in the infinitesimal interval between birth and death, as a faith-venture, which he may convert into a growing insight, as the generations roll on, but which can never be converted into complete knowledge. “In this state we must be satisfied to make the best of those glimpses within our reach. It is Plato’s remark in his _Theætetus_, that while we sit still we are never the wiser; but going into the river, and moving up and down, is the way to discover its depths and shallows. If we exercise and bestir ourselves, we may even here discover something. The eye by long use comes to see even in the darkest cavern; and there is no subject so obscure but we may discern some glimpse of truth by long poring on it. Truth is the cry of all, but the game of a few. Certainly where it is the chief passion it doth not give way to vulgar cares and views; nor is it contented with a little ardour in the early time of life: a time perhaps to pursue, but not so fit to weigh and revise. He that would make a real progress in knowledge must dedicate his age as well as his youth, the later growth as well as the first-fruits, at the altar of Truth.” Such was Berkeley, and such were his last words in philosophy. They may suggest the attitude of Bacon when, at a different view-point, he disclaims exhaustive system: “I have made a beginning of the work: the fortune of the human race will give the issue. For the matter in hand is no mere felicity of speculation, but the real business and fortunes of the human race(34).”

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While Berkeley’s central thought throughout his life is concerned with God as the one omnipresent and omnipotent Providential Agent in the universe, he says little about the other final question, of more exclusively human interest, which concerns the destiny of men. That men are born into a universe which, as the visible expression of Moral Providence, must be scientifically and ethically trustworthy; certain not to put man to confusion intellectually or morally, seeing that it could not otherwise be trusted for such in our ultimate venture of faith—this is one thing. That all persons born into it are certain to continue living self-consciously for ever, is another thing. This is not obviously implied in the former presupposition, whether or not it can be deduced from it, or else discovered by other means. Although man’s environment is essentially Divine, and wholly in its smallest details Providential, may not his body, in its living organisation from physical birth until physical death, be the measure of the continuance of his self-conscious personality? Is each man’s immortal existence, like God’s, indispensable?

Doubt about the destiny of men after they die is, at the end of the nineteenth century, probably more prevalent than doubt about the underlying Providence of God, and His constant creative activity; more perhaps than it was in the days of Toland, and Collins, and Tindal. Future life had been made so familiar to the imagination by the early and mediaeval Church, and afterwards by the Puritans, as in Milton, Bunyan, and Jonathan Edwards, that it then seemed to the religious mind more real than anything that is seen and touched. The habit wholly formed by natural science is apt to dissipate this and to make a human life lived under conditions wholly strange to its “minute philosophy” appear illusory.

A section in the book of _Principles_(35) in which the common argument for the “natural immortality” of the human soul is reproduced, strengthened by his new conception of what the reality of body means, is Berkeley’s metaphysical contribution for determining between the awful alternatives of annihilation or continued self-conscious life after physical death. The subject is touched, in a less recondite way, in two of his papers in the _Guardian_, and in the _Discourse_ delivered in Trinity College Chapel in 1708, in which a revelation of the immortality of men is presented as the special gospel of Jesus Christ. To argue, as Berkeley does in the _Principles_, that men cannot be annihilated at death, because they are spiritual substances having powers independent of the sequences of nature, implies assumptions regarding finite persons which are open to criticism. The justification in reason for our venture of faith that Omnipotent Goodness is at the heart of the universe is—that without this presupposition we can have no reasonable intercourse, scientific or otherwise, with the world of things and persons in which we find ourselves; for reason and will are then alike paralysed by universal distrust. But it can hardly be maintained _a priori_ that men, or other spiritual beings in the universe, are equally with God indispensable to its natural order; so that when they have once entered on conscious existence they must _always_ continue to exist consciously. Is not the philosophical justification of man’s hope of endless life ethical rather than metaphysical; founded on that faith in the justice and goodness of the Universal Mind which has to be taken for granted in every attempt to interpret experience, with its mixture of good and evil, in this evanescent embodied life? Can a life such as this is be _all_ for men, in a universe that, because it is essentially Divine, must operate towards the extinction of the wickedness which now makes it a mystery of Omnipotent Goodness?

A cheerful optimism appears in Berkeley’s habit of thought about death, as we have it in his essays in the _Guardian_: a sanguine apprehension of a present preponderance of good, and consequent anticipation of greater good after death; unlike those whose pessimistic temperament induces a lurid picture of eternal moral disorder. But his otherwise active imagination seldom makes philosophy a meditation upon death. He does not seem to have exercised himself in the way those do who find in the prospect of being in the twenty-first century as they were in the first, what makes them appalled that they have ever come at all into transitory percipient life; or as those others who recoil from an unbodied life after physical death, as infinitely more appalling than the thought of being transported _in this body_ into another planet, or even to a material world outside our solar system. In one of his letters to Johnson(36) he does approach the unbodied life, and in a characteristic way:—

“I see no difficulty in conceiving a change of state, such as is vulgarly called _death_, as well without as with material substance. It is sufficient for that purpose that we allow sensible bodies, i.e. such as are immediately perceived by sight and touch; the existence of which I am so far from questioning, as philosophers are used to do, that I establish it, I think, upon evident principles. Now it seems very easy to conceive the _soul_ to exist in a separate state (i.e. divested from those limits and laws of motion and perception with which she is embarrassed here) and to exercise herself on new ideas, without the intervention of these tangible things we call _bodies_. It is even very possible to apprehend how the soul may have ideas of colour without an eye, or of sounds without an ear(37).”

But while we may thus be supposed to have all our present sensuous experience in an unbodied state, this does not enable one to conceive how unbodied persons can communicate with one another in the absence of _all_ sense signs; whether of the sort derived from our present senses, or from other senses of whose data we can in this life have no imagination.

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Berkeley’s tar-water enthusiasm lasted throughout the rest of his life, and found vent in letters and pamphlets in support of his Panacea, from 1744 till 1752. Notwithstanding this, he was not forgetful of other interests—ecclesiastical, and the social ones which he included in his large meaning of “ecclesiastical.” The Rising under Charles Edward in 1745 was the occasion of a _Letter to the Roman Catholics of Cloyne_, characteristically humane and liberal. It was followed in 1749 by an _Exhortation to the Roman Catholic Clergy of Ireland_ in a similar spirit; and this unwonted courtesy of an Irish Protestant bishop was received by those to whom it was addressed in a corresponding temper.

It is difficult to determine Berkeley’s relation to rival schools or parties in Church and State. His disposition was too singular and independent for a partisan. Some of his early writings, as we have seen, were suspected of high Tory and Jacobite leanings; but his arguments in the suspected _Discourse_ were such as ordinary Tories and Jacobites failed to understand, and the tenor of his words and actions was in the best sense liberal. In religious thought _Siris_ might place him among latitudinarians; perhaps in affinity with the Cambridge Platonists. His true place is foremost among the religious philosophers of the Anglican Church; the first to prepare the religious problem for the light in which we are invited to look at the universe by modern agnostics, and under the modern conception of natural evolution. He is the most picturesque figure in that Anglican succession which, in the seventeenth century, includes Hooker and Cudworth; in the eighteenth, Clarke and Butler; and in the nineteenth, may we say Coleridge, in lack of a representative in orders; although Mansel, Maurice, Mozley, and Jowett are not to be forgotten, nor Isaac Taylor among laymen(38): Newman and Arnold, illustrious otherwise, are hardly representatives of metaphysical philosophy.

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A more pensive tone runs through the closing years at Cloyne. Attempts were made in vain to withdraw him from the “remote corner” to which he had been so long confined. His friends urged his claims for the Irish Primacy. “I am no man’s rival or competitor in this matter,” were his words to Prior. “I am not in love with feasts, and crowds, and visits, and late hours, and strange faces, and a hurry of affairs often insignificant. For my own private satisfaction, I had rather be master of my time than wear a diadem.” Letters to his American friends, Johnson and Clap, shew him still moved by the inspiration which carried him over the Atlantic, and record his influence in the development of American colleges(39). The home education of his three sons was another interest. We are told by his widow that “he would not trust his sons to mercenary hands. Though old and sickly, he performed the constant tedious task himself.” Of the fruit of this home education there is little to tell. The death of William, his favourite boy, in 1751, “was thought to have struck too close to his father’s heart.” “I am a man,” so he writes, “retired from the amusements, politics, visits, and what the world calls pleasure. I had a little friend, educated always under mine own eye, whose painting delighted me, whose music ravished me, and whose lively gay spirit was a continual feast. It has pleased God to take him hence.” The eldest son, Henry, born in Rhode Island, did not long survive his father. George, the third son, was destined for Oxford, and this destiny was connected with a new project. The “life academico-philosophical,” which he sought in vain to realise in Bermuda, he now hoped to find for himself in the city of colleges on the Isis. “The truth is,” he wrote to Prior as early as September 1746, “I have a scheme of my own for this long time past, in which I propose more satisfaction and enjoyment to myself than I could in that high station(40), which I neither solicited, nor so much as wished for. A greater income would not tempt me to remove from Cloyne, and set aside my Oxford scheme; which, though delayed by the illness of my son(41), yet I am as intent upon it and as much resolved as ever.”

The last of Berkeley’s letters which we have is to Dean Gervais. It expresses the feeling with which in April, 1752, he was contemplating life, on the eve of his departure from Cloyne.

“I submit to years and infirmities. My views in this world are mean and narrow; it is a thing in which I have small share, and which ought to give me small concern. I abhor business, and especially to have to do with great persons and great affairs. The evening of life I choose to pass in a quiet retreat. Ambitious projects, intrigues and quarrels of statesmen, are things I have formerly been amused with, but they now seem to be a vain, fugitive dream.”

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Four months after this, Berkeley saw Cloyne for the last time. In August he quitted it for Oxford, which he had long pictured in imagination as the ideal home of his old age. When he left Cork in the vessel which carried his wife, his daughter, and himself to Bristol, he was prostrated by weakness, and had to be taken from Bristol to Oxford on a horse-litter. It was late in August when they arrived there(42).

Our picture of Berkeley at Oxford is dim. According to tradition he occupied a house in Holywell Street, near the gardens of New College and not far from the cloisters of Magdalen. It was a changed world to him. While he was exchanging Ireland for England, death was removing old English friends. Before he left Cloyne he must have heard of the death of Butler in June, at Bath, where Benson, at the request of Secker, affectionately watched the last hours of the author of the _Analogy_. Benson followed Butler in August.

We hear of study resumed in improved health in the home in Holy well Street. In October a _Miscellany, containing several Tracts on various Subjects_, “by the Bishop of Cloyne,” appeared simultaneously in London and Dublin. The Tracts were reprints, with the exception of _Further Thoughts on Tar-water_, which may have been written before he left Ireland. The third edition of _Alciphron_ also appeared in this autumn. But _Siris_ is the latest record of his philosophical thought. A comparison of the _Commonplace Book_ and the _Principles_ with the _Analyst_ and _Siris_ gives the measure of his advancement. After the sanguine beginning perhaps the comparison leaves a sense of disappointment, when we find metaphysics mixed up with mathematics in the _Analyst_, and metaphysics obscurely mixed up with medicine in _Siris_.

It is curious that, although in 1752 David Hume’s _Treatise of Human Nature_ had been before the world for thirteen years and his _Inquiry concerning Human Understanding_ for four years, there is no allusion to Hume by Berkeley. He was Berkeley’s immediate successor in the eighteenth-century evolution of European thought. The sceptical criticism of Hume was applied to the dogmatic religious philosophy of Berkeley, to be followed in its turn by the abstractly rational and the moral reconstructive criticism of Kant. _Alciphron_ is, however, expressly referred to by Hume; indirectly, too, throughout the religious agnosticism of his _Inquiry_, also afterwards in the _Dialogues on Natural Religion_, in a vindication of minute philosophy by profounder reasonings than those which satisfied Lysicles and Alciphron. Berkeley, Hume, and Kant are the three significant philosophical figures of their century, each holding the supreme place successively in its beginning, middle, and later years. Perhaps Reid in Scotland did more than any other in his generation to make Berkeley known; not, however, for his true work in constructive religious thought, but for his supposed denial of the reality of the things we see and touch.(43)

The ideal life in Oxford did not last long. On the evening of Sunday, January 14, 1753, Berkeley was suddenly confronted by the mystery of death. “As he was sitting with my mother, my sister, and myself,” so his son wrote to Johnson at Stratford, in October, “suddenly, and without the least previous notice or pain, he was removed to the enjoyment of eternal rewards; and although all possible means were instantly used, no symptom of life ever appeared after; nor could the physicians assign any cause for his death. He arrived at Oxford on August 25, and had received great benefit from the change of air, and by God’s blessing on tar-water, insomuch that for some years he had not been in better health than he was the instant before he left us(44).”

Six days later he was buried in Oxford, in the Cathedral of Christ Church(45), where his tomb bears an appropriate inscription by Dr. Markham, afterwards Archbishop of York.

ERRATA

Vol. I

Page 99, line 3 _for_ 149-80 _read_ 149-60.

Page 99, line 22 _for_—and to be “suggested,” not signified _read_—instead of being only suggested.

Page 100, line 10 _for_ hearing _read_ seeing.

Page 103, note, lines 5, 6 _for_ pp. 111, 112 _read_ p. 210.

Page 200, note, line 14 _for_ Adam _read_ Robert.

Page 364, line 8 from foot _for_ and _read_ which.

Page 512, note 6, line 3 _for_ imminent _read_ immanent.

Vol. II

Page 194, note, line 3 _for_ Tyndal _read_ Tindal.

Page 207, line 1, insert 13. before _Alc._.

Page 377, line 6 _for_ antethesis _read_ antithesis.

Vol. IV

Page 285, lines 4, 5 _for_ Thisus Alus Cujus, &c. _read_ Ursus. Alus. Cuius. &c. The inscription, strictly speaking, appears on the Palace of the Counts Orsini, and is dated MD.

COMMONPLACE BOOK. MATHEMATICAL, ETHICAL, PHYSICAL, AND METAPHYSICAL

Written At Trinity College, Dublin, In 1705-8

_First published in 1871_

Editor’s Preface To The Commonplace Book

Berkeley’s juvenile _Commonplace Book_ is a small quarto volume, in his handwriting, found among the Berkeley manuscripts in possession of the late Archdeacon Rose. It was first published in 1871, in my edition of Berkeley’s Works. It consists of occasional thoughts, mathematical, physical, ethical, and metaphysical, set down in miscellaneous fashion, for private use, as they arose in the course of his studies at Trinity College, Dublin. They are full of the fervid enthusiasm that was natural to him, and of sanguine expectations of the issue of the prospective authorship for which they record preparations. On the title-page is written, “G. B. Trin. Dub. alum.,” with the date 1705, when he was twenty years of age. The entries are the gradual accumulation of the next three years, in one of which the _Arithmetica_ and the _Miscellanea Mathematica_ made their appearance. The _New Theory of Vision_, given to the world in 1709, was evidently much in his mind, as well as the sublime conception of the material world in its necessary subordination to the spiritual world, of which he delivered himself in his book of _Principles_, in 1710.

This disclosure of Berkeley’s thoughts about things, in the years preceding the publication of his first essays, is indeed a precious record of the initial struggles of ardent philosophical genius. It places the reader in intimate companionship with him when he was beginning to awake into intellectual and spiritual life. We hear him soliloquising. We see him trying to translate into reasonableness our crude inherited beliefs about the material world and the natural order of the universe, self-conscious personality, and the Universal Power or Providence—all under the sway of a new determining Principle which was taking profound possession of his soul. He finds that he has only to look at the concrete things of sense in the light of this great discovery to see the artificially induced perplexities of the old philosophers disappear, along with their imposing abstractions, which turn out empty words. The thinking is throughout fresh and sincere; sometimes impetuous and one-sided; the outcome of a mind indisposed to take things upon trust, resolved to inquire freely, a rebel against the tyranny of language, morally burdened with the consciousness of a new world-transforming conception, which duty to mankind obliged him to reveal, although his message was sure to offend. Men like to regard things as they have been wont. This new conception of the surrounding world—the impotence of Matter, and its subordinate office in the Supreme Economy must, he foresees, disturb those accustomed to treat outward things as the only realities, and who do not care to ask what constitutes reality. Notwithstanding the ridicule and ill-will that his transformed material world was sure to meet with, amongst the many who accept empty words instead of genuine insight, he was resolved to deliver himself of his thoughts through the press, but with the politic conciliation of a persuasive Irish pleader.

The _Commonplace Book_ steadily recognises the adverse influence of one insidious foe. Its world-transforming-Principle has been obscured by “the mist and veil of words.” The abstractions of metaphysicians, which poison human language, had to be driven out of the author’s mind before he could see the light, and must be driven out of the minds of others before they could be got to see it along with him: the concrete world as realisable only in percipient mind is with difficulty introduced into the vacant place. “The chief thing I pretend to is only to remove the mist and veil of words.” He exults in the transformed mental scene that then spontaneously rises before him. “My speculations have had the same effect upon me as visiting foreign countries,—in the end I return where I was before, get my heart at ease, and enjoy myself with more satisfaction. The philosophers lose their abstract matter; the materialists lose their abstract extension; the profane lose their extended deity. Pray what do the rest of mankind lose?” This beneficent revolution seemed to be the issue of a simple recognition of the fact, that the true way of regarding the world we see and touch is to regard it as consisting of ideas or phenomena that are presented to human senses, somehow regularly ordered, and the occasions of pleasure or pain to us as we conform to or rebel against their natural order. This is the surrounding universe—at least in its relations to us, and that is all in it that we have to do with. “I know not,” he says, “what is meant by things considered in themselves, i.e. in abstraction. This is nonsense. Thing and idea are words of much about the same extent and meaning. Existence is not conceivable without perception and volition. I only declare the meaning of the word _existence_, as far as I can comprehend it.”

In the _Commonplace Book_ we see the youth at Trinity College forging the weapons which he was soon to direct against the materialism and scepticism of the generation into which he was born. Here are rough drafts, crude hints of intended arguments, probing of unphilosophical mathematicians—even Newton and Descartes, memoranda of facts, more or less relevant, on their way into the _Essay on Vision_ and the treatise on _Principles_—seeds of the philosophy that was to be gradually unfolded in his life and in his books. We watch the intrepid thinker, notwithstanding the inexperience of youth, more disposed to give battle to mathematicians and metaphysicians than to submit even provisionally to any human authority. It does not seem that his scholarship or philosophical learning was extensive. Descartes, Malebranche, and Locke were his intimates; Hobbes and Spinoza were not unknown to him; Newton and some lesser lights among the mathematicians are often confronted. He is more rarely in company with the ancients or the mediaevalists. No deep study of Aristotle appears, and there is even a disposition to disparage Plato. He seeks for his home in the “new philosophy” of experience; without anticipations of Kant, as the critic of what is presupposed in the scientific reliability of any experience, against whom his almost blind zeal against abstractions would have set him at this early stage. “Pure intellect I understand not at all,” is one of his entries. He asks himself, “What becomes of the _aeternae veritates_?” and his reply is, “They vanish.” When he tells himself that “we must with the mob place certainty in the senses,” the words are apt to suggest that the senses are our only source of knowledge, but I suppose his meaning is that the senses must be trustworthy, as ’the mob’ assume. Yet occasionally he uses language which looks like an anticipation of David Hume, as when he calls mind “a congeries of perceptions. Take away perceptions,” he adds, “and you take away mind. Put the perceptions and you put the mind. The understanding seemeth not to differ from its perceptions and ideas.” He seems unconscious of the total scepticism which such expressions, when strictly interpreted, are found to involve. But after all, the reader must not apply rigorous rules of interpretation to random entries or provisional memoranda, meant only for private use, by an enthusiastic student who was preparing to produce books.

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I have followed the manuscript of the _Commonplace Book_, omitting a few repetitions of thought in the same words. Here and there Berkeley’s writing is almost obliterated and difficult to decipher, apparently through accident by water in the course of his travels, when, as he mentions long after in one of his letters, several of his manuscripts were lost and others were injured.

The letters of the alphabet which are interpreted on the first page, and prefixed on the margin to some of the entries, may so far help to bring the apparent chaos of entries under a few articulate heads.

I have added some annotations here and there as they happened to occur, and these might have been multiplied indefinitely had space permitted.

Commonplace Book

I. = Introduction. M. = Matter. P. = Primary and Secondary qualities. E. = Existence. T. = Time. S. = Soul—Spirit. G. = God. Mo. = Moral Philosophy. N. = Natural Philosophy.

Qu. If there be not two kinds of visible extension—one perceiv’d by a confus’d view, the other by a distinct successive direction of the optique axis to each point?

(M1) No general ideas(46). The contrary a cause of mistake or confusion in mathematiques, &c. This to be intimated in ye Introduction(47).

The Principle may be apply’d to the difficulties of conservation, co-operation, &c.

(M2) Trifling for the [natural] philosophers to enquire the cause of magnetical attractions, &c. They onely search after co-existing ideas(48).

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(M3) Quæcunque in Scriptura militant adversus Copernicum, militant pro me.

(M4) All things in the Scripture wch side with the vulgar against the learned, side with me also. I side in all things with the mob.

(M5) I know there is a mighty sect of men will oppose me, but yet I may expect to be supported by those whose minds are not so far overgrown wth madness. These are far the greatest part of mankind—especially Moralists, Divines, Politicians; in a word, all but Mathematicians and Natural Philosophers. I mean only the hypothetical gentlemen. Experimental philosophers have nothing whereat to be offended in me.

Newton begs his Principles; I demonstrate mine(49).

(M6) I must be very particular in explaining wt is meant by things existing—in houses, chambers, fields, caves, &c.—wn not perceiv’d as well as wn perceived; and shew how the vulgar notion agrees with mine, when we narrowly inspect into the meaning and definition of the word _existence_, wh is no simple idea, distinct from perceiving and being perceived(50).

The Schoolmen have noble subjects, but handle them ill. The mathematicians have trifling subjects, but reason admirably about them. Certainly their method and arguing are excellent.

God knows how far our knowledge of intellectual beings may be enlarg’d from the Principles.

(M7) The reverse of the Principle I take to have been the chief source of all that scepticism and folly, all those contradictions and inextricable puzzling absurdities, that have in all ages been a reproach to human reason, as well as of that idolatry, whether of images or of gold, that blinds the greatest part of the world, and that shamefull immorality that turns us into beasts.

(M8) היה Vixit & fuit.

οὐσία, the name for substance, used by Aristotle, the Fathers, &c.

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If at the same time we shall make the Mathematiques much more easie and much more accurate, wt can be objected to us(51)?

We need not force our imagination to conceive such very small lines for infinitesimals. They may every whit as well be imagin’d big as little, since that the integer must be infinite.

Evident that wch has an infinite number of parts must be infinite.

We cannot imagine a line or space infinitely great—therefore absurd to talk or make propositions about it.

We cannot imagine a line, space, &c., quovis lato majus. Since yt what we imagine must be datum aliquod; a thing can’t be greater than itself.

If you call infinite that wch is greater than any assignable by another, then I say, in that sense there may be an infinite square, sphere, or any other figure, wch is absurd.

Qu. if extension be resoluble into points it does not consist of?

No reasoning about things whereof we have no ideas(52); therefore no reasoning about infinitesimals.

No word to be used without an idea.

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(M9) If uneasiness be necessary to set the Will at work, Qu. how shall we will in heaven?

Bayle’s, Malbranch’s, &c. arguments do not seem to prove against Space, but onely against Bodies.

(M10) I agree in nothing wth the Cartesians as to ye existence of Bodies & Qualities(53).

Aristotle as good a man as Euclid, but he was allowed to have been mistaken.

Lines not proper for demonstration.

(M11) We see the house itself, the church itself; it being an idea and nothing more. The house itself, the church itself, is an idea, i.e. an object—immediate object—of thought(54).

Instead of injuring, our doctrine much benefits geometry.

(M12) Existence is percipi, or percipere, [or velle, i.e. agere(55)]. The horse is in the stable, the books are in the study as before.

(M13) In physiques I have a vast view of things soluble hereby, but have not leisure.

(M14) Hyps and such like unaccountable things confirm my doctrine.

Angle not well defined. See Pardies’ Geometry, by Harris, &c. This one ground of trifling.

(M15) One idea not the cause of another—one power not the cause of another. The cause of all natural things is onely God. Hence trifling to enquire after second causes. This doctrine gives a most suitable idea of the Divinity(56).

(M16) Absurd to study astronomy and other the like doctrines as speculative sciences.

(M17) The absurd account of memory by the brain, &c. makes for me.

How was light created before man? Even so were Bodies created before man(57).

(M18) Impossible anything besides that wch thinks and is thought on should exist(58).

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That wch is visible cannot be made up of invisible things.

M.S. is that wherein there are not contain’d distinguishable sensible parts. Now how can that wch hath not sensible parts be divided into sensible parts? If you say it may be divided into insensible parts, I say these are nothings.

Extension abstract from sensible qualities is no sensation, I grant; but then there is no such idea, as any one may try(59). There is onely a considering the number of points without the sort of them, & this makes more for me, since it must be in a considering thing.

Mem. Before I have shewn the distinction between visible & tangible extension, I must not mention them as distinct. I must not mention M. T. & M. V., but in general M. S., &c.(60)

Qu. whether a M. V. be of any colour? a M. T. of any tangible quality?

If visible extension be the object of geometry, ’tis that which is survey’d by the optique axis.

(M19) I may say the pain is _in_ my finger, &c., according to my doctrine(61).

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Mem. Nicely to discuss wt is meant when we say a line consists of a certain number of inches or points, &c.; a circle of a certain number of square inches, points, &c. Certainly we may think of a circle, or have its idea in our mind, without thinking of points or square inches, &c.; whereas it should seem the idea of a circle is not made up of the ideas of points, square inches, &c.

Qu. Is any more than this meant by the foregoing expressions, viz. that squares or points may be perceived in or made out of a circle, &c., or that squares, points, &c. are actually in it, i.e. are perceivable in it?

A line in abstract, or Distance, is the number of points between two points. There is also distance between a slave & an emperor, between a peasant & philosopher, between a drachm & a pound, a farthing & a crown, &c.; in all which Distance signifies the number of intermediate ideas.

Halley’s doctrine about the proportion between infinitely great quantities vanishes. When men speak of infinite quantities, either they mean finite quantities, or else talk of [that whereof they have(62)] no idea; both which are absurd.

If the disputations of the Schoolmen are blam’d for intricacy, triflingness, & confusion, yet it must be acknowledg’d that in the main they treated of great & important subjects. If we admire the method & acuteness of the Math[ematicians]—the length, the subtilty, the exactness of their demonstrations—we must nevertheless be forced to grant that they are for the most part about trifling subjects, and perhaps mean nothing at all.

Motion on 2d thoughts seems to be a simple idea.

(M20) Motion distinct from ye thing moved is not conceivable.

(M21) Mem. To take notice of Newton for defining it [motion]; also of Locke’s wisdom in leaving it undefin’d(63).

Ut ordo partium temporis est immutabilis, sin etiam ordo partium spatii. Moveantur hæ de locis suis, et movebuntur (ut ita dicam) de seipsis. Truly number is immensurable. That we will allow with Newton.

(M22) Ask a Cartesian whether he is wont to imagine his globules without colour. Pellucidness is a colour. The colour of ordinary light of the sun is white. Newton in the right in assigning colours to the rays of light.

A man born blind would not imagine Space as we do. We give it always some dilute, or duskish, or dark colour—in short, we imagine it as visible, or intromitted by the eye, wch he would not do.

(M23) Proinde vim inferunt sacris literis qui voces hasce (v. tempus, spatium, motus) de quantitatibus mensuratis ibi interpretantur. Newton, p. 10.

(M24) I differ from Newton, in that I think the recession ab axe motus is not the effect, or index, or measure of motion, but of the vis impressa. It sheweth not wt is truly moved, but wt has the force impressed on it, or rather that wch hath an impressed force.

_D_ and _P_ are not proportional in all circles. _d d_ is to 1/4_d p_ as _d_ to _p_/4; but _d_ and _p_/4 are not in the same proportion in all circles. Hence ’tis nonsense to seek the terms of one general proportion whereby to rectify all peripheries, or of another whereby to square all circles.

N. B. If the circle be squar’d arithmetically, ’tis squar’d geometrically, arithmetic or numbers being nothing but lines & proportions of lines when apply’d to geometry.

Mem. To remark Cheyne(64) & his doctrine of infinites.

Extension, motion, time, do each of them include the idea of succession, & so far forth they seem to be of mathematical consideration. Number consisting in succession & distinct perception, wch also consists in succession; for things at once perceiv’d are jumbled and mixt together in the mind. Time and motion cannot be conceiv’d without succession; and extension, qua mathemat., cannot be conceiv’d but as consisting of parts wch may be distinctly & successively perceiv’d. Extension perceived at once & _in confuso_ does not belong to math.

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The simple idea call’d Power seems obscure, or rather none at all, but onely the relation ’twixt Cause and Effect. When I ask whether A can move B, if A be an intelligent thing, I mean no more than whether the volition of A that B move be attended with the motion of B? If A be senseless, whether the impulse of A against B be followed by ye motion of B(65)?

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Barrow’s arguing against indivisibles, lect. i. p. 16, is a petitio principii, for the Demonstration of Archimedes supposeth the circumference to consist of more than 24 points. Moreover it may perhaps be necessary to suppose the divisibility _ad infinitum_, in order to demonstrate that the radius is equal to the side of the hexagon.

Shew me an argument against indivisibles that does not go on some false supposition.

A great number of insensibles—or thus, two invisibles, say you, put together become visible; therefore that M. V. contains or is made up of invisibles. I answer, the M. V. does not comprise, is not composed of, invisibles. All the matter amounts to this, viz. whereas I had no idea awhile agoe, I have an idea now. It remains for you to prove that I came by the present idea because there were two invisibles added together. I say the invisibles are nothings, cannot exist, include a contradiction(66).

I am young, I am an upstart, I am a pretender, I am vain. Very well. I shall endeavour patiently to bear up under the most lessening, vilifying appellations the pride & rage of man can devise. But one thing I know I am not guilty of. I do not pin my faith on the sleeve of any great man. I act not out of prejudice or prepossession. I do not adhere to any opinion because it is an old one, a reviv’d one, a fashionable one, or one that I have spent much time in the study and cultivation of.

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Sense rather than reason or demonstration ought to be employed about lines and figures, these being things sensible; for as for those you call insensible, we have proved them to be nonsense, nothing(67).

(M25) If in some things I differ from a philosopher I profess to admire, ’tis for that very thing on account whereof I admire him, namely, the love of truth. This &c.

(M26) Whenever my reader finds me talk very positively, I desire he’d not take it ill. I see no reason why certainty should be confined to the mathematicians.

I say there are no incommensurables, no surds. I say the side of any square may be assign’d in numbers. Say you assign unto me the side of the square 10. I ask wt 10—10 feet, inches, &c., or 10 points? If the later, I deny there is any such square, ’tis impossible 10 points should compose a square. If the former, resolve yr 10 square inches, feet, &c. into points, & the number of points must necessarily be a square number whose side is easily assignable.