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MSU I: An Affirmative Action/Equal Opportunity Institution
cAcimMmHJ

 

 

 

TEE APOLOGETICB OE GEORGE BERKELEY

BY
James Sanford Spiegel

A DISSERTATION
Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

Department of Philosophy

1993

ABSTRACT
THE APOLOGETICS OF GEORGE BERKELEY
BY

James Sanford Spiegel

I explore the role of George Berkeley's immaterialist
'metaphysics in the defense of the doctrines of his orthodox
Christian faith. In my study, I draw not only from his
principal philosophical works but also from his sermons and
non-philosophical essays. My conclusions are as follows.
First, immaterialism plays a very small role in Berkeley’s
overall defense of Christian theism. Secondly, the
originality of Berkeley's apologetics consists almost
entirely in those arguments which presuppose immaterialism.
Thirdly, Berkeley’s apologetic efforts are largely a
failure. And fourthly, the only significant accomplishment
:made by immaterialism for Christian theism lies in the
additional explanatory power it provides for certain

Biblical texts.

ACKNO'LEDGHENTB

I am indebted to numerous people for their assistance,
whether formal or informal, in the completion of this
project. I would like to extend my deepest thanks and
appreciation to my co-advisors Professor Rhoda Kotzin and
Professor Charles McCracken for their careful and patient
review of this dissertation at every stage. I am also
thankful to the other readers in my dissertation committee:
Professor Bob Anderson, Professor Al Cafagna, Professor Don
Koch, and Professor Ron Suter. I should also acknowledge
the assistance I received from Professor Herbert Garelick
who reviewed early manuscripts of this dissertation. I want
also to thank my friends and family without whose consistent
support and encouragement this work could never have been
completed. I especially wish to thank to my wife, Chase,
who over the last two years has exhibited a truly saintly
endurance and good humor. Lastly, I am thankful to the
Author of nature, the inspiration of all my scholarly

endeavors.

iii

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

The Subject of Inquiry and Main Theses.................2
Terminological Clarifications................. ......... 6
Historical Context.....................................9
Overview..............................................16

The Theological Orthodoxy of Berkeley's Immaterialism
Introduction.......... ...... ..........................22
Berkeley's Immaterialism and the Consistency Thesis...23
The Endorsement Thesis and Scriptural

Recommendations of Immaterialism...................35
Conclusion........................... ................. 55

Berkeley's Causal Arguments for the Existence of God

Introduction..........................................58

A Summary of the Causal Theistic Proofs ............... 62
Views on the Number of Theistic Proofs Used by
Berkeley................. ..... .....................67
The Passivity Argument.. ..... . ........................ 72
Criticism of the Passivity Argument...................81
The Continuity Argument........... ..... .. ........ .....94
Conclusion.......... ................................. 100

Berkeley's Teleological Arguments for the Existence of
God

Introduction.... ..................................... 103
The Divine Visual Language Argument... ............... 105
The Divine Visual Language and Berkeley' 5

Conception of Science..... ....................... 116

Objections to the Berkeleyan Approach to Induction... 124
Criticisms of the Divine Visual Language Argument.... 129

The Argument from Morals.... ......................... 133
Criticism of the Moral Argument.. .................... 140
Conclusion ........................................... 143

iv

The Problem of Evil

Introduction......................... ............... .147
The Problem of Natural Evil.................... ..... .153
The Problem of Moral Evil... ......................... 165
Conclusion... ........... . ............................ 176

The Immortality of the Soul

Introduction....... ..... ...... ..... ...... ............ 179
The Argument from the Indestructibility of

the Soul..........................................183
The Argument from Desire.............................189
The Argument from Justice............................198
The Argument from Authority and General Assent.......203
The Argument from Analogies in Nature... ............. 206
The Argument from the Resurrection of Christ.........211
Conclusion...........................................213

Berkeley's Defense of Scripture and Christian Doctrine

Introduction.........................................217
Divine Revelation and the Authority of the

Christian Scriptures..............................218
Grace................................................226
The Doctrines of the Incarnation and the Trinity.....230
Faith............. ..... ........................ ...... 241
Conclusion....... ..... ...... ......................... 245

Bibliography....................... ...... ....... ..... ....247

CHAPTEB1

Introduction

Introduction

I. The Subject of Inquiry and Main Theses
In the final section of his Principles of Human

Knowledge Berkeley writes, "what deserves the first place in
our studies is the consideration of God and our duty; which
to promote...was the main drift of my labors."l And he
concludes the treatise by noting that his chief end in
writing was to "better dispose [his readers] to reverence
and embrace the salutary truths of the Gospel which to know
and to practice is the highest perfection of human
nature."2 What Berkeley means to say here is that the
metaphysics he defends in the Principles, which boils down
to the claim that esse est percipi aut percipere (to be is
to be perceived or to perceive), is intended as an
apologetic device. Whatever else he thought he was doing in
the Principles, this much he was confident of: his defense
of immaterialism is a service to religion and a weapon
against the detractors of religious belief. Berkeley is no
less resolute in the Three Dialogues Between Hylas and
Philonous when he asks this rhetorical question regarding

the principle esse est percipi aut percipere:

 

1. Principles of Human Knowledge, 156.

2. Ibid.

3

In a word, the whole system of Atheism, is it not

entirely overthrown, by this single reflexion on

the repugnancy included in supposing the whole, or

any part, even the most rude and shapeless, of the

visible world, to exist without a mind?3
\This is a very bold claim on Berkeley's part. And if it is
true, then Berkeley has indeed achieved something
remarkable, maybe incomparable in the history of ideas. If
successful, he will have conquered atheism once and for all
and placed religious belief, specifically Christian theism,
on a sure foundation. Naturally, we are prompted to ask
some serious questions in the face of such bold
proclamations as are made by Berkeley in the above cited
passages. Does Berkeley succeed in defeating atheism? If
so, why does his system succeed where others have failed?
And exactly how does his immaterialist metaphysics serve as
an apologetic device? Or was Berkeley really deluded
regarding what he perceived to be the usefulness of
immaterialism in bolstering rational assent to the doctrines
of his faith? These are some of the questions that I shall
be addressing in what follows. My inquiry essentially
regards the precise role of immaterialism in Berkeley’s
apologetics. And, tersely put, my conclusion will be that
immaterialism actually plays a relatively small role in his
defense of Christian theism. My findings will be surprising

to some because there is general agreement among Berkeley

scholars about the following two claims: First, Berkeley

 

3. Three Dialogues Between Hylas and Philonous, (Chicago:
The Open Court Library of Philosophy, 1969), p. 66.

4
was a devoted religious apologist, at every opportunity
seeking to defend his Christian faith,4 and secondly,
Berkeley's distinctive philosophical position is
immaterialism, a metaphysical view which he was committed to
throughout his careers, Considering these two theses, it
should seem surprising that Berkeley's immaterialism plays
only a very small role in his apologetics. And yet this is
what I intend to demonstrate in this dissertation.

When I began this project it was my initial intention
to show that immaterialism had a crucial function in
Berkeley's apologetics. After thorough research, however,
it became clear to me that even if the principle esse est
percipi aut percipere and the whole metaphysics which hangs
on that claim were entirely removed from the corpus, the
greater portion of Berkeley's apologetic arguments would
remain intact. Furthermore, I discovered that among those
arguments used by Berkeley to defend the tenets of his
religious faith, a sizable number are not original with him.

In fact, I found that those apologetic arguments which

 

‘. Jessop has perhaps put it most succinctly:
"Berkeley's system, whatever may be the right textbook label
to apply to it, was plainly a piece of religious apologetics,
the outline of a constructive natural theology, of a theistic
:metaphysic." From "Berkeley as a Religious Apologist" in New
Studies in Berkeley’s Philosophy, Warren Steinkraus, ed.
(Washington: University Press of America, Inc., 1981), p. 98.

5. The second part of this claim, that Berkeley remained
an immaterialist over the entire course of his life is doubted
by some commentators. Elsewhere, in a paper entitled
"Metaphysical Integrity in Berkeley", I have defended the view
that the Berkeleyan corpus displays an unwavering commitment
‘to immaterialism.

5
depend upon immaterialism represent the only aspects of
Berkeley's apologetics which do not have precedents in the
history of Christian apologetics. Thus, the central claim
in this dissertation is this: Berkeley's apologetic
arguments are largely unoriginal, and for the most part they
do not presuppose immaterialism. And where his arguments
are original it is precisely here that his immaterialist
metaphysics does play a pivotal role.

Including a number of satellite theses which I also
defend, the claims I make in this dissertation are the
following. First, Berkeley’s immaterialism plays a role in
his apologetics, but it is a very minor one. Specifically,
immaterialism figures critically in two of the arguments for
the existence of God. Secondly, Berkeley's defense of
Christian theism is almost entirely unoriginal, and more
often than not his arguments are rearticulations of
arguments used by philosophers such as Augustine, Aquinas,
Clarke, Cudworth, Descartes, Malebranche, Leibniz and
others. I do not attempt to show that Berkeley actually
borrowed from these or other particular thinkers. This
would be a major project in itself. It is only my concern
to note that the arguments in Berkeley's apologetics which
do not assume immaterialism are not original. This actually
constitutes a third claim: the originality of Berkeley's
apologetics consists almost entirely in those areas where
his immaterialism is presupposed. Fourthly, I show that

Berkeley's apologetic efforts are largely a failure. His

6
theistic proofs, arguments for the immortality of the soul,
theodicies, and rational defense of sundry other Christian
doctrines are all laden with difficulties. It might seem
that including criticisms of Berkeley's arguments is
superfluous, since it is not my main purpose to show that
his apologetic project fails. However, I believe that
discussing the difficulties with his arguments serves to
further illuminate them. More importantly, in offering
criticisms of Berkeley's immaterialist theistic proofs I
show that immaterialism does not advance Berkeley's case for
Christian theism. A fifth claim in this dissertation
regards what I believe to be the chief asset of
immaterialism for the Christian theist. While immaterialism
does not succeed as an apologetic device per se, it does
provide greater explanatory power regarding certain biblical
passages which are cryptic at best for the matterist theist.
Thus, I argue, there are perhaps good theological reasons
for adopting immaterialism for the person who is already a

Christian theist.

II. Terminological Clarifications
I want to pause now to explain some terminology that I
shall employ throughout my discussion, specifically the
terms "immaterialist" and "matterist". To some, it might
seem that more appropriate terms to be used are "idealist"
and "materialist" (or even "realist") respectively. This

does not seem so to me, and I shall explain why not. I have

7

chosen to label Berkeley's system "immaterialism" rather
than ”idealism" because of several considerations. My
reasons for refusing to use the term "idealist" in
describing Berkeley’s thought are largely those given by
Luce, the most esteemed Berkeley scholar of this century.
Luce rightly notes that because idealism is a label pinned
on the systems of such metaphysicians as Kant, Hegel, and
Bradley, and their thought bears little resemblance to that
of Berkeley's, it is at best misleading to apply the term to
him.6 To use any single term to describe Berkeley’s
metaphysics which also describes such philosophers as these
is to invite misinterpretation of a philosophical system
that has been distorted perhaps more than any other.7
Secondly, as Luce incisively observes, idealism has often
connoted "a distrust of the senses and an exaggerated
estimate of the powers of the human mind; in both those
respects Berkeley is non-idealist".8

Besides the dangers of appending the term "idealist" to
Berkeley, there are good positive reasons for using the term

"immaterialism" to describe his metaphysics. As I read him,

 

6. See A. A. Luce’s Berkeley’s Immaterialism (New York:
Russell and Russell, 1968), p. 26.

7. Here I concur with Margaret Wilson who writes "Of all
the major modern philosophical systems the views of George
Berkeley have probably met with the most resistance, ridicule,
and distortion". See her "The ’Phenomenalisms' of Berkeley
and.Kant" in.Se1f and.Nature in.Kant's Philosophy, Allen Wood,
ed., (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1984), p. 157.

8. Luce, p. 27.

8

Berkeley believes everything about the world that the
metaphysical realist believes except that material substance
(in the technical Lockean understanding of the term
described below) exists. For this reason the tag
"immaterialist" precisely captures the essence of
Berkeleyanism, for it focusses on just this fact. Of course
while my interpretation agrees with such esteemed Berkeley
scholars as Luce and Jessop, it is at odds with that of
others. So to avoid becoming needlessly embroiled in this
dispute in trying to justify my nomenclature I shall only
note that my preference of the term "immaterialism" is not
crucial to my argument, so those who remain unconvinced that
Berkeley cannot be properly labelled an idealist may persist
in their conviction. Doing so should not make my arguments
any less convincing for them.

As for my use of the term "matterist" instead of
”materialist", my reasons are probably less controversial.
A materialist, in the philosophical rather than the economic
sense, is one who believes that the world is composed of
ggthigg more than matter in its various forms. Philosophers
who have been given this label include Democritus, Hobbes,
and contemporary mind-body identity theorists. A matterist,
on the other hand, may or may not be a materialist.
"Matterism" is the view that there exists a material
substratum in which the qualities of physical objects
inhere. Examples of matterists are Descartes, Locke, and

Russell. It was Locke's view in particular which served as

9
the philosophical substrate for the development of
Berkeley’s own metaphysics. Berkeley's principle esse est
percipi aut percipere can be seen as a direct response to
Locke's view that underlying all physical objects there is
an unknown, unperceived, qualitiless substance. More shall
be said later about why Berkeley's theological sensibilities
were threatened by this doctrine. For now it is sufficient
to note that this view of Locke's (and Russell's) is more
accurately termed "matterism" than "materialism", for the
former, not the latter, implies nothing about belief in a
non-material reality. Locke, for one, was a matterist but
was not a materialist. He was a most devout believer in a
non-material God and human soul (though he entertained
doubts about the latter) as part of a spiritual reality

transcending the material one we know empirically.

III. Historical context

Understanding Locke's view about material substance is
essential to understanding the philosophical impetus for
Berkeley's metaphysics, for immaterialism was devised
especially to combat atheism and religious skepticism
generally and Locke's doctrine of material substance in
particular because of its potential for providing the
occasion for the emergence of these trends of thought. So
what exactly was this doctrine of material substance
advanced by Locke which Berkeley considered so hazardous to

religious belief? To understand Locke's doctrine about

10
material substance it is necessary first to understand
something about his theory of ideas. For Locke an idea is
the immediate object of the understanding. And in the
context of perception of external objects, he calls the
power bodies have to produce particular ideas "qualities".
Now the qualities of objects are of two kinds, primary and
secondary. Primary qualities are, in Locke's words,
”utterly inseparable from the body" which produces them.9
They include extension, solidity, figure, motion, and
number. They are those qualities in an object to which our
ideas bear resemblance. Secondary qualities, on the other
hand, do not resemble anything in the body which gives rise
to them. They include such qualities as colors, tastes, and
sounds.

Locke further inquires about the source of the
qualities in objects. He maintains that bodies cannot
simply be collections of qualities but must be something
more besides. This is where he posits the existence of
material substance as a support for qualities. He writes,

because we cannot conceive how [qualities] should

subsist alone, nor one in another, we suppose them
existing in, and supported by some common subject;
which support we denote by the name substance,

though it be certain, we have no clear, or

distinct idea of that thing we suppose a

support.10

In using the first person plural here, Locke intimates his

 

9. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, II, VIII, 9.

1°. Ibid., II, XXIII, 4.

11

conviction that his is a common view, shared by many of his
readers. And yet he finds himself at a loss to further
characterize the concept, restricting his descriptions of
substance to its function as the subject of qualities and
sometimes cryptically referring to it as "we know not
what".11

So what possible danger could Berkeley have sensed in
such a doctrine? First, he considered the Lockean doctrine
of substance a gross violation of common sense. Berkeley
considered himself a champion of common sense,12 and to
espouse, as Locke does, the existence of an insensible,
mysterious, occult entity such as material substratum was to
him anathema. Berkeley defended what he purported to be the
common sensical position that what you see is real, that
appearance is reality.13 He opposed the notion of a
physical world inaccessible by our senses, for he believed
this view would give leverage to the skeptic who maintains
that we cannot know the physical world as it really is but
only as it appears to us. Consequently, the doctrine of

material substance, Berkeley believed, is the father of

 

11. Ibid., I, IV, 18.

12. See, for example, Philosophical Commentaries, 405,
408, and 751 and the Dialogues, pp. 90, 100, 110, and 136.

13. For more on Berkeley’s defense of common sense and
his opposition to skepticism see Richard Popkin’s "Berkeley
and Pyrrhonism" in Berkeley: Principles of Human Knowledge,
Colin Turbayne, ed., (Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill
Company, Inc., 1970), pp. 100-128 and J.O. Urmson's Berkeley,
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982), chapter 3.

12
skepticism.

A further reason for Berkeley's opposition to the
Lockean doctrine of substance was that it is unintelligible.
As Locke himself testifies, we cannot have any idea or
notion of it whatsoever, and we certainly don't perceive it.
So how could we ever know that it exists? But Berkeley’s
reason for rejecting the theory goes beyond the problem of
lack of empirical evidence. For Berkeley to exist is to be
perceived or to be a perceiver, thus for him the notion of
an entity which is neither is non-sensical:

I do not deny the existence of material substance,

merely because I have no notion of it, but because

the notion of it is inconsistent; or, in other

words, because it is repugnant that there should

be a notion of it.14

When one recalls that Berkeley was an empiricist of a
much more thoroughgoing sort than Locke, one begins to see
just why he reacted so vehemently to the notion of
substance. Note that Locke does admit that we guppggg the
existence of substance. Berkeley would agree we must
suppose some cause of our ideas, but he insists that Locke
errs in positing an unthinking, inconceivable entity.
Rather, Berkeley maintains the cause of our ideas is spirit,
namely God.

Thus we have revealed what Berkeley perceives to be the

poison at the heart of the Lockean doctrine of substance.

This theory constitutes a rejection of God as the immediate

 

14. Dialogues, p. 94.

13
cause of our ideas. Of course, this is itself far from a
denial of the existence of God or even of the sovereign
control of God over nature. Berkeley's fear, however, is
that atheism is the inevitable result of Lockean
metaphysics. That is, once one denies that God is the
continual cause of all creation, relegating him to mere
creator and overseer (rather than intimate sustainer) of the
world, the slippery slope to atheism has begun. In
addition to Locke, Berkeley opposed himself to a number of
other figures whose views he took as a threat to Christian
theism, thinkers who are now loosely gathered under the
label "deism". Berkeley preferred to refer to them as "free
thinkers", the name which was most popularly used in his own
day to designate those philosophers who advocated full
freedom of thought and inquiry, especially regarding
religious questions and, most importantly, who maintained a
skeptical attitude towards claims about the supernatural,
especially miracles, special divine revelation, and church
infallibility. The deist movement began in the early
seventeenth century with Lord Herbert of Cherbury (1583-
1648). Herbert espoused the submission of matters of faith
to the scrutiny of reason. Specifically he maintained that
all religions must first be investigated historically and

tested against common sense before being accepted.15

 

15. Two particularly influential metaphysical works of
Herbert's were De Veritate (1624) and De Religions Gentilium
(published posthumously in 1663).

14

Charles Blount (1654-1693), a disciple of Herbert's (and of
Hobbes'), popularized deistic thought in England. Like his
mentor he attacked such religious institutions as
priestcraft, and he undermined belief in the doctrines of
miracles, immortality, and scriptural authority.16 After
Blount the movement ballooned and continued as a dominant
intellectual school of thought in Europe in the late
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Deists who were particularly influential in Berkeley's
day were John Tolandl7 (1670-1722), Anthony Collins18 (1676-
1729), Bernard Mandeville19 (1670-1733), Anthony Cooper,
the Third Earl of Shaftesbury2° (1671-1713), and Matthew

Tindalz1 (ca. 1657-1733). Each of these figures most

 

16. Important works include Great is Diana of the
Ephesians (1680), a sustained critique of priestcraft, and
Religio.Laici, (1683) which contains an attack of the doctrine
of special divine revelation.

17. His most famous work Christianity Not Mysterious
(1696) received fifty refutations and resulted in his
persecution throughout Great Britain.

18. His works included Priestcraft in Perfection (1710)
in which he criticizes theological dogma and rejects all
appeals to mystery, A Discourse on Free Thinking (1713), and
A Philosophical Inquiry Concerning Human Liberty (1715).

19. His most influential work, Fable of the Bees (1705)
proposed that private vices are public benefits.

2°. Works include An Enquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit
(1699), A.Letter'Concerning.Enthusiasm (1708), An Essay on the
Freedom of Wit and Humor (1709), and Characteristics of Men,
Manners, Opinions, Times (1711).

21. In 1709 his A.Defense of the Rights of the Church was
condemned by the House of Commons and later burned. This did
not deter Tindal, however. In 1730 he published Christianity
as Old as the creation which became known as "the deist's

15

assuredly deserved the label "free thinker", as each
championed the cause for complete freedom of intellectual
inquiry and toleration of all views. Collins in particular
was convinced that even atheism was not as dangerous as
superstition and enthusiasm. It is easy to see why Berkeley
was so fiercely opposed to this movement. Typically he did
not mention the deists by name when addressing their views
in his writings, though at times it is transparently clear
he is attacking a particular deist doctrine. In Alciphron:
or, the Minute Philosopher Berkeley devotes an entire
dialogue each to both Mandeville and Shaftesbury. In the
second dialogue Mandeville's thesis from The Fable of the
Bees that private ViCeS are public benefits, is criticized
at length. And in the third dialogue Shaftesbury's view
that humans are naturally virtuous is discussed and refuted.
In most cases when Berkeley addresses the doctrines of the
"free thinkers" he does so generically, as in some of his
essays in the Gnardian.22

Though Berkeley took great pains to address specific
deistic doctrines, as we have seen, the thinker whose
substance ontology provided the key substrate for the
development of Berkeley’s immaterialism was himself,

ironically, a professing Christian. Locke had in fact

 

Bible".

22. See "The Pineal Gland", "The Sanctions of Religion",
and "Minute Philosophers", essays III, V, and VII
respectively.

16
written his own volume on apologetics, The Reasonableness of
Christianity (1695) . This did not assuage Berkeley,
however, who was not prepared to forgive his defense of the
doctrine of material substance as an honest mistake.
Berkeley was convinced that in Locke's doctrine he saw the
philosophical writing on the wall: the imminent advance of
religious skepticism and atheism. Historically, the case
can be made for this development of thought (from Locke to
modern atheism), since deism provided the bridge to
naturalism, and many of the deists such as Shaftesbury and
Toland were deeply influenced by Locke.23 Berkeley,
therefore, considered it his philosophical calling to fight
against the doctrine of material substance and defend a
Inetaphysic that conceived of God as intimately associated
‘vith and in immediate sovereign control of the world, a
Iphilosophical system which as a whole constituted an
unconquerable case for theism. All of this, Berkeley was

convinced, immaterialism could do.

IV. Overview
Thus, Berkeley's immaterialism was more or less borne
into (and perhaps out of) the deist controversy, and it is

part of Berkeley's attempt to reestablish theistic belief as

\

23. J.M. Hone and M.M. Rossi have argued that Berkeley's
‘Iiew that deism leads to atheism "is historically as well as
Psychologically correct". ~ See their Bishop Berkeley: His
Life, Writings, and Philosophy, (New York: The Macmillan
Company, 1931) , chapter 10.

17
the foundation of thought. But, as we shall see, Berkeley's
.immaterialism actually plays a small role in his apologetic
project. In what follows I shall show precisely the place
'of immaterialism in Berkeley's defense of the faith. But
first I want to provide a chapter by chapter summary of my
examination of the key aspects of the relation of Berkeley's
immaterialism and his apologetics. In chapter two, "The
Theological Orthodoxy of Berkeley's Immaterialism", I
address a question which must be answered before Berkeley's
apologetics and the role of immaterialism in it can be
analyzed. This chapter is, therefore, a prolegomena of
sorts. The question I address is this: How can
immaterialism be an apologetic device for Berkeley when it
is inconsistent with some doctrines of scripture? My answer
.is that the presupposition of this query is false. The
(question about the consistency of immaterialism with
escripture is taken up by Berkeley himself in the
1'->rinciples24 and the third Dialogue. But his treatment of
1the issue is brief. In chapter two I defend Berkeley’s own
loosition that his principle that esse est percipi aut
13ercipere is indeed consistent with the scriptures. But I
sgo further than Berkeley himself dared to, as I argue that
IBerkeley’s metaphysics is actually recommended by the
sscriptures, especially in the creation narrative in the

(early chapters of the book of Genesis.

\
2‘. Section 82.

18

In chapters three and four Berkeley's arguments for the
existence of God are discussed. There is disagreement among
commentators over the precise number of theistic proofs used
by Berkeley, but I only explain the contours of this debate.
This is because a particular position on this interpretive
issue is not necessary for the reader to subscribe to my
main line of argument in these chapters. In chapter three,
“Berkeley's Immaterialist Arguments for the Existence of
God", I discuss the proofs which have become known (since
Jonathan Bennett's influential 1965 article "Berkeley and
God") as the "Passivity" and "Continuity" arguments. I show
that both of these proofs are presumptive of immaterialism,
and I note that even if one reads these arguments as
inseparable or indistinct my claim still stands that
immaterialism plays a pivotal role in the proof. In
addition to showing the precise role of immaterialism in
each proof, I note that Berkeley's Passivity and Continuity
arguments are original just to the extent that immaterialism
is operative in them. Finally, I discuss criticisms and
conclude that whether interpreted as distinct arguments (as
I do) or as a single argument, Berkeley's immaterialist
proofs ultimately fail to prove the existence of God.

In chapter four, "Berkeley's Teleological Arguments for
the Existence of God", I discuss the two theistic proofs
which have garnered much less attention in the literature
than the Passivity and Continuity arguments. These are the

argument from divine visual language and the moral argument

19
for God's existence. As the chapter title suggests I find
that both of these arguments take the basic logical form of
the argument from design, the substantive difference between
the two being that the subject matter of the former is '
metaphysical (or perhaps more precisely phenomenological)
while that of the latter is moral. As in chapter three I
note that as regards the basic structure of these arguments
they are unoriginal. Also, each argument is subjected to
logical scrutiny and found seriously deficient.

In chapter five, "The Problem of Evil", I discuss the
various theodicies used by Berkeley to fend off objections
to theistic belief on the basis of evil in the world. I
address the two sub-problems of evil, natural and moral,
singly, inquiring whether Berkeley's immaterialism helps or
hurts his case for theism. I find that his apologetics is
neither helped nor hurt by immaterialism when it comes to
the problem of evil. Nevertheless, I conclude that the
theodicies employed by Berkeley are problematic, susceptible
to the same criticisms as the theodicies of such theists as
Descartes, Malebranche, and Leibniz, to whose arguments his
own bear a strong resemblance.

Chapter six, "The Immortality of the Soul", contains a
discussion of Berkeley’s six arguments for the soul's
immortality. On this subject we find Berkeley at his least
original, using arguments previously employed by the likes
of Plato, Augustine, and Aquinas. None of the arguments in

defense of the doctrine of immortality in any way suggest

20
immaterialism, a fact which is hardly surprising given that
most of them appear in writings intended for non-
philosophical audiences, such as the Guardian essays and
various sermons preached by Berkeley. I critically evaluate
each of Berkeley's arguments for the immortality of the soul
and find that none of them succeed.

The seventh and final chapter, "Berkeley's Defense of
Scripture and Christian Doctrine", treats the arguments used
by Berkeley to defend such distinctive tenets of the
Christian faith as the authority of scripture, the holy
trinity, the divinity of Christ, and the doctrines of faith
and grace. Drawing mainly from Alciphron I explicate
Berkeley's arguments in defense of each of these and note
historical precedents for them. In so doing it is shown
that immaterialism plays no part in any of these rational
defenses of the theological doctrines of his faith. I also

identify serious objections to Berkeley's defense of each.

CHAPTERZ

The Theological Orthodoxy
Of Berkeley’s Immaterialism

21

22

The Theological Orthodoxy
of Berkeley's Immaterialism

I. Introduction

Since it was the chief end of Berkeley's philosophical
labors to defend the Christian religion, it is no surprise
that he is careful to insist that his metaphysics is fully
consistent with biblical principles. Indeed, in the
Philosophical commentaries, he proclaims "there is nothing
in Scripture that can possibly be wrested against me, but,
perhaps, many things for me."1 Here Berkeley's claim is
two-fold. On the one hand, he boldly asserts that his
immaterialism implies nothing which in any way contradicts
scripture; on the other hand, he suggests that in scripture
there are to be found some passages which in fact favor his
immaterialism. For the sake of brevity, let us call the
above two claims Berkeley’s "consistency" thesis and the
”endorsement" thesis, respectively. In this chapter I shall
assess these two theses, investigating, first, Berkeley's
defense of the biblical soundness of his immaterialism and,
second, the degree to which, if at all, his immaterialism is
recommended by scripture. In doing so, I shall be answering
a question which might be posed regarding Berkeley's
apologetic project, especially by those who share his

commitment to Christian theism: How could Berkeley's

 

1. Philosophical Commentaries, 281.

23
immaterialism be construed as an apologetic device when it
is inconsistent with the scriptures of the religion he
purports to defend? It is critical that we address this

query before exploring Berkeley's apologetics per se.

II. Berkeley's Immaterialism and the "Consistency" Thesis
Before proceeding to an examination of these two
theses, let us review the essential features of Berkeley’s

metaphysics which earn him the title "immaterialist" and
which his Christian opponents have on occasion found
offensive. The central thesis of Berkeley's system is the
principle esse est percipi aut percipere (to be is to be
perceived or to perceive). Nothing which is not itself a
mind exists independently of perception by some mind. In
the Principles Berkeley arrives at this conclusion by
arguing as follows. Since a physical object is nothing more
than a collection of sensible qualities, and sensible
qualities are ideas, an object is just a collection of
ideas. Now since ideas are mind dependent, existing only
when perceived, it follows that physical objects exist only
when perceived. Their esse is percipi. In Berkeley's
ontology, then, there are two categories of being: minds
and ideas. There exist only ideas perceived and minds
perceiving them.

Implicit in Berkeley’s principle that to be is to be
perceived is a denial of material substance, the inert, "I

know not what" of which Locke spoke and in which, according

24
to him, all of the sensible qualities of bodies subsist.2
This doctrine is repudiated by Berkeley as unintelligible,
since it is impossible to conceive of something which is
unperceived, and Locke's material substance, not itself’
being sensible, is unperceivable. These are, in a nutshell,
Berkeley's philosophical reasons for rejecting material
substance. But, as we shall see in evaluating his
"consistency" thesis, his objections are not entirely
philosophical but theological as well.

Berkeley's "consistency" thesis, once again, is that
his immaterialism in no way implies anything which is
inconsistent with scripture. I want now to explore those
doctrines or issues which the orthodox Christian might think
to be threatened by a Berkeleyan metaphysics. That is, I
shall discuss those issues where inconsistency between
Berkeley’s immaterialism and scripture might be (and in some
cases has been) alleged.

In both the Principles and the Dialogues Berkeley
anticipates objections from scripture. In the former he
proposes the objection that although no incorrigible
philosophical proof for the existence of bodies can be made

the Holy Scriptures are so clear in the point as

will sufficiently convince every good Christian

that bodies do really exist, and are something

more than mere ideas, there being in Holy Writ

innumerable facts related which evidently suppose
the reality of timber and stone, mountains and

 

2. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, II , XXIII , 2 .

25
rivers, and cities, and human bodies.3
Berkeley’s reply is to deny that his principles in any way
conflict with the scriptures or "the right use and
significance of language." He is prepared to abide by the
"vulgar acceptation" of such words such as "timber",
”stone”, "body", etc. which denote tangible objects and to
distinguish between real and imaginary objects. And,
reiterating his central thesis, he reminds us that it is
only the existence of material substance (as philosophers
use the term) which he denies. In the Dialogues, through
Philonous, he presents us with this challenge:

As for solid corporeal substances, I desire you to

shew where Moses makes any mention of them; and if

they should be mentioned by him, or any other

inspired writer, it would still be incumbent upon

you to show those words were not taken in the

vulgar acceptation.4
Until then, Berkeley urges, the authority of the scriptures
is irrelevant to the discussion, for they are neutral on the
issue of material substance. In this way Berkeley shifts
the burden of proof onto the matterist, convinced that he
has already fully demonstrated the truth of esse est percipi
aut percipere. But with regard to the propriety of God’s
use of material substance in creating the world, Berkeley

has yet another argument--from the principle of parsimony.

In section 61 of the Principles he argues that the use of

 

3. Principles, 82.

4. Three Dialogues Between Hylas and Philonous (Chicago:
Open Court Publishing Company, 1969) , p. 120.

26
material substance would be unnecessary and superfluous for
an omnipotent deity. That is, Berkeley in effect asks, why
should God use material substance in doing that which "might
have been effected by the mere command of His will without
all that apparatus"? To posit the existence of matter,
then, when God can accomplish all that he has accomplished
without it, is to violate Ockham's razor (or, at least, the
theological principle that a being of perfect wisdom and
power will always effect his ends by the simplest and most
expeditious means). The existence and operations of the
universe are entirely explicable by God's will and are
needlessly explained with the addition of corporeal
substance.

Theologically Berkeley considers the doctrine equally
repugnant, because it implies that "God has created
innumerable beings that are entirely useless and serve no
manner of purpose".5 Belief in material substance, then,
amounts to the highest irreverence, for it suggests divine
frivolity in the creation of the physical world.

A second potential objection from scripture pertains to
Berkeley’s doctrine of mind or spirit. His view is that
there exist only two kinds of things, spirits (or minds) and
ideas, or respectively, perceiving subjects and that which
is perceived. So, Berkeley tells us, we have no idea of

spirit. Now the problem is this. The Old and New

 

5. Principles, 19.

27

Testaments, especially the latter, are replete with hundreds
of discussions of and references to the human soul or spirit
which clearly presuppose that we have some ideas of these
entities. Numerous particular attributes are predicated of
the human soul or spirit, for example, that it can be
"downcast,"6 "steadfast,"7 "broken,"8 "joyful,"9
"contrite,"1° "lowly,"11 and "strong."12

How is Berkeley's professed ontology to be reconciled
with this biblical language? He seems to have glimpsed the
seriousness of the problem, for he deals with the matter
explicitly in the Principles as follows. He says of spirit
that it is an active being. So "there can be no idea formed
of a soul or spirit; for all ideas whatever, being passive
and inert, they cannot represent unto us, by way of image or
likeness, that which acts."13 Therefore, spirit "cannot
be of itself perceived, but only by the effects which it

produces,"14 and these may be taken to include such

 

5. Psalm 42:11 and Lamentations 3:20.
7. Psalm 51:10.

. Psalm 51:17.

9. Psalm 94:19.

1°. Isaiah 57:15.

11. Ibid.

12. Luke 1:80.

13. Principles, 27.

14. Ibid.

28
operations as willing, perceiving, and loving. Attributes
of spirit noted in scripture, examples of which are listed
above, Berkeley would likely classify among the "effects" of
'spirit, thus remaining true to his principles while at the
same time preserving the intelligibility of scriptural
discussions of soul.

The technical distinction Berkeley makes in this
context in order to allow for knowledge of spirit is between
”ideational” and ”notional" knowledge. He writes, "We may
be said to have some knowledge or notion of our own minds,
of spirits and active beings, whereof in a strict sense we
have not ideas."ls Unfortunately, Berkeley says little
more in the way of explicating this distinction.16 This
much we know, that notional knowledge has an active being as
its object rather than a passive being, which is the object
‘of ideational knowledge. Furthermore, the object of
notional knowledge is perceived indirectly, through its
effects, whereas the object of ideational knowledge is

directly perceived.17 It seems that Berkeley is

 

15. Principles, 89.

16. This unusual reticence on Berkeley’s part has led
Charles McCracken to suggest that his negligence was willful
rather than a mere oversight, owing to Berkeley’s recognition
of the problems inherent in his account of notions. See
"Berkeley’s Notion of Spirit," The History of European Ideas,
Vol. 7, No. 6, 1986, pp. 597-602.

17. For a good discussion of this distinction of
Berkeley’s see Phillip Cummins' "Hylas’ Parity Argument" in
Berkeley: Critical and Interpretive Essays (Manchester:
Manchester University Press, 1982), pp.283-294

29

suggesting that notional knowledge is best (or only)
understood as knowledge which is non-ideational. At any
rate, his doctrine of notions, cryptic though it is, is
certainly motivated by his concern to preserve the
possibility of genuine knowledge of spirits, which in turn
can be seen as an attempt to reconcile his immaterialism
with the basic scriptural presumption of this possibility.

A third objection from scripture comes from Berkeley's
associate Samuel Johnson. He argues that given Berkeley's
view of bodies as collections of ideas the perception of
which is not really dependent upon sense organs, the
doctrine of bodily resurrection seems to be undermined,
since upon death it is conceivable that "we should still be
attended with the same ideas of bodies as we have now."18
The result is that the wonder of physical resurrection is
diminished by the ease of its explainability under
Berkeley's principles. Johnson's ironic conclusion is that
immaterialist metaphysics explains too much and that
therefore Berkeley's ontology "seems to have no place for
any resurrection at all, at least in the sense that word
seems to bear in St. John 5:28, 29."19

Berkeley's reply to Johnson is that his principles
imply no exotic view of bodily death and resurrection but

that they may be conceived as easily with as without

 

18. Johnson's letter to Berkeley, September 10, 1729.

19. Ibid.

30
corporeal substance. He writes, "it seems very easy to
conceive the soul to exist in a separate state...and to
exercise herself on new ideas, without the intervention of
these tangible things we call bodies."2° Berkeley's
response here is again indicative of his assumption that the
burden of proof is not upon him to show the consistency of
his principles with the doctrine of bodily resurrection but
rather rests upon critics such as Johnson to demonstrate
their inconsistency. Note that in the last quoted passage
he is content to point out that the separate existence of
the soul is gonggiygplg. Keeping in mind that for Berkeley
and many of his contemporaries conceivability is tantamount
to (logical) possibility, we can see why Berkeley did not
feel compelled to engage in much elaboration on this point.
This case provides a clear example of the tone pervading
Berkeley's replies to critics, including Johnson, that there
is at the start a presumption in favor of his immaterialism,
in particular that esse est percipi aut percipere (because
he thinks he has demonstrated its truth) so that when it
comes to comparatively peripheral matters, such as the
metaphysics of death and resurrection, he need only reveal
the possibility of an explanation showing their consistency
with his views or give the contours of such an explanation
in order to preserve this presumption. Of course, it was

often the case that Berkeley did do more than this and in

 

2°. Berkeley's letter to Johnson, November 25, 1729.

31
fact went to great lengths to show how with regard to
explanatory power his immaterialism was not merely as good
as matterist metaphysics but was in fact superior in
explaining certain phenomena and providing solutions to
problems hitherto unsolved. We shall discuss examples
arising in the context of Christian theology when we turn to
an examination of Berkeley's "endorsement" thesis below.

A fourth potential source of contention between
Berkeley and his theologically orthodox?1 critics concerns
the issue of common sense. In his notebooks Berkeley makes
the following candid remark which many commentators have
since found incredible, or at least paradoxical, considering
the novelty of his metaphysics: ”All things in the
Scripture w‘h side with the Vulgar against the Learned side
with me also. I side in all things with the Mob."22
Later, through Philonous in the Dialogues, this claim is not
compromised. He declares "I am content, Hylas, to appeal to
the common sense of the world for the truth of my

notion.”23

 

21. By "theologically orthodox" I intend traditional,
conservative Christian doctrine such as is advanced in common
by all or most mainstream theological traditions and is
articulated in such ecumenical creeds as the Apostles' creed
and the Nicene creed. As a devout Anglican Berkeley
undoubtedly acknowledged the authority of these confessions of
faith.and recognized the constraints implicit in them for both
scholarly and practical pursuits.

22. Philosophical Cbmmentaries, 405. See also 368, 408
and 751.

23. Three Dialogues, p. 96. See also pp. 70, 90, 100,
110, 136, and 96.

32

Whether in fact Berkeley is properly considered a
defender of common sense is still an open question and an
issue which is today widely disputed. Commentators such as
Luce, Jessop, Grayling, and Pappas have argued in defense of
this claim, while Bennett, Pitcher, and Tipton among others
have maintained that Berkeleyan immaterialism opposes common
sense. Because of the complexity of this issue I will
refrain from entering into this debate here. Nor do I
believe that demonstrating Berkeley's metaphysics to be
consistent with common sense is necessary in order to
vindicate it against the charge of theological heterodoxy.
Our present concern is to evaluate immaterialism in light of
scripture, not to determine whether it is amenable to all
the common sense convictions of ordinary folk. Our focus,
then, is restricted only to the first claim Berkeley makes
in entry 405 of his notebooks: "All things in the Scripture
wch side with the Vulgar against the Learned side with me
also." The question as to whether Berkeley’s subsequent
claim is correct, that he does "side in all things with the
mob," is outside the scope of this chapter. I should note,
nevertheless, that I believe the claim that his
immaterialism is consistent with common sense to be

defensible.24

In defending Berkeley's first assertion in notebook

 

24. For an excellent defense of this position see George
Pappas’ "Berkeley, Perception, and Common Sense" in Berkeley:
critical and Interpretive Essays, Colin Turbayne, ed.
(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1982).

33
entry 405, it is important to make two observations. First,
as has already been noted, the scriptures and the Genesis
story in particular are neutral on the topic of material
'substance (as understood by the philosophers Berkeley
opposes). The biblical writers simply do not take a clear
side on the issue (though, as I shall try to show later,
some passages seem to suggest a Berkeleyan immaterialism).
Thus, even if one concedes that belief in corporeal
substance is commonsensical, immaterialism remains
unthreatened until it is also shown that the scriptural
position supports this conviction, a claim that Berkeley
challenges his antagonists to justify.

Someone, of course, might object that although the
scriptures make no explicit reference to matter, their
consistent support of common sense generally serves as an
indirect defense of realism (i.e., the thesis that [a] the
physical objects we seem to perceive are real and [b]
physical objects continue to exist when not perceived).
Immaterialism is, after all, an esoteric doctrine, not
readily comprehended, let alone accepted, by ordinary folk.
Therefore, the scriptures implicitly side with the vulgar
against Berkeley on the question of corporeal substance.
This objection leads us to the second observation, namely
that scripture itself does not consistently side with common
sense. Quite the contrary, the Bible is replete with
stories, doctrines, and moral rules which fly in the face of

common sense. Historical accounts of abominable Egyptian

34
plagues, partings of the Red Sea and Jordan river,
spontaneously crumbled city walls at Jericho, and scores of
miracles; metaphysical tenets of a triune godhead, divine
incarnation, and justification by faith; and moral
imperatives such as "love your enemies" and "bless those who
curse you", to sample just a few, are admittedly opposed to
common sense beliefs. Theologically sensitive rivals of
Berkeleyan immaterialism who base their critique on common
sense are prone to overlook this crucial consideration. The
point here is that even if it is granted that matterism has
common sense as an advocate, this fact alone does not show
that it is supported by scripture. Immaterialism, as it
turns out, just might be one of the many non-commonsensical
doctrines which is either allowed by or, as I shall suggest,
actually recommended by the scriptures.

The final, and perhaps most serious, objection to
Berkeley's immaterialism I want to address regards the
problem of evil. By all indications it is a complaint which
Berkeley himself took very seriously, for he addresses the
matter in several of his works. Let us look to the
Principles first where, in his typical fashion, he states
the objection both convincingly and eloquently:

...monsters, untimely births, fruits blasted in

the blossom, rains failing in desert places,

miseries incident to human life, and the like, are

so many arguments that the whole frame of nature

is not immediately actuated and superintended by a
spirit of infinite wisdom and goodness.

 

25. Principles, 151.

35
What Berkeley outlines here is the problem of "natural"
evil, as distinct from the problem of moral evil. To this
objection Berkeley offers in reply the traditional
"aesthetic" theodicy.26 "Blemishes and defects of nature,"
he asserts, serve to contribute to the beauty and goodness
of the whole just as in a painting shadows are necessary to
complement the brighter parts.27 But since we are finite
beings we are able to glimpse but a small portion of the
whole, whereupon we impugn God on the basis of our

ignorance.28

III. The "Endorsement" Thesis and Scriptural
Recommendations of Berkeley's Immaterialism

Now that we have shown how Berkeley deflects criticism
of his system for theological impropriety, let us look into
his bolder "endorsement" thesis which maintains, we will
recall, that the scriptures actually testify in behalf of
his metaphysics. Although, as we have seen, Berkeley
offered repeated defenses of the "consistency" thesis, he
was not so explicit in his defense of the "endorsement"

thesis. Rather, he was mostly content with merely appending

 

26. I borrow this terminology from John Hick, who traces
this particular theodicy as far back.as Plotinus, specifically
Ehneads, III, 2, 17. See Hick's "The Problem of Evil" in The
Encyclopedia of Philosophy, vol. 3 (New York: MacMillan
Publishing Co., Inc., 1967), pp. 136-141.

27. Ibid., 152.

28. In chapter five of this dissertation I discuss
Berkeley's theodicies in much greater detail.

36
to his arguments biblical texts, leaving to the reader the
task of embellishing a specific application. His favorite
passage is found in the book of Acts where the apostle Paul,
speaking at a meeting on Mars Hill, remarks that in God "we
live and move and have our being."29 (The context of this
passage is especially noteworthy, considering that the
audience of Paul's discourse very likely included Stoic and
Epicurean philosophers.) But what exactly is the
significance of this passage as it pertains to Berkeley's
immaterialism? Why is he so confident that it is relevant
to, much less that it serves to bolster, his position? The
answer becomes clear when we note a particular implication
of his denial of material substance. Since sensible
qualities do not inhere in matter, their existence can only
be explained by the divine mind. The world has no existence
independent of a perceiving spirit but continues to exist
only because God perceives it. Thus, a notion entertained

by Descartes three quarters of a century earlier30

 

29. Acts 17:28. Berkeley might just as readily have
chosen any of a number of passages as his text of choice,
including Ephesians 4:6 where Paul asserts that there is "one
God and father of all, who is over all and through all and in
all," Colossians 1:17 where he writes that Christ "is before
all things and in him all things hold together," and Hebrews
2:10 which states that it is God "for whom and through whom
everything exists."

30. In the third Meditation Descartes suggests that there
is no real difference between divine conservation and
creation. He argues that because of the infinite divisibility
of the duration of his life into independent parts "it does
not follow from the fact that I have existed a short while
before that I should exist now, unless at this very moment
some cause produces and creates me, as it were, anew.. . ."

37
Berkeley also defends as true, asserting that "the divine
conservation of things is equipollent to, and in fact, the
same thing with a continued repeated creation; in a word,
that conservation and creation differ only in the terminus a
qua...”

If one carefully examines the creation account given in
the book of Genesis, I believe there is to be found there
the most striking recommendation of Berkeley's brand of
immaterialism. But before doing so, I want to spell out in
greater detail the precise relationship between God and the
world which is entailed by a Berkeleyan metaphysics.

But let me first briefly characterize the theologically
conscious matterist interpretation of the Genesis creation
account, specifically the sort of narrative which Hylas
might have provided had he obliged when Philonous pressed
him for such an explanation, saying ”as for solid corporeal
substances, I desire you to shew where Moses makes any
mention of them."32 Hylas, as it turns out, offers no
such evidence, nor does he bother to present even the
contours of an interpretation of the creation story from the

perspective of a matterist. However, we might imagine that

 

Philosophical Essays (New York: MacMillan Publishing Co.,
1964), p. 105.

31. Letter to Johnson, November 25, 1729. Of course
Berkeley does deny that "things are every moment annihilated
and created anew" (Principles, 45), but this is because, he
maintains, for any object which exists there is always some
mind perceiving it.

32. Dialogues, p. 120.

38
it would go something like this: In the beginning God
created matter, solid corporeal substance, which he
subsequently formed into various shapes, e.g. the earth,
sun, moon, living creatures, and so on. Of course, his
creation of matter and his giving it particular forms need
not to have been temporally distinct acts, but they are at
least conceptually distinct.

It is important to note that on the matterist account
we really have no conception as to how God created matter ex
nihilo. We only know that he did so. This is a
metaphysical mystery to us finite beings. Moreover, there
is nothing in human experience analogous to what God did in
creation. It is true, human beings do create objects in a
sense, but our creativity is more precisely a reformation or
modification of physical objects that already exist. What
we make is always out of pre-existing material. This is not
the case with God’s creative acts, however, for he requires
no pre-existing material. He created out of nothing.

Now on the matterist conception the world could exist
independently of any particular spirit's perceiving,
including God, and this is possible precisely because of
material substance. Nonetheless, a theologically sensitive
matterist such as Hylas would insist, the world is ruled by
God, for it is governed by his laws, i.e., the laws of
nature. In fashioning the world the creator built into it
certain fixed physical principles such as the laws of

thermodynamics, the ideal gas law, the laws of gravity,

39
inertia, action and reaction, etc. These insure that the
physical world remains uniform, which in turn works to the
benefit of God's creatures, for we learn what to expect and
hence are better equipped to get along in the world. Still,
despite the uniformity of nature, God does intervene
miraculously at times, suspending or holding in abeyance
some law or laws of nature, to perform a deed to assist his
creatures, such as parting the Red Sea or transforming a
staff into a snake.

Now having looked at a matterist understanding of the
Mosaic creation account and God's continued governance of
the cosmos, let us see what Berkeley has to say about these
things. In the third Dialogue Hylas objects as follows to
Philonous' principles:

The scripture account of the creation is what

appears to me utterly irreconcilable with your

notions. Moses tells us of a creation: a

creation of what? of ideas? No certainly, but of

things, of real things, solid corporeal

substances. Bring your principles to agree with

this, and I shall perhaps agree with you.33
In the face of this challenge Philonous makes a distinction
between two senses of the word "ideas". What Philonous does
not intend by this term when speaking of the created order
is "fictions" or "fancies of the mind". Instead, he

understands the proper denotation of "ideas" to be

"immediate objects of the understanding, or sensible things

 

33. Ibid., p. 119.

40

which cannot exist unperceived, or out of a mind"34 Yet,
he reminds Hylas that in everyday parlance sense sensible
objects are called ”things" rather than "ideas". Hence,
‘Philonous is able to conclude that in creation God made real
things. Now having defended his allegiance to the "vulgar
acceptation" of the Genesis creation account, Philonous
takes the offensive, noting that neither Moses nor any other
inspired writer refers to "solid corporeal substance," or
matter in its philosophic sense, as an "unknown quiddity,
with an absolute existence." Therefore, Philonous
concludes, his own principles are no more repugnant to the
Mosaic creation account than are those of Hylas. Still
Hylas is unmoved and presses him for a fuller explanation.
Of course, Philonous is happy to comply with his request:

When things are said to begin or end their

existence we do not mean this with regard to God,

but His creatures. All objects are eternally

known to God, or, which is the same thing, have an

eternal existence in His mind: but when things,

before imperceptible to creatures, are, by a

divine decree of God, perceptible to them, then

are they said to begin a relative existence, with

respect to created minds. Upon reading therefore

the Mosaic account of the creation, I understand

that the several parts of the world became

gradually perceivable to finite spirits, endowed

with proper faculties; so that, whoever such were

present, they were in truth perceived by them.

This is the literal obvious sense suggested to me

by the words of the Holy Scripture.3

There are then two kinds of divine ideas: (1) those which

 

34. Ibid.

35. Ibid., p. 121.

41

are eternal archetypes existing solely in the mind of God
and (2) those which are temporal and relative ectypes,
perceived not only by the mind of God but by other spirits
as well.36 .The former may be said to be "private" with
regard to the divine mind, while the latter are "public",
that is, accessible by minds other than God's. Now the act
of creation, according to Philonous involves essentially
making ectypes from certain divine archetypes, or
publicizing what once was private, known only to God. About
this Jonathan Dancy writes,

On this view, the world we live in, our world, is

nothing other than (part of) the contents of the

mind of God. It is not just that God causes us to

have ideas like his; when we open our eyes and see

what is there, we are having ideas which are
God’s.37

In short, the world consists of God’s public ideas. And the
creation of the world was simply the process in which these
ideas first became public, perceivable by finite spirits.
With this understanding of Berkeley's conception of the
creation of the world, we are prepared to look at the
opening chapter of Genesis to test his immaterialistic
account of creation for ourselves. Recall that in the

narrative each of God’s creative acts in the first chapter

 

of Genesis is prefaced with the phrase "And God said..."

This is the refrain through the first twenty-four verses of

 

36. See Jonathan Dancy's Berkeley: An Introduction (New
York: Basil Blackwell, Inc., 1987), chapter 4.

37. Dancy, p. 50.

42
Genesis. "And God said...": "Let there be light" (v. 3),
”Let there be an expanse between the waters" (v. 6), "Let
the water under the sky be gathered to one place and let dry
ground appear" (v. 9), "Let the land produce vegetation:
seed-bearing plants and trees...” (v. 11), ”Let there be
lights in the expanse of the sky to separate the day from
the night..." (v. 14), "Let the water teem with living
creatures, and let birds fly above the earth..." (v. 20),
"Let the land produce living creatures according to their
kinds..." (v. 24). At every juncture of creation, God
speaks things into existence. He creates "by the word of
his mouth". To use the vocabulary of immaterialism, this is
the means by which he makes his private, archetypal ideas
public and ectypal.

Now it is also plain from the Genesis story that we as
human beings mirror God's nature in some significant way:
"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he
created him; male and female he created them."38 When one
considers the mystery and superlativeness of the divine
being, this is a very cryptic passage indeed. What does it
mean to say that we are created in God's image? The full
implications of this passage we will leave to theologians to
debate, but in the present context we are led to inquire
whether we mirror the divine being in the way Berkeley's

creation account would seem to suggest we do. That is, if

 

38. Genesis 1:27.

43
it is the case from scripture that we are created in God's
likeness and it is also the case that God creates by
speaking things into existence, where is there any
similarity between God and us here? Is there evidence to
suggest a Berkeleyan interpretation here? I would answer
this question in the affirmative and submit that we need
look no further than ordinary experience to find all the
confirmation we need of Berkeley’s account. Let us simply
examine the way we humans speak. In short, to speak is,
among other things, to make one's thoughts public. For
example, I am now thinking about my cat, Simon, specifically
that he has a bushy tail. This is a private thought of mine
to which no person other than myself has access. But when I
utter the words, say, "My cat, Simon, has a bushy tail", I
publicize these thoughts. They are still my thoughts, in a
sense, but having expressed them in audible words other
persons may become privy to them. I have made my ideas
public.

What I am suggesting is that there is a fruitful
analogy between the manner in which God created the world
and the ordinary human experience of sharing ideas through
speech. God created, i.e., made his ideas public, through

the spoken word.39 Likewise, we who are made in his image

 

39. And, Berkeley maintains, God continues to do so, as
all of nature is properly to be conceived as a "divine visual
language". For Berkeley's full elucidation of this doctrine,
see Towards a New Theory of Vision, 147-152; Principles, 44,
65-66, 106-109; Alciphron IV, 7-15; and The Theory of Vision
Vindicated and Explained, 38-40.

44
publicize our ideas by speaking. Hence, in this way
Berkeley's immaterialist interpretation of the Genesis story
of creation offers us a sense in which human beings are
divine image bearers that the usual matterist conception
does not.

Let me draw out the analogy in further detail. First,
speaking, we should note, is not necessarily tantamount to
making one's ideas known to another mind but rather only to
make them perceivable to or accessible by some other mind
(at least in principle). When I say "My cat, Simon, has a
bushy tail" there may or may not be anyone else within
earshot to hear my utterance and so to access my verbalized
ideas. But if someone who understands English were present,
they ggnlg hear me and, hence, perceive those thoughts of
mine which I had just made public. This sort of state of
affairs in human speaking parallels Berkeley’s account of
unperceived objects when he writes, for example, "The table
I write on I say exists, that is I see and feel it; and if I
were out of my study I should say it existed--meaning
thereby that if I was in my study I might perceive it, or
that some other spirit actually does perceive it."4°
Thus, there need not actually be some finite mind now
perceiving my desk for me to be able to say properly that it
now exists. Similarly, when I utter some statement when no

one else is present to hear me, it is nevertheless the case

 

4°. Principles, 3.

45
that I have made my thoughts public, for if someone had been
listening, he or she would have perceived my objectified
ideas. Both of these cases are comparable to the Genesis
' creation account insofar as we may say properly that God
made his ideas public even if there were no other spirits
present to perceive his objectified ideas, for if some
being, say, an angel, were present it would have perceived
them. Notice as well that whatever oddity or awkwardness
there is in saying that God’s unperceived but perceivable
ideas (to finite minds) are nonetheless public, it is
equally odd or awkward to refer to our spoken but unheard
(except by ourselves) words as nonetheless public. In
either case, this awkwardness might be thought to reveal a
limitation to the account. Consequently, even with regard
to the potential weakness of these accounts, there seems to
be an analogy between human speaking and divine creation.

I should note in passing that I do not without good
reason use the terms "publicize" and "objectify" when
speaking of God's ideas which are perceived or perceivable.
I do so to preserve what I believe is an accurate rendering
of Berkeley’s construal of the creation account and to
preclude certain problems created by some commentators.
Jonathan Dancy, for example, in the passage quoted earlier,
is misleading, for he might be construed as suggesting that
when God creates he makes his ideas known t9 someone. We
have seen that for Berkeley, given his alternative

conditions for existence, this is not necessarily the case.

46

If divine creation did entail for Berkeley that God makes
his ideas known to someone (as opposed to knowable), then
the question arises "who was there to perceive God's public
ideas during creation?" From a theological perspective, the
best reply here for someone such as Dancy is to appeal to
the prior existence of angels. The creation of the world
might be understood as God's private ideas‘1 becoming
publicized to some cherubim, seraphim, or other angelic
being(s). This line of response, however, has the further
complication that it does not account for the possibility,
acknowledged by Berkeley, that the world might have been
created before any finite mind.42

Another analogy between human speaking and divine
creation according to the Berkeleyan account appears when we
consider that what a person says when he or she speaks tells
us something about who he or she is. Through verbal
communication one displays his or her intelligence,
creativity, interests, moral convictions and so on. In
short, by listening to what a person says we can learn a
great deal about him or her. Similarly, for Berkeley,

through observing what is "said" in the creator’s visual

 

41. Someone might object that Berkeley’s account seems
unbiblical because there is no scriptural reference to God's
"private ideas". I know of at least one passage which
suggests otherwise. In I Corinthians 2:11 Paul writes "no one
knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God".

42. See.Charles McCracken's "What.Does Berkeley's God See
in the Quad?" in Archiv fur Geschichte der Philosophie, vol.
61 (1979) pp. 283-284.

47

language we are able to infer much about the author of the
world. As Philonous says in the second dialogue, ”from the
variety, order, and manner of [sensible impressions] I
conclude the Author of them to be wise, powerful, and good,
beyond all comprehension.”3 Hence, for Berkeley,
inferring God's nature from his "language" (i.e., the
created world) is in principle done in the same way we infer
the attributes of other persons from the things they say.
The inferrability of God's nature is suggested in various
places in scripture. For instance, the psalmist proclaims
that ”the heavens declare the glory of God."M And Paul
writes: "Since the creation of the world God's invisible
qualities--his eternal power and divine nature--have been
clearly seen, being understood from what has been
made...“5 Biblical texts such as these are perfectly
consonant with a Berkeleyan metaphysics which suggests the
sort of unmistakable nearness of God about which the
psalmist and the apostle are so confident. This leads us to
a further analogy.

The person who speaks directly controls and determines
much of what he or she says. In the case of the "divine
speaker", this is known as "providence", the absolute and

immediate control which the creator exercises over his

 

43. Dialogues, p. 69.

4‘. Psalm 19:1.

45. Romans 1:20.

48

creation. Berkeley was careful to point out that the
doctrine of providence is implied by his metaphysics,
specifically his conception of the world as a divine visual
language. He explains:

This visual language proves, not a creator merely,

but a provident governor, actually and intimately

present, and attentive to all our interests and

motions, who watches over our conduct, and takes

care of our minutest actions and designs

throughout the whole course of our lives,

informing, admonishing, and directing incessantly,

in a most evident and sensible manner.
By all biblical accounts God is intimately related to,
though ontologically distinct from, the world.47
Furthermore, the creator is said to exercise complete
dominion over his creation, a conviction evident in the
words of Jeremiah quoted earlier: "Who can speak and have

it happen if the Lord has not decreed it? Is it not from

the mouth of the Most High that both calamities and good

 

‘5. Alciphron, IV, 14.

‘7. Among orthodox Christian theologians this intimate
relation between God and his creation is perhaps expressed
most emphatically by John Calvin who, in his Institutes of the
Christian Religion, writes "I confess, of course, that it can
be said reverently, provided that it proceeds from a reverent
mind, that nature is God; but because it is a harsh and
improper saying, since nature is rather the order prescribed
by God, it is harmful in such weighty matters, in which
special devotion is due, to involve God confusedly in the
inferior course of his works" (Book I, chapter 6). Notice
that Calvin’ s position here makes much better theological
sense under a Berkeleyan conception of nature as God's
thoughts (since God, like we humans, is, in a sense, his
thoughts) than from the perspective of a theologically
orthodox matterist, for whom the notion of identifying God
with corporeal substance would be heretical.

49

things come?"‘8 (Note again the speech metaphor.) In the
book of Isaiah this sameconviction is echoed by God himself
through the prophet: "I form the light and create darkness,
I bring prosperity and create disaster; I, the Lord, do all
these things".49 And the apostle Paul proclaims that God
"is before all things and in him all things hold
together"50 again suggesting the determination of all
things by God.51 Divine foreknowledge of future events, a
concomitant of the deity's control over all things, also has
its parallel in human experience. God's knowledge of future
events is similar to a person's knowledge of the words he or
she is prepared to speak. In both cases the agent has
decided privately what he or she will do publicly.

A fourth parallel between human and divine "speech" is

to be found in what Berkeley refers to as ”divine

 

48. Lamentations 3:37-38.
49. Isaiah 45:7.
5°. Colossians 1:17.

51. The determinism implicit in Berkeley's immaterialism
leads him headlong into the problem of the freedom of the
will, a problem which he never saw fit to address directly
except for some short passages in Siris and his notebooks.
GHnis lacuna, however, does not present a difficulty peculiar
‘to Berkeley's metaphysics, but is shared by all proponents of
theological determinism. On this matter J.O. Urmson notes
that "Berkeley himself would have admitted that he had no
«clear answer to [the problem of freedom] but that it, too, was
one which was common to all and in no way a special problem
for him." See Urmson’s Berkeley (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 1982), pp. 64-66.

50
conservation" or "constant creation".52 Since the world
consists of God's public ideas, it must persist only because
he continues to publicize his thoughts. That is, unlike
‘some matterisms which imply that it is possible for God to
"step back” from his creation or even, at least in
principle, stop thinking about the world without its ceasing
to exist, since matter is mind independent, Berkeley must
hold that were God to cease perceiving the world, it would
vanish altogether. For apart from God there remains
nothing, i.e. no material substratum, to sustain nature.

Now the analogue to be found in human experience of
divine conservation of the world consists in the fact that
we preserve the publicity of our thoughts only as long as we
speak. We objectify our ideas through speech, but our ideas
do not remain accessible to other minds if we do not
continue to verbalize them. (I utter a statement such as "I
am thirsty”, and my thought is publicly accessible, but
unless I repeat this assertion, my desire recedes again into
the realm of the private.) Thus, an oral discourse is
analogous to human history in that each is a temporally
linear progression of public ideas that is unique and, in
most cases, exhibits continuity. Furthermore, just as the
conversation is preserved only so long as the interlocutors

‘will.that it continue, human history, its content as well as

 

52. See, for example, Alciphron (IV, 14) where he remarks
that the language of the deity "is equivalent to a constant
creation, betokening an immediate act of power and providence"

[emphasis added].

51
its duration, is entirely contingent upon the will of its
author. As human thoughts remain public only so long as we
continue speaking, the world is sustained only so long as
God wills.”

Still another analogy between human and divine speech
is pointed out by Colin Turbayne.54 Under Berkeleyan
immaterialism, he observes, the laws of nature are analogous
to rules of grammar. In verbal communication we humans are
constrained to abide by certain grammatical conventions,
rules of syntax, punctuation, etc. In short, we must be
consistent if we are to be intelligible and meaningful.
Similarly God's ideas (i.e., the phenomena of nature), if
they are to be intelligible, must remain consistent,
operating in accordance with certain general rules.

Berkeley defines the laws of nature as "the set rules

 

53. .A.D. Ritchie illustrates Berkeley's doctrine of
perpetual creation with the analogy of a symphony conductor.
He writes, "for Berkeley God is now and everywhere actively
creating. The harmony which a conductor can produce by means
of his orchestra and their instruments is not produced
instantaneously nor once only, nor once and for all, but is
being produced anew during each performance.... [This
analogy] could be slightly improved if we assumed that the
conductor was also a composer and also could leave the players
to improvise occasionally. Thus no performance would be a
repetition but each one a new work." [Berkeley: A
Reappraisal (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1967),
p. 126] Ritchie's analogy surely provides an accurate and
instructive simile for Berkeley’s metaphysics, but like
Turbayne I prefer the metaphor of speech, for it affords less
strained parallels and it is Berkeley's own metaphor of
choice.

54. "Berkeley's Metaphysical Grammar" in Berkeley:
Critical and Interpretive Essays (Manchester: Manchester
University Press, 1982).

52

or established methods wherein the mind we depend on excites
in us the ideas of sense."55 What we call nature's "laws"
then are in actuality the sovereign will of God which
remains constant and uniform for the welfare of his
creatures (except in the case of the miraculous where
deviation from the rule works to our benefit). As in the
case of syntactical rules, then, the laws of nature are
conventional rather than necessary, being devised solely for
the effective communication between speaker and hearer.
Just as irregularity in linguistic forms would result in
confusion among interlocutors, in the absence of uniformity
in nature "we should be all in uncertainty and confusion,
and a grown man no more know how to manage himself in the
affairs of life than an infant just born."56

Sixthly, and lastly, the immaterialist's linguistic
metaphor provides an analogue in human experience to God’s
creation ex nihilo. When we speak we publicize our
thoughts, which were themselves created out of nothing.
This is probably Berkeley's thinking when he writes, "Why
may we not conceive it possible for God to create out of
Nothing. Certainly we our selves create in some wise
whenever we imagine."57 On Berkeley’s principles, then,

the verbal expression of our thoughts as well as thinking

 

55. Principles, 30.
55. Ibid., 31.

57. Philosophical Commentaries, 830.

53
itself are some very familiar ways in which humans mirror
God’s creation of the world out of nothing.

Before closing this chapter, I want to make an
observation about an additional point of interest in
Berkeley's thought from the perspective of Christian
orthodoxy. A.D. Ritchie has called the eighteenth century
"the period of maximum substance idolatry” where the deity
was demoted from the position of creator to a mere artificer
of pre-existing material.58 Whether or not this
estimation of the centrality of substance in the metaphysics
of the age is overstated, Berkeley certainly seems to have
sensed the urgency in eradicating the notion of corporeal
substance from cosmology. In sections 92-96 of the
Principles Berkeley asserts that the doctrine of matter has
served as the principle support for atheists, skeptics,
fatalists, the irreligious, and the impious. Moreover, he
maintains,

...on the same principle does idolatry likewise in

all its various forms depend. Did men but

consider that the sun, moon, and stars, and every

other object of the senses are only so many

sensations in their minds, which have no other

existence but barely being perceived, doubtless

they would never fall down and worship their own

ideas, but rather address their homage to that

Eternal Invisible Mind which produces and sustains

all things.59

This passage represents Berkeley’s turn from defender of the

mere theological consistency of immaterialism with scripture

 

58. Ritchie, p. 128-129.

59. Principles, 94.

54
to the much stronger contention that his metaphysical system
is actually superior to matterism theologically because of
its avoidance of heretical implications. Berkeley may or
may not be correct in his claim that matterism spawns
idolatrous religious belief and practice. However the
practical effects, harmful or beneficial, of a metaphysical
doctrine are not properly a philosophical consideration in
judging its truth. But surely Berkeley must have known
this. So why does he bother to devote long sections of his
Principles and the Dialogues to the project of explaining
how his immaterialism is amenable to scripture and how the
practical effects of its acceptance would edify adherents to
the Christian religion? The short answer is that he assumed
his audience to be largely sympathetic to, though not
necessarily devotees of, to the faith and therefore likely
to be responsive to arguments based on points of primarily
theological interest. This explanation accounts for the
fact that Berkeley's chief motivations in even constructing
his philosophical system were theological in character.

Now to return to the issue at hand, does immaterialism
really provide a defense against idolatry? Berkeley was
convinced to the point of near dogma, and I believe part of
the reason has already become evident in the explication of
his metaphysics above. Everything in the universe, whatever
its nature, is continually sustained by the deity, utterly
dependent upon him for its existence. Therefore, to worship

any created item would amount to worshipping the ideas of

55
the creator rather than the creator himself. To understand
this, Berkeley suggests, is sufficient to discourage one
from succumbing to the temptation. To realize the
.omnipresence of God such that "in him we live and move and
have our being" is to conceive at once the worthiness of
this being to be worshipped and the foolishness of
preferring to worship some infinitely inferior being.
Substance ontology, on the other hand, allowing for the
mind-independence of physical objects, in no such way
demands that God be conceived as so intimately related to
his creation and therefore permits the mind to stray from
God in its meditation on physical objects. Something like
this seems to be Berkeley's thinking. Whether he is correct
is a question which might as well be left to empirical .

testing as to philosophical disputation.

Iv. Conclusion

To sum up, the linguistic metaphor plays a central role
in Berkeley's immaterialism and, as we have seen, its role
is also significant in the scriptures. My defense of
Berkeley’s "endorsement" thesis has consisted largely in
showing how his metaphysics acknowledges and exploits this
biblical convention. One of the objectives of this chapter
has been to argue that Berkeleyan immaterialism enjoys at
least as much and perhaps more interpretive richness than
matterism when approaching key biblical passages such as the

Genesis account of creation. For the former is much better

56
prepared than the latter to attach a substantive, concrete
meaning to the speech imagery pervading the Old and New
Testaments. It seems to me the matterist's sole explanation
for these expressions is that they are entirely
metaphorical. A Berkeleyan, on the other hand, while
acknowledging their metaphorical dimension, may also take
these expressions to some extent literally, counting them as
veritable insights into the nature of God as well as humans
who on the Mosaic account are made in his image.

Most of the philosophical problems facing the Christian
theist, such as the problems of evil and free will, the
logic of the nature of God, and the authority of the Old and
New Testaments, do still confront Berkeley. This chapter
ought not to be construed as claiming otherwise. What I
have tried to show here is that commitment to Berkeleyan
immaterialism does not entail theological heterodoxy or
heresy, at least concerning the issues discussed in this
chapter. On the contrary, I have argued that Berkeley's
principles are compatible with key doctrines in orthodox
Christian theology and, furthermore, that they afford the
believer conceptual tools practical for deepening rather
than distorting the "salutary truths of the Gospel", a
conclusion which would undoubtedly please a theologically

conservative Anglican so sensitive to heresy.

CHAPTER3

Berkeley’s Causal Arguments
for the Existence of God

57

58

Berkeley's Causal Arguments
for the Existence of God

I. Introduction

Of chief concern to any religious apologist, because of
its centrality to religious belief generally, is the
existence of God. As a committed Christian and a scholar
with perceptible dissatisfaction with many of the
traditional arguments for God's existence, the forging of a
cogent theistic proof was of principal interest to Berkeley.
But the growing free thinking of his day called not just for
a more creative or ingenious argument. Rather, in
Berkeley’s eyes what was needed was a thorough revamping of
the way we see the world such that to even acknowledge the
existence of bodies is to recognize the immediate handiwork
of a personal God. The history of Western philosophy until
Berkeley had been dominated by philosophers whose theism, if
any, was not an intimate corollary of their metaphysics.
Such is one reason, thought Berkeley, why religious
skepticism, free thinking, and atheism could seep in so
easily. These strains of thought enjoyed the fertile soil
of religiously neutral ontologies in which to grow and
flourish. The end of the seventeenth century and beginning
of the eighteenth century saw the deistic thought of
Collins, Toland, Shaftesbury, and others make their way into
the public arena of ideas without signalling a fundamental

shift in ontological categories, though their publication

59
was marked by no shortage of controversy. What was learned
from them was that one could reject the personal God of
Christianity and still maintain consistent devotion to
metaphysical systems of all kinds. The deists demonstrated
that theistic belief was, in the context of the leading
ontologies, a mere appendix, embraced by some and not by
others for reasons extraneous to the essential doctrines of
those ontologies. This was the sort of situation Berkeley
sought to revolutionize. His principal objective in the
Principles and Dialogues was to devise a metaphysical system
which carried with it theism as an ineluctable corollary.
Thereby, he would thwart free thinking at its roots. The
result of this apologetically motivated scheme was
immaterialism.1 Inevitably there would be casualties in
Berkeley's project, most significantly some of the perennial
theistic proofs. The traditional cosmological argument for
God's existence had to be rejected as insufficient on
Berkeley's principles because it reasons from the present
existence of the world to a first cause which need not be
presently sustaining the world nor even still exist for that
matter. Thus, the God of deism may be perfectly compatible
with that of the cosmological argument, so for Berkeley it
could only be seen as a useless weapon in the theist's

philosophical arsenal in the fight against deism. The

 

1. See Jessop’s "Berkeley as a Religious Apologist" for
iuiilluminating elucidation of the central apologetic role of
Berkeley's immaterialism.

60

ontological argument fares even worse from the perspective

Of Berkeleyanism. It begins with the idea of God,2 a move

Which Berkeley judges to be illicit because of the

'iMpossibility of forming an idea of spirit. In his

nOtebooks the young Berkeley scoffs at those who would
Purport to demonstrate the existence of God in this way:

Absurd to Argue the Existence of God from his
Idea. We have no Idea of God. tis impossiblel3

Thus, Berkeley’s ostensive motivation for rejecting the

ontological argument is purely epistemological. Its

Presupposition is inconsistent with his ontological dualism.
3111: We must remember that Berkeley’s entire immaterialist

system, inclusive of his doctrine of ideas and spirit,

itself spawns from his apologetic objectives. It is very

Possible that there is a more basic reason for his distaste

f°r the ontological proof. Like the cosmological argument,

the Ontological proof fails, even if valid, to demonstrate

the immediate providence of God and therefore provides no

bulwark against deism. This could be another reason why

Berkeley so easily casts it aside in favor of arguments

Which he deems to be more effective in combatting the

deists.

Berkeley seeks a theistic proof which is much more

\
. For example, in Anselm this takes the form "that than

w e

Igleh none greater can be conceived" (Proslogion, II and III).

nthbescartes' version it is more surreptitious, something like
e perfect being" or "the being which possesses every

p
eInfection" (Meditations, III).

 

3. Philosophical Commentaries, 782.

61

ambitious than the traditional arguments whose cogency may
be defended even by deists. His purpose is to construct an
argument which affirms as its conclusion the existence of a
being that is not merely a first cause but also the present
conserver of the world. Further, he aims to show that this
being is not only omnipotent and omniscient but also
personal, loving, and benevolent, a being who cares
intimately about the affairs of human beings. Moreover,
Berkeley is not satisfied with discrete arguments in defense
of these claims. He wants these tenets of his faith to
follow naturally from an entire metaphysical framework, most
essentially the principle that to be is to be perceived.

Commentators differ widely as to exactly how many
distinct arguments for the existence of God appear in
Berkeley’s writings. As I read the corpus there are four
separate arguments, though some of them seem to be intended
by Berkeley to be complementary. The arguments are these:
(1) the Passivity argument, which appears in the Principles,
25-26, 28-32, 145-147, and the second Dialogue (pp. 64-69);
(2) the Continuity argument, used only in the Dialogues (pp.

91-93);4 (3) the Divine Visual Language argument, defended

 

 

4. The names for these two arguments come from Bennett
who first labeled them in his "Berkeley and God", Philosophy
(40), July 1965. Alternative names for the proofs have been
given since Bennett. For example, Dancy calls the Passivity
argument.the "Independence" argument, and the Continuity'proof
is termed the "Distinctness" argument by Ayers. The reasons
for these alternate titles will not be discussed here, but I
refer the reader to Dancy’s Berkeley: An Introduction (New
York: Basil Blackwell, Inc., 1987), ch. 4 and M.R. Ayers'
"Divine Ideas and Berkeley's Proofs of God's Existence" in

62

in the Principles, 42-46, 148-150, Alciphron IV, 4-15, New
Theory of Vision, 147, and The Theory of Vision Vindicated
and Explained, 38-40; and (4) the argument from morals,
appearing in Alciphron III, 10-11 and in one of the sermons.

Among the things that I hope to accomplish in this
chapter is to show exactly to what extent, if at all, each
of these arguments depends upon immaterialism. I shall also
subject each argument to logical scrutiny to discover which,
if any, of them succeed in demonstrating the existence of
God, granting the truth of Berkeley's immaterialism.
Finally, I shall note in what sense, if at all, each of
Berkeley's theistic proofs represents a departure from
traditional theistic proofs and in what sense he remains
clearly within the tradition of such Christian apologists

before him as Augustine and Aquinas.

II. A Summary of the Causal Theistic Proofs
Before examining the proofs in detail, I shall first
review in summary fashion their basic logical structure.
The Passivity argument is used twice by Berkeley in the
Principles. Its most succinct formulation appears in
section 146, where he writes

Though there be some things which convince us

 

Essays of the Philosophy of George Berkeley, Ernest Sosa, ed.
(Dordrecht: D. Reidel Publishing Co., 1987). I have chosen
to use Bennett’s terminology mainly because his were the first
official names for the arguments, and the reasons provided by
Dancy and Ayers for changing them do not seem to me
compelling.

63

human agents are concerned in producing them, yet
it is evident to everyone that those things which
are called "the works of nature,” that is, the far
greater part of the ideas or sensations perceived
by us, are not produced by, or dependent on, the
wills of men. There is therefore some other
spirit that causes them; since it is repugnant
that they should subsist by themselves.

In what I believe to be a fair reading of this argument,
Jonathan Bennett represents the Passivity proof as follows:
(a) My ideas of sense (i.e. those which I have when I
perceive objective states of affairs) come into my
mind without being caused to do so by any act of my
will;

(b) The occurrence of any idea must be caused by the
will of some being in whose mind the idea occurs;

 

(c) Therefore, my ideas of sense are in the mind of,
and caused by the will of, some being other than

 

5. Principles, 146. One remarkable difference between
this presentation of the Passivity argument in the closing
pages of the Principles and.that which appears early on in the
treatise is that it is articulated by Berkeley in the third
person voice, while the earlier version is presented in the
first person, much in the style of Descartes in the
Meditations. Whether this emulation of Descartes' method was
conscious or intentional.on.Berkeley’s partuwe can only guess.
But in addition to this methodological similarity to
Descartes, there is a further substantive parallel between the
Passivity argument and Descartes' first argument in the third
Meditation which makes the similarity even more suspicious.
They are, roughly speaking the same kind of argument. Both
proofs reason from the mind's ideas to the cause of these
ideas. ‘Where the proofs differ is in the fact that Berkeley’s
argument concerns ideas of sense, while Descartes' focuses on
our idea of God specifically. It is doubtful that Berkeley
would have appreciated such a comparison of his project with
that of Descartes. For while Berkeley reasons from the
reality of perceived things to God’s existence, Descartes
first demonstrates the existence:of God so that we may, on the
basis of God’s veracity, justify our belief in sensible
things. Berkeley mocks this method of Descartes in the
Dialogues, p. 91.

64

myself.6
Some important similarities and differences between this
argument and that of the classical cosmological argument are
apparent even in this short excerpt. Both the Passivity and
cosmological proofs,7 it is true, reason from effects to
causes, but here is where the parallels cease. The former
argues from ideas to a mind possessing or causing them,
while the latter argues from things, which under many
metaphysical systems are allowed to be mind-independent, to
their cause.8 Moreover, and most importantly, the
Passivity argument reasons to a mind presently causing the
world while the cosmological proof typically concludes only
that there is some cause, however remote, of the world.

Now the Passivity argument reasons from the existence
of ideas of sense to their cause, but as Berkeley goes on to
argue in the same section as that quoted above, it is not
just some cause. Rather it is a particular kind of cause.

He writes,

 

6. "Berkeley and God" in Philosophy (40) 1965, pp. 207-
221.

7. The classical cosmological argument, as I understand
it, runs something like this: ( 1) Every being is either
dependent or self-existent. (2) Not every being can be
dependent. (3) Therefore, there must be a self-existent
being. This version is essentially that defended by Samuel
Clarke in A Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God
(1704). There are other formulations which exhibit much more
sophisticated logic, but I believe Clarke’s version captures
the basic line of reasoning of any cosmological argument.

8. Of course, for Berkeley things just are ideas, of.
Principles, 38-39.

65

If we attentively consider the constant
regularity, order, and concatenation of natural
things, the surprising magnificence, beauty, and
perfection of the larger, and the exquisite
contrivance of the smaller parts of creation,
together with the exact harmony and correspondence
of the whole, but above all the never-enough-
admired laws of pain and pleasure, and the
instincts or natural inclinations, appetites and
passions of animals; I say if we consider all
these things, and at the same time attend to the
meaning and import of the attributes: one,
eternal, infinitely wise, good, and perfect, we
shall clearly perceive that they belong to the
aforesaid spirit, "who works all in all," and "by
whom all things consist."9

Berkeley's reasoning here is quite reminiscent of the

classical argument from design, but as the discussion

proceeds we discover that his reasoning evolves into

something much more innovative. He notes that just as we

infer the existence of another human mind from "certain

sensations or ideas excited in our own minds" such as color,

figure, size, motion, etc.,

after the same manner we see God; all the
difference is that, whereas some one finite and
narrow assemblage of ideas denotes a particular
human mind, whithersoever we direct our view, we
do at all times and places perceive manifest
tokens of the divinity...1°

Thus, Berkeley proclaims astoundingly,

This

We need only open our eyes to see the sovereign
Lord of all things, with a more full and clear
view than we do any one of our fellow
creatures.11

is Berkeley’s Divine Visual Language argument. A much

 

9. Principles, 146.
10. Principles, 148.

11. Ibid.

66

more elaborate defense of this proof is offered in
Alciphron, but I will postpone its elucidation until later.

My main reason for claiming that the DVL argument is a
distinct proof from the Passivity argument is that the'
latter, as will become more evident later, depends vitally
on a tenet of Berkeley's immaterialism, while the DVL does
not presuppose any particular metaphysical framework.
Alciphron, in which the DVL argument appears, was not a
metaphysical but an apologetic text, written for a more
general audience than were the Principles and Dialogues. In
Alciphron, therefore, Berkeley refrained from alienating his
readers with the particulars of his unique metaphysics,
though this is not to say that there are doctrinal
discrepancies between Alciphron and the earlier works.

Berkeley's Continuity argument for the existence of
God, which like the Passivity proof is a causal argument,
appears only in one place in the Berkeley corpus. In the
third Dialogue, Philonous argues this way:

When I deny sensible things an existence out of

the mind, I do not mean my mind in particular, but

all minds. Now it is plain they have an existence

exterior to my mind; since I find them by

experience to be independent of it. There is

therefore some other mind wherein they exist,

during the intervals between the times of my

perceiving them: as likewise they did before my

birth, and would do after my supposed

annihilation. And, as the same is true with

regard to all other finite created spirits, it

necessarily follows there is an omnipresent

eternal Mind, which knows and comprehends all

things, and exhibits them to our view in such a

manner, and according to such rules, as He Himself
hath ordained, and are by us termed the laws of

67
nature.12
This argument may be represented as follows:

(a) Physical objects, which are collections of sensible
ideas, exist only when perceived by some mind.

(b) Physical objects sometimes exist when they are not
perceived by any human (finite) mind.

 

(c) Therefore, there is some non-human (non-finite)
mind which perceives physical objpcts when they are
not perce1ved by any human mind.

This proof has generated more rancor in philosophical
circles in the last 25 years than any other of Berkeley's
arguments for God's existence. The focus of debate is
usually the second premise, where he makes the claim that
sometimes physical objects exist when no human being
perceives them. There is perhaps nothing inherently
controversial about this proposition. Rather it is made so
only in the context of Berkeley’s empiricism. Why, as
Bennett puts it, does Berkeley think he is entitled to this
assumption? Later in this chapter I shall address this

question among others which arise in the context of this

argument.

III. Views on the Number of Theistic Proofs Used by Berkeley
There has been considerable controversy over the actual

number of theistic proofs employed by Berkeley. The debate

 

12. Dialogues, p. 91.

13. My representation of the Continuity argument closely
resembles that of Bennett’s in "Berkeley and God", p. 207.

pr

Co

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pr

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If

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of

ex

mi

pr

Jo

th.

th.

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68

primarily concerns whether the Passivity argument and
Continuity argument are really distinct proofs. There is a
broad range of interpretations. At least one commentator,
Edward Sillem,“ speaks as if Berkeley uses only one
proof. This might seem to be a ludicrous interpretation,
but Sillem is probably on target in one important respect.
If one considers that Berkeley intended his whole
metaphysical system to constitute an argument for theism,
this analysis is not too far off base. Granting the truth
0f the principle esse est percipi aut percipere, the
BXistence of God, Berkeley thought, inevitably follows.
This is the long and the short of it, as Sillem sees it.
That there are a variety of different steps or paths one
might take along the way (via the Passivity or Continuity
pr09158) , he seems to suggest, is subordinate in importance.

In a controversial article published in 196515
Jonathan Bennett argues that although the Continuity
arguinent is a logically distinct proof, it was not intended
by Berkeley to stand on its own, as evidenced by the fact
that it appears only in the Dialogues. Bennett maintains
that Berkeley "does not seriously employ the [continuity]

arg‘llnent at all" and is in fact not even interested in

\

L 14. Berkeley’s Proofs for the Existence of God (London:
cDngmans Green, 1957) , chapter 6.

 

22 15. "Berkeley and God" in Philosophy (40) 1965, pp. 207-
1

69

questions about the continuity of physical objects.16
Other commentators such as Furlong“, Dancyla, and

Tipton19 hold that the Passivity and Continuity arguments

are not separate arguments but complementary. They read

Berkeley as indeed being interested in considerations of
continuity but only in the interest of enriching the

Passivity proof. Furlong sees the two arguments as

complementary in the following sense: the Passivity

arguinent stresses perceiving, and the continuity argument

stresses willing. The two complements of Berkeley's single

proof , then, correspond to what in Berkeley's view are the
two faculties of spirit: understanding and will. Dancy
aEques that the Continuity argument is properly interpreted
as a supplement to Berkeley's "main" proof, the Passivity
argument (which he calls the "Independence" argument). This
must be so, he argues, because were they taken separately it
is Obvious the Continuity argument would be viciously
circular. Like Furlong, Dancy disagrees with Bennett,
regarding the matter of Berkeley’s interest in the
continuity of physical objects.

In opposition to all of the previously mentioned

 

\

15. Ibid., p. 221.

17 "Berkeley and the Tree in the Quad"

(41) 1966, pp. 169-173.

B 18. Berkeley: An Introduction (New York: Basil
lalokwell, Inc.), 1987, chapter 4.

19. Berkeley: The Philosophy of Immaterialism (London:
1iie‘thuen and Co., Ltd, 1974) , chapter 8.

in Philosophy

70
commentators, M.R. Ayers argues that not only is the
Continuity argument (which he calls the "Distinctness"
argument) a separate proof from the Passivity argument, but
also that if either is to be considered more important, it
should be the former.” Ayers bases his view that the
Continuity argument is primary on several textual
considerations, including the amount of space devoted to
each argument in the Dialogues, the order of their
intrOduction, and comparison of the number of references
Berkeley makes to each proof.

About the various views regarding the relationship
between the Passivity and Continuity proofs, I shall say no
“Ore: for it is not my purpose to settle this dispute.
Rather, my aim here is to show (a) to what extent, if at
all, the proofs depend on immaterialism, (b) to what degree
they are original (which will in turn depend on whether they
assume immaterialism), and (c) to what degree, if at all,
Berke ley ' s arguments succeed .

I have a few disclaimers to make before proceeding to
analYSis of the proofs. First, while the following analyses
of these two arguments will indeed presuppose a particular
View of the relation between these two arguments (only as to

t
he claim that they can be seen as separate proofs, not

I:
egar-ding the issue of primacy or importance), the

\

F. 20. "Divine Ideas and Berkeley's Proofs of God’s
Existence" in Essays on the Philosophy of George Berkeley,
lTnest Sosa, ed. (Dordrecht: D. Reidel Publishing Co., 1987) ,

DE 115-127.

 

71
conclusions which follow regarding the role which Berkeley's

immaterialism plays in his theistic proofs is unaffected by

one’s position on this issue. That is, one may side with

any of the above noted commentators regarding interpretation
of the Passivity and Continuity arguments and my thesis

about the role of immaterialism in Berkeley's theistic
proofs will in no way be undermined. This is because, as
shall become clear, both arguments, whether viewed as
logically distinct proofs or as a single argument,
Presuppose elements of immaterialism.

11y second disclaimer regards the implications of the
debate about the relation of the two proofs for the
criticisms I shall make of each. Since, as I shall show,
Beli‘keley' s Passivity and Continuity arguments are laden with
Problems which prove fatal to his attempt to demonstrate the
e"ulstence of God, no particular interpretation of the
relation between these proofs will rescue his project.
Hence, one's particular position on this interpretive
debate, if it is different from that assumed here, should
not by itself render my criticisms irrelevant. This is
be(zause the lines of inference I attack are indisputably
BeI‘keley' s. And the above debate concerns only what view we

are properly to take of the precise logical relation of some

of these lines of inference to one another.

72
IV. The Passivity Argument

Bennett, we will recall, summarizes the Passivity

argument as follows:

La) My ideas of sense (i.e. those which I have when I
perceive objective states of affairs) come into my
mind without being caused to do so by any act of my

will;

(b) The occurrence of any idea must be caused by the
will of some being in whose mind the idea occurs;

((3) Therefore, my ideas of sense are in the mind of,
and caused by the will of, some being other than

myself.

I believe Bennett’s representation of the argument to be a
faithful general characterization of the proof, but it is a
311391 ification of a more complex and convoluted line of
reasoning on Berkeley’ 3 part.21 In what follows I shall
Present a much more detailed analysis of the Passivity
a"-‘gllment, in order that we may subject it to fair scrutiny.
Now the proof as Berkeley presents it is an enthymeme.
TheJi’ezfore as I lay out my reconstruction of the argument I
shall make explicit certain premises which are only implicit
in Berkeley's account.

Here is my analysis of the argument:

(1) The sole cause of ideas is an active substance,
i.e. spirit (Principles, 26).

(2) I have ideas of sense (assumed).

(3) Therefore, my ideas of sense are caused by a

\

21. M.R. Ayers summarizes the argument in an only
31~5-ghtly more detailed fashion. See his "Divine Ideas and

BeI‘keley's Proofs for God's Existence".

 

73
spirit.

(4) Some of my ideas of sense are not caused by my
spirit (29).

 

(5) Therefore, some of my ideas are caused by another
spirit.

(6) All of my ideas of sense are steady, orderly,
varied, coherent, helpful, etc. (30).

 

(7) This other spirit causes ideas in me which are
orderly, varied, coherent, helpful, etc.

(8) The attributes of the spirit that causes my ideas
may be inferred from the characteristics of these
ideas (just as, analogously, we infer the
attributes of another human spirit from its
effects) (147-149).

 

(9) Therefore, the spirit which causes these ideas must
be wise, powerful, and benevolent (30).

This is the form of the passivity argument, but this
analysis does not exhaust its logical structure. Berkeley
offers sub-arguments for some of the premises in the proof.
Premise (4), for example, is bolstered by the following
argument:

(4a) Some of my ideas of sense are independent of my
will (29).

(4b) Ideas independent of my will are not caused by my
spirit (29).

 

(4) Some of my ideas are not caused by my spirit.
And Berkeley also explains his reasoning behind his
assertion in premise (6) that our ideas of sense are helpful
to us. This further sub-argument may be represented as

follows:

74

(6a) The order and constancy of my ideas of sense
provide me with a sort of foresight (31).

(6b) This foresight is beneficial, as it enables me to
regulate my actions (31).

 

(6) Therefore, my ideas of sense are helpful to me.
The remaining premises are arrived at either by common
sense, like premise (2), or, as in the case of premise (8),
constitute in Berkeley's judgment an axiom which does not
warrant philosophical justification but is a basic principle
which is self-evident.

Now that we have seen just how elaborate the passivity
argument actually is, let us see to what extent it
presupposes immaterialism. If we carefully examine all of
the steps of the argument as I have represented them, even
with its assumptions explicitly stated, we find that there
is only one premise in the entire argument which appears to
presuppose immaterialism, the first premise:

(1) The sole cause of ideas is spirit.

Of course, premises (3), (5), (7), and (9) do also suggest
immaterialism, but their immaterialist content is wholly
inherited from premise (1).

Now in what sense is this premise necessarily that of
an immaterialist? Essential to Berkeley’s metaphysics is
the denial of material substratum. Physical objects are
simply the sum of their perceivable qualities, which are
themselves entirely passive. Now since there is no

underlying material substratum in which these qualities may

75
subsist, it remains only for some active cause to be their
source. This, for Berkeley, is spirit or mind. Thus, we
see that premise (1) is a key part of his immaterialist
*metaphysics. But now the question arises, ”Could not a
matterist metaphysician affirm a proposition such as that in
premise (1)?" The answer is yes, and Malebranche is one
philosopher who did exactly this, maintaining both that
matter exists and that spirit is the cause of ideas. This
view, however, seems to be a very awkward combination of
metaphysical theses, for there is simply no need for
material substance in such an ontology. (Berkeley
criticized Malebranche on just these grounds.) Still, it is
a plausible and, it seems, coherent position. In this
sense, it is clear that premise (1) does go; neeeseazily
presuppose immaterialism, though it does happen to be a
concomitant of this metaphysic, as was shown above. And
yet, as was just noted, premise (1) could be a part of
matterist metaphysics. The upshot here, then, is that to
defend the Passivity argument for God's existence would not
by itself commit one to immaterialism.

Now having shown that the first premise, which is
clearly the best candidate for an essentially immaterialist
premise in the Passivity argument, does not necessarily
presuppose immaterialism, to what extent can we call this
argument as a whole an "immaterialist" argument? The answer
is that the Passivity proof is best described as

immaterialist because its logic is implied by an

76
immaterialist ontology, though the reverse does not hold.
That is, to use this particular argument does not thereby
commit one to immaterialism. So it seems that Berkeley's
Passivity argument can be called an immaterialist proof only
in this very restricted sense, that it begins with a premise
which is a tenet of immaterialism. The immaterialist nature
of this argument, then, is actually less pronounced than
might be first thought, for besides this one premise (which,
granted, is the pivotal premise of the proof) there are no
propositions in the argument not derived from it which are
at all suggestive of immaterialism, a fact which is further
illumined by the consideration that all of the premises in
the Passivity argument, with the exception of those which
inherit the immaterialist doctrine of spirit from the first
premise (3, 5, 7, and 9), could be affirmed by a matterist
such as Locke.

That the Passivity argument does not presuppose
immaterialism is less surprising when we consider that
premise (1) is itself only a theoretical postulate proposed
by Berkeley effie; he presents his case for the principle
that esse est percipi. The thesis that spirit is the cause
of all ideas is just one of the ways in which Berkeley seeks
to work out consistently and coherently the metaphysical
implications of this principle. Neither of the two theses
imply the other. The doctrine of spirit is no more

necessitated by immaterialism than the latter is by the

former.

77

Now let us consider the question of the originality of
Berkeley's Passivity argument. The overarching theme or
point of the argument is that the world, which for Berkeley
is best conceived as ideas, is ultimately dependent upon God
(infinite spirit). It is thus an argument from the world to
its cause. The logic of this general sort of theistic proof
is familiar, known typically as the cosmological argument.
In fact, I believe the Passivity argument can be properly
seen as Berkeley’s statement of the classical cosmological
argument in the vocabulary of immaterialism.22 To see
that this is so, let us consider some historical antecedents
of the proof.

Cosmological arguments are generally characterized by
the inference from contingent or dependent beings to some
first cause which is itself independent or self-existent.
The argument has an illustrious history, dating back at
least as far as Plato who employed the proof in his
Laws.23 Aristotle used a version of the cosmological
argument in the Metaphysics24 where he argues for the

existence of an unmoved mover. The argument was restated in

 

22. I.C. Tipton has argued that the Passivity proof is
actually just a variation of Locke’s argument for the
existence of real external bodies (The Philosophy of
Immaterialism, chapter 8). Compare Locke's argument in the
Essay, IV, 11, 5.

23. Book X.

2‘. Metaphysics, XII.

78

the medieval period by such thinkers as Anselm,25
Aquinas,26 and Ockham,27 and remained a popular theistic
proof throughout the early modern period. One particularly
-influential articulation of the cosmological proof in
Berkeley's day was made by Samuel Clarke whose rendering
runs something like this:

(1) Every being is either dependent or self-existent.

(2) Not every being is dependent.

 

(3) Therefore, there is a self-existent being.28
Other versions of the argument which bear a much closer
resemblance to Berkeley's are to be found in Descartes and
Locke. In the ESsay Locke reasons as follows:

(1) "Man has a clear perception of his own being.

He knows certainly that he exists, and that he

is something."

(2) "Bare nothing can [not] produce any real being."

 

(3) Therefore, "from eternity there has been
something."29

From here, as Berkeley later would do in the Passivity
proof, Locke argues for specific attributes of the deity,

maintaining that "what had its being and beginning from

 

25. Monologium, III-VII.
26. Summa Theologica, I, II, 3.
2". Quaestiones in lib. I Physicorum. Q. CXXXII-CXXXVI.

28. A Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God,
XI.

29. Essay, IV, X, 1-3.

79

another, must also have all that which is in, and belongs to
its being from another too".30 This means that since we
have power and knowledge, the deity must also be a powerful
and intelligent being. Locke concludes:

Thus from the consideration of our selves, and

what we infallibly find in our own constitutions,

our reason leads us to the knowledge of this

certain and evident truth, that there is an

eternal, most powerful, and most knowing being;

which whether any one will please to call God, it

matters not. The thing is evident, and from this

idea duly considered, will easily be deduced all

those other attributess which we ought to ascribe

to this eternal being. 1
The similarities between Locke's reasoning here and
Berkeley's in the Passivity argument should be plain. The
chief difference between the two lies not in the logical
structure of the arguments but in the nature of the effects
from which they reason. Generally speaking, both infer the
existence of deity based on the fact of contingent being.
The difference is that Berkeley makes his case in the
context of his dualistic ontology of ideas and spirits.
What Berkeley basically does, then, is transpose a Lockean-
style cosmological proof into the language of immaterialism.

Now I do not mean to suggest that what is unique about
Berkeley's Passivity proof is that it is a cosmological
argument which argues from igeee to God's existence. Its

originality, I believe goes beyond this (as I have

characterized it above). Anyway, Berkeley was not the

 

3°. Ibid., IV, x, 4.

31. Ibid., IV, x, 6.

80
first to present a cosmological proof which reasons from
one's ideas to the existence of God. Descartes defends such
an argument in the Meditations:

There remains only the idea of God, in which we

must consider if there is something which could

not have come from myself. By the word "God" I

mean an infinite substance, eternal, and

immutable, independent, omniscient, omnipotent,

and that by which I myself and all other existent

things...have been created and produced. But

these attributes as such--they are so great and

eminent--that the more attentively I consider

them, the less I can persuade myself that I could

have derived them from my own nature. And

consequently we must necessarily conclude...that

God exists. 2
Obviously, Descartes’ proof here is not an immaterialist
one, but it is a causal argument, reasoning from his idea of
a perfect being (which he says possesses a certain
"objective reality", or ideational content) to the actual
existence ("formal reality") of this being. Descartes'
argument shares this feature with the Passivity argument:
it parlays the existence of certain ideas into evidence that
God exists.

The above discussion should suffice to show that
Berkeley's Passivity argument is not original in terms of
its structure as a causal argument for God's existence; nor
is it even original in its articulation in terms of "ideas"
rather than "beings". Berkeley’s Passivity argument,

rather, is original to the extent that it is an

immaterialist version of the classical cosmological

32. Meditations, III.

 

81
argument. And it is, in particular, the content of the
first premise that denotes Berkeley's immaterialism. Thus,
the usual reading of the proof as being unique to him, is
somewhat on target. But, as we have seen, the argument is
not as radical a departure from traditional natural theology
as it has been commonly thought.

Since the Passivity proof represents Berkeley's
appropriation of the logic of the classical cosmological
argument to certain features of his immaterialism, the
argument is only original to the extent that a tenet of this
metaphysic, namely that for any idea, its sole cause is
spirit, is assumed in the proof. That is, it is not
essentially an immaterialist argument, since (1) the
defining thesis of immaterialism, esse est percipi, is not a
premise of the argument and (2) the central line of the
argument is an inference from effects to an ultimate divine
cause, an inference which was made by countless thinkers

before Berkeley, from Plato to Locke.

V. Criticism of the Passivity Argument
Now having seen to what extent Berkeley's Passivity
proof may be called an immaterialist argument we may inquire
as to whether the argument succeeds in demonstrating its
conclusion that the theistic God exists. I shall critically
evaluate the argument step by step. Beginning with premise
one, how does Berkeley know that the cause of his ideas must

be spirit? His justification for this assertion is found in

82
sections 25-26 of the Principles. Here his dualistic
ontology of ideas and spirit is expounded, the
distinguishing characteristic being the passivity of the
former and activity of the latter. He writes, "All our
ideas, sensations or the things which we perceive, by
whatsoever names they may be distinguished, are visibly
inactive--there is nothing of power or agency in them."33
This is to say, ideas are completely passive, unable to
cause anything, whether themselves or other ideas. Having
established this important point, Berkeley is prepared to
inquire as to the real cause of ideas, namely spirits. But
first he must show that our ideas are in fact caused. His
support for this claim is thin: "We perceive a continual
succession of ideas, some are anew excited, others are
changed or totally disappear. There is, therefore, some
cause of these ideas, whereon they depend and which produces
and changes them."34 What Berkeley is presupposing here
is that every change in ideas must have some cause, and this
assumption is at least as in need of justification as the
proposition which he uses it to justify. How does the
succession or change of ideas imply the existence of a cause
any more than the mere presence of ideas does? Bennett
frames the question this way: "Why does Berkeley...help

himself to the assumption that there must be...a cause for

 

 

33. Principles, 25.

34. Ibid., 26.

83
any change in anyone's sensory state?"35 Bennett’s answer
is that "Berkeley just is a philosopher of that familiar
kind who cannot entertain the possibility that an
intelligible 'why?’ might have no answer."36 This answer,
I believe, is in some respects correct, but Bennett fails to
explain the import of this aspect of Berkeley's
philosophical disposition, and ultimately Bennett’s
explanation serves more to dismiss than to illumine
Berkeley's view. The sense in which Berkeley is the sort of
philosopher "who cannot entertain the possibility that an
intelligible 'why?’ might have no answer" is this: when it
comes to the of fact of change Berkeley accepts the
principle of sufficient reason. That is, as Leibniz
articulates it, "nothing happens for which a reason cannot
be given why it should happen as it does rather than
otherwise."37 In accepting this principle Berkeley joins
a long tradition of philosophers, theists and non-theists
alike, who believe that all events do have causal
explanations. Moreover, in this particular context, the
passivity argument, Berkeley avoids the tenuous appeal to
common sense or the so-called "light of nature" which would
render this important part of his proof (and perhaps his

whole metaphysics) vulnerable to easy demolition.

 

35. Bennett, p. 210.
35. Ibid.

37. The Nature of Truth, 1686.

84

Now this acceptance of the principle of sufficient
reason does not imply that Berkeley believes that e11 'why'
questions have answers nor that all of those which do have
answers are Such that they can be known by us.38 In fact
his opting to justify the belief in a cause for ideas as he
does (by appealing to the need for an explanation for ehenge
in ideas) rather than by arguing from the mere existence of
a cause suggests that Berkeley does not believe the question
"Why do we have ideas?" to have an answer which is knowable
by us. For the strategy of answering this question directly
would be simpler and less circuitous than the route he
decides to take. This means that there is at least one
intelligible "why?" question which Berkeley believes does
not admit of an answer. But this is not the only such
instance. For Berkeley there are certain facts in the areas
of theology and philosophy of religion which likewise do not
admit of rational explanation, among them the divine
incarnation and grace.39 So Bennett’s claim about
Berkeley being the sort of philosopher who believes that ell
intelligible "why" questions have answers is simply false.

Let us turn now to an examination of premises 2 and 4
in Berkeley's passivity argument (as I have represented it).

The propositions in these two premises:

 

38. Leibniz himself acknowledges that in most cases the
reason for a fact or the truth of a proposition cannot be
known by us. See Monadology, 32.

39. See.Alciphron, VII and chapter 7 of this dissertation
for Berkeley's treatment of these doctrines.

 

85
(a) I have ideas of sense

and (b) Some of my ideas of sense are not caused by my
spirit

will be considered together, because they invite two kinds
of criticisms, neither of which seems to have been
considered by Berkeley. The first I wish to discuss was
considered by Descartes before him and Hume after him. It
is this: How do I know that what I think to be my ideas of
sense are not actually ideas of the imagination, caused by
my own mind? I open my eyes and I experience sensations of
color and shape. My ears are continually bombarded with
sounds of all kinds. I reach out my hand and experience
various tactile sensations, rough, smooth, hot, cold, etc.
All of these ideas I assume to be gained through my senses.
That is, I believe, were it not for my having functional
sense organs, I would not have these ideas. But is this
belief justified? Is Berkeley warranted in assuming as he
does that some of our ideas actually arise in us through the
operation of our senses? Moreover, how does he know that
these ideas are caused by some spirit other than one's own?
This objection might seem extravagant when approached in
the light of common sense, but its challenge was taken
seriously by Descartes who proposed the possibility that

there is in me some faculty or power adequate to

produce these ideas without the aid of any

external objects, even though it is not yet known

to me; just as it has so far always seemed to me

that when I sleep, these ideas are formed in me
without the aid of the objects which they

86

represent.40
Hume wrestled with this same problem and subjected the
empiricist thesis to similar objections as those offered by
Descartes:

By what argument can it be proved, that the

perceptions of the mind must be caused by external

objects, entirely different from them, though

resembling them (if that be possible) and could

not arise either from the energy of the mind

itself, or from the suggestion of some invisible

and unknown spirit, or from some other cause still

more unknown to us? It is acknowledged, that, in

fact, many of these perceptions arise not from any

thing external, as in dreams, madness, and other

diseases.
The assumptions Descartes and Hume are questioning in these
passages are precisely those made by Berkeley in premises 2
and 4 in the passivity argument. Descartes appealed to the
benevolence of God to ensure that our senses are reliable
and that our belief in external bodies which cause our ideas
of sense is justified. But Berkeley cannot take this route
because the proposition in question is utilized by him as a
premise in a theistic proof. To appeal here to God’s
benevolence, as he does in other contexts (e.g., in
obviating the problem of induction), would make this
argument viciously circular. Hume, on the other hand,

emphatically rejecting theism, found no satisfactory

SOlution to this objection and opted for a Pyrrhonistic

 

4°. Meditations III.

41. An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, XII, 1.

87
brand of skepticism.42 Of course for Berkeley, a vigorous
defender of common sense and an opponent of skepticism and
atheism, this was not a live option either.

How then might Berkeley deal with this problem noted by
Descartes and Hume? In the Principles Berkeley
distinguishes between ideas of sense and ideas of
imagination as follows: "The ideas of sense are allowed to
have more reality in them, that is, to be more strong,
orderly, and coherent than the creatures of the mind."43
The criteria here listed by Berkeley are reminiscent of the
standard of clarity and distinctness used by Descartes for
distinguishing true and false beliefs.44 And, curiously,
Hume invokes similar criteria for distinguishing between
ideas of memory and imagination.45 But are such
characteristics as strength, orderliness, coherence, etc.

reliable gauges for telling us which ideas are ideas of

 

42. For his part, Hume appears to have been persuaded
that Berkeley ought similarly to have been committed to
skepticism. He remarks that Berkeley's writings "form the
best lessons of skepticism, which are to be found either among
the ancient or ‘modern jphilosophers, Bayle not excepted"
(Enquiry, XII, 1).

43. Principles, 33.
44. Discourse on Method, IV.

45. "’Tis evident, at first sight," Hume explains "that
the ideas of the memory are much more lively and strong than
those of imagination, and that the former faculty paints
Obj ects in more distinct colours, than any which are employ'd
by ‘the latter" (Treatise of Human Nature, I, I, III.) Why
HEHHe did not consider these criteria to be adequate to also
di81:inguish ideas of sense from those of imagination is not
C eamxu

88
sense, having their origin from without rather than from our
own mind?

The problem with these criteria is that in using them
~it is presupposed that one ALIEAQY knows the difference
between ideas of sense and ideas of imagination, which of
course is the very question at issue. That is, to arrive at
these criteria we must fizee know which ideas arise from the
senses and which from the imagination before we can proceed
to determine what are the characteristics peculiar to each.
But this is precisely what we need these criteria to assist
us in determining. Alternatively, one might simply
stipulate that those ideas which are strong, ordered, and
coherent will be designated ideas of sense, while those
which lack these features will be assigned some other
status. However, this strategy is even less promising. For
while it perhaps provides a practical means for
distinguishing between ideas of sense and imagination, it
makes the distinction wholly arbitrary. Using such a priori
criteria may indeed insure that any given idea can be
readily classified as derived from sense or imagination, but
it is far from a guarantee that our new technical usage of
the terminology will correspond to experience or even to
ordinary language.

A further objection to Berkeley’s criteria derives from
experience. It seems just false to imply as Berkeley does

that ideas of the imagination are never as strong, ordered,

and (coherent as ideas of sense. This might usually be the

89
case, but it is not always true. Many dreams, for example,
are characterized by tremendous strength, order, and
coherence or at least to a degree sufficient to persuade us
that they are not mere images born of our own mind.
Furthermore, sometimes what we call ideas of sense are very
weak, disordered, or even incoherent as when we are drowsy
or under the influence of some mind altering agent.
Naturally, in our more lucid moments we seem capable of
distinguishing ideas of sense from those of imagination.
But we must ask to what criteria may one appeal when
determining whether he or she presently enjoys lucidity of
thought? The fact is that ideas are not always so easily
categorized as Berkeley (and Descartes and Hume) would have
us believe.

Premise 6 in the Passivity argument is subject to
serious criticism as well. First, not all of our ideas of
sense are steady, ordered, and coherent. Illusions and
hallucinations provide clear counter-examples. Healthy
persons with functional sense organs see mirages of water on
dry roads, objects with distorted shapes when seen at a
distance, and straight oars bent when placed in water. Some
SChizophrenics hear voices in their own heads when they are
aLome, and still others with psychological malfunctions seem
to see objects which do not exist. Such ideas are
adnLittedly unsteady and incoherent.

Berkeley's probable reply in the case of illusions is

that: these ideas we sense are not themselves lacking in

or
in
pe
si
Th
re
to
Be
re
51

fr

ca

th

Be

id-
in
9X.

Ei:

90
order or coherence, but they only appear so when we indulge
in the inference that because we have such and such
perceptions from a given perspective that we will have
similar perceptions when we adopt a different perspective.
Thus, for Berkeley, when it comes to illusions it is our
reasoning that is incoherent, not our ideas of sense. As
for the matter of hallucinations, we can only guess what
Berkeley's reply would be. There are several lines of
response which are open to him. He might, for instance,
simply deny the claim that hallucinatory ideas derive at all
from the senses and are to be classified as born of the
imagination. Or, he could concede that some hallucinations
can be properly called ideas of sense and defend the view
that they are not really incoherent relative to the mind of
the person to whom the phantoms appear.

Supposing, however, that there is some workable
Berkeleyan reply to these problems, it must be remembered
that granting the orderliness, steadiness, and coherence of
ideas of sense this serves as no further evidence that they
must have some cause outside the mind. One might, for
example, assume, a Kantian line: Any order in our ideas
might just as well be attributed to the structure of one's
own mind as to a cause external to it. The knower, on this
account, contributes the essential characteristics of
steeadiness, coherence, etc. to the manifold. This Kantian
Conception should seem particularly appropriate in

Becheley's case, for he argues for the mind-dependency of

91
all physical objects. If all physical objects are mind
dependent, one might ask, then why not all of the attributes
of those objects?

Perhaps the most serious problem in Berkeley's
passivity argument regards the inference he makes from
premises (7) and (8) to the conclusion that the spirit
causing his ideas (not caused by himself) must be wise,
powerful, and benevolent. In canvassing important
criticisms of this crucial move in the proof we need look no
further than Hume who in his Dialogues Concerning Natural
Religion enumerates a battery of objections to the classical
teleological argument for the existence of God. It is
likely that Hume had in mind the famous watch analogy
popular in his day, but many of his objections apply equally
well to the present argument of Berkeley's. In discussing
these criticisms we must keep in mind the sort of being
whose existence Berkeley wishes to prove, namely the
personal, all-loving, benevolent, omniscient, omnipotent God
of the Christian religion.

Supposing there are good grounds to infer the existence
of a spirit (other than one's own) causing one’s ideas and
supposing as well that this cause must also be intelligent,
does the passivity argument really give sufficient evidence
flor'concluding that this being is omniscient? Or granting
that this being is wise, even exceedingly wise, do we know
as ‘well on the basis of this argument that it is perfectly

wise? From the evidence provided by Berkeley in this proof

92
the answer to this question must be no. It is difficult to
envision just what would count as sufficient evidence for
the claim that a being is perfect in wisdom. Any given
quantity of wisdom-displaying acts would presumably be
finite. Moreover, our knowledge being limited to a small
corner of the universe, it would be presumptuous for us to
infer that the remainder of the cosmos displayed the kind of
intelligent design that the portion of the world experienced
by us does.

The same line of criticism applies to the attribute of
divine power. About one such as Berkeley who infers great
power on the part of the deity, Hume writes

This world, for aught he knows, is very faulty and

imperfect, compared to a superior standard; and

was only the first rude essay of some infant

Deity, who afterwards abandoned it, ashamed of his

lame performance; it is the work only of some

dependent, inferior Deity.46
While it may be admitted that if a single being is
responsible for the creation of this world that being must
possess tremendous power, we cannot deduce from our
experience of this cosmos that this being is omnipotent as
is maintained in Christian orthodoxy.

As regards the moral attributes of this being,
Berkeley's inference fares no better than the rest. The
presence of so much evil in the world is a serious

impediment for a theist such as Berkeley wishing to add

goodness to the list of divine attributes. Again Hume

 

45. Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, V.

93
lucidly explicates this point of criticism:

As this goodness is not antecedently established,

but must be inferred from the phenomena, there can

be no grounds for such an inference, while there

are so many ills in the universe, and while these

ills might so easily have been remedied, as far as

human understanding can be allowed to judge on

such a subject.47
In light of all of the suffering in the world due to natural
and moral evil we cannot look to this world as proof of the
deity's benevolence, though we may, Hume admits, construe
some way in which the goodness of God is compatible with the
presence of evil in the world.

A final criticism of the Passivity Proof concerns
Berkeley’s casual conclusion that the cause of his ideas is
a unified spirit. Why, we might naturally ask, must we
conclude that our ideas have as their cause a single spirit?
Is it not conceivable that our ideas could be produced in us
by many spirits? J.F. Thompson offers this same objection
to the Passivity proof and even suggests that in Berkeley's
argument ”the way is...left open for a kind of animism (one
spirit for each physical object) and for views intermediate
between this and theism."48 It seems that, as is often
the case with religious apologists, Berkeley was prone to

forget that the being whose existence his argument purports

to prove is just one among innumerable conceptions of deity.

 

47. Dialogues, XI.

48. "G.J. Warnock's Berkeley", Mind, vol. 65, 1956, pp.
95-101.

94
VI. The Continuity Argument
We turn now to Berkeley's other causal proof for the
existence of God, the Continuity argument. In our earlier
summary of the proof we represented it as follows:

(a) Physical objects, which are collections of sensible
ideas, exist only when perceived by some mind.

(b) Physical objects sometimes exist when they are not
perceived by any human (finite) mind.

 

(c) Therefore, there is some non-human (non-finite)
mind which perceives physical objects when they are
not perceived by any human mind.

Now to better understand what motivates the argument in the
discussion, let us briefly review the context of the third
Dialogue. Immediately preceding the proof is this objection
offered by Hylas’: "Supposing you were annihilated, cannot
you conceive it possible that things perceivable by sense
may still exist?"49 Now Philonous is in a very precarious
position, seemingly painted into a corner by his own logic.
For while unwaveringly defending a radical empiricist
thesis, he is also defending common sense, referring to
himself as of "a vulgar cast" believing that "common custom
is the standard of propriety in language".50 So when

Hylas puts this question to him, a dilemma emerges for
Philonous. If he answers "yes", then he implicitly rejects

esse est percipi aut percipere. If he answers "no", then he

«denies what everybody knows to be true as a simple matter of

 

49. Dialogues, p. 91.

5°. Ibid., pp. 90 and 70.

95
common sense, namely that physical objects do not disappear
when we stop perceiving them. Thus, it seems, he must
abandon one of these two commitments, immaterialism or
common sense. In a stunning piece of dramatic turnabout,
however, Hylas' attack is conveniently transformed by
Philonous into an occasion for a theistic proof. By holding
firmly to both esse est percipi aut percipere and the common
sense belief in object permanence what results is an
argument for the existence of God. The Continuity argument
is simply the product of Berkeley's marriage of these two
precepts, both of which he fancied himself a champion.

It is immediately apparent that the reasoning in this
proof is considerably less complex than that of the
Passivity argument. Furthermore, as just observed, the
Continuity argument is built squarely on the supposition of
the central principle of immaterialism, esse est percipi aut
percipere. Premise (a) is actually just a paraphrase of
this thesis. Unlike the Passivity argument, then, the
Continuity proof contains this element that cannot be
affirmed by anyone who is not an immaterialist. In this
regard the argument is uniquely Berkeleyan. In contrast,
premise (b), which amounts to an assertion of the common
sense belief that physical objects continue to exist even if
no finite mind is perceiving them, is perhaps as
philosophically ecumenical a proposition as can be
conceived. It is a premise that metaphysicians of all

stripes will heartily affirm (with the exception of an

96
esoteric few).

If my representation of the argument is accurate, then
it seems Berkeley's Continuity proof is formally valid. But
is it sound? Premise (a) can be criticized only as far as
one can criticize immaterialism itself, for it is the
essence of Immaterialism. Consequently, if immaterialism is
true, then at least half of the Continuity argument is
intact. So Berkeley’s whole defense of immaterialism is a
defense of this premise. This is one clear sense in which
immaterialism is an apologetic device. If the principle
esse est percipi aut percipere can be successfully defended,
then the most controversial leg of a new argument for the
existence of God will have been established. All that will
remain is for Berkeley to combine this principle with a
nearly universally held common sense belief about the
continuity of physical objects.

Premise (b) which asserts this common-sensical
proposition is based on Berkeley's enigmatic remark that "I
find [sensible things] by experience to be independent of
[my mind)".51 One wonders how a thinker as careful as
Berkeley could have let such a puzzling passage go to print.
In the above discussion I show that I am inclined by the
textual context to interpret this assertion as embodying
Berkeley's sympathy with and commitment to common sense.

(Most people do believe that physical objects exist

 

51. Dialogues, p. 91.

97
independently of their minds.)

Most commentators, prudently less generous than those
of a "vulgar cast" who might gladly grant Berkeley his
second premise without asking for justification, point to
the conspicuous problem of circularity in the proof. Given
the thesis that esse est percipi aut percipere, Berkeley has
no justification for believing that physical objects exist
unperceived by any finite mind, £5922; for the fact, if it
is a fact, that there exists some infinite mind (which
Berkeley understands to be God). So in even asserting the
common sense proposition in premise (b), Berkeley tacitly
affirms God's existence. But this is the very thing the
argument has set about to prove. The Continuity argument,
consequently, begs the question.52 It is because of the
obvious circularity of the Continuity argument, that
commentators such as Bennett and Dancy take the view that
the Continuity argument is not even intended by Berkeley to
be a separate proof. Berkeley, they suggest, would not so
blatantly beg the question. The Continuity argument is best
seen, therefore, not as an entirely independent proof but as
a supplement to the Passivity argument. I am not inclined
to agree with this part of their analysis, preferring to

read the second premise not as based on the presupposition

 

52. This standard criticism of the Continuity argument is
used by Tipton (The Philosophy of Immaterialism, pp. 322-323) ,
Dancy (Berkeley: An Introduction, pp. 44-45), and
Aschenbrenner ("Bishop Berkeley on Existence in the Mind" in
George Berkeley, B. Mates and S.C. Pepper, eds., 1957), p.
429.

98

that God exists but as justified by simple common sense.

Given the Bennett-Dancy interpretation of the
Continuity argument as a supplement to Berkeley’s main
‘theistic proof, and therefore as an argument which
presuppgggs the existence of God, it follows that it is not
really a proof of God's existence at all. In Dancy's view
the argument is really just Berkeley's way of solving the
problem of continuity of physical objects. Here Dancy
departs from Bennett who thinks that Berkeley is not even
concerned about continuity. This is why Bennett concludes
that Berkeley "does not seriously wish to employ the
Continuity argument at all."53

The Bennett-Dancy interpretation does of course make
criticism of Berkeley's case for the existence of God a much
easier, or at least more economical, task. If there are not
two independent theistic proofs here but only one, then
nothing more will be called for in refuting Berkeley than
what I have already done above in criticizing the Passivity
argument. My view, however, is not that of Bennett and
Dancy, as I just noted. Hence, I shall say more in the way
of criticism of the Continuity argument.

Without being able to fall back on the existence of God
to justify premise (b), Berkeley does face a serious problem
of circularity plaguing the Continuity argument, for Bennett

and Dancy are correct when they note that the only way

 

53. Bennett, p. 221.

99
Berkeley can justify this is by appealing to an infinite
mind which perceives physical objects when they are not
perceived by finite minds. But why else would Berkeley feel
justified in accepting premise (b)? I have already noted
one answer to this question, and I believe it is most likely
the correct answer. In short, Berkeley doesn’t think that
our belief in the continuity of physical objects needs
justification. He was quite aware that all persons hold
this belief as a matter of common sense. And the Continuity
argument attempts to exploit this universal belief for
theological ends.

I really see no way in which Berkeley can be seen as
doing anything but assuming premise (b) on the basis of
common sense. Now the natural response to Berkeley's appeal
to common sense here is to note that regardless of the
popularity of this belief, in the context of Berkeley’s
immaterialism it is ng_lgnggr a common sensical view. This
is precisely why, like Hylas, we are tempted to bring up the
issue of continuity. So it will not suffice for Berkeley to
hold fast to premise (b) as a common sense belief. Given'
his commitment to immaterialism, it no longer enjoys that
status.

Thus, it seems that Berkeley's continuity argument is
viciously circular. Of course, there is another way in
which this argument could be criticized--by attacking
premise (a), which constitutes Berkeley’s immaterialist

thesis, esse est percipi aut percipere. I shall refrain

100
from pursuing this line of criticism, however, since this
would necessitate a full-orbed critique of his metaphysics.
Anyway, the criticism I have given should suffice to show
that Berkeley's attempt to prove God's existence using the

continuity argument fails.

VII. Conclusion

In summation, regarding Berkeley's two arguments for
the existence of God examined in this chapter the following
has been established. First, both the Passivity and
Continuity arguments are causal arguments. Each pivots on
the assumption that ideas of sense must have some cause.
Secondly, both arguments include elements of immaterialism,
but only in the Continuity proof does Berkeley's
immaterialist thesis esse est percipi aut percipere actually
serve as a premise. The Passivity argument is not
essentially immaterialist, in the sense that affirming all
of the premises in the argument does not by itself commit
one to immaterialism. Thus far in our study, then, it is
only in the Continuity argument that Berkeley uses
immaterialism as an apologetic device. Thirdly, we have
found that while the Continuity argument is a truly original
Berkeleyan proof, in so far as it is essentially
immaterialist, the Passivity argument is not original with
Berkeley. Rather, it is simply his appropriation of the
logic of the traditional cosmological argument to his

immaterialism. Finally, both of these arguments ultimately

101
fail to justify their conclusion that God exists. The
Passivity argument is riddled with a number of serious
problems, many of which plague most versions of the
cosmological argument. The Continuity argument, on the
other hand, is beset with a single fatal flaw: circularity.
Fortunately for Berkeley the two theistic proofs examined in
this chapter are not the only ones in his apologetic
arsenal. He uses two others which are teleological in
nature. In the next chapter they are subjected to critical

analysis.

CHAPTER4

Berkeley's Teleological Arguments
For the Existence of God

102

103

Berkeley's Teleological Arguments
For the nxistence of God

I. Introduction

Because of the recent controversy over the relationship
of the Passivity and Continuity arguments in Berkeley’s
works, Berkeley’s other theistic proofs have drawn less
attention from scholars than they deserve. This is
especially true of the moral argument which has been all but
ignored in the literature. In this chapter I shall discuss
this argument as well as the argument based on the divine
visual language. One reason I have decided to devote a
separate chapter to their analysis is that, as shall become
clear in the following discussion, these proofs are
distinguished by the fact that, unlike the Passivity and
Continuity arguments, they in no way presuppose or depend on
immaterialism.

‘ Berkeley's most zealous days as a defender of
immaterialism were in his youth. It was also in his early
works that the Passivity and Continuity arguments appear.
The divine visual language (DVL) and moral arguments, on the
other hand, receive their most elaborate defense in
Berkeley’s later writings (Alciphron and, in the case of the
DVL argument, The Theory of Vision Vindicated and
Explained), which were written when Berkeley's apologetic
aims were as strong as ever but when defense of his

imitaterialist metaphysics was no longer an important part of

104
his scholarly agenda.

It will be my primary concern in this chapter to
demonstrate the following points: (1) neither the DVL proof
nor the moral argument for God’s existence presuppose
immaterialism, (2) neither of these arguments is entirely
original with Berkeley, and (3) both of these arguments
ultimately fail to provide a compelling case for theism.

Two of these theses, of course, must be qualified, in both
cases regarding the DVL argument. An immaterialist version
of this proof does appear in the Principles. However, it
will become plain with my elucidation of the fuller
Alciphron version that the rendering of the proof we find in
the Principles is only incidentally immaterialist. With
respect to the originality of this argument I must also
qualify my claim. The DVL argument as a whole is indeed
unique to Berkeley. He seems to have been the first (and
the last) philosopher ever to defend it. In this sense the
proof is novel. But upon careful analysis we shall find
that it is an argument which is composed of two sub-
arguments, specifically the classical analogical argument
for other minds and the teleological argument for the
existence of God, neither of which is original with
Berkeley. So the sole innovation made by Berkeley lies in
the way he combines these two traditional arguments. All of

this, I hope, will become clear as we proceed.

«u—o— ~---

105
II. The Divine Visual Language Argument

By now it should be clear that God is the intended
center of Berkeley's philosophy. Nowhere is this more
apparent than in his doctrine of the physical world as
constituting a divine visual language. This metaphor, and
the theistic proof which it constitutes, is unpacked in
vivid detail in Alciphron. In the fourth dialogue Euphranor
is challenged by the formidable "free thinker" after whom
the work is named to offer some positive evidence for his
claim that God exists. Euphranor's strategy is first to
inquire of Alciphron how it is that we justify our belief in
the existence of other minds. His reply is that minds are
"inferred from appearances which are perceived by sense"1
and he further grants that we may infer "from reasonable
motions (such as appear calculated for a reasonable end) a
rational cause, soul, or spirit".2 Here Euphranor is using
what has since become the traditional analogical argument
for the existence of other minds. By comparing the
observable behavior of others with that of our own and
noting at the same time how such behavior in ourselves is
accompanied by certain thoughts and emotions, we infer that
these internal phenomena in our own experience must also
have an analogue in the other person.

Now the unsuspecting Alciphron is persuaded by this

 

1. Alciphron, IV, 4.

2. Ibid.

106

argument for other minds, thus providing Euphranor the
necessary leverage to complete his theistic proof, as the
latter asserts that just as in the case of other human
beings we infer an "invisible thinking principle or soul"
from outward signs, we may reason likewise to God's
existence from signs in the world.3 Euphranor explains,

Though I cannot with eyes of flesh behold the

invisible God, yet I do in the strictest sense

behold and perceive by all my senses such signs

and tokens, such effects and operations, as

suggest, indicate and demonstrate an invisible

God, as certainly, and with the same evidence, at

least, as any other signs perceived by sense do

suggest to me the existence of your soul, spirit,

or thinking principle...4

Upon glimpsing the conclusion to which his concessions
have led him, Alciphron at this point modifies his position
by noting that it is more specifically a person's speaking
which is the most convincing evidence for his having a mind.
That is, the best philosophical argument for the existence
of other souls consists in hearing them use a language. And
by "language" Alciphron intends

...sensible signs which have no similitude or

necessary connexion with the things signified; so

as by the apposite management of them to suggest

and exhibit to my mind an endless variety of

things, differing in nature, time, and place;

thereby informing me, entertaining me, and
directing me how to act, not only with regard to

 

3. Because of the use of analogy in this theistic proof
to the argument for other minds, which is itself an analogical
argument, Michael Hooker calls Berkeley's argument a "second
order analogy". See his "Berkeley’s Argument from Design" in
Berkeley: Critical and Interpretive Essays, Colin Turbayne,
ed. (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1982) , 261—270.

4. Alciphron, IV, 5.

107

things near and present, but also with regard to
things distant and future.5

It is here that Euphranor proceeds to show how, by
Alciphron's definition of a language, the sensible world
qualifies as such and that therefore it must follow that a
”Universal Agent or God" speaks to us in the workings of
nature.

Colin Turbayne has brilliantly elucidated what he calls
Berkeley’s "metaphysical grammar", systematically capturing
the implications of this notion of divine language in
contemporary linguistic parlance, while carefully managing
to avoid distortion of Berkeley's views.6 For the
remainder of this section I draw considerably from the work
of Turbayne.

In Siris, Berkeley writes,

The phenomena of nature, which strike on the

senses and are understood by the mind, form not

only a magnificent spectacle but also a most

coherent, entertaining, and instructive...language

or discourse.

Berkeley is speaking quite literally in this passage, as
Turbayne illustrates, by drawing numerous analogies between

the "phenomena of nature" and human language. For example,

the letters of the divine alphabet consist of "sensible

 

5. Ibid., IV, 7.

6. "Berkeley's Metaphysical Grammar" in Berkeley:
Principles of’ Human Knowledge, Colin Turbayne, ed.
(Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc. , 1970) , pp. 3-
36.

7. Siris, 254.

qua
'14

hm
vh.
de:
to
pal
im
na1

tht

3'95
of

3:)

v.
I

108

qualities," e.g., "red", "smooth", "sweet", etc. These
"letters" combine to form complexes which we refer to as
"particulars" or "sensible objects," e.g., "apple". Like
human language, the language of nature also has a syntax,
which we call the ”laws of nature". These rules are both
descriptive and prescriptive. Their descriptive function is
to provide explanations, predictions, and retrodictions of
particular phenomena. We employ the "laws of nature" to
interpret or "read" the language of nature, to learn why
nature behaves as it does and how it is likely to behave in
the future. As Berkeley explains, the laws of nature

extend our prospect beyond what is present and

near to us, and enable us to make very probable

conjectures touching things that may have happened

at very great distances of time and place, as well

as to predict things to come; which sort of

endeavor toward omniscience is much affected by

the mind.8
Of course, the analogy here to human language is that in
English, for instance, there is a rule of syntax regarding
subject-verb agreement which explains why I used the word
"is" rather than "are" or "was" earlier in this sentence and
provides grounds for predicting what tense of this same verb
I shall use to complete the sentence "The apple I ate
yesterday ___ sweet." The prescriptive function of the laws
of nature is to instruct us with regard to what ends can be

achieved by certain kinds of actions. Berkeley writes, "the

laws of nature give...us a sort of foresight which enables

8. Principles, 105.

109

us to regulate our actions for the benefit of life. And
without this we should be eternally at a loss..."9 For, as
in human language, these syntactical rules of the language
of nature serve to guide and admonish us, to furnish us with
hypothetical imperatives such as "If you want to be
nourished, then eat," just as syntactical rules of human
language serve as guidelines and admonitions for ensuring
that we communicate effectively.

In light of the foregoing exposition, the DVL argument
may be represented as follows:

(a) The existence of another mind may be inferred from
the use of language, i.e. the use of signs in such
a way as to convey meaning.

(b) On the basis of what is communicated through the
use of language we may infer that a mind possesses
such attributes as intelligence, wisdom,
benevolence, etc. depending upon the kind of use
the author makes of it.

(c) The visible world consists of a complex system of
signs which instructs us about what to expect and
how to act to achieve certain ends; that is, the
visible world constitutes a language.

 

(d) Therefore, there is a mind who is the author of
this language (the world), and this mind is
exceedingly powerful, intelligent, wise, and
benevolent.

I want now to make two important observations. First, the
DVL argument does not operate on the supposition of
immaterialism. It might be contended against this claim
that premise (c) actually does assume Berkeley’s

immaterialist ontology, specifically his belief that only

 

9. Ibid., 31.

110
spirits and ideas exist, the latter constituting what we
call the physical world which is visible to us. However,
reading the DVL argument in this way is, I believe, a result
of reading immaterialism intg it, for to say that the
visible world constitutes a sort of language simply does not
by itself imply anything, pro or con, about the existence of
matter, much less Berkeley’s particular dualistic ontology.
Anyway, if we consider the works in which Berkeley's
doctrine of divine visual language appears, it becomes clear
that it does not presuppose immaterialism. The doctrine
first appears in Towards a New Theory of Vision which in no
way assumes immaterialism.1° Furthermore, the fullest
articulation of the doctrine is in Alciphron, which, as
noted earlier, is a treatise written for a general audience,
not only for those who subscribe to the metaphysics he
defended in the early works. In writing that work Berkeley
is concerned to convince his readers of the truth of the
Christian world-view, not to persuade them of his -
metaphysics. This is certainly not to suggest that in
Alciphron Berkeley departs from his immaterialism.
Everything in this treatise is perfectly consistent with his
early metaphysics. I am only insisting that we restrict our
present analysis of the DVL argument to the text of
Alciphron and not project something onto our interpretation

of it that is not there. When we successfully resist this

1°. Section 147.

111
temptation we find that the term "visible ideas" need mean
nothing more than it says and that this proof speaks just as
well to the matterist as to the immaterialist.

The other point I wish to make, perhaps a surprising
one, is that this argument is not original, at least not
essentially. Close inspection of the reasoning in this
proof reveals that what Berkeley does is to combine two
traditional philosophical arguments. While the final
product seems new and unique, its basic elements are
actually very familiar, once isolated from one another. The
two arguments I am referring to are the analogical argument
for other minds and the teleological argument for the
existence of God. Careful examination of the individual
premises in the DVL argument shows this to be the case.
Premise (a) states that the exieeenee of mind may be
inferred from language use. Premise (b) makes the further
claim that we can infer certain eggribgeee of a particular
mind from the kind of usage that is made of language.11
This line of reasoning is essentially that of those who wish

to argue that there are minds other than and similar to

one's own, based on certain external similarities, such as

 

11. My interpretation here concurs with that of
commentators such as Paul Olscamp who believe that in
Alciphron IV Berkeley attempts to conclude not just that God
exists but also that the deity has a certain nature. See
Olscamp’s The Moral Philosophy of George Berkeley (The Hague:
Martinus Nijhoff, 1970). 'Michael Hooker is one commentator
Who challenges this interpretation, maintaining that Berkeley
here attempts only to prove God's existence. See his
"Berkeley’s Argument from Design".

112

language use. Hence, premises (a) and (b) represent
arguments by themselves, but they constitute only the first
leg of Berkeley's DVL argument. It still remains for this
analogical reasoning to be applied to God, the infinite
mind, in Berkeley's terminology. This is precisely the
function served by premise (c), which does so indirectly by
referring to the world itself as a language. Now God is
simply the "world mind", as this analogy would lead us to
label it, the intelligent, purposeful being who "speaks" in
the form of visible ideas just as we finite minds speak
audibly. It is the inference to these particular attributes
of the "world mind" which composes the teleological argument
within the DVL argument, for this inference, like the
inference to other finite minds, is based on the appearance
of purpose in the so-called language of the visible world.

Having noted, then, that the DVL argument is just a
combination of these two arguments, to show that Berkeley's
proof is unoriginal we need only identify versions of these
arguments preceding Berkeley. The historical antecedents of
the argument from design are well known, extending as far
back as the ancient Greeks. Plato and Aristotle both were
convinced that the world displayed design and purpose. In
the medieval period this conviction was shared by Aquinas
who attempted to prove God's existence on the basis of

apparent teleology in the world.12

 

12. Summa Theologica, I, II, 3.

113

The "Golden Age" of the argument from design began in
the seventeenth century.13 It was a favorite among
scientists as well as philosophers. Probably the most
famous version of the argument from design is William
Paley's watch analogy. Of course, this did not appear until
long after Berkeley.1‘ Paley, however, was not the first
to use this analogy. In Micrographia, first published in
1665, Robert Hooke writes,

So various and seemingly irregular are the
generations or productions of insects, that he
that shall carefully and diligently observe the
several methods of nature therein, will have
infinite cause further to admire the wisdom and
providence of the Creator; for not only the same
kind of creature may be produced from several
kinds of ways, but the very same creature may
produce several kinds: For, as divers watches may
be made out of several materials, which may yet
have all the same appearance, and move after the
same manner, that is show the hour equally true,
the one as the other, and out of the same kind of
matter, like watches may be wrought differing
ways; and as one and the same watch may, by being
diversely agitated or moved by this or that agent,
or after this or that manner, produce a quite
contrary effect: so may it be with these most
curious engines of insect bodies; the all wise God
of nature may have so ordered and disposed the
little automatons, that when nourished, acted, or
enlivened by this cause, they produce one kind of
effect or animate shape, when by another they act
quite another way, and another animal is

 

13. Meyrick H. Carre in his article "Physicotheology"
characterizes the early modern period as such with regard to
the argument from design. For a thorough history of this
theistic proof during that period, I refer the reader to this
article in The Encyclopedia of Philosophy (vol. 6), Paul
Edwards, ed. (New'Yorkx The MacMillan Co. and the Free Press,

1967), pp. 300-305.

14. Natural Theology, 1800.

114

produced.15
Here Hooke's argument takes as its departure point the
apparent purpose in animate nature. Other versions of the
argument from design have appealed solely to inanimate
nature. A notable example among them is offered by Isaac
Newton who in his Principia discourses in extensive detail
about how the order in the heavens testifies to the wisdom
and power of God. A sample passage reads:

This most beautiful system of the sun, planets,
and comets, could only proceed from the counsel
and dominion of an intelligent and powerful Being.
And if the fixed stars are the centres of other
like systems, these, being formed by the like wise
counsel, must be all subject to the dominion of
One...

This Being governs all things, not as the soul of
the world, but as Lord over all; and on account of
his dominion he is wont to be called Lord God...or
Universal Ruler;...

We know him only by his most wise and excellent
contrivances of things, and final causes; we
admire him for his perfections; but we reverence
and adore him on account of his dominion: for we
adore him as his servants; and a god without
dominion, providence, and final causes, is nothing
else but Fate and Nature.16

Robert Boyle is yet another scientist of this period who
could not resist the temptation to draw theological
conclusions from his scientific observations:
So numberless a multitude, and so great a variety
of birds, beasts, fishes, reptiles, herbs, shrubs,
trees, stones, metals, minerals, stars, &c. and

everyone of them plentifully furnished and endowed
with all the qualifications requisite to the

 

15. Micrographia, XLIV (1665).

16. Principia, "General Scholium", 1687.

115

attainment of the respective ends of its creation,

are productions of a wisdom too limitless not to

be peculiar to God.17

These examples of the argument from design are but a
representative sampling of the many versions which appeared
in the early modern period. Other thinkers who defended the
proof include John Ray,18 Samuel Clarke,19 and William
Derham.2° So popular was this line of reasoning that in
presenting his own version Berkeley no doubt felt himself to
be in the mainstream, perhaps even obliged to try his hand
at the argument. It is clear, then, that the DVL argument,
since it is essentially an argument from design, is not
original with Berkeley. Although in combining this line of
reasoning with the argument from other minds Berkeley's
proof is unique some respects, the central inference from

design to designer is an old one. This is the point I want

to stress.

 

17. This passage is found in The Usefulness of
Experimental Natural Philosophy, Part 1 (1663). I have taken
this quote from Robert Boyle on Natural Philosophy: An Essay
with Selections from His Writings, by Marie Boas Hall
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1965), p. 143. Boyle
defends the argument from design in other works as well,
including The Excellence and Grounds of the Mechanical
Philosophy, (1674).

18. The Wisdom of God .Manifested in the Works of
Creation, (1691). This work, reprinted in 1705, was
particularly popular in Berkeley's day.

19. A Demonstration of the Being and Attributes of God
(1704).

2°. Physico-theology (1713) and Astro-theology (1715).

116

III. The Divine Visual Language
and Berkeley's Conception of Science

Having seen how Berkeley conceives of nature as a
literal divine language, we are now in a position to
understand what it is, on Berkeley’s view, that the
scientist actually does. Contrary to the popular conception
in his own time (and which still flourishes in contemporary
times), he held that it is not efficient causes which the
scientist discovers in doing science, since for Berkeley the
only efficient causes are spirits. What the scientist is
actually engaged in is the enterprise of learning God’s
language, of interpreting divine utterances manifested in
the workings of nature.21 Thus, an important corollary of
Berkeley's conception of nature is that it provides a
theistic foundation for scientific inquiry. This is because
induction, the reasoning process upon which science itself
rests, is justified by the knowledge that God exists.22
Now it is interesting to note that Berkeley writes before
David Hume arrives on the philosophical scene, the man who
is credited with first articulating what has since become
known as the problem of induction. I say it is interesting
because Berkeley's notion of nature as a divine visual

language provides a sort of attempt to justify inductive

 

21. See Jonathan Dancy, Berkeley: An Introduction,
Chapter 8, "The Language of God" (New York: Basil Blackwell,
Inc., 1987), pp. 114-115.

22. The inspiration and germ of the account given here is
to be found in Dancy's Berkeley: An Introduction, Chapter 8.

117
reasoning. I shall explain just how this works, but before
doing so it will be well to review the Humean problem of
induction.

Hume's critique of induction emerges in the context of
analysis of causation, specifically our belief in causal
laws, that is, that in the future similar effects will
follow from similar causes as they have in the past. His
argument is two-pronged: If our belief in causal laws is to
be justified, this must be done either via reason or
experience. He attacks the first approach on the following
grounds. Since I can conceive the occurrence of any cause
without its being accompanied by its usual effect, it
follows that it is not impossible that any effect of any
cause should not follow from it. For "whatever is
intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies no
contradiction, and can never be proved false by any
demonstrative argument or abstract reasoning a priori."23
In appealing to experience to justify causal laws one can
appeal to past and present experiences only. However, in
doing so we inevitably beg the question, since it is our
belief that the future will resemble the past that we are
trying to justify. Hume concludes that "It is impossible,
therefore, that any arguments from experience can prove this

resemblance of the past to the future; since all these

arguments are founded on the supposition of that

\
23. An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding, IV, 2.

118

resemblance."24 Thus, to rephrase Hume's argument, in
order to justify our belief that the future will resemble
the past (that nature is uniform), our only possible
philosophical recourse is to appeal to the fact that in the
past nature has been uniform, but in arguing this way we
presuppose that nature is uniform, the very proposition we
are attempting to justify. Hence, we are arguing in a
circle. The upshot, in Hume's view, is that our belief in
the uniformity of nature is unjustified, as he writes,

there is nothing in any object considered in

itself which can afford us a reason for drawing a

conclusion beyond it; and, even after the

observation of the frequent or constant

conjunction of objects, we have no reason to draw

any inference concerning any object beyond those

of which we have had experience.

Hume's own response to this problem is to take a
pragmatic tack. While acknowledging what he considers to be
a lack of rational grounds for believing that the future
will resemble the past, he concedes that this belief is
irresistible, and although entirely a product of instinct
and custom, it is in fact very practical. If we are to get
along in life, we must assume, if not in word at least in

deed, that nature is uniform. It is a sort of "animal

faith" which abides with us for our own good.26 This

 

24. Ibid.
25. A Treatise of Human Nature, I, III, 12.

26. See Hume's Enquiry, XII, 1. This notion, exploited
by I. among others, George Santayana in his Skepticism and
Mlmal Faith, is not a pejorative one for Hume, as it is
511“:le descriptive of the fact that despite our exalted status

119

strategy of dealing with Hume’s critique of induction has
been judged deficient by many philosophers, and so a wide
array of alternative tactics have been employed in the .
interest of offering a satisfactory solution.27

So what is the Berkeleyan proposal for solving the
problem of induction? It begins by noting that we observe
certain regularities in nature, for example that unsupported
objects fall, fire burns, and that a day is twenty-four
hours long. Now it is also the case that, as we observe
that given certain qualifications these regularities are
without exception and have in the past obtained universally,
we are able to exploit this knowledge to our own benefit.
We learn to get out of the way of falling objects, to keep a
safe distance from hot objects, and to refrain from leaping
from great heights. We also learn when to sow and when to
reap and how to warm ourselves when the cold season comes.
In short, regularities in nature help us to survive and even
to prosper in the world. The above examples are perhaps
mundane, but of course, as humankind through the
sophistication of science and technology has discovered more
subtle "laws" of nature, we have been able to secure more
substantial and impressive benefits. Discoveries of Boyle's

law, the ideal gas law, the laws of thermodynamics, and the

 

as rational animals, at the end of the day we actually have
good reasons for very few of our beliefs.

27. Notable tactics include those of Whewell, Popper,
Reichenbach, Black, and Braitwaite.

120
laws of electricity, light, and radio waves, etc. have
brought us such goods as the air conditioner, electric heat,
the telephone, television, radio, and the internal
combustion engine. In these and countless other ways
regularities in nature prove useful for the general welfare
of humankind and thus, on a Berkeleyan account, testify to
the existence of a purposeful, intelligent, and powerful
mind at work behind the cosmic scene who seeks to benefit
his creatures. That is, for Berkeley, the laws of nature
display the deity's benevolence, among other attributes.

Now since God is benevolent, and, we must suppose,
unchanging in his nature, we can trust that the regularities
in nature will indeed remain constant as they have in the
past, that they are in fact lawful. That is, we can trust
that the future will resemble the past. Why? Because if,
after observing the constancy of nature and employing this
knowledge for our own benefit, this uniformity were to
cease, the results would be harmful to us. We might cite as
a simple example the chemistry of water. If the freezing
point of water suddenly rose four degrees, the consequences
for the human race, as well as for the rest of the animal
kingdom, would be devastating. Ice would sink instead of
floating, so oceans and lakes would freeze from top to
bottom thus killing all marine life and making human life as
we know it virtually impossible. Briefly put, humankind
would suffer terribly if there occurred deviations from the

normal course of nature's basic operations, and this would

121

be inconsistent with the benevolence of God and his love for
his creatures. Therefore, on Berkeley's principles, we can
and should believe that the future will resemble the past,
since the world is ruled by a loving God. Providence
assures us that there are indeed "laws" of nature, so our
belief that nature is uniform is not mere instinct or custom
but is justified and hence rational.

The Berkeleyan account, then, may be represented by the

following schema:

Uniformity

Observed of Nature

Regularities -> Benevolence -> Trustworthiness -> (Observed

in Nature of God of God and unob-
served)

From the regularities of nature and the benefits derived
from exploiting them we learn the benevolence and
trustworthiness of God. And given our knowledge of these
two attributes of God we are justified in believing that
nature is uniform. In a nutshell, this is Berkeley's
anticipatory reply to Hume. Now there are some important
objections to this general account which need to be
addressed, but before doing so I want first to draw
attention to some interesting corollaries.

First, let me note a significant implication of this
view for Berkeley’s philosophy of science generally. Since
the laws of nature are some of the most basic tools of
empirical science, it follows from Berkeley’s justification

of induction that scientific enterprise as whole is girded

122

on the foundation of faith in the "author of nature".28
Rational scientific investigation, it seems for Berkeley,
critically requires reliance upon trust in God. And every
empirical scientist who embarks on gaining insight about the
natural world at least implicitly demonstrates this faith.
Berkeley thus unites faith and reason in empirical science,
and this constitutes one more instance in which he shows
himself to be a relentless defender of the faith.

Secondly, Berkeley's account accommodates a reasonable
explanation of miracles. He writes,

It may indeed on some occasions be necessary that

the Author of Nature display overruling power in

producing some appearance out of the ordinary

series of things. Such exceptions from the

general rules of nature are proper to surprise and

awe men into an acknowledgment of the Divine

Being...29
A miracle, then, differs from an ordinary event only insofar
as it is "out of the ordinary series of things." Its cause
and purpose, however, are the same as that of nature’s usual
operations. God is the cause, and his purpose is to
convince humankind of his goodness and power and ultimately
to draw people to himself. So strictly speaking, for
Berkeley nature is not absolutely uniform. There do occur

what appear to be exceptions to its general rules.

Now we may observe here, that this doctrine of miracles

 

28. .As ‘we .have already seen Berkeley's use of the
expression "author" when referring to God amounts to no mere
metaphor. Rather, he intends this appellation to be taken
quite literally.

29. Principles, 63.

123
when combined with Berkeley's solution to the problem of
induction is not without its difficulties. It seems here
that he is wanting to have his cake and eat it too, for he
uses both the regularity of nature as well as its occasional
irregularities to infer the existence of the deity as well
as certain facts about the attributes of this being. Now
either there is regularity in nature or there is not, and
depending upon which is actually the case the theist may
conclude that the deity is benevolent or that miracles do
occur, but he cannot have it both ways. Berkeley's likely
reply here would be to insist that he can have it both ways,
since the exceptions to the rules in nature are every bit as
helpful to the creatures as the regularities.3° That is,
these deviations like the rules themselves are always
intended for the sake of a creature's welfare. Thus, the
rational person is still justified in trusting God, despite

his occasional divergences from cosmic routine.31

 

3°. An irresistible objection here regards the so called
miracles in Berkeley's religious tradition which resulted in
the harm of many human beings. A case in point is the story
of the parting of the Red Sea in Exodus. The Israelites
surely benefitted from this exception to the laws of nature,
but the Egyptians did not. At the least, such an account
raises questions about divine goodness. Berkeley's treatment
of this issue I examine in chapter five, on the problem of
evil.

31. Berkeley’s doctrine of miracles is similar to, though
not identical with, that of C.S. Lewis who maintains that "A
miracle is emphatically not an event without a cause or
without results. Its cause is the activity of God.... The
great complex event called Nature, and the new particular
event introduced into it by the miracle, are related by their
common origin in God." From Miracles: A Preliminary Study
(New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc., 1960), p. 60.

124
I should note in passing that a belief in miracles
might even serve to bolster Berkeley's analogy between human
and divine visual language, for it is true that in any human
language there are exceptions to many of the syntactical

rules, though by and large a given rule is applicable.

IV. Objections to the Berkeleyan Approach to Induction

The Berkeleyan approach to induction will be found
unsatisfactory by some because in an essential respect his
solution marks no genuine advance on Hume's response to his
own criticisms, that our sole means of philosophical redress
in the wake of such a critique is to appeal to faith. The
only noteworthy difference in Berkeley's case, the critic
might lament, is that the sort of faith he endorses is
religious faith rather than Hume's ”animal faith", and this
is hardly a desirable amendment for the agnostic or atheist.

The best response to this complaint is the simplest.
What the critic points to in the above objection, that
Berkeley's attempted solution to the problem of induction
merely supplants animal faith with religious faith, is
precisely Berkeley's design. For he seeks to lead us to the
sovereign deity behind the laws of nature that we might put
our ultimate trust in the former rather than in his works or
ourselves. It was, after all, Berkeley's first concern to

"inspire in [his] readers with a pious sense of the presence

125
of God."32 And what better way to accomplish this end
than by showing that the legitimacy of empirical science,
historically one of the most secular of intellectual '
pursuits, depends fundamentally on a trust in God.

A related criticism regards a problem which emerges if
we press Berkeley's analogy between human language and the
divine visual language. It is well known that the syntax of
any human language (e.g. English, German, French, etc.)
changes over time, albeit very slightly and only over long
periods of time. Now the critic could conceivably argue
that since in Berkeley's scheme the laws of nature are
analogous to linguistic syntax, it would seem to follow that
the laws of nature should be expected to change as well.

And if this is the case, then the regularity in nature is
merely relative to the phenomena we experience. And from
this it follows that we really do not have the grounds to
conclude that God is benevolent, as Berkeley thinks we do.
In response to this objection an important clarification
must be made with regard to the structure of Berkeley’s
argument. Specifically, we must keep in mind that
Berkeley's is a two-step argument. In the first step he
makes an inference to the existence of an intelligent deity
on the basis of the analogy between human language and the
visual phenomena we experience. It is in the second step of

his argument where he infers that this being is benevolent

 

32. Principles, 156.

126
and loving because of the regularity of these phenomena.
And once having established this point, of course, Berkeley
has obtained what he deems sufficient grounds for concluding
that regularity in nature will continue, that is, that
nature is uniform. Now notice that to acknowledge
syntactical evolution and variation need not disrupt the
first part of the argument because the essence of the
analogy is preserved, namely that in both human language and
the visual phenomena there are certain rules by which the
"signs" are (or must be) arranged and organized. It is
irrelevant in this first part of the argument that such
rules could evolve, however significantly, so long as there
remain rules which serve to govern the "meaning" of the
discourse. Thus, the objection does not touch the first
half of Berkeley's argument. So what about Berkeley’s
subsequent argument, from regularity in the visual language
to the benevolence of God? Here again, the possibility of
mutation in the syntactical rules, in this case known as the
”laws of nature", does not nullify Berkeley's inference, for
two reasons. First, we cannot be certain that the laws of
nature (thermodynamics, gravity, inertia, the gas laws,
etc.) do not themselves mutate minutely over very long spans
of time (say, trillions of years), in which case a more
exact analogy between human and divine visual language would
be preserved. Secondly, even if it is the case that there
is no such change, however slight or slow, in the laws of

nature, this does not impugn the second step of Berkeley's

127
argument because there all that is necessary for us to infer
divine benevolence is enough observable regularity to enable
us to exploit this regularity for our own welfare. Thus, in
neither part of Berkeley's argument is it necessary that the
syntax of human language be perfectly analogous to the
syntax of the divine visual language, i.e. the laws of

nature.

A third, more serious objection regards a questionable
premise implicit in Berkeley’s account. Even if we grant
God's existence and furthermore that he is in sovereign
control of all of nature's operations as Berkeley suggests,
there still remains the dubious claim that God is
unchanging, a crucial assumption in the Berkeleyan
justification of induction. Aside from the theist's belief
that God’s actions are consistent, how do we know God's
nature is itself constant? And how is the theist's belief
in this claim any more rational than the non-theist's belief
in the uniformity of nature itself?

This objection raises some serious and complex issues
which could lead us into a discussion of numerous tangents,
but here I have timeonly to address its queries broadly.
(Berkeley's probable answer to the first question raised in
tilis objection is that just as we must have faith in the
being of God we must have faith that his nature is constant,

that tomorrow he will not suddenly transmute into a

128

3 And to the second question, it may be

malevolent deity.3
answered that a faith that God preserves the uniformity of
nature's operations is more rational than faith in the laws
cf nature themselves because of who God is--an omnipotent,
omniscient, omnibenevolent being. In brief, he is the sort
of being who is more worthy of the trust of his creatures
than are the laws of nature (a term which, incidentally,
denotes no object in the world but only describes the
feature of regularity discernable in the phenomena of
nature).

If Berkeley's divine visual language argument can be
seen as an anticipation of Hume, it is not the only such
instance. At one juncture in the Dialogues Hylas advances a
Humean view of mind.34 Elsewhere, Hylas is the mouthpiece
for skeptical arguments about knowledge of the external
world strikingly similar to those offered by Hume in chapter
VII of his E'nguiry.35 The theme to be found in Berkeley’s
rejoinders to Humean skepticism is that we, philosophers and
lay persons alike, must in the end resort to faith in God in
order to combat doubt and secure knowledge, whether its

object be the external world or our belief that the future

will resemble the past.

 

33. In chapter seven we shall find that Berkeley allows
other particulars about the nature of God, e.g. the Holy
Trinity, to be entirely a matter of faith.

34. Dialogues, p. 61. See also Philosophical
Commentaries, 577, 579, and 580.

35. Ibid., p. 113.

129
V. Criticisms of the Divine Visual Language Argument
Returning now to the divine visual language argument
itself, we may note some difficulties with this proof which
perhaps prevent Berkeley's project of creating a theistic
foundation for science from even getting off the ground.
The general form of the proof, we will recall, is this:

(a) The existence of another mind may be inferred from
the use of language, i.e. the use of signs in such
a way as to convey meaning.

(b) On the basis of what is communicated through the
use of language we may infer that a mind possesses
such attributes as intelligence, wisdom,
benevolence, etc. depending upon the kind of use
the author makes of it.

(c) The visible world consists of a complex system of
signs which instructs us about what to expect and
how to act to achieve certain ends; that is, the
visible world constitutes a language.

 

(d) Therefore, there is a mind who is the author of
this language (the world), and this mind is
exceedingly powerful, intelligent, wise, and
benevolent.

I shall focus on a few very serious problems with this
argument. The first concerns the sub-arguments found within
premises (a) and (b), both of which make inferences about
minds other than one's own. In premise (a) the egiegenee of
another mind is inferred from language use. In premise (b)
certain attributes of other minds are inferred from
particular uses of language. This part of Berkeley's
argument is an early version of the analogical argument for

other minds. This is an argument which is notorious for its

popularity despite its fatal flaws. The main problem with

130
versions of the analogical argument like Berkeley's here is
that while they point to many observable similarities
between oneself and another person (including not only
language use but facial expressions, bodily postures, etc.)
and while these tangible parallels are suggestive of the
notion that the other person indeed has a private mental
life much like one's own, these parallels are insufficient
to demonstrate with certainty that other persons have minds
(much less that ell other persons have minds). That is to
say, by its nature the analogical argument, even if
successful, can only make the proposition that there are
minds other than one's own prepeple.

But this is only the beginning of the difficulty with
the analogical argument for other minds. The argument
cannot even succeed in proving that there are prepebly minds
other than one's own. This is because analogical arguments,
being inductive, depend for their strength in part on the
number of cases to which the case in question can be shown
to be analogous. Now in the case of the analogical argument
for other minds the inference is based on only one case in
which one knows there to be a correlation between physical
and mental attributes--one's own, hardly a sufficient
sampling from which to infer the existence of other minds.
The seriousness of this difficulty becomes especially
glaring when we consider that this argument is intended to
justify our belief in not just one or two minds but millions

of them--every human being we encounter, in fact. Hence,

131
the analogical argument for other minds reasons on the basis
of observation of mental attributes in one case, our own, to
the conclusion that all other persons have mental
attributes, minds of their own.36

Now these troubles with the first part of the divine
language argument seem to be devastating, but there is a
further serious problem with the proof. In short, the
argument either begs the question or else it is invalid. If
one understands language to be the use of signs by which one
person communicates to another, then even to suggest that
the visible world is'a sort of language, as in premise (c),
is already to assert that there is a personage communicating
to human beings through the natural world. Which is to say,
this premise is assuming the existence of the entity whose
existence is being inferred in the conclusion. This means
the argument is viciously circular.

Now in order to avoid this charge of circularity,
Berkeley must adopt a naturalistic conception of "language",
where no notion of a person responsible for the use of signs
is built into the it. But if this adjustment is made, the
conclusion of the argument will no longer follow from the
premises, for in (a) and (b) it is crucial in the analogical
argument for other minds that language use be a

characteristic peculiar to minds. To deny this, as Berkeley

\

36. For further criticisms of the analogical argument for
Other minds see J.M. Shorter’s "Other Minds" in The
-Encyclopedia of Philosophy (vol. 6), Paul Edwards, ed. (New
1York: The Macmillan Co. and the Free Press, 1967), pp. 7-13.

132
would have to in taking the naturalistic view of language,
would render the analogical argument inductively weak. The
critical first leg of the DVL argument, then, could never
succeed. Far from concluding the existence of the divine
mind, then, Berkeley's argument cannot prove the existence
of any mind other than his own.

In addition to these problems there are a number of
traditional criticisms of the teleological argument that
Berkeley's argument must overcome. For instance, some of
Hume's criticisms from the Dialogues Concerning Natural
Religion apply. First, even if successful, Berkeley's
argument would not guarantee that there is only one author
of nature. Is it not conceivable that in "reading" the
language of nature we are actually observing the
conversation of a plurality of deities? This hypothesis is
not ruled out by Berkeley's reasoning. Moreover, there are
certain considerations which might actually recommend such a
scenario, such as the fact of natural evil. The notion of a
plurality of deities could explain evil as the result of the
disagreements of the gods or as miscommunication among them,
e.g. a tornado results when the cold front caused by one
deity collides with the warm front of another.

Secondly, what Berkeley calls the "language of nature"
might have resulted from random, natural processes. One
could argue that over infinite time the intermingling of
different kinds of matter must at some time produce a world

such as ours where there is apparent design. So we need not

133
appeal to some intelligent mind to explain it. The Big Bang
theory in astronomy and Darwinian gradualism in biology are
attempts to account for the natural evolution of order in
the world, and they do not appeal to any intelligent
designer. In these or similar ways one might successfully
explain apparent design in the universe naturalistically,
rejecting Berkeley's tacit assumption that design (or what
appears to us as design) demands a designer.

Thus, it seems that Berkeley's DVL proof falls short of
proving the existence of the theistic God. The argument
suffers not only from defects which plague all teleological
arguments, but, as we have seen, it has some serious
difficulties which are peculiar to Berkeley's particular
formulation of the proof. But the DVL argument is not
Berkeley’s only teleological proof. To his other argument

from design we now turn.

VI. The Argument from Morals

Although unrecognized by commentators (at least in the
literature I have surveyed), Berkeley defends an argument
from morals. The lack of scholarly attention to it is
probably due to several factors, not the least of which are
the facts that it is neither an original nor particularly
interesting argument.

In the following discussion I intend to make three
points, none of which I believe to be controversial. First,

the moral argument is an application of teleological

134
reasoning to the moral realm. It is an argument
specifically from negel design in the universe to the
existence of God. Secondly, the moral argument is not
original with Berkeley. This follows from the fact that it
is a species of teleological argument, a line of reasoning
which I have already shown to have had numerous pre—Berkeley
formulations. Thirdly, Berkeley's argument from morals does
not arise from nor in any way involve immaterialism. In
fact, it is a proof which does not demand allegiance to any
particular metaphysical system. That Berkeley's most
explicit formulation of the argument appears in Alciphron
underscores this fact, since this was a work intended for a
metaphysically heterogeneous audience. Finally, I shall
show that the proof is a failure, succumbing to several
different devastating criticisms.

The first appearance of a suggestion of the moral
argument in Berkeley’s writings is found in a 1714 sermon
entitled "On Charity". The sermon begins with an
enumeration of various evidences for the truth of
Christianity, culminating in the proclamation that,

among all the numerous attestations to the

divinity of our most holy Faith, there is not any

that carries with it a more winning conviction,

than that wch may be drawn from the sweetness and

excellency of the Christian morals. There runs

throughout the Gospel and Epistles such a spirit

of Love, Gentleness, Charity and good-nature that

as nothing is better calculated to procure the

happiness of Mankind, so nothing can carry with it
a surer evidence of its being derived from the

135

common Father of us all.37
These remarks constitute the germ of an argument that
appears fully developed nearly two decades later in
Alciphron. In the third dialogue of that work we find the
interlocutors discussing so-called moral beauty in the
world. Euphranor declares,

Doubtless there is a beauty of the mind, a charm

in virtue, a symmetry and proportion in the moral

world. This moral beauty was known to the

ancients by the name of honestum...3
In what exactly does this moral beauty consist? It consists
in proper or just proportion. And proportions ”are to be
esteemed just and true only as they are relative to some
certain use or end."39 (That this is the case Euphranor
takes much time to show by a series of illustrations and
examples from architecture, dress, and interior design.)
But where are such proportions evident in the world? A
certain beauty is perceived in the hope of reward and fear
of punishment to be found among many people, facts about
human psychology which are "highly expedient to cast the
balance of pleasant and profitable on the side of virtue,

and thereby very much conduce to the benefit of human

society."‘° Expectancy of reward or punishment for one's

 

37. Works, Vol. VII, p. 27.

38. Alciphron III, 4. The reference here is to passages
in Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, 1109a, 29; 1144a, 26;
1169a, 34; and Plato’s Alcibiades II, 145c.

39. Ibid., III, 9.

4°. Ibid.

136

conduct, that is, is useful for making individuals virtuous
and improving social relations. This universally observed
relation of means to end suggests proportion, and hence
beauty. Other facts about the moral life of human kind,
such as conscience, sense of duty, and the love of virtue
further suggest an ordered moral system. About all of this
the free—thinker concurs, yet s/he is reluctant to admit
that this implies a transcendent, divine source of this
order. It is here that Euphranor insists that no real moral
beauty in the world can be acknowledged without also
recognizing an intelligent mind responsible for it. He
says,

I would fain know what beauty can be found in a

moral system, formed, connected and governed by

chance, fate, or any other blind, unthinking

principle? Forasmuch as without thought there can

be no end or design; and without an end there can

be no use; and without use there is no aptitude or

fitness of proportion, from whence beauty

springs.
In this passage we find the linchpin of Berkeley's moral
argument. Remarkably, it is the same assumption which
figures centrally in the DVL argument, namely that design
demands a designer. The Moral argument, it turns out, is
but another form of teleological argument for the existence
of God. It may be summarized as follows:

(a) There exists moral beauty in the world consisting

in an orderly system of commands, rewards for the
virtuous, punishment for the wicked, which prompts

obedience to moral laws and leads to the general
benefit of humankind.

 

41. Ibid., III, 10.

137

(b) Such moral beauty, order, and harmony is possible
only if there is an intelligent mind behind it.

 

(c) Therefore, there exists an intelligent mind (God)
who is the cause of the moral beauty in the world.

Closer examination reveals that this argument resembles the
DVL argument in more than just its appeal to teleology. The
two are exactly parallel arguments, the only difference
being the subject matter with which they deal. The DVL
proof argues from design to intelligent designer in the
descriptive realm, the world as it is. The moral argument
reasons from design to designer in the prescriptive realm,
the world as it ought to be. The former notes the
usefulness of regular, ordered sensible ideas for achieving
certain ends and concludes a mind is responsible, while the
latter reasons from the usefulness of certain moral facts.
Thus, these two arguments share and exploit the following
assumptions as they infer the existence of a divine mind:

1. Certain regularities are observable in the world
which are useful for human well-being.

2. These regularities constitute a kind of order or
design.

3. Design is only explicable in terms of an intelligent
mind which is its cause.

These three propositions, used in both the DVL and moral
arguments, constitute the basic logic of the classical
teleological argument for the existence of God.

Essentially, then, what Berkeley has done in Alciphron is to
apply this same logical structure to two different subject

matters, visible phenomena and morals. Because of this

138
logical structure of the proofs, they are both properly
designated "teleological” arguments.

Now this is a significant insight, for in uncovering
this fact we discover that like the DVL argument the moral
argument is not original, and for some of the same reasons.
Above we saw just how long and varied is the history of
argument from design. We noted, in particular, historical
precedents in the writings of seventeenth century scientists
Boyle, Newton, and Hooke. It is true that Berkeley's moral
argument is unusual in that it focusses in particular on
nezel order in the world, but even in this regard it is not
entirely unique. For many who defended the teleological
argument included considerations of apparent moral design in
their proofs. In his argument from moral teleology,
Berkeley has merely isolated this particular aspect of
teleology and built an argument upon it. The same has been
done with other particular kinds of design, e.g.
biological,42 astronomical,43 chemical and physical,44
etc. But they merely constitute subject-specific

formulations of the teleological argument. This, I

 

42. The argument quoted above from Hooke's Micrographia
is a good example, for its subject matter is restricted to
small insects and microscopic life forms.

43. The previously quoted argument in Newton’s Principia
is an example.

44. For instance, see Robert Newman's "Inanimate Design
as a Problem for Nontheistic Worldviews" in Evidence For
Faith, John Warwick Montgomery, ed. (Dallas: Word Publishing
Company, 1991), pp. 61-70.

139
maintain, is just what Berkeley has done in his moral
argument for the existence of God.

It should be apparent by now that in arguing to the
existence and providence of God from moral order Berkeley
does not assume immaterialism to make his case for God's
existence. This is clear from a number of considerations.
First, as we have just seen, it fits squarely within the
classical tradition of teleological arguments, a tradition
which is metaphysically ecumenical, inclusive of
philosophers subscribing to substance ontologies as well as
scientists who do not concern themselves with metaphysics
and are therefore not formally committed to a particular
theory on the subject. Secondly, if we take into account
the places in the Berkeleyan corpus in which the moral
argument appears, we will notice that it is found only in
works which have no metaphysical agenda. The principal
source for the argument is Alciphron, which, as I have
mentioned, was written for a general audience and did not
presuppose commitment to any particular philosophical
perspective, metaphysical or otherwise, on the part of its
readers. Thirdly, and most importantly, close inspection of
Alciphron III reveals that immaterialism is not an
assumption of the moral argument. In my summary
representation of the argument, which closely follows the
text, this is made plain. Both premise (a), that there is
moral order in the world, and premise (b), that order

implies the existence of an intelligent mind, are

140
propositions which could be and in fact have been affirmed

by matterists.

VII. Criticism of the Moral Argument

Now that I have shown that Berkeley’s Moral argument is
neither original nor assumptive of immaterialism, it is time
to critically evaluate the proof. Earlier we saw that the
DVL argument is irremediably flawed, due to, among other
reasons, the logical problems of the proof. Does this mean,
then, that the Moral argument is also doomed to failure,
since its logical structure is basically identical to that
of the DVL proof? The short answer to this question, I
believe, is yes. But there are further problems with the
argument which make it, if possible, an even more abysmal
failure as a theistic proof.

First, premise (a) could be false. How do we know
there is really moral "order" in the world? And what would
constitute moral "disorder"? It seems there is enough
evidence of injustice, immorality, and disregard of notions
of ultimate reward and punishment to undermine claims about
moral order and suggest instead that there is actually moral
chaos. Moreover, there is disagreement over which moral
code, if any, is the single correct one. In eighteenth
century Europe the suggestion of a pervasive moral beauty
constituted by such things as universal moral commands and
the expectation of reward and punishment might have had some

intuitive appeal. But in the late twentieth century, this

 

141
notion seems much less plausible, especially given the
immense diversity of competing moral codes and beliefs about
morality in general, from casuistry to moral skepticism.
Today the diversity is so impressive, in fact, that a large
contingent of ethicists have decided to abandon commitment
to a single moral perspective, opting instead to practice
applied ethics borrowing moral principles from various moral
traditions, even when these traditions are hopelessly
incompatible.45 This movement towards moral eclecticism,
it seems, constitutes a concession to the notion that there
is no single moral order in the world, Berkeley's insistence
to the contrary notwithstanding.

Secondly, premise (b) could be false. What evidence is
there to support the claim that design'demands a designer?
Although this is a proposition that nearly every defender of
teleological-type arguments assumes, typically it is not
supported with arguments. Instead, it seems to be
considered self-evident. However, this position is not
convincing, mainly because there are many persons to whom it
is not obviously true.

Finally, Berkeley's argument from morals is invalid.
Even granting that there has to be a designer to the moral

order in the world, this does not mean the designer has to

 

45. See Stanley Clarke and Evan Simpson's Anti-theory in
Ethics and Moral Cbnservatism (Albany: State University of
New York Press, 1989) and Martin Benjamin's Splitting the
Difference: Compromise and Integrity in Ethics and Politics
(Lawrence: University of Kansas Press, 1990).

142
be the God of Christian theism. The cause of such order, we
might grant, would likely be an intelligent and moral being,
but why should we conclude that this being is omniscient,
omnipotent, omnipresent, or even personal? In fact, why
need we conclude that this being is transcendent or even
unified? Can we not propose reasonably that the cause of
moral design in the world is to be found in human beings
themselves? In the dialogue we find the free thinker
defending this very view, but Alciphron's perspective is but
a single version of this position, a theory of "moral sense"
akin to that proposed by Shaftesbury, and later by Hume. If
Euphranor defeats Alciphron's arguments, then he has
triumphed over only one specific naturalistic explanation
for moral order in the world. There remain other accounts
which are untouched by Euphranor's logic. Might not what we
call moral order in the world simply be a human construct,
projected onto the world to serve some practical end, such
as the regulation of conduct and the preservation of
society? Or, if moral subjectivism or even cultural
relativism were true, the perception of moral order could be
explained entirely in terms of individual tastes or cultural
mores and folkways. Such metaethical theories account for
moral "order" in such a way that no appeal to any universal
moral code need be assumed. This is not to suggest that
either of these theories is true, but only to point out that

it is legieally peesible that both of the premises in

Berkeley's argument from moral teleology could be true and

143
the conclusion still be false, which is to say that the
argument is invalid.

Thus it seems Berkeley's teleological arguments fall
Short of their mark. They do not succeed in proving the God
of Christian theism, though like so many versions of
teleological proofs they are perhaps psychologically
persuasive. Kant noted this feature of the argument from
design and praised the proof because of its capacity to
inspire the scientific study of nature. Nevertheless, he
rightly notes that because of the flawed logic of the
argument, it can never succeed in demonstrating the
existence of God.46 Berkeley's versions of the argument

from design prove to be no exception.

VIII. Conclusion

I want to review now some key points which have been
made to this point in our discussion of Berkeley's
apologetics. First, the precise role of immaterialism in
Berkeley’s theistic proofs has been shown. The Continuity
argument crucially presupposes immaterialism, as is
evidenced by its use of the principle esse est percipi aut
percipere as one of its premises. The moral argument does
not assume immaterialism, as is shown by its logical
structure as a particular kind of argument from design and

by the fact that it appears only in those works which are

 

46. Critique of Pure Reason, A621/8649-A630/B658.

 

144
intended for a general audience. As regards the Passivity
and DVL arguments, the role of immaterialism is more
complicated. The Passivity proof does not presuppose
immaterialism per se (the thesis that esse est percipi aut
percipere), but it does rest on what for Berkeley is a
corollary of this thesis, namely his doctrine that only
spirits cause ideas. Finally, the DVL argument does not
presuppose immaterialism, but in the Principles we find a
version of the argument in which it is used as an
enhancement of the Passivity proof and thus is expressed in
the vocabulary of immaterialism.

Secondly, we have found that Berkeley's arguments for
the existence of God are original only in so far as they
presuppose or contain elements of immaterialism, as shown by
the fact that besides the Continuity proof (the sole proof
which is thoroughly immaterialist in its reasoning) the
arguments used by Berkeley have historical precedents. The
Passivity argument can be construed as Berkeley's adaptation
of the cosmological argument to his immaterialist
metaphysics. And the DVL and moral arguments are each
formulations of the argument from design.

Thirdly, we saw in chapter two that immaterialism is
not inconsistent with the scriptures of his religious
tradition and therefore is not a hindrance to Berkeley's
apologetic ends. Also, we found that immaterialism actually
offers the Christian theist a metaphysical conceptual scheme

with more explanatory power than the traditional matterist

145
perspective, especially regarding the Creation account and
the biblical notion of immediate divine providence.47
Finally, to defeat Berkeley's theistic proofs,

criticism of immaterialism is ne;_neee§§e;y. I have noted
other serious, probably fatal objections to Berkeley’s two
causal arguments which do presuppose or contain elements of
immaterialism, objections which do not call the truth of
immaterialism into question. Thus, it seems immaterialism
is not the weapon against atheism Berkeley thought it

was.“8

 

47. I should also note, although I have not argued this
point specifically, that immaterialism may be considered an
apologetic device in the sense that it serves to generate new
twists on old proofs, such that the God at the conclusion of
the.Passivity and Continuity arguments looks more like the God
of the Old and New Testaments which is intimately involved
with his creation and which is a "thou" (personal creator)
rather than the "it" (impersonal artificer) of the traditional
cosmological and teleological arguments” See Tipton, pp. 297-
298 and Ritchie, pp. 126-128.

‘8. Cf Dialogues, p. 66.

CHAPTER5

The Problem of Evil

146

147

The Problem of Evil

I. Introduction

Like any thorough apologist, Berkeley was concerned to
work out a reply to those who would impugn faith in God on
the basis of the presence of evil in the world. Christian
philosophers and theologians before Berkeley, such as
Augustine, Aquinas, Malebranche, and Leibniz, sensed the
necessity to reconcile two apparently incompatible facts:
the presence of evil in the world and the existence of a
loving, all-powerful God. They assumed, moreover, that the
burden of proof fell upon them to assuage the apparent
philosophical "problem" that evil posed, and each proposed a
battery of solutions in hope of diminishing the nagging
doubts that evil is prone to instill in the sensitive
believer. Berkeley was no different in this regard. Like
his ecclesial ancestors he parades a plurality of theodicies
before his audience, no one of which is entirely satisfying
but which together create perhaps as formidable a defense of
theism against the stubborn problem of evil as can be found
among the theists of his generation.1

In Berkeley's time the problem of evil was not

 

1. This approach to the problem of evil, as it relies on
the strength of no single explanation for evil’s presence but
appeals to a number of partial explanations, is a method
appropriate for a problem as complex and multidimensional as
evil” John Hare calls such strategy a "disjunctive theodicy".
See his article "The Problem of Evil" in Evidence for Faith,
J.W. Montgomery, ed. (Dallas: Word Publishing Inc., 1991).

148
formulated as a formal disproof of the existence of God, as
is sometimes done todayz, though with the appearance of
Hume shortly after Berkeley this more zealous atheistic
tradition found its inception. For Berkeley and his
predecessors evil seemed to be looked upon as more or less a
quirky fact about the world that demanded an explanation, an
obstacle to be surmounted by the religious apologist but
hardly a serious threat completely to undermine claims to
rational belief in God's existence. For Berkeley,
theodicies are employed in order to obviate inevitable
objections to his theistic proofs and his positive
apologetic program. They are not set forth as decisive
rebuttals of aggressive skeptical arguments from evil. This
will be an important point to keep in mind as we examine
Berkeley's theodicies, for overlooking this fact will invite
the twentieth century reader to judge Berkeley’s analysis
flippant in tone and philosophically reckless.

In this chapter I shall examine each of the theodicies
used by Berkeley in the face of the problem of evil. It
will become clear that while some of the arguments he
deploys are traditional, stock theodicies, he yet provides
us with a slant on the topic which is unique and highly
instructive. We shall also discover that, like his theistic
proofs, the originality of Berkeley's defense of Christian

theism on the issue of evil consists in its use of

 

2. J.L. Mackie and Antony Flew are examples.

149
immaterialism.

Perhaps the most ancient treatment of the problem of
evil is to be found in the Old Testament book of Job, where
we find the righteous man wrestling with the paradoxical
fact that God allows, even causes, evil to exist. In the
face of his terrible suffering Job makes his eloquent
complaint: "Does it please you to oppress me, to spurn the
work of your hands, while you smile on the schemes of the
wicked?"3 And elsewhere he remarks, chillingly: "God has
wronged me and drawn his net around me. Though I cry, ’I've
been wronged!’ I get no response; though I call for help
there is no justice."4 Although we do not find in the book
of Job a precise formulation of the problem of evil, these
and other texts do represent a passionate illustration of
how distressing the reality of evil can be for the
thoughtful theist.

An early enunciation of the problem of evil comes from
Epicurus who is quoted by Lactantius as saying:

God either wishes to take away evils, and is

unable; or He is able, and is unwilling; or He is

neither willing nor able; or He is both willing

and able. If He is willing and unable, He is

feeble, which is not in accordance with the

character of God; if He is able and unwilling He

is malicious which is equally at variance with

God; if He is neither willing nor able, He is both

malicious and feeble and therefore not God; if He

is both willing and able, which is alone suitable
to God, from what source then are evils? or why

 

3. JOb 10:3.

4. JOb 19:6-7.

150

does He not remove them?5
In the Christian era we find the problem restated by
Augustine: "Either God cannot abolish evil or He will not:
if He cannot then He is not all-powerful; if He will not
then He is not all-good"6 and by Aquinas:

If one of two contraries is infinite, the other is

excluded absolutely. But the idea of God is that

of an infinite good. Therefore if God should

exist, there could be no evil. But evil exists.

Consequently God does not.7
Since these early statements, the essence of the problem of
evil seems to have remained nearly constant. In
contemporary times, the problem of evil has been succinctly

formulated as follows:

(1) An omnipotent, omnibenevolent God would not allow
evil to exist in the world.

(2) Evil does exist.

 

(3) Therefore, there cannot exist a God who is both
omnipotent and omnibenevolent.8

The above statements of the problem of evil may be
characterized as versions of the "general problem" of evil,
for they do not distinguish between kinds of evil but rather

refer generally to evil of any kind. In our discussion it

 

5. The Works of Lactantius (On the Anger of God, ch. 13,
trans. W. Fletcher), Edinburgh, T. & T. Clark, 1871.

6. Confessions, Bk. VII, Ch. 5.

7. Summa Theologica, Pt. I, Ques. 2, Art. 3.

8. See, for example, J.L. Mackie's "Evil and.Omnipotence"
in Mind, Vol. LXIV, No. 254 (1955). See also Alvin

Plantinga's God and Other Minds (Ithaca: Cornell University
Press, 1967), chapter 5.

151
will be important to distinguish between two kinds of evil,
neenzel and mezel, mainly because Berkeley himself was
careful to do so.9 Although he did not label these two
senses of evil as such, it appears that they were distinct
in Berkeley’s mind, since he sometimes treats the one
without even so much as mentioning the other. The
Principles, for example, contains a discussion of the
problem of natural evil and entirely ignores the question of
moral evil. In the Dialogues, on the other hand, we find
Berkeley's answer to the problem of moral evil and not a
word about pain and suffering.

Now what exactly is this distinction presupposed here
between "natural" and "moral" evil? Generally put, it is as
follows. When we speak of natural evil, we refer to any
sort of pain, bodily, mental, or emotional, brought on by
events in the world that are not the result of the voluntary
actions of human beings. Examples include suffering due to
such things as natural disasters, infectious diseases, and
congenital deformities. For this reason such evils are
sometimes termed "physical". However, this term is
misleading because there are many natural evils that, for
instance, arise from clinical depression, personality
disorders, and psychological traumas of various kinds which

are evil in the above sense but which are not literally of a

 

9. Here Berkeley follows the medieval Jewish philosopher
Maimonides, who makes this distinction in Guide for the
Perplexed, Bk. III, chapter 12.

152
physical nature.

The presence of natural evil in the world is a problem
for the theist because under the traditional theistic
conception of God, this is a being both omnipotent and
omnibenevolent. Being all-powerful, God eeglg prevent pain
and suffering in the world. And as a good and loving being,

he would want to prevent the suffering of his creatures.

 

But the orthodox theistic view is that evil does exist.
Hence, it would seem, the theist must surrender one of the
two divine attributes in question, omnipotence or
omnibenevolence (though s/he need not surrender both).10
This is the problem of natural evil.

So called "moral" evil is distinguished from natural
evil in the following sense. While natural evil is not the
result of certain voluntary human actions, moral evil is.
Examples of moral evil include murder, rape, theft, racism,
and cruelty. At first blush the presence of moral evil in
the world might not appear to be a genuine problem for the
theist, since, after all, it is we human beings and our own
volitions that are to blame for our suffering when we harm
one another in various ways. However, when the question is
posed, "Why would God allow us to make choices that cause
terrible suffering to others and ourselves?" we see that
moral evil is in fact a problem for the theist. A favorite

reply here, which incidentally Berkeley does not use, is to

 

1°. Such "finite theists" as J.S. Mill and William James
adopted the solution that God's power is limited.

153
appeal to human free will. God wanted to create human
beings free, the argument goes, and to prevent us from
making certain choices would constitute an infringement on
our freedom. Thus, God refrains from stopping our evil
ways, in the interest of preserving our freedom. But here
the skeptic replies that this answer seems to restrict the
power of God, for it implies that there is something that
God cannot do, namely, create beings that are free and that
always (or almost always) make morally right choices. The
problem of moral evil, then, seems to be every bit as sticky

for the theist as the problem of natural evil.

II. The Problem of Natural Evil

Above we saw why the fact of natural evil is a
"problem" for the theist generally. Now it is important to
note that if it is problematic for the matterist theist,
then it seems to be all the more so for an immaterialist
theist such as Berkeley, who maintains that God immediately
governs the world. In the Principles Berkeley suggests just
how intimate he conceives the association between God and
nature to be when he says that "by nature is meant only the
visible series of effects or sensations imprinted on our
minds, according to fixed and general laws."11 Berkeley

compares God to an author and the world to a language or

 

11. Principles, 150.

154

text.12 The world for Berkeley is the effect of the
immediate action of God upon our senses, not a collection of
objects existing independently of minds. And what we call
the "laws of nature" just are God’s will (cf PHK 32). The
divine mind, Berkeley prefers to think, is as near to us as
our own perceptions and ideas, for he is their source.
Notwithstanding the claim of the deists that God is at some
distance (figuratively speaking) from the world, observing
its happenings even as are we, Berkeley insists, quoting St.
Paul, that God "be not far from every one of us."13

It is here that Berkeley anticipates the objection that
natural evils in the world undermine his claim about
immediate divine governance of the world (or else his belief
that the world-governing spirit is a loving, benevolent
being).

It will, I doubt not, be objected that the slow

and gradual methods observed in the production of

natural things do not seem to have for their cause

the immediate hand of an Almighty Agent. Besides,

monsters, untimely births, fruits blasted in the

blossom, rains failing in desert places, miseries

incident to human life, and the like, are so many

arguments that the whole frame of nature is not

immediately actuated and superintended by a spirit
of infinite wisdom and goodness.

 

12. It is perhaps a misrepresentation of Berkeley’s view
to say that he only "compares" God to an author and the world
to a text. He actually emphatically insists that nature be
conceived quite literally as a language and God as its literal
author. This is no mere metaphor as far as Berkeley is
concerned. See Colin Turbayne The Myth of Metaphor, New
Haven, 1962.

13. Acts 17:27.

14. Principles, 151.

155
Note that here the matterist espousing theism can use his
matterism as a shield against this objection, as material
substance and the mind-independent existence of nature
serves as a buffer between the creator and the pain and
suffering brought on by the course of nature. God, the
matterist can argue, is ultimately responsible for such
disasters and miseries, but he is its remote and not its
proximate cause. He is not gizeegly responsible for natural
evil, as the immaterialist must conclude. God is only
indirectly responsible. So while the matterist theist still
bears the burden of having to answer the query, "Why does
God permit (or indirectly cause) such evil?", the
immaterialist is saddled with the more ominous and weighty
burden of having to explain why God directly inflicts pain
and suffering on his creatures, a fact which
psychologically, if not logically, presents a greater
challenge to the theist than the task of accounting for mere
allowance of human misery. Berkeley, of course, will deny
that the use of an instrument such as material substance
helps the realist's God on the question of evil. More will
be said about this later.

How, then, does Berkeley respond to the problem of
natural evil? He actually offers several solutions to the
problem. He begins by urging that the regularities in the
world (i.e., the laws of nature) that cause pain are
actually necessary for human life and well-being. These

"laws of nature" that he conceives as simply "the set rules

156

or established methods wherein the mind we depend on excites
in us the ideas of sense"15 provide us with the foresight
enabling us "to regulate our actions for the benefit of
life."16 Berkeley elaborates:

That food nourishes, sleep refreshes, and fire

warms us; that to sow in the seedtime is the way

to reap in the harvest; and in general that to

obtain such or such ends, such or such means are

conducive--all this we know...only by the

observation of the settled laws of nature, without

which we should be all in uncertainty and

confusion and a grown man no more know how to

manage himself in the affairs of life than and

infant just born.17
So although the regularities in nature result often in human
misery, they are all the same preconditions for human life
in the first place, since without them we would have no idea
as to how to act in order to achieve desired ends. This
good alone, Berkeley insists, "outbalances whatever
particular inconveniences may thence arise."18

Here, however, the skeptic will be quick to object that
these so-called regularities in nature which cause harm seem
actually to be irregularities. If nature were truly
constant in the sense that Berkeley insists it is, then we
would not be surprised by earthquakes, tornadoes, droughts,

and the like. Such events in fact are conspicuous and

devastating precisely because they are irregular. So how

 

15. Principles, 30.

16. Ibid., 31.
17. Ibid.

18. Principles, 152.

157

can Berkeley seriously attempt to apologize for natural evil
on the basis of consistency in nature? He is perhaps
correct in saying that regularities in nature are necessary
for survival, but he is mistaken in claiming that nature
displays perfect regularity. Nature displays enough
regularity for us to anticipate sufficiently for survival,
it is true. But nature is not perfectly regular, and this
is often the cause of great human misery. And it is just
this which the skeptic demands an explanation for: Why do
occasional irregularities occur (i.e., why are there natural
disasters)?

Berkeley does not deal with this particular objection,
but it is easy to imagine just how he might have replied.
He could claim that the objector in his preoccupation with
the readily observable variety of natural events fails to
discover the much more subtle underlying regularity in
nature. Admittedly earthquakes, hurricanes, and droughts
are the exception rather than the rule (at the macro-level),
but these events are properly to be seen as the consequence
of the negnle; working of the laws of nature which give rise
to them. It is because of the constancy of such laws as
gravity and thermodynamics and the ideal gas law that a
hurricane forms given certain other conditions obtaining in
the earth and its atmosphere. Hurricanes are the product of
deeper, more basic regularities in nature, as are such
phenomena as droughts, earthquakes, infectious diseases,

mutations, and so on. What the above objection fails to

158
notice is that regularities at the primary level in nature
give rise to irregularities at a secondary level. It is
precisely for this reason, in fact, that seismologists can
with increasing accuracy predict an earthquake and that
meteorologists are able to forecast the formation, strength,
and direction of tornadoes and hurricanes. Were such
phenomena actually irregular in this basic sense,
predictability would be out of the question.

This line of reply available to Berkeley, however,
invites a further, more formidable objection. Why didn’t
God order the world in such a way that the laws of nature
remained constant without giving rise to disasters and
diseases which cause so much suffering and misery? That is,
the skeptic will ask, if God is really omnipotent, then
isn’t he capable of making a world in which there is perfect
regularity in nature but which at the same time does not
allow for such things as hurricanes, earthquakes, and deadly
viruses? Or couldn't the creator have at least fashioned
the world with a few additional higher order regularities or
"laws" of nature that prevented the lower order regularities
(e.g., gravity, inertia) from resulting in harm of the
creatures? Or, finally, if none of these options were
available to the creator, why was this being compelled to
give his creatures so sensitive a nervous system, enabling
them to feel pain with such acuteness? Now God was
presumably capable of implementing any of these options,

since an all-powerful being can do anything that is

159
possible. Moreover, were the creator truly omnibenevolent,
loving his creatures and wishing the best for them, then he
would have desired to obviate such severe natural evil as we
witness in this world. It seems, then, that Berkeley's God
is either not almighty or not all-good.

The reasoning in the above objection amounts to an
argument for proposition (1) noted earlier in this chapter:
An omnipotent, omnibenevolent God would not allow evil to
exist. We see here that the skeptic has made explicit the
two sub-premises in his argument:

(4) If God is omnipotent, then he eegle_prevent natural
evil.

(5) If God is omnibenevolent, then he would gene to
prevent natural evil.

Now assuming that evil really does exist in the world,
Berkeley is forced to deny either proposition (4) or (5) if
he wants to avoid the above devastating line of inference.
We have already seen that Berkeley is not prepared to deny
that evil exists {proposition (2) above} and so to join the
ranks of Spinoza, Buddhists, Christian Scientists, and some
Stoics. What strategy, then, does he adopt?

Berkeley, like most orthodox Christian theists, chooses
to attack (5). In the interest of falsifying this
proposition he employs the "aesthetic" theodicy. Berkeley
writes,

We should...consider that the very blemishes and

defects of nature are not without their use, in

that they make an agreeable sort of variety and

augment the beauty of the rest of the creation, as
shades in a picture serve to set off the brighter

160

and more enlightened parts.19
The system of nature, then, is to be likened to a work of
art the brighter colors of which are accentuated by darker
shades. Natural evil functions to highlight the good that
is also to be found in the world. Were there never pain and
misery, how could we ever really appreciate real peace, joy,
and happiness? Moreover, the sheer variety that evil adds
is also not without its aesthetic virtues. A world without
evil would be an entirely good world, it is true. But it
would be homogeneous and plain, aesthetically inferior to a
system of nature wherein there occurred phenomena ranging
from the triumphant to the tragic and where individuals
experienced a broad spectrum of feelings from the ecstatic
to the excruciating. A world in which only a range of
pleasures obtained would, from the standpoint of the cosmic
artist at least, be less desirable than a world that
contained a full range of pain as well.

To many this reply will seem inadequate because it
supposes incorrectly that aesthetic beauty can justify human
misery in the world. Deep physical and emotional suffering,
the critic will object, are not the sorts of things that can
be treated so lightly and dismissed as analogous to a dark
shade in a painting. When we speak of natural evil we are

not talking about phenomena or experiences which are merely

 

19. Ibid., 152. The assumption was an old one; Francis
Bacon had argued that there is no great beauty without some
ugliness by way of contrast.

161

ugly or aesthetically displeasing. In fact, we are not
dealing with an aesthetic problem at all. We are dealing
with a mega; problem. And this theodicy fails to address it
in these terms. Furthermore, the critic will argue, the
aesthetic theodicy glosses over the severity of the problem
of natural evil. It fails to appreciate the extent of human
suffering in the world. Even if considerations of the
beauty of the cosmos were appropriate in treating the
problem of evil, it is difficult to see how such factors
could account for the presence of so mnen evil in the world.
Granting that there must be a full range of pains as well as
pleasures, the theist is hard pressed to show that it is
necessary that so many people should die agonizing deaths
from such gruesome illnesses as cancer, AIDS, and multiple
sclerosis, nor why equal numbers should suffer terribly in
natural disasters and still others from disfigurement and
torment due to congenital defects of all kinds. Are we
really to believe that such rampant and deep personal
traumas are justified by the overall cosmic beauty that they
produce?20

As if to anticipate the foregoing objection, Berkeley
augments his version of the aesthetic theodicy by insisting

that pain and suffering are counted as defects in nature

 

20. Mark Twain and Fyodor Dostoevsky have illustrated
dramatically, what perhaps can be done only inadequately in a
philosophical discourse, just how problematic the existence of
pain and suffering is for the theist. See Twain's "Little
Bessie" in .Fahles of’ Man and Dostoevsky’s The Brothers
Karamazov (especially the chapter "The Grand Inquisitor").

162

only to those who do not view them in their larger context.
Natural evil is a problem to us because

our prospects are too narrow. We take, for

instance, the idea of some one particular pain

into our thoughts, and account it evil; whereas,

if we enlarge our view, so as to comprehend the

various ends, connections, and dependencies of

things, on what occasions and in what proportions

we are affected with pain and pleasure, the nature

of human freedom, and the design with which we are

put into the world; we shall be forced to

acknowledge that those particular things which

considered in themselves, appear to be evil, have

the nature of good, when considered as linked with

the whole system of beings.21
Berkeley is here underscoring the fact that we are finite
and are prone to fixing our thoughts on the details of
nature rather than upon the grand scheme. He does not
believe, of course, that we are compelled by nature to dwell
on particulars rather than upon the big picture, though it
is our tendency as finite human beings to do so. He enjoins
us to overcome this propensity and to glimpse the larger
picture, for herein is wisdom. This injunction of
Berkeley's emerged as a theme in his apologetic writings
throughout his career, and the intellectual disfunction of
vicious over-attention to detail, which this advice was
meant to cure, came to be identified by him as one of the
defining characteristics of the free thinkers of his day.
Moreover, it was this tendency to dwell on minutiae which

Berkeley considered to be the most pernicious habit among

his skeptical contemporaries.

 

21. Principles, 153.

163

Throughout his career Berkeley busied himself with
attacks on the method of the free thinkers. One
particularly colorful example of Berkeley's critique appears
in an essay in the Guardian, entitled "Minute Philosophers"
(a synonym for the free thinkers). There he compares the
minute philosopher to a fly in St. Paul's cathedral

whose prospect [is] so confined to a little part

of one of the stones of a single pillar, the joint

beauty of the whole or the distinct use of its

parts were inconspicuous, and nothing could appear

but small inequalities in the surface of the hewn

stone, which in the view of that insect seemed so

many deformed rocks and precipices.
Now the free thinker is like the fly in the cathedral who
fails to notice the beauty of the entire structure because
of a preoccupation with infinitesimal detail. Both, says
Berkeley, lack a certain "largeness of mind" necessary for
"forming a true judgment of things".23 Now the evil in
the world constitutes just one of those things that when
viewed locally seems to suggest that this world is seriously
flawed. Berkeley entreats the minute philosopher, or anyone
prone to dwelling excessively on particulars, to acquire the
"largeness of mind" necessary to see the big picture. Like
the fly in the cathedral we must enlarge our view to glimpse
the master plan.

With regard to this counsel, Berkeley reasons as did

Descartes and Leibniz before him. In the fourth Meditation

 

22. Complete Works, Vol VII, p. 206.

23. Ibid., p. 207.

164
Descartes warns against taking particular evils out of
context when he says,

We should not consider a single creation
separately when we investigate whether the works
of God are perfect, but generally all created
objects together. For the same thing which might
perhaps, with some sort of justification, appear
to be very imperfect if it were alone in the world
is seen to be very perfect when considered as
constituting a part of this whole universe.24

Similarly, Leibniz argues that despite the apparent
imperfections that we encounter in the world on a local
scale we may rest assured that every such detail is
necessary to make this the greatest possible world. He
writes,

It follows from the supreme perfection of God that

in producing the universe He chose the best

possible plan, containing the greatest variety

together with the greatest order; the best

arranged situation, place, and time; the greatest

effect produced by the simplest means; the most

power, the most knowledge, the most happiness and

goodness in created things of which the universe

admitted.25
Berkeley's illustration of the fly in the cathedral seems to
be an attempt to communicate the aesthetic theodicy less
dryly and dogmatically than it was typically formulated. He
was not alone in this effort, for we find one of the

greatest English poets of Berkeley’s generation, Alexander

 

24. Philosophical ESsays, (New Yerk: MacMillan
Publishing Company, 1964), p. 111.

25. Principles of Nature and Grace, section 10. This
same sort of theodicy is implicit in Spinoza as well. He
writes: "From the necessity of divine nature infinite numbers
of things in infinite ways...must follow." See Ethics, (New
York: Macmillan Publishing Co. Inc., 1949), p. 55.

165

Pope, doing the same as he presents a lyrical version of
this theodicy in his defense of the finitude of man:

Respecting man, whatever wrong we call,

May, must be right, as relative to all.

In human works, though labored on with pain,

A thousand movements scarce one purpose gain;

In God's, one single can its end produce;

Yet serves to second too some other use.

So man, who here seems principal alone,

Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown,

Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal;

'Tis but a part we see, and not the whole. 5
Perhaps one motivation someone might have for presenting the
aesthetic theodicy in other than straightforward
philosophical terms, as do Berkeley and Pope, is that this
theodicy, after all, seems to be bare dogma rather than an
argument. As for this general line of defense, it is no
wonder that Voltaire could not resist the temptation to

satirize such a callous and dogmatic line of argument.27

III. The Problem of Moral Evil
As with natural evil, the presence of moral evil in the
world seems to be a more acute problem for Berkeley than for
theists who accept metaphysical realism. Moreover, the sort
of theodicies Berkeley gives in treating the problem of
natural evil will not help him when it comes to moral evil.

In the Dialogues, Berkeley treats the problem of moral

 

26. Essay on Man, I, 2.

27. His Candide or "Optimism" is intended as a jab at
Leibniz who is represented in the novel by Dr. Pangloss who
despite his terrible suffering is unwavering in his conviction
that this is the best of all possible worlds.

166
evil, and he deals with the issue not by dissolving it from
the theist's perspective but rather by showing just that
moral evil is no more of a problem for the immaterialist
than for the matterist. He begins by noting that with
regard to immoral actions performed by human beings "the
imputation of guilt is the same, whether a person commits
such an action with or without an instrument,"28 where in
this context the "instrument" on the matterist's account is
understood to be material substance. In this way, Berkeley
argues that his immaterialism is, for good or ill, on equal
footing with matterism when it comes to the problem of moral
evil. If given his principles the benevolence of God must
be denied because of the presence of moral evil in the
world, then the same follows for the philosopher who assumes
the principles of matterism. Interposing material substance
between God and human misconduct provides no buffer against
divine responsibility. Just as a murderer is equally
culpable for his act whether he uses a gun or his fist, God
is culpable (if culpable at all) for nature’s defects
whether or not he created the world using corporeal
substance. Thus, Berkeley says to the matterist, "In
case...you suppose God to act by the mediation of an
instrument, or occasion, called Matter, you as truly make

Him the author of sin as I."29 An important lesson

 

28. Dialogues, p. 99.

29. Ibid.

167
Berkeley wants us to learn here is that any theodicy
regarding moral evil which works for the matterist works
equally well for the immaterialist. There is no difference
'between them on this issue.

Berkeley has an additional reply which addresses the
deeper problem of moral evil shared by all theists. He
writes,

sin or moral turpitude doth not consist in the

outward physical action or motion, but in the

internal deviation of the will from the laws of

reason and religion.... therefore...the making God

an immediate cause of all such actions is not

making Him the Author of sin.30
However, one might object, to cause such action is
tantamount to willing it. For God, to cause an event is to
will it, since he presumably knows what he is doing whenever
he undertakes an action. Thus, it seems, the distinction
Berkeley draws here fails to exonerate God from
responsibility for human sin, for obviously God must will or
intend whatever he brings to pass. He does not ordain
blindly. (Notice that here Berkeley is offering a theodicy
on behalf of all theists who believe in a God of the
Calvinist sort who preordains all things that come to pass.)

Berkeley does, I believe, have a counter-reply. The
option is open to him to retort that the presupposition of
the objection, that God wills whatever he causes, is false.

This potential rejoinder of Berkeley's is expressed in the

following proposition:

 

3°. Ibid., p. 100.

168

(6) Not all actions God causes are willed by him.
Though this reply might seem counter-intuitive, there is
support for this position to be found in the scriptures.
Consider for example the following passage in the Old
Testament book of Lamentations:

Men are not cast off by the Lord forever. Though

he brings grief he will show compassion, so great

is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly

bring affliction or grief to the children of

men. 1
And a little later the prophet underscores the
foreordination of all things.

Who can speak and have it happen if the Lord has

not decreed it? Is it not from the mouth of the

Most High that both calamities and good things

come.32
There are two side observations I want to make here. The
first regards the writer's usage of the speech metaphor.
Divine decrees are carried out through the "mouth of the
most high". This passage may be seen as a scriptural
confirmation of the theological orthodoxy of Berkeley’s
metaphysics, which I have already discussed in a previous
chapter. Secondly, note that the subject of the above
passages is natural rather than moral evil. However, the
text is still quite relevant to our discussion, since the
issue these passages are meant to address is the question of

the intelligibility of saying that God does not always will

what he causes.

 

31. Lamentations 3:31-33.

32. Lamentations 3:37—38.

169

According to the above passages God decrees all things
and brings them to pass by the word of his mouth. But some
of these decrees, those that result in the affliction and
grief of his creatures, he does not cause willingly.

Clearly this passage works as a defense of Berkeley's second
theodicy in the Dialogues, for Jeremiah’s words here
strongly suggest (6). But having shown that Berkeley and
holy writ agree in their acceptance of (6), it remains to be
considered whether theirs is an intelligible position. That
is, although the passage in Lamentations coheres with
Berkeley's thinking, is the doctrine it sets forth any more
defensible? Or have we merely discovered an errant view
which is held in common by Berkeley and the prophet
Jeremiah?

I believe there are at least three different ways in
which this difficult passage, or more generally the claim
that it espouses, (6), may be interpreted. First, one could
claim that the correct view is that God merely ellege human
misery, that he never in fact intends our pain and
suffering. Such an interpretation presses for an
understanding of the use of the term "bring" in its soft or
broad sense, where God is the ultimate cause but not the
immediate cause of evil in the world. However, for all the
potential explanatory power of this interpretation and the
general popularity of the view it espouses among theists, it
is not an exegetical option on Berkeley’s principles.

Berkeley's God is not merely the creator, but an active

170
sustainer of the universe, the immediate cause of everything
that comes to pass.

Secondly, someone might interpret Jeremiah's assertion
as implying that there are two senses of "will" being
attributed to God, one which refers to his sovereign will,
the sum of divine decrees that dictate whatever comes to
pass and one that refers to God's moral will, which desires
good for his creatures.33 God thus wills moral evil in
the first sense (i.e., he has decreed it) but not in the
second sense (i.e., he disapproves of it). The obvious
problem with this interpretation is that it seems to concede
too much, collapsing under the weight of the problem rather
than solving it. The "two wills" explanation is suggestive
of a sort of divine schizophrenia where God suffers from
flatly contradictory wills. This route, then, seems
inadequate.

Thirdly, it might be held that the use of the
expression "willingly" in the context of the Lamentations
passage is to be taken figuratively and that its claim is
tantamount to saying that although God causes grief, he
:egzeee bringing it about. God does in a literal sense will
human suffering but only with much displeasure. This sort
of attempt to justify (6) is, I believe, the most promising,

though it too has its difficulties. For instance, how are

 

33. The distinction between two divine "wills" I am
proposing here is close to that made by some medieval thinkers
who distinguished between God's "antecedent" and "consequent"
wills.

171
we to understand divine regret and is this really an
accurate understanding of the term "willingly” in the
Lamentations passage? It is quite possible that Berkeley
might have rejected this line of defense as well as the
above two. He might have preferred to contrive some
alternate rejoinder or perhaps even to throw the entire
problem up to mystery. Whatever the case, the point here is
that Berkeley's immaterialist metaphysics does not subject
him to any more formidable problem of evil than that which
confronts the matterist. For both the task of forging a
satisfactory theodicy is equally onerous.

Now supposing that some satisfactory account can be
given by Berkeley reconciling the goodness and omnipotence
of God with the foreordination of moral evil, there remains
the question about the abundance of immorality and wanton
cruelty in the world. Assuming for the moment that there
is ultimately a good reason for some moral evil in the
world, we may still ask why there is so much of it. This
same question arose in the context of natural evil above and
it was answered by Berkeley with the aesthetic theodicy. In
the context of moral evil, however, we find Berkeley giving
a different response, though it is in some important
respects similar. We find this particular theodicy in
Alciphron. There the dialogues’ namesake articulates the
objection as follows:

It may, perhaps, with some colour be alleged that

a little soft shadowing of evil sets off the
bright and luminous parts of creation, and so

172

contributes to the beauty of the whole piece; but
for blots so large and so black it is impossible
to account by that principle. That there should
be so much vice and so little virtue upon earth,
and that the laws of God's kingdom should be so
ill observed by His subjects, is what can never be
reconciled with that surpassing wisdom and
goodness of the supreme Monarch.34

How could God be a powerful and just ruler if he allows
wickedness to run so rampant among his creatures? That is
the question Alciphron poses. Granted that some shading
might be necessary to make a beautiful painting, to use
Berkeley's artist metaphor, it seems that this world is more
analogous to a painting which is dominated by dark shades
and possesses but small portions of light. Euphranor
replies to this objection:

for aught we know, this spot with the few sinners

on it bears no greater proportion to the universe

of intelligences than a dungeon doth to a kingdom.

It seems we are led not only by revelation, but by

common sense, observing and inferring from the

analogy of visible things, to conclude there are

innumerable orders of intelligent beings more

happy and more perfect than man, whose life is but

a span, and whose place, this earthly globe, is

but a point, in respect of the whole system of

God’s creation. 5
Euphranor’s response here is noteworthy for several reasons.
First, he refuses simply to appeal to human free will, just
as Berkeley resists this temptation in the Principles.
Again, the reason for the conspicuous absence of this

traditional theodicy is probably that Berkeley thought it to

be a fruitless line of argument. For to appeal to free

 

34. Alciphron, IV, 23.

35. Ibid.

173
will, as we noted earlier, invites the further inquiry as to
why God should give us free will that results in so many
evils. On this score, then, we see no deviation in
Berkeley’s thinking over the two decades from the Dialogues
to Alciphron.

Secondly, the particular theodicy offered here, while
in some respects resembling his aesthetic theodicy, is in
some respects unique. The pivotal doctrine here, pertaining
to the "innumerable orders of intelligent beings" is
suggestive of the medieval notion of a hierarchy of
beings.36 In Berkeley's hierarchy, humankind is conceived
to be among the unhappiest of beings in the created order.
This consideration, he thinks, puts judgments about evil in
perspective, such that we will not be as inclined to impugn
the creator because of the existence of "so much" evil.

A third point of note about this theodicy based on the
hierarchy of beings is that its reasoning parallels one of
Hume's later criticisms of the teleological argument in the
Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion. In part two Demea
addresses Cleanthes' assumption that we can extrapolate from
the known universe to the rest of the universe (in this case
with regard to the observation of apparent design). Demea
corrects him, noting, "A very small part of this great
system, during a very short time, is very imperfectly

discovered to us: And do we thence pronounce decisively

 

35. See, for example, Aquinas, Summa Theologica, Pt. 1,
Ques. 108., Art. 1-8.

174

concerning the origin of the whole?"37 In Alciphron
Euphranor similarly sets out to temper the eagerness of his
opponent to extrapolate from this small corner of the
universe to the universe as a whole, as he begins his
response "fie;_engh§_ge_kneg, this spot, with the few sinners
on it, bears no greater proportion to the universe of
intelligences than a dungeon doth to a kingdom.” Of course,
Euphranor himself goes on to suggest that we can make an
inductive inference (by analogy) to a hierarchy of beings
which has never been experienced by any human being.38

Does this theodicy succeed in defeating the objection
posed by Alciphron? I believe the answer here is yes,
insofar as it seems to undermine the criticism of theism on
the basis of the sheer quantity of moral evil in the world.
For, like Hume, Berkeley has pointed out that we must assume
a modest tenor when it comes to making inferences to the
entire universe, for it is at least conceivable that the
evil we experience on earth is minuscule relative to the
rest of the universe. The lesson we learn from Berkeley (in
this instance) and from Hume is that any claim about the
prevalence of any phenomenon or fact in the entire universe,
whether it regards apparent design or evil, is suspect. For

we are at present in the dark when it comes to most of the

 

37. Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, (Indianapolis:
Bobbs-Merrill Educational Publishing, 1947), p. 148.

38. This inductive inference was also made by Locke in
the Essay, IV, 16, 12.

175
universe. Talk of quantities of evil or design is really
meaningless (or, at best, problematic) unless we recognize
from the start that it is relative to a particular context
or region of the universe, such as that part of which human
beings have actually had experience.

I want to return now to what I believe is, for
Berkeley, the central question at issue. On the matter of
evil, does immaterialism undermine Berkeley's apologetic
ends? In answering this question, we must first clarify
what is being asked. To be precise, and to redirect the
question towards the metaphysical realist, this query really
is asking whether belief in material substance helps the
theist. Our answer to this question, of course, will turn
on whether we judge Berkeley's argument to be a success when
he claims that the creator is as culpable, if at all, for
the existence of evil if he causes it indirectly (via
material substance) as he would be if it proceeds directly
from him. For if in either case the deity is equally
culpable (if at all), then at least with regard to the
problem of evil, a theist's matterism or immaterialism is
irrelevant. Now it is interesting to note that the answer
to this question (whether material substance diminishes, or
eliminates altogether, divine culpability for evil) to some
degree turns on our acceptance or rejection of (5) above,
that an omnibenevolent God would yen; to prevent evil. For
if this proposition is falsified, then the question of the

moral relevancy of a divine instrument used in creation

176
(i.e. material substance) is moot. If omnibenevolence is
compatible with the existence of evil, then the whole
question whether material substance exonerates the deity is
irrelevant, because there will be nothing for God to be
exonerated from. But Berkeley and the matterist theist
(most of the orthodox ones anyway) are interested in
falsifying proposition (5), and the rationality of both of
their brands of Christian theism hangs on their success in
doing so. Consequently, it seems that they are on equal
footing when it comes to preparing a satisfactory theodicy.
As far as evil is concerned then, Berkeley’s immaterialism
is not an additional liability for him when it comes to the

defense of the faith.

IV. Conclusion

Berkeley's treatment of the problem of evil is critical
for his apologetics both directly and indirectly. If he can
reply satisfactorily to the problem of evil he will have
removed some of the grounds for the Skeptic’s doubt. This
is the direct apologetic service of his theodicies. They
serve his defense of the faith indirectly by bolstering his
immaterialist metaphysics. For if he can show that his
position on evil is no less strong than that of the
matterist, he will have removed one more stumbling block to
acceptance of his system. And given the parity of his
metaphysics and matterism when it comes to dealing with the

problem of evil, combined with what he conceives to be the

177
independent logical strength of his new principle, his
metaphysics, the main end of which is to inspire religious
belief, will on the whole be superior. Of course, this is
not to suggest that Berkeley's theodicies (or his general
apologetic project for that matter) are a success. On the
contrary, the objections we have considered show his use of
traditional theodicies to be problematic. His program might
indeed be an utter failure. However, the point here is that
its ultimate failure or success does not turn on
immaterialism. This is because of two facts that have
emerged in this discussion: (1) immaterialism by itself
does not exacerbate the problem of evil for Berkeley (or for
any theist who happens to be an immaterialist) and (2) in
the main, Berkeley's theodicies do not presupposes
immaterialism. Rather, they are largely traditional and

unoriginal.

CHAPTERS

The Immortality of the Soul

178

179

The Immortality of the Soul

I. Introduction

Among the religious doctrines for which Berkeley gives
a philosophical defense in some of his writings is the
immortality of the soul. Demonstrating that the soul is
"naturally immortal" was one of his stated aims in both the
Principles and the Dialogues. In these works the doctrine
emerges as a convenient corollary of his immaterialism.
However, Berkeley's most sustained defense of the doctrine
appears in his sermons and his essays in the Guardian.
There are no less than six arguments for the soul’s
immortality in these works. In what follows I shall
identify and explain them, noting their historical
precedents and showing how each of the arguments fails to
demonstrate conclusively the immortality of the soul.

Before proceeding to the arguments themselves, it will
be helpful to clarify Berkeley's motivations for defending
the doctrine as well as to explain precisely his view of the
nature of soul or spirit. As for his motives, it is clear
that Berkeley attached great importance to the defense of
this tenet of his faith. An obvious incentive for doing so
lay in the fact that the doctrine is taught in the
scriptures to whose authority he readily bowed, but aside
from this Berkeley had some practical considerations

inspiring him to defend the view zealously. In Alciphron,

Euphranor, Berkeley’s spokesman, declares that "hope of

 

180
reward and fear of punishment are highly expedient to cast
the balance of pleasant and profitable on the side of
virtue, and thereby very much conduce to the benefit of
human society."1 Belief in the soul’s immortality, that
is, stimulates one to virtuous living. On the other hand,
those who have no such conviction lack as well sufficient
motivation to perform decent acts. Moreover, as Berkeley
maintains in the following excerpt from an essay combatting
"Free-thinkers" in The Guardian, their disbelief constitutes
strong incentive to act viciously: "it should even seem
that a man who believes no future state, would act a foolish
part in being thoroughly honest. For what reason is there
why such a one should postpone his own private interest or
pleasure to the doing his duty?"2 Belief in immortality,
then, for Berkeley provides a necessary impetus for the
moral life. All other practical grounds for living
virtuously are inadequate. The doctrine is in fact central
to the spiritual life of believers, as he remarks in one of
his sermons that "eternal life is the ultimate end of all
our views: it is for this, we deny our appetites, subdue
our passions and forgo the interests of this present
world."3 On a personal level as well Berkeley placed a

high premium on the doctrine of immortality. He confesses,

 

1. Alciphron, III, 4.
2. Works, Vol. VII, p. 200.

3. WOrks, Vol. VII, p. 105-106. See also Passive
Obedience, section 6.

181

There is not any property or circumstance of my

being that I contemplate with more joy than my

immortality... It if were not for this thought, I

had rather be an oyster than a man, the most

stupid and senseless of animals than a reasonable

mind tortured with an extreme innate desire of

that perfection which it despairs to obtain.4
Thus, we see just how much was at stake for Berkeley in
arguing for the immortality of the soul. This explains why
he made its demonstration a primary objective in his early
works as well as in some of his later writings and why he
resorted to the use of so wide an assortment of arguments.

Berkeley's conception of soul, mind, or spirit falls
clearly within the Cartesian tradition. His account of the
nature of the soul is that it is a simple, indivisible,
unextended thing, the substantial self designated by the
term "I". The powers or faculties of the soul are two:
understanding and will. The understanding denotes the
capacity of the soul to perceive ideas, while its active
operations about these ideas constitutes will or volition.
Being active, spirit is "altogether different" from ideas,
for they are wholly passive, having nothing in them which is
active or causal. For Berkeley, the soul’s existence
consists in its thinking. It is, to use Descartes’ phrase,
a res cogitans. He writes, "whoever shall go about to

divide in his thoughts or abstract the existence of a spirit

from its cogitation will, I believe, find it no easy

 

4. Works, Vol. VII, p. 222.

182

task."5

Unlike ideas, which are perceived directly, spirit is
itself incapable of being perceived but is only known by its
effects and through reflection. Thus, properly speaking, we
have no idea of spirit, though we do have a "notion" of it.
In this regard, our knowledge of the soul parallels that of
the deity, which also is known indirectly through reason and
reflection. Moreover, on Berkeley's account, God's nature
as a simple, active, undivided, spiritual substance is
clearly reflected in the soul. So Berkeley's conception of
spirit falls clearly within the Christian tradition, and his
concern to show the congruity of his doctrine with the
orthodox Christian dualism is never more evident than when
he compares the soul to the deity.6

Berkeley’s argument for the existence of the soul is
that since our ideas themselves are entirely passive, they
must have some cause outside themselves. Now this cause
must be an incorporeal substance, because the notion of
material substance is repugnant. The cause must be active
and possessing power to account for its capacity to produce
and change ideas. And it must also be rational, for that

which it moves is always seen to be moved towards some end

 

5. Principles, 98.

6. Here Berkeley follows his elder contemporary, Leibniz,
who writes "minds or rational souls are little gods, made in
the image of God, and having in them some glimmering of Divine
light" From New System, and Explanation of the New System in
Philosophical writings, G.H.R. Parkinson, ed. (J.M. London:
Dent and Sons, Ltd., 1973), p. 117.

183
or purpose.7 This argument for the existence and nature of
the human soul is prone to a number of objections, but since
the focus of this chapter is restricted to Berkeley's
arguments for the soul's immortality I shall defer
discussion of these to the context of criticisms of

Berkeley's attempted proofs for immortality.8

II. The Argument from the Indestructibility of the Soul
Berkeley's favorite argument for immortality pivots on
his conception of the nature of the soul. He writes,

We have shown that the soul is indivisible,
incorporeal, unextended, and it is consequently
incorruptible. Nothing can be plainer than that
the motions, changes, decays, and dissolutions
which we hourly see befall natural bodies...cannot
possibly affect an active, simple, uncompounded
substance; such a being therefore is indissoluble
by the force of nature; that is to say, the soul
of man is naturally immortal.9

So the soul according to this argument (which hereafter will

be referred to as the argument from indestructibility) is

 

7. See Alciphron IV, 4ff.

8. A criticism of Berkeley's argument for the existence
of spirit which will not be treated in the body of this
chapter pertains to the vicious circularity of his reasoning.
Berkeley's argument, again, is that ideas are passive and
being wholly passive they cannot be the cause of anything.
Thus, he reasons, they must have some cause outside themselves
which is active, incorporeal, rational, etc. INOW' when
Berkeley asserts in this argument that ideas are passive his
justification for saying so is that "they and every part of
them exist only in the mind" (Principles, 25). But this is to
appeal to the very entity whose existence he subsequently
attempts to demonstrate. That is to say, Berkeley assumes
mind in trying to prove the passivity of ideas, which he then
turns around and uses to prove the existence of mind.

9. Principles, 141.

184
just not the kind of thing that is subject to decomposition.
Bodies are annihilated by the forces of nature, but spirit
is not subject to these forces, hence the soul is by its
very nature immortal. Of course, Berkeley clarifies, this
is not to say that the soul is incapable of being destroyed
even by almighty God. He gave the spirit life, and he can
take it away.

Berkeley's indestructibility argument is not original
with him but has a precedent dating back at least as far as
ancient Greece. For example, consider this exchange in the
Phaedo between Socrates and Cebes:

The soul is most like that which is divine,

immortal, intelligible, uniform, indissoluble, and

ever self-consistent and invariable, whereas body

is most like that which is human, mortal,

multiform, unintelligible, dissoluble, and never

self-consistent. Can we adduce any conflicting

argument, my dear Cebes, to show that this is not

so?

No, we cannot.

Very well, then, in that case is it not natural

for body to disintegrate rapidly, but for soul to

be quite or very nearly indissoluble?

Certainly.10
The argument here is that the soul possesses certain
attributes, which happen to be opposite those of the body,
that make it indestructible by its very nature. A version
of this same argument was later advanced by Plotinus:

Every dissoluble entity, that has come to be by

way of groupment, must in the nature of things be
broken apart by that very mode which brought it

 

1°. Phaedo 80b-c.

185

together: but the soul is one and simplex, living

not in the sense of potential reception of life

but by its own energy; and this can be no cause of

dissolution.
Use of the indestructibility argument has not been limited
to the platonic tradition but is defended as well by
medievals such as Avicennalz and rationalists such as
Leibniz.13 Related variations of the argument are also
advanced by Augustinel‘Aquinas,15 Montaigne,16 and
Malebranche.17 So Berkeley draws on, or at least is
preceded by, a long tradition of argumentation from the
natural incorruptibility of the soul. The distinctive
feature of his own version of the argument lies in the
claims he makes for the specific attributes of the soul.
Berkeley's version of the indestructibility argument may be
represented as follows:

1. Only those entities which can be broken down

into parts (e.g. corporeal, divisible substances)

are capable of being destroyed.

2. The soul is not capable of being broken down into

 

11. Enneads, IV, 7, 13.
12. See his Deliverance, VI, 13.

13. Discourse on Metaphysics, section 32. See also the
preface to New Essays on the Human understanding.

14. In.The Soliloquies, section 24, Augustine argues that
since the mind knows eternal truth, and since that in which

the eternal subsists must itself be eternal, the mind too must
be eternal.

15. Summa Theologica, I, 75, 6.
16. Apology for Raimond Sebond (1588).

17. Search After Truth, IV, 2, 4.

186

parts (i.e., it is not corporeal or divisible).

 

3. Therefore, the soul cannot be destroyed.

There are a number of objections which can be brought
against the indestructibility argument. The most basic
problems, of course, concern the assumptions it makes about
the existence and nature of a soul. First, why need we say
that the soul is an entity distinct from the body? Why not
rather conceive of the soul or mind naturalistically, as
reducible to material elements or processes? In Berkeley's
day such an option had been advanced by, among others,
Thomas Hobbes.18 Even Locke entertained the possibility
of thought being derived from the matter composing our
bodies.19 Today there are still other materialist
possibilities, e.g., eliminative materialism, functionalism,
and more sophisticated versions of reductive materialism.
At any rate, the belief that the soul is a distinct entity
is today more seriously challenged than it was in eighteenth
century Europe. This might partly explain Berkeley’s
failure to justify his belief in mind as ontologically
distinct from the body.

Secondly, it might be asked, even if the soul is a

distinct entity, what reason do we have to believe that it

 

18. See Leviathan, part I.

19. In the Essay Locke writes "I see no contradiction in
it, that the first eternal thinking Being should, if he
pleased, give to certain Systems of created senseless matter,
put together as. he thinks fit, some degrees of sense,
perception, and thought" (IV, 3, 6).

187

is simple, incorporeal, and more active than the body? The
difference between body and soul enumerated by Berkeley and
other exponents of these claims really seem to be thin and
-artificial. The mind does seem to be like the body, for
example, insofar as it is variable and subject to change,
for it passes in and out of consciousness, it suffers mood
changes, becomes traumatized or elated, and so on.

The argument from indestructibility is the only proof
of immortality offered by Berkeley in the Principles and
Three Dialogues. The remainder of his arguments are found
in two sermons, entitled "On Eternal Life"20 and "On
Immortality" and in two essays, "The Future State" and
"Immortality", published in The Guardian in 1713. Four of
the five arguments appear in both "On Eternal Life" and "The
Future State", a noteworthy detail given the fact that these
messages were addressed to dissimilar audiences, the former
to a church congregation and the latter to the general
public. The Guardian essay does not even assume theism on
the part of its readers. He states near the beginning of
the essay, "I shall in this paper endeavor to evince that
there are grounds to expect a future state, without
supposing in the reader any faith at all, not even the
belief of a Deity."21 This strategy, it appears, followed

from Berkeley's design in many of his Guardian essays to

 

2°. This sermon, Jessop and Luce note, was probably
preached by Berkeley on more than one occasion.

21. Works, Vol. VII, p. 181.

188

reveal the foolishness of the free-thinkers and to interdict
the burgeoning deism of the early eighteenth century.22

"The Future State" and "On Immortality" are comprised
of only eight and nine paragraphs respectively, as was-
fitting for the Guardian format, so in each Berkeley dives
directly into argument. The sermons are likewise brief and
to the point, also characteristic of the genre. The result
in these works is more of a cataloguing of proofs for
immortality than detailed, technical treatment of the issue.
Nevertheless, the essential contours of the arguments are
sketched so succinctly and with such precision that the
brevity of the work in each case is actually exploited by
Berkeley as an asset. His confident tone and swift
presentation of the arguments leave the reader with the
impression that they are more rigorous than they actually
are. The cumulative rhetorical effect of the proofs is
augmented by Berkeley's machine gun method. Their
persuasive force as a whole far exceeds that of the sum of
the individual arguments. As a master rhetorician, this was

most likely Berkeley's intention.

 

22. About his intentions in the Guardian essays Berkeley
was often painfully candid. At the close of "Immortality" he
remarks, "I shall omit no endeavors to render their persons as
despicable, and their practices as odious, in the eye of the
world, as they deserve" (Works, Vol. VII, p. 224).

189
III. The Argument from Desire

Among the proofs appearing in both the Guardian essay
"The Future State" and the sermons is the argument from
desire. Briefly put, this proof reasons from the common
longing for eternal life to the probability its fulfillment.
Berkeley asks, "shall every other passion he rightly placed
by nature, and shall that appetite of immortality, natural
to all mankind, be alone misplaced, or designed to be
frustrated?" This rhetorical question is placed in the
context of regard for the general teleology supposedly
manifest in nature, where there exists in the corporeal
world unmistakable order, harmony, and adjustment of means
to ends, and where, for example, the physical desires of men
can be satisfied by the application of certain "animal
powers". From these empirical facts, Berkeley concludes by
analogy that similar order and harmony must obtain in the
intellectual or spiritual realm. This reasoning, he
submits, is justified by an inductive rule mandated by
common sense: "Men ought to form their judgments of things
unexperienced from what they have experienced".23

Formally represented, then, Berkeley's proof from
desire looks like this:

1. Human beings have natural physical desires of

various kinds, and these desires are capable of
being fulfilled.

 

23. Ibid., p. 182.

190

2. Human beings have a natural desire for immortality.

 

3. Therefore, it is probable that this desire is
capable of being fulfilled.

The argument is inductive, arguing from the truth of the
premises to the strong likelihood of the truth of the
conclusion. Specifically, it is an argument from analogy.
Like the argument from indestructibility, the proof
from desire predates Berkeley by centuries. For instance,
it is one of several arguments employed by Aquinas in the
Summa Theologica. There he writes,
it is impossible for the intellectual soul to be
corruptible. Moreover, we may take a sign of this
from the fact that everything naturally aspires to
existence after its own manner. Now, in things
that have knowledge, desire ensues upon knowledge.
The senses indeed do not know existence, except
under the conditions of here and’now, whereas the
intellect apprehends existence absolutely, and for
all time; so that everything that has an intellect
naturally desires always to exist. But a natural
desire cannot be in vain. Therefore, every
intellectual substance is incorruptible.24
The likenesses between this argument and Berkeley’s version
are obvious. But there are also important differences.
While Aquinas’ proof is deductive, Berkeley’s, as we noted,
is inductive in form. Moreover, the Thomistic version is,
not surprisingly, advanced in Aristotelian vocabulary and
makes explicit use of Aristotelian categories. Berkeley’s
version, on the other hand, is not presented in the context

of nor committed to a broader metaphysical system, not even

his own immaterialism. The result is an argument that makes

 

24. Summa Theologica, I, 75, 6.

191

more modest claims but which has a larger audience.

Notwithstanding these adjustments made by Berkeley in
his formulation of the desire argument, there are several
objections to which it is prone. First, since his rendering
turns on the notion of a natural appetite for immortality
which is shared by mankind, it may be asked, what exactly
does he mean by "natural"? We need not speculate how
Berkeley would answer this question, for he takes up this
very issue in Alciphron. In the first dialogue the
interlocutor after whom the work is named proposes this
definition: ”For a thing to be natural, for instance, to
the mind of man, it must appear originally therein; it must
be universally in all men; it must be invariably the same in
all nations and ages."25 Euphranor takes exception to
this account of "natural", offering counter-examples to each
of the criteria laid down by Alciphron. An apple tree,
Euphranor explains, does not yield its fruit until it
reaches maturity, nor does every apple tree produce fruit,
because some environmental conditions prevent it. Yet in
these cases we do not deny that the production of fruit is
natural to the tree, despite the fact that apples are not
found originally nor universally in apple trees. Nor ought
we to conceive of that which is natural to be invariable,
Euphranor contends, for there are some things which are

natural but which vary greatly. The use of language is one

 

25. Alciphron, I, 14.

192
clear instance. He points out that most would readily
acknowledge language use as natural, and yet a tremendous
variety of languages exists. So it seems that Alciphron’s
'criterion of invariability is ill-conceived.

Berkeley thus rejects any definition of "natural" which
includes as necessary conditions the criteria of
originality, universality, or invariability. But what
exactly are his criteria for "natural"? And does the desire
for immortality really meet these conditions? Unfortunately
Berkeley is not as explicit in his own positive account of
the attribute "natural" as he is in his rejection of
Alciphron’s doctrine. Upon a careful reading of the
dialogue, however, what emerges is a linking of the natural
to the rational, based on Berkeley’s conviction that man is
essentially a rational animal. What is natural to man,
Euphranor declares, is that which is "agreeable to, and
growing from, the most excellent and peculiar part of human
nature."26 In other words, what conforms to reason also
conforms to man’s rational nature and is therefore natural
to him.

Now we are in a position to ask whether under
Berkeley’s conception of "natural" (as that which conforms
to and grows from man’s rational nature) the desire for
immortality is indeed natural. In addressing this question

the first thing to be noted is that it is not clear that a

 

26. Ibid., I, 14.

193
desire is the sort of thing which can be properly called
rational or irrational. That is, one might argue, the
canons of rationality preside over beliefs, not desires. Or
put differently, it is more appropriate to speak of desires
as the province of the will rather than of the understanding
and reason. Others, wanting to avoid metaphysical jargon,
might prefer to conceive of desires in brute physiological
terms. By any of these alternative analyses of the category
"desire" Berkeley’s account of "natural" (as I have
interpreted him here) would seem to be too narrow or else
simply unhelpful.

If it be granted that we can meaningfully speak of
desires as "rational" and "irrational" and that we can
evaluate a given desire by the standards of rationality (by,
say, determining the likelihood of a desire’s fulfillment,
the likely benefits to the agent if the desire is fulfilled,
etc.), then we will be able to judge whether the desire for
immortality is truly natural to man. Now suppose this can
be done (that desires are indeed the sorts of things that
properly take the predicates "rational" or "irrational").
Then the next question will be: Is the desire for
immortality rational? If the answer to this question is
negative, then neither is the desire for immortality
natural. Berkeley’s proof therefore will obviously fail,
for his premise asserting the naturalness of the desire for
immortality will be false.

But what if the answer to this question is affirmative

194
and the desire for immortality is rational? Then, of
course, the desire will also be natural. Berkeley’s first
premise will be true, and we can proceed with the proof.
However, a serious problem arises: To know if the desire
for immortality is rational, we must know fire; whether it
is justified, that is, whether there is evidence enough to
warrant our believing in immortality. But this is precisely
the issue in question, i.e. whether the soul is immortal.
Hence, the question is begged or, if the immortality
question is settled by some other argument(s), the proof is
unnecessary. Berkeley’s argument from desire, therefore, is
either viciously circular or superfluous.

Now suppose, in the interest of protecting Berkeley’s
argument from the above criticism, we enlarge upon his
positive [rationalistic] account of "natural" in Alciphron.
Suppose also that we heed Euphranor’s objections to
Alciphron’s definition. We might arrive at an understanding
of "natural" as denoting those traits or characteristics
which gypieelly develop in a thing or which emerge under
normal conditions but which in some cases do not appear
because of unusual circumstances. Hence, in this sense the
desire for immortality would indeed be properly conceived of
as natural, though instances are plentiful of persons who
have no such desire. Some there are, to be sure, who
shudder at the thought of living forever. These persons,
Berkeley might say, have developed abnormally, and for

whatever reason they lack spiritual or psychological health.

195

Like the apple tree that fails to yield fruit at maturity,
the individual who does not long to be immortal is deviant,
this failure being explicable in terms of some disfunction.

However, under this modified conception of "natural",
there is a further difficulty. It concerns Berkeley’s
assumption that "every other passion" which humans have is
capable of being fulfilled. This supposition seems to be
open to question. One can imagine possible counter-
examples. Some so-called "natural appetites" (taking this
phrase in the broader sense just described) which are always
or usually unfulfilled are the desire to remain young, the
desire to stay healthy, the desire for continuous peace and
prosperity, etc. These are cases in which our desires could
not possibly be satisfied, it being our nature and the
nature of the world that we should grow old, become sick,
suffer hardship, and die. The plain fact seems to be that
it is not the case that "every other passion" natural to
humans is capable of being satisfied. Again, then, the
first premise in the proof from desire appears to be false.

There emerges still another problem with Berkeley’s
argument when we consider it in light of his philosophy of
science, specifically his conception of the laws of nature
as uniform divine activity. Berkeley, we will recall from
chapter four, implicitly attempts to justify induction on
the basis of divine benevolence. It is his view that we can
trust that the future will resemble the past, or more

generally that unexperienced events are like experienced

196
events, precisely because the ultimate cause of all events
is a loving God. Now given this theistic foundation for
induction, it becomes clear that Berkeley’s appeal to the
rule of induction in the proof from desire presupposes the
existence of God. Furthermore, it is also assumed that this
God is loving and benevolent. Thus, Berkeley is stuck with
this dilemma: either he cannot appeal to the rule of
induction and the argument fails (since it pivots on this
principle), or else he can retain the rule of induction and
presuppose God’s existence and restrict his audience to
theists only.

In "On Eternal Life" he takes the latter route, making
explicit use of the proposition that God exists. Berkeley
states there that the desire for immortality was "implanted
in us by the author of our beings."27 This assumption
makes the argument stronger but at the same time greatly
diminishes the audience to be persuaded, for obviously one
must be a theist to accept this crucial premise. The added
strength of this version of the argument derives from its
new deductive form, which may be represented as follows:

1. God has given human beings a strong desire for
immortality.

2. God is benevolent, so he would not give human beings
any strong desire which was not capable of being
fulfilled.

 

3. Therefore, the desire for immortality is capable of

 

27. works, Vol. VII, p. 108.

197
being fulfilled.28

However, even granting the truth of theism, as well as
the further claim that most of us share the desire to live
forever, the deductive proof is problematic. An objection
may be directed at premise 1 of the argument regarding the
notion that our appetite for immortality was placed in us by
God. Conceivably this desire might arise in us (or, anyway,
in those of us who harbor it) by one of a variety of other
means such as through society’s myths (whether inculcated
intentionally as in Plato’s Republic or in some other way).
Or, from an evolutionary perspective (theistic or non-
theistic) the desire for immortality might be seen as a
simple manifestation of the will to survive.

Finally, the second premise of the deductive proof is
no less flimsy than the first. Appeal to the benevolence of
God could perhaps hold more promise for Berkeley were it not
for the fact that countless other evils (natural and moral)
in the world are allowed by the deity. If wars, diseases,
famines, and holocausts do not impugn his goodness, it is
difficult to see how the allowance of mere frustrated

desires should do so.

 

28. This formulation of the desire argument is
reminiscent of a version defended by St. Anselm in the
Monologium, chapters 69-72.

198
IV. The Argument from Justice

Another stock argument for the immortality of the soul
employed by Berkeley is the argument from justice. An
afterlife is necessary, the argument runs, for there to be
adequate reward for those who have lived virtuous lives and
just retribution for the wicked. We can reasonably expect
some sort of future state because recompense

can never be justly distributed in this life,

where so many ill actions are reputable, and so

many good actions disesteemed or misinterpreted;

where subtle hypocrisy is placed in the most

engaging light, and modest virtue lies concealed;

where the heart and the soul are hid from the eyes

of men, and the eyes of men are dimmed and

vitiated . 29
It violates our shared sense of justice, Berkeley thinks, to
suppose that the good or evil actions one performs in this
life might go unacknowledged. An afterlife will be
necessary in which final judgment is made as to each
person’s just compensation for deeds performed in this life.
And time, or eternity as Berkeley sees it, will be necessary
for the enforcement of these judgments, whether for the
enjoyment of rewards or suffering of punishments.

Among those to whom Berkeley is indebted for this
argument are the medieval Latin philosophers. In defending
the doctrine of the resurrection of the body, Bonaventure
argues in this way:

Justice necessarily demands that a man who has

merited or demerited, not in the soul alone nor in
the body alone, but in both soul and body, be also

 

29. Works, Vol. VII, p. 182. See also p. 108.

199
punished or rewarded in both.
Divine justice renders to everyone his due
according to the circumstances of place and time;
and, moreover, a soul joined to a body for but a
single instant acquires in this union either guilt

or merit: therefore all must necessarily
rise.3°

Aquinas sets forth a similar argument in his Summa Cbntra
Gentiles:

by divine providence sinners deserve punishment,

and those who do well a reward. But in this life

men, composed of soul and body, sin or act

rightly. Therefore, in both the soul and the body

men deserve reward or punishment. But...in this

life they cannot achieve the reward of ultimate

happiness... And time after time sins are not

punished in this life... Necessarily, then, we

must assert a repeated union of the soul with the

body, so that man can be rewarded and punished in

the body as well as in the soul.31
The argument from justice is not even original with these
Latin fathers but was used by Augustine centuries
earlier.32 Thus, it had already been recycled for scores
of generations before Berkeley adopted it. Despite its
illustrious history, ironically, the argument from justice
is a poor logical specimen. Just as the moral argument for
the existence of God is defenseless against the non-
objectivist’s denial of an absolute moral law, the "justice"
argument for immortality is prone to the skeptic’s objection

that this might not be an ultimately just world. There is

 

3°. The Breviloquium, II, 5.
31. Summa Contra Gentiles, IV, 79, 12. See also IV, 91.

32. See his Enchiridion, 109-11o; City of God, I, 8; and
Calvin's Institutes, I, V, 10..

200

nothing logically incoherent in supposing that whatever
transcendent moral mandates there are in this universe, they
will go unenforced. We might indeed share a "sense of
justice”, but this alone does not justify our expectation
that justice will in fact be meted out.33

Though he doesn’t anticipate this criticism explicitly,
one can envision how Berkeley might reply. Following
Augustine he could appeal to temporal justice as a grounds
for expecting justice in an after life, while at the same
time acknowledging that in this world there is at best
imperfect justice. The argument is that there is enough
justice in this world to know that there is ultimate
justice, but not enough to make an after life unnecessary.
For all its poetic beauty, however, this Augustinian line is
really not compelling, for it does not adequately address,
or perhaps it begs, the real question, namely, whether or
not the cosmos is ultimately just. That local justice
obtains on occasion we all know, and the present argument
for immortality is based precisely on the fact that this

justice is never perfect, that is, that the lack of justice

 

in the temporal realm makes ultimate eternal justice

 

33. A perhaps less cynical version of this objection is
implicit in the principles of Hume who insists that our whole
conception of justice is properly limited to temporal
considerations. He declares that "public utility is the sole
origin of justice, and...ref1ections on the beneficial
consequences of this virtue are the sole foundation of its
merit" (An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals, III,
1). Therefore, by Hume’s account, to extend the notion of
justice to matters in a supposed afterlife, and hence outside
the domain of utility, would be to misapply the concept.

201

necessary. But the above Augustinian reply to the skeptic,
who bites the bullet admitting the cosmos to be ultimately
unjust, turns around and exploits the pzeeenee of justice in
-the temporal realm as still another proof of ultimate
justice. But the defender of the argument from justice
cannot have his/her cake and eat it too. Insisting that the
presence and the lack of justice in the world are proofs for
perfect justice in an afterlife only invites the critic to
answer analogously that both of these facts actually count
as evidence against an afterlife. In short, it might be
argued, if rewards and punishments will be dispensed in the
afterlife, then why do they so often occur in this life?34
And if God is truly benevolent and genuinely cares about our
well-being in this world as well as the next, as the likes
of Augustine, the Latin doctors, and Berkeley will certainly
allow, then why would he permit such gross injustice during
our mortal lives? It seems, then, that the empirical facts
can be used as evidence on either side of the immortality
debate. And what may be used as proof for contradictory
claims really serves as proof for neither.

The Berkeleyan might retort here by pointing to some of
the pernicious consequences of denying an afterlife and

judgment. As we saw above, for Berkeley the doctrine of

 

34. This criticism captures the spirit of the reply of
the Italian Renaissance Aristotelian Pietro Pomponazzi to the
argument from justice. Though admitting that God’s justice
demands proper reward for good deeds and punishment for evil,
Pomponazzi explains that all such compensation comes in this
life, virtue being its own reward and vice its own punishment.

202
immortality is critical for there to be sufficient
motivation to live morally. If we have neither hope of
future reward nor fear of punitive measures for our behavior
in this life, then we have little reason consistently to
perform our ethical duties. In "On Immortality" Berkeley
writes,

wt man would not embrace a thing in it self so

lovely & profitable as vertue, wn recommended by

the glorious reward of life & immortality? wt

wretch so obdurate & foolish as not to shun vice a

thing so hatefull & pernicious wn discouraged

therefrom by the additional terrors of eternal

death & damnation? Thus might a man think a

thorough reformation of manners ye necessary

effect of such a doctrine as our Saviour’s. 5
Berkeley is here urging that the doctrine of immortality,
and the eternal rewards and punishments which attend it,
serves doubly as a strong incentive towards virtue and an
effective deterrent from vice.

The critic’s objection to this counter-reply is
twofold. First, it can be argued that regardless of any
consideration of an afterlife the moral life is still worth
living because it is in one’s self-interest. The virtuous
life is generally the happier life. In fulfilling our
duties towards others and ourselves, by being honest, just,
temperate, courageous, loving, etc. it is likely that we
will eventually reap dividends as the respect and affection

with which we treat them is reciprocated to us. Secondly,

our interest in others is a motivation to live virtuously.

 

35. Works, Vol. VII, p. 10.

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203
Almost everyone has loved ones for whom he or she cares for
their own sake. Moreover, most of us share a genuine,
though less intense, concern for strangers simply because
they are persons. Doing our moral duty benefits others, our
loved ones and society at large and therefore answers to
this genuine interest in others which we experience.

Again Berkeley has a counter-reply. Simply put, it is
that while a world-view without an afterlife might still
possess the capacity to motivate a virtuous life, it is ill-
equipped to provide sufficient motivation for heroic deeds
such as saving someone’s life while endangering oneself.
Here the skeptic may respond by conceding this claim and
pointing out that it is precisely this fact which makes such
acts truly heroic. The hero or heroine does not enjoy
substantial personal benefit when performing the deed nor is

he or she compelled to do it, but this is why we call the

person a hero.

V. The Argument from Authority and General Assent
Berkeley exploits what he believes to be a further
shared presupposition prevailing among humankind: belief in

the doctrine of immortality itself. He argues that "the
doctrine of a future state is attested to and confirmed by
the general consent of nations, as well as by the especial

suffrage of the wisest men in all ages."36 This claim he

 

35. Ibid., p. 110.

204
believes rightly to be verified by empirical fact.
Christians, Jews, and Gentiles of all nations and in ancient
as well as modern times have held to the belief.37 Also,
he adds, it is a doctrine which "hath alwaies been strongest
in the most wise and virtuous, the most reasonable and
intelligent of mankind."38 However, Berkeley makes the
further claim that the virtual universality of belief in the
immortality and the assent of great minds throughout the
ages counts as an evidence in support of the truth of the
doctrine. Represented formally, therefore, the argument
seems to be this:

1. The immortality of the soul is (a) a nearly
universally held belief and (b) a belief held most
strongly by the wise and virtuous.

2. Those beliefs which are nearly universally held and

most firmly believed by the wise and virtuous are
almost always true.

 

3. Therefore, it is likely that the soul is immortal.

This attempted proof for the immortality of the soul is
Berkeley’s weakest. The most obvious problem is that it is
an ad populum argument. It illicitly appeals to the
popularity of belief in immortality as an evidence of its

truth. Arguments of this sort are obviously flawed from a

 

37. Berkeley takes particular care in providing textual
evidence suggesting that the doctrine of immortality is taught
in the Old Testament, a point of serious contention in
Berkeley’s day as well as in contemporary times. Today
liberal Jewish sects deny the immortality of the soul, just as
the Sadducees did at the time of Christ.

38. Ibid., p. 109-110.

205
strictly formal standpoint, but notwithstanding their lack
of logical elegance their rhetorical power is undeniable,
perhaps explaining their tenacity in philosophical
discussions. It is not entirely surprising that in his
sermons and Guardian essay even the usually meticulous
Berkeley succumbed to the temptation to employ so weak an
argument. His audiences on these occasions were largely
philosophically unsophisticated and therefore more easily to
be persuaded by bad logic.

A second problem with Berkeley’s argument from general
consent concerns the second premise. Numerous examples from
history can be given of beliefs held nearly universally, for
long periods of time, and by the most wise and virtuous
persons but which were later shown to be false. The
doctrines of a flat earth, geocentrism, and spontaneous
generation are notable examples.

Further, a naturalistic account of the general assent
to the doctrine of immortality might be proposed which
explains the belief as a concomitant of the common yearning
for immortality prevailing among humankind. If this desire
is natural or at least very common, as defenders of the
argument from desire such as Berkeley insist, then it would
be expected that most persons would believe in immortality.
For better or worse, most of us are more inclined to believe
what we would like to be true, and other evidence being
equal we will accept that thesis which we find most pleasant

or personally agreeable. Thus, the critic may note, it is

206
to be expected that the majority of people should believe in
the immortality of the soul, since in the eyes of most
people immortality is something greatly to be desired.

Berkeley’s premise that the most virtuous people have
believed in immortality might be explained naturally as
well. If it is true that belief in an afterlife and
judgment does indeed motivate right living, then it is only
to be expected that this conviction would be strongest in
those who live well. But, again, it should be remembered
that this fact by itself is not evidence for the truth of
the belief, but only of the power of this opinion as an
incentive for piety.

As for Berkeley’s claim that the doctrine of
immortality has been strongest in the most wise, reasonable,
and intelligent persons, this premise seems to have been
falsified in the two centuries since his death. Anyway,
there is decided skepticism about immortality among
contemporary philosophers, and these are the individuals
whom we should probably call the most reasonable when it

comes to metaphysical questions.

VI. The Argument from Analogies in Nature
Berkeley also uses what he thinks to be analogies of
resurrection in the natural world to bolster his case for
the immortality of the soul.
All the parts of this corporeal world are in a

perpetual flux and revolution, decaying and
renewing, perishing and rising up again. The

207

various successions and returns of light and

darkness, winter and summer, spring and autumn,

the renovation of plants and fruits of the earth,

all are in some sort so many instances of this

truth.39
On the basis of these general observations and various.
specific examples of resurrection in nature, such as are
found in flowers, insects, and caterpillars, Berkeley
asserts that "resurrection... is conformable to the course
of nature in her ordinary production, which nature is the
work of God." This last phrase reminds us of Berkeley’s
view that all of the operations of nature are providentially
governed. God’s immediate direction is not limited to the
spiritual, incorporeal realm as some Christian traditions
might have it, leaving governance of the material world to
the laws of nature. The laws of nature just ere the uniform
workings of providence. The hand of God actively manages
all events, corporeal as well as spiritual. This feature of
Berkeley’s metaphysics strengthens his analogical argument
for immortality, for given this notion of complete divine
control of the world it seems plausible that we should
expect God’s management of the spiritual sphere to somehow
resemble that of the corporeal. Viewed in this light,
instances of resurrection in the former, Berkeley suggests,
counts as evidence for resurrection in the latter. He

concludes,

there is nothing impossible or incongruous in
supposing that the same omnipotence which before

 

39. Ibid., p. 107.

208

our eyes raiseth so many fair plants and flowers
and fruits out of the dust of the earth, should
from the same dust in due time raise up humane
hodies.‘°

Like Berkeley’s other arguments this analogical proof
hearkens back to those of thinkers before him. In the
Phaedo Socrates sets forth an argument from opposites which
also appeals to cyclic patterns in nature and then compares
the life of the soul to these. He concludes that just as
stronger is generated from weaker, bigger from smaller, and
hotter from colder, life must be generated from death.41
Another version of this argument is defended by the early
Roman theologian, Tertullian. In Concerning the
Resurrection of the Flesh he uses the analogy of the
mythical Phoenix bird:

If the universe does not portray resurrection, if
creation indicates no such character, because its
individual parts are said not so much to die as to
come to an end, and are not regarded as re-endowed
with life, but given a new shape, take a
sufficient and undeniable example of this hope,
since it is a breathing thing, subject both to
life and to death: I mean that bird, special to
the east, famous from its solitary character,
miraculous in its after-history, which gladly puts
itself to death and renews itself, passing away
and appearing again by a death which is a birth, a
second time a phoenix where now there is none, a
second time the very creature that no longer
exists, another and yet the same.... But shall
men perish once for all, while Arabian birds are
sure of rising again?

 

4°. Ibid., p. 108.
41. Phaedo, 70d-72e.
42. Concerning the Resurrection of the Flesh, 13.

Curiously, in this passage Tertullian does not treat the
Phoenix's powers of resurrection as mere fable. It is

209

Unfortunately, Berkeley’s argument is no stronger than
those offered by Plato and Tertullian, despite Berkeley’s
innovation regarding the immediate providence of God. The
most serious objection to the argument is that the so-called
resurrection in nature is not really analogous to what is
supposed by believers in the soul’s immortality, for all
"resurrected" animals and plants eventually die. But the
claim at hand is that the soul neve; dies. One might grant
that the soul lives after death, but this no more shows that
it will neye; die than the chrysalis’ emergence into a
butterfly ensures that it will live eternally.

In the Phaedo we find Cebes articulating this very
criticism using the analogy of a tailor:

The tailor makes and wears out any number of

coats, but although he outlives all the others,

presumably he perishes before the last one, and

this does not mean that a man is inferior to a

coat, or has a weaker hold upon life. I believe

that this analogy might apply to the relation of

soul to body, and I think that it would be

reasonable to say of them in the same way that the

soul is a long-lived thing, whereas body is

relatively feeble and short-lived.
What Cebes is suggesting, then, is that granting that the
soul survives the death of perhaps many different bodies or,
that is to say, is resurrected repeatedly, this fact is no
guarantee that it will not itself become extinct at some

time. He concludes that "no one but a fool is entitled to

face death with confidence, unless he can prove that the

 

possible that he accepted the myth of the phoenix as fact.

43. Phaedo, 87c-d.

210
soul is absolutely immortal and indestructible."M Plato
here is facing head-on the objection that resurrection
alone, or many resurrections for that matter, do not imply
eternal life. And he is able to do so because he is
confident that he possesses in his theory of forms an
adequate reply. Berkeley had no such luxury. Whether or
not he glimpsed these difficulties latent in his argument we
cannot tell. But whatever weaknesses in this proof he may
have been cognizant of, he did not consider them worthy of
discussion, at least in those contexts where the argument
appeared.

Another problem with Berkeley’s argument from analogies
in nature concerns his doctrine of divine providence and the
more fundamental assumption of God’s existence. As is the
case with his proof from desire, this argument faces the
dilemma of being either too weak (if God’s existence is not
assumed) or having too small an audience (if God’s existence
is assumed). And in the latter case, it is not fair to
presuppose that all theists hearing Berkeley’s argument will
readily take his view of providence, so his audience will be
narrowed even further to those theists who believe in the
immediate governance of God. So it might be misleading to
suggest that Berkeley’s version of the argument from
analogies in nature which assumes God’s existence is the

stronger. For those who do accept this premise about divine

 

4‘. Ibid., 88b.

211
providence the argument will indeed be stronger. But many,
or perhaps most, will consider this premise to be false, and

the argument will be rejected as unsound.

VII. The Argument from the Resurrection of Christ

In addition to the above philosophical arguments for
immortality, Berkeley uses a theological argument based on
the scriptural account of the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

We are wonderfully strengthened in this hope of

eternal life, when we consider the resurrection of

our blessed Saviour, than which nothing could be

more apt to produce in us a strong persuasion that

we our selves also shall rise from the dead.45
Obviously this is an argument intended only for Christians.
That this argument appears only in his sermon "On Eternal
Life" serves to confirm this fact. In arguing as he does
here, Berkeley is adopting the line of argument taken by the
apostle Paul when he writes,

If it is preached that Christ has been raised from

the dead, how can some of you say that there is no

resurrection of the dead? If there is no

resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has

been raised. And if Christ has not been raisedg

our preaching is useless and so is your faith.4
Like Paul in this passage, Berkeley begins with the doctrine
of the resurrection of Christ and concludes from this that

those who believe in him shall also rise from the dead. He

is aware of the "novelty and strangeness" of the doctrine of

 

45. Works, Vol. VII, p. 106.

46. I Corinthians 15:12-14.

212

Jesus’ bodily resurrection, but again like Paul,47 he
insists that these difficulties are overcome by ”the
expectation of so many ages, such mighty miracles, the
concurring testimony of so many wise and good men."48

Aside from the fact that this argument is theological
and, therefore, like the more rigorous versions of some of
Berkeley’s other arguments for immortality, restricted to an
audience of Christian theists, this proof is problematic
even assuming the reliability and authoritativeness of the
New Testament scriptures. In this argument Berkeley seems
to assume that biblical evidence for the resurrection is
ipso facto evidence for the immortality of the soul. The
fact is, however, that these are two different (though
related) issues, the truth (or falsity) of neither one
implying the truth (or falsity) of the other. That the dead
shall rise and live again does not imply that they shall
live forever. This is the thrust of Cebes’ tailor objection
discussed above. One may grant the possibility of many
bodily resurrections, in fact, and at the same time reject
the notion of an immortal soul. It no more follows from the
doctrine of the resurrection of the dead that the soul is
immortal than it follows that a tailor who has outlived many
coats must therefore live forever. So Berkeley is mistaken

in appealing to the doctrine of Christ’s resurrection as

 

47. See I Corinthians 15:3-8.

48. Works, Vol. VII, p. 106.

213

evidence for immortality. He would have been better advised
to limit his use of this doctrine, and specifically the
passage in I Corinthians 15, as a theological proof for the
resurrection of the body. This strategy, for instance, is
taken by St. Thomas in Summa Contra Gentiles.49

This is not to say that there are ne theological proofs
for the immortality of the soul at Berkeley’s disposal but
only that the one he uses here is flawed. Better arguments
from scripture might be constructed, for example, using some
of the copious references, particularly in the New
Testament, to "eternal life" and "everlasting life". Or one
might build such a proof on a passage which appears later in
chapter 15 of I Corinthians:

We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed-

-in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the

last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the

dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be

changed. For the perishable must clothe itself

with the imperishable, and the mortal with

immortality.so
Here are just a few of the more promising theological

strategies Berkeley might have employed to justify the

doctrine of immortality.

VIII. Conclusion
Let us summarize our findings in this chapter. First,

while Berkeley’s arguments for the existence and attributes

49. Iv, 79, 2 a 4.

5°. I Corinthians 15:51-53.

214
of the soul are novel in an important sense, his attempted
proofs of the immortality of the soul are for the most part
unoriginal, having their inspiration, and some perhaps
borrowed directly, from the likes of Plato, Plotinus,
Augustine, Aquinas, Bonaventure, Malebranche, and Leibniz.
Secondly, Berkeley’s arguments for the immortality of the
soul are uncharacteristically poor, particularly when they
are stripped of theistic presuppositions. When the
assumption of God’s existence is retained, the cogency of
the arguments is improved but only at the expense of
eliminating a large portion of Berkeley’s intended audience.
Thirdly, that so acute a mind as his should defend such weak
arguments is to be explained by several factors: (1) the
genre of the works in which they appear: the sermons and
Guardian essays had to be short and so did not permit long
defenses of premises or replies to criticisms; (2) the
audiences of these works: generally speaking, the readers
of The Guardian and the hearers of his sermons were not the
intellectuals and academics to whom Berkeley addressed his
Principles, Dialogues, and other of his philosophical works,
but lay persons; (3) the historical context: in the early
eighteenth century there was wide adherence to the doctrine
of immortality and a much more prevalent acceptance of the
biblical doctrines generally. Thus, many of his assumptions
now open to question and subject to criticism were thought
self-evident or perceived by common sense, in any case

needing no philosophical justification. Finally, it should

215
be noted that none of Berkeley’s arguments for the
immortality of the soul presuppose immaterialism. Although
I did not make this point explicitly in the course of the
discussion, it should be clear from my exposition of the

arguments that this is the case.

CHAPTERT

Berkeley’s Defense of Scripture and
Christian Doctrine

216

217

Berkeley’s Defense of scripture
and Christian Doctrine

I. Introduction

As with his theodicies and his arguments for the
immortality of the soul, Berkeley’s defenses of distinctive
Christian doctrines such as the Trinity, the divine
incarnation, grace, faith, and biblical authoritativeness
are made independently of his immaterialism and are not
really original, representing little advance from similar
apologetic arguments offered by Christian apologists before
him, such as Augustine, Aquinas, and Pascal. In some cases
Berkeley is probably directly indebted to his predecessors.

In this chapter I shall analyze Berkeley’s rational

defense of the following: (1) the doctrine of divine
revelation--or that the written texts of the Christian
scriptures, the Old and New Testaments, are divinely
inspired; (2) the doctrine of grace--the redemptive work of
God in human beings, (3) the doctrine of divine incarnation-
-that Jesus Christ is God in human form, (4) the doctrine of
the Trinity--that the deity exists in three persons but one
substance; and (5) the doctrine of faith--belief in God or
other religious claims in the absence of conclusive
evidence. I shall explicate each of Berkeley’s main
arguments for the orthodox position he takes regarding them,
noting historical precedents for many of them. The

discussion will make clear that immaterialism is in no way

218

presupposed in this aspect of Berkeley’s apologetics.

II. Divine Revelation and the Authority
of the Christian Scriptures

Should Berkeley succeed at proving the existence of God
and the immortality of the soul as well as presenting an
adequate theodicy, he will indeed have made great strides
towards presenting a rational defense of theism. As we have
seen, however, his attempts at accomplishing these tasks are
more than a little problematic. And yet his most formidable
challenge still awaits him even given that the above aims
have been achieved. He must provide adequate rational
grounds for our accepting the Christian religion as ene
correct expression of these doctrines. How, in other words,
do we know that among the many religious traditions of the
world Christianity is that one which is actually divinely
revealed?1 In Alciphron the problem is posed in this way:

All the various castes or sects of the sons of men

have each their faith, and their religious

system... They shall each tell of intercourse

with the invisible world, revelations from heaven,

divine oracles and the like. All which

pretensions, when I regard with an impartial eye,

it is impossible I should assent to them all, and

I find within myself something that withholds me

from assenting to any of them.

What, in short, sets Berkeley’s tradition, Christianity,

 

 

1. Attempts to solve this problem by‘appealing'to certain
biblical texts themselves are circular and therefore
unhelpful. Passages often cited in the interest of using the
Bible’s assumed authority to "prove" its authority include II
Timothy 3:16 and II Peter 3:15-16.

2. Alciphron VI, 2.

219
apart, such that we can be confident it is the single true
religion? Berkeley’s answer is the traditional one. The
proof, he asserts, is to be found in miracles, fulfilled
predictive prophecy, and the excellence of Christian
doctrine. But what evidence have we, asks Alciphron in the
dialogue, of miracles actually occurring?

Berkeley’s answer, through Euphranor, is that "we have
authentic accounts transmitted down to us from
eyewitness."3 He is arguing here on the basis of the
historicity of such miraculous accounts as are found in the
four gospels and the book of Acts, the turning of water into
wine, healing of the blind, raising of the dead, etc. Such
events, it is assumed, could only be caused by some
supernatural power. They are, he believes, the signature of
the true God.

But here emerges a serious problem for Berkeley, for
there is at least the appearance of circularity in his
argument. He appeals to miracles to justify his belief in
the authority of the scriptures. But if we are to be
confident that the accounts of miracles in question are
veridical it seems we must fine; know that the biblical
accounts are divinely inspired, and moreover, perfectly
trustworthy. Berkeley seems not to be aware that he could
be construed as begging the question. I say "could be",

because if pressed on this point Berkeley might have replied

3. Ibid., VI, 3.

220
by saying that we need not know that the Bible is divinely
inspired in advance of our trust in the accounts of the
miraculous. We can assume the authenticity of the reports
of miracles for the same reasons that we can trust any other
ancient historical document, such as Thucydides’
Peloponnesian war, Herodotus’ Histories, or Plutarch’s Lives
of the Philosophers. And once having verified the general
reliability of the biblical histories, we may conclude that
the specific reports of miracles are also trustworthy. Then
on this basis we make the inference that the biblical
writings bear the mark of divine inspiration.

From the discussion in Alciphron VI, where Berkeley
treats various issues related to the question of the
historicity of the New Testament, it seems that this general
line of approach is one that he would sanction. There the
free thinker, Alciphron, confronts Euphranor with a series
of objections to the view that the books of the New
Testament are reliable. Many of these criticisms were
actually posed by deists in Berkeley’s day, and it is to
answer them, presumably, that he takes up the gauntlet.

I want now to look at a few of Berkeley’s arguments in
some detail. It should be noted that none of Berkeley’s
replies to his critics on the matter of the historicity of
the manuscripts presupposes nor in any way suggests his
immaterialist metaphysics. Instead, he provides
straightforward, stock arguments, many apparently borrowed

directly from his philosophical and theological

221
predecessors. For example, with regard to the objection
that the present day translation must have been
significantly altered since the writing of the original
-autographa, Berkeley appeals to the Codex Alexandrinus to
verify the reliability of centuries of transcriptions. As
for the objection based on dispute over which books ought to
be canonized, Berkeley appeals to common sense, noting that
the few controversial books do not detract from the

authority of the non-controversial ones.‘

Berkeley adds
that anyone who would quibble over the precise list of
canonized books seems to be arguing from within the church.

Like most Christian apologists Berkeley lays down the
injunction that biblical texts be judged by precisely the
same rule as is used in determining other ancient texts when
determining historicity. He remarks,

Men are apt to make great allowance for

transpositions, omissions, and literal errors of

transcribers in other ancient books, and very

great for the difference of style and manners,

especially in Eastern writings, such as the

remains of Zoroaster and Confucius; and why not in

the Prophets? In reading Horace or Persius, to

make out the sense, they will be at the pains to

discover a hidden drama, and why not in Solomon or

St. Paul?5 '

Berkeley seems to recognize the seriousness of the
problem of obscurity and awkward style in certain biblical

texts. But he does not shrink from attempting to dissolve

 

 

4. This argument is used by Augustine. See On Christian
Doctrine, II, 8.

5. Alciphron, VI, 8.

222

some of these problems. He explains that such difficulties
are to be expected in divine revelation which has been set
down and transmitted by imperfect human beings. Some
textual obscurities, he notes, might result from the
translation across languages and cultures and that obscure
or seemingly nonsensical expressions "harsh and odd to
English ears [could] have been very natural and obvious in
the Hebrew tongue," as is the case with idiomatic phrases in
any languages.6 Berkeley’s reasoning here is strikingly
similar to that of Augustine’s in On Christian Doctrine
where he offers the same defense of the scriptures, but in
more detail.7

Berkeley’s general view towards stylistic enigmas is
that we should not conclude a passage itself to be obscure
simply because its meaning is presently unclear to us. Our
attitude should be that of Euphranor’s when he says "I dare
not pronounce a thing to be nonsense because I do not
understand it."8 Here Berkeley is advising humility in the
whole enterprise of biblical interpretation, much as is
countenanced by Augustine who also considered proper

attitude of mind in approaching difficult passages to be

6. Alciphron, VI, 7.

7. On Christian Doctrine, II, 10-12. Compare also
Origen’s On First Principles, IV, II, 2.

3. Alciphron, VI, 7.

223

paramount.9

Berkeley makes a further point about the problem of
obscurity. Lack of clarity can only be properly judged a
defect in a text relative to the author’s intentions. When
it comes to divine revelation, the author might have good
reasons for obscurity, such as "to enlarge our diligence and
modesty," virtues which, Berkeley adds, are noticeably
lacking among the free thinkers. Here again Berkeley’s
influences are apparent. Augustine gives an identical
argument, claiming that such obscurities are ”provided by
God to conquer pride by work and to combat disdain in our
minds, to which those things which are easily discovered
seem frequently to become worthless."lo And Calvin
asserts that "obscure passages...convict us of ignorance.
With this bridle God keeps us within bounds.11

We see, then, that Berkeley’s defenses of the
scriptures for their authoritativeness, despite apparent
stylistic and historical problems, are not original with

him, though these arguments have perhaps never been couched

 

9. Augustine writes "It is necessary that we become meek
through piety so that we do not contradict Divine Scripture,
either when it is understood and is seen to attack some of our
vices, or when it is not understood and we feel as though we
are wiser than it is and better able to give precepts. But we
Should rather think and believe that which is written to be
lbetter and more true than anything which we could think of by
<Durselves, even when it is obscure" (On Christian Doctrine,

III, 7).
1°. On Christian Doctrine, II, 6.

11. Institutes of the Christian Religion, III, 2, 4.

224
in more eloquent terms. It is easy to see why Alciphron was
among Berkeley’s most popular works during his lifetime and
up until the beginning of the twentieth century.12 Here
we find Berkeley rhetorically at his best. And yet with
regard to the real strength of his arguments, considering
subsequent developments in biblical criticism, Berkeley is
at his weakest. We must keep in mind that he writes a
century before the explosion of modern higher biblical

criticism, which explains his naivete, from a twentieth

 

century perspective, regarding textual problems. Because of
this fact, his Augustinian defense has not aged well.
Berkeley next takes up the onerous task of apologizing
for seemingly absurd doctrines at the heart of the Christian
faith, most notably those of grace, the divine incarnation,
and the Trinity. These tenets of his faith are the most
difficult to justify rationally, but they are also three of
the most central and distinctive doctrines of the faith.
That salvation should be a free gift to sinful, undeserving
creatures from a just and holy God, that the infinite God
should take on finite flesh, and that God should be three
and yet one are prima facie incomprehensible. All this
Berkeley seems to acknowledge. He writes, "that many points

contained in Holy Scripture are remote from the common

12. Indicative of this is Fraser's remark in the
introduction to the 1901 edition of Berkeley’s complete works
‘that Alciphron was at that time "the most popular of
Berkeley’s works". The Works of George Berkeley, (vol. 2)
1\.C. Fraser, ed. (Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1901), p. 3.

225

apprehensions of mankind cannot be denied."13 But he
refuses to believe this constitutes counter-evidence to the
claim that the scriptures are divine revelation. On the
contrary, he construes this fact as confirmation of the
claim that the Bible is "God’s word" to human beings. For,

should it not seem reasonable to suppose that a

revelation from God should contain something

different in kind, or more excellent in degree,

than what lay open to the common sense of men, or

could be discovered by the most sagacious

philosopher?14
Do Berkeley’s remarks here signify a retreat from his battle
cry in the Philosophical Commentaries, "I side in all things
with the mob?"15 Although at first glance it might seem
to be the case that his religious beliefs force him to
forfeit his whole-hearted allegiance to common sense, this
turns out not to be the case. Berkeley actually explicitly
articulates his conception of common sense as if to
anticipate this objection. In book VI, section 12, of
Alciphron we find Crito offering a definition of common
sense which accommodates even such strange doctrines as
those at the heart of Christianity: "By common sense I
suppose should be meant either the general sense of mankind,
or the improved reason of thinking men."16 This

definition is more liberal than what might have been

\

13. Alciphron, VI, 10.
14. Ibid.
15. Philosophical Commentaries 405. See also 368.

15. Alciphron, VI, 12.

226
proposed by the young Berkeley, which is not surprising
since he still strives to be a champion of common sense but
in the present context must forge a conception of it which

incorporates belief in certain theological paradoxes.

III. Grace

Alciphron is Berkeley’s only work which contains a full
discussion of the doctrine of grace. In the seventh
dialogue he devotes a full seven sections to its discussion
and justifiably so, for it is a central doctrine of the
faith. In fact, as Alciphron rightly notes, "grace is the
main point in the Christian dispensation."17 However, he
is not satisfied with common theological uses of this term.
He complains that the notion is not sufficiently clear,
particularly for a concept that constitutes the essence of a
religious tradition. That Alciphron points to a serious
problem becomes clear when one considers that the New
Testament itself is replete with references to grace, yet
nowhere is there to be found even a hint at a definition of
the term.18 Because of this obscurity, he declares "I

cannot assent to any proposition concerning it nor have any

 

17. Ibid., VII, 4.

18. Detailed discussions of grace in Romans 5, II
Corinthians 8, and Ephesians 2 do suggest an understanding of
the term as denoting "unmerited favor". However, arriving at
a satisfactory definition of the term does not remove the
difficulty, for the heart of the problem raised by Alciphron
in the dialogue is not linguistic but metaphysical in nature.

 

227

faith about it."19 Moreover, he insists that a rational
inquirer into the matter, such as himself, will find that
there is "nothing in it but an empty name" and that the
notion is taken by so many to be intelligible solely by
virtue of its familiarity. Berkeley himself is prepared to
admit that "grace" is a notion of which even the
accomplished biblical scholar is unable to frame a clear
idea. This is precisely the object of Alciphron’s
criticism, "for there can be no assent where there are no
ideas; and where there is no assent there can be no faith;
and what cannot be, that no man is obliged to.”20

How then does Berkeley defend the Christian doctrine of
grace? His first strategy, typical of the Berkeleyan
apologetic method, is not to demonstrate directly the
rationality of this article of faith. Rather, he justifies
the use of the concept indirectly, by comparing it with
notions in other disciplines whose use is widely regarded as
legitimate. A paradigmatic example used by Berkeley is the
cryptic concept of "force". He points to the difficulties
encountered by scientists in trying to forge an adequate
account of force, noting that it has "puzzled men to know
whether force is spiritual or corporeal; whether it remains

after action; how it is transferred from one body to

 

19. Ibid.

2°. Ibid.

228

another."21 He further notes that "strange paradoxes have
been framed about its nature, properties, and
proportions."22 Such problems with the concept lead
Berkeley to suggest that "upon the whole...we shall find it
as difficult to form an idea of force as of grace."23

Berkeley is not here proposing that scientists discard
the term. On the contrary, he acknowledges it to be a very
useful notion for understanding the world, explaining events
and making predictions. The concept of force has tremendous
practical use, and this is enough to justify the term’s
employment. Now as "force" is a vague but useful notion in
science, Berkeley reasons, grace may have analogously
practical uses in theology and morality. Thus, Euphranor
says to Alciphron,

Grace may, for aught you know, be an object of our

faith, and influence our life and actions, as a

principle destructive of evil habits and

productive of good ones, although we cannot attain

a distinct idea of it, separate or abstracted from

God, from man the subject, and from virtue and
piety its effects.2‘

 

21. Ibid., VII, 6.

22. Ibid. If the advance of physics and the
sophistication of theories of force make this an unfortunate
analogy today , concepts from contemporary scientific

vocabulary could be conveniently substituted, such as
molecular "resonance", the "charm" of subatomic particles, and
even the astronomical notion of "black holes".

23. Ibid.

24. Ibid., VII, 7. Berkeley makes a similar argument
based on a comparison of the notion of grace with that of
numbers. .Although.weihave no ideas of number, Euphranor says,
"we can nevertheless make a very proper and significant use of
numeral names“ They direct, us in the disposition and

229

This defense of the use of the doctrine of grace, by
appealing to practice, is not only Berkeley’s best defense,
it is consonant with the use that theologians make of the
term. For typically it is discussed exclusively in terms of
its effects, rather than its essence. Aquinas, for example
enumerates at least ten practical benefits of grace, but he
declines to explain its essence.25 Others such as Calvin
and Pascal discuss grace at length without bothering to
define it.26

Underlying this strategy of Berkeley’s in defending the
concept of grace is his doctrine of the multiple uses of
language, a commitment of his which is as strong at the time
of the writing of Alciphron as it was in his early works.
He insists that the purpose of words is not restricted to
signifying ideas. Other functions that are equally
legitimate include "influencing our conduct and actions,
which may be done either by forming rules for us to act by,
or by raising certain passions, dispositions and emotions in
our minds."27 As in the Principles, in the later editions

of Alciphron Berkeley opposes the doctrine of abstract

 

management of our affairs and are of such necessary use that
we should not know how to do without them" (VII, 5). Grace,
Berkeley would say, is a notion the use of which is at least
as necessary in the religious life of humankind.

25. Summa Theologica, I, 109, 1-10 and I, 110.

25. See Calvin’s Institutes of‘the>Christian Religion, Bk
III and Pascal’s Pensees 430 and 508.

27. Ibid., VII, 5. Cf Principles of HUman Knowledge,
introduction, 19-20.

 

230
ideas. In the latter, however, his critique is not
presented towards the end of defeating matterism but in the
immediate apologetic interest of defending theological use
of the concept of grace. Thus the apologetic service of his
critique of abstract ideas is not exhausted by the role it

plays in defense of immaterialism.

IV. The Doctrines of the Incarnation and the Trinity

If the doctrine of grace is a problematic one for
Berkeley because of its obscurity, the doctrines of divine
incarnation28 and the Trinity29 are all the more
troublesome because of their apparent incoherence. Also,
with regard to the former, there is the further problem of
the historical details of the life of Jesus Christ, which
would not be expected of human instantiation of the deity.
I shall discuss the doctrine of divine incarnation first.

Before examining Berkeley’s defense of the doctrine of

divine incarnation, we must first make clear just what this

 

23. Biblical proof texts for this doctrine are copious.
Key passages include John 8:58, 10:30; Colossians 2:9; and
Hebrews 1:3.

29. Interestingly, the term "trinity" is used nowhere in
the New Testament. And yet, that this doctrine is taught
there is as nearly a matter of consensus in the history of
Christendom as any teaching in the church. Unlike other
central teachings, such as the divine incarnation, very few
passages independently support the doctrine. A rare example
is Matthew 28:19 where Jesus exhorts his disciples to baptize
"in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy
Spirit”. Other textual evidence for’ the, Trinity comes
typically by gathering individual references to the deity of
each person in the Godhead.

 

231
teaching asserts. In mainstream Christian denominations the
Creeds of Nicaea and Chalcedon have historically been judged
to embody the definitive articulation of this teaching, for
these creeds affirm both the full divinity and the full
humanity of the person of Jesus Christ.30 Taking the
teaching of these statements as the standard for orthodoxy,
then, we find that Berkeley falls clearly within the
orthodox tradition in the matter of Christology. He affirms F
the essence of these creedal formulations when he writes

"our blessed Lord condescended to take upon Him Humane '“

 

nature"31 and, through Euphranor, "may not Christians...be
allowed to believe the divinity of our Savior, or that in
Him God and man make one person...?"32

Now setting aside for the time being the logical and

conceptual problems inherent in this doctrine, let us

investigate Berkeley’s attempt to reconcile the biographical

 

3°. The Nicene creed asserts Jesus Christ to be "the
essence of the Father, God from God, Light from Light, true
God from true God, begotten not created, of the same essence
as the Father...; Who...for our salvation came down and was
incarnate, becoming human." The Chalcedonian formulation
declares that Christ is "to be acknowledged in two natures,
without confusion, without conversion, without division,
without separation, the distinction of natures being by no
means taken away by union, but rather the property of each
nature being preserved, and concurring in one Person and one
subsistence." The distinctive "four alphaprivatives" of this
famous creed were articulated specifically to address the
christological views of certain heretics in the early church,
such as the Docetists, Apollonarians, Ebionites, Arians,
Nestorians, and Monophysites.

31. Works, Vol. VII, p. 46.

32. Alciphron, VII, 8.

232
information about the person Jesus Christ with the notion
that he was in fact God incarnate. In Alciphron Lysicles
expresses his dissatisfaction with the biblical account of
the Son of God as humble, impoverished, mistreated and ‘
ultimately a victim of murder. These accounts, he insists,
do not cohere with our preconception of how an incarnation
of an omnipotent deity would actually appear. He says

Common sense shews every one what figure it would

be decent for an earthly prince or ambassador to

make; and the Son of God, upon an embassy from

heaven, must needs have made an appearance beyond

all others of great eclat, and in all respects the

very reverse of that which Jesus Christ is

reported to have made, even by his own

historians.33
So not only is the life of Jesus Christ inconsistent with
what one would anticipate of the Son of God, it is utterly
antithetical to it.

Crito notes other oddities about the doctrine,
specifically the unexpected particularities of the Christ.
Assuming that God must come to earth in the form of a human,
one must still explain

Why in that individual place? Why at that very

time above all others? Why did he not make his

appearance earlier, and preach in all parts of the

world, that his benefit might have been more
extensive and equal?

Rather than attempt to solve the problems raised here

by calling into question Crito’s assertion about what common

sense would lead us to expect of God incarnate, Berkeley

 

33. Ibid., VI, 15.

34. Ibid.

233

takes a more modest approach to the difficulty, tacitly
admitting the point of the objection but encouraging the
skeptic to attend to the practical aspects of the doctrine.
He argues that while the divine incarnation is a tenet of
the faith which eludes "the mere light of human reason", it
is nevertheless recommended by its effects. For Berkeley, a
debit of apparent rational inconsistency can be, and is for
him in this case, overridden by the asset of a teaching’s
usefulness. And naturally, as a devout churchmen, no
doctrine could be more useful than that which serves as the
means of grace and the basis of saving faith. To this
extent Berkeley is a pragmatist, holding that the dogmas of
the church are eminently practical, not to be judged solely
by their logical rigor but also by their fruitfulness in
practice. In this instance, the latter consideration trumps
the former. Berkeley always emphasized the practical import
of philosophical views, and this proclivity intensified
through his career, as is perhaps evinced in the present
case. I

For Berkeley, then, the practicality of the doctrine of
divine incarnation bears much more weight than its
conceptual difficulties. And he is quick to point out in
section 16 of the sixth dialogue that those who malign this
teaching betray their own narrowness of mind, for they fail
to take adequate account of the importance of religious
practice. Berkeley’s treatment of this issue, once again,

reflects his apologetic kinship with (and perhaps

234
indebtedness to) Augustine who when dealing with peculiar
doctrines often called attention to their practical benefits
in the lives of believers.35
The lessons Berkeley has to teach us here are
important, and his particular defense of the notion of a
divine incarnation against common sense is ably made.
However, Crito’s quibbles hardly compare to the formidable
logical puzzles that this teaching raises. And as we shall L.
see, Berkeley’s appeal to practical usefulness will not
suffice against the charge of logical incoherence. _
Answering the above criticism pertaining to the startling
humility of the God-man and justifying the oddity of certain
other particularities in Jesus Christ does improve
Berkeley’s case, but he is hardly out of the woods yet. For
he must now tackle the awesome problem of showing how the
dual nature of Christ, in the sense outlined in the creed of
Chalcedon, is even intelligible. How can a single person
possess two natures simultaneously? What sense of personal
identity could save this teaching from absurdity? The
doctrine of the Trinity, it seems, fares no better under
logical scrutiny. For what sense can be made of the notion
that God is, as the teaching asserts, three persons in one

substance?36 Now if these doctrines prove to be logically

 

35. See On Christian Doctrine, I, 14-16.

36. The church fathers in the fourth century councils
expressed this doctrine -using the term homoousios (one
substance). This formulation quickly captured the claim to
orthodoxy and the rival conception of the three persons as

235
inconsistent, absurd in principle, then the Christian
religion will be shown to be irrational at its doctrinal
core and discussion of such matters as grace and the
authority of scripture will be unnecessary. And the
doctrines of divine incarnation and the Trinity do seem to
assert contradictions.

What then is Berkeley’s strategy in dealing with the
problem of apparent inconsistency in these teachings? The
route he takes is like that which he uses in defending the
doctrine of grace, as was discussed above. Instead of
giving a direct justification for the rationality of these
doctrines, Berkeley chooses to compare them to a more common
but no less intractable doctrine from non-theological
discourse, specifically the doctrine of personal identity in

7 He writes,

human beings.3
To me it seems evident that if none but those who
had nicely examined, and could themselves explain,
the principle of individuation in man, or untie
the knots and answer the objections which may be
raised even about human personal identity, would
require of us to explain the divine mysteries, we
should not be often called upon for a clear and
distinct idea of person in relation to the
Trinity, nor would the difficulties on that head

 

similar, denoted by the term homoiousios (similar substance)
was relegated to heterodoxy. Berkeley clearly shows himself
to be a homoousian and, therefore, orthodox.

37. Berkeley uses this same strategy when defending his
immaterialism against objections from evil. He points to the
fact that his doctrine is noimore susceptible to the objection
than that of the matterists Thus, we assume, if matterism can
stand against the objection, then whatever tool it employs to
escape the criticism can also be used by the immaterialist.
See chapter five on the problem of evil.

236

be often objected to our faith.38
As is suggested in the final phrase of this excerpt, and as
is evident from the larger context of the passage,
‘Berkeley’s remarks apply to the doctrine of divine
incarnation as well as the Trinity. His counsel amounts to
this. The skeptic should demand no more explanation from
the Christian regarding this teaching than s/he can
him/herself supply. Or, put another way, the beliefs of the
religious devotee ought not to be held to a standard any
more stringent than those of the non-religious. For,
Berkeley insists, the notion of the dual nature of Christ is
no less problematic than that of human personal
identity.39 Philosophers have and will continue to
dispute wherein lies a person’s identity. The whole issue
of personhood is itself a highly controversial one. And
since the time of Berkeley’s writing philosophers have come
no closer to a consensus on the matter, as a perusal of

recent work in philosophy of mind will show. So although no

 

33. Alciphron, VII, 8.

39. Berkeley’s method here resembles that of the
twentieth century apologist Alvin Plantinga, for the latter
applies this strategy when arguing for the proper basicality

of belief in God. Like Berkeley, Plantinga compares the
theist’s belief in God to belief that others persons have
minds of their own. By Plantinga’s account, since the two

beliefs are on equal evidential footing (poor footing, as it
turns out), and since the latter is typically judged to be
rational nonetheless and in fact properly basic, then we must
say the same for belief in God. See Plantinga’s God and’Other
Minds (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1967) , chapters 8-10
and "Is Belief in God Properly Basic?" in Nous (1979) vol 1,
pp. 41-51.

 

237

adequate philosophical account of the dual nature of Christ
can be given by the Christian (this seems to be Berkeley’s
tacit confession), this is not grounds for concluding that
the belief ought to be abandoned, unless one is prepared
also to surrender his or her beliefs about human personal
identity. An historical precedent for this line of defense
can be found in John Calvin who writes of the divine
incarnation that "the most apposite parallel seems to be
that of man whom we see to consist of two substances. Yet
neither is so mingled with the other as not to retain its
own distinctive nature".‘°

Unfortunately, the problems with the notion of divine
incarnation are considerably more serious than Berkeley (or
Calvin) is willing to admit. We are dealing with more than
a problem of simple obscurity when it comes to this
doctrine. It is a teaching that seems prima facie to be
contradictory, whereas the problem of human personal
identity, for all its difficulty, does not. So Berkeley,
like all Christian apologists, faces a serious metaphysical
problem when it comes to justifying the rationality of this
central tenet of the faith, a problem which, as it turns

out, he never really makes a serious attempt to solve.41

 

4°. Institutes, II, 14, 1.

41. As we have seen, his preferred tactic is to deny that
the burden is upon him to solve this problem. Although
Berkeley was not equal to the task, apologists before and
after him have made formidable efforts toldo so. .Aquinas, for
example, not only carefully explicates the ontology of the
divine incarnation and the precise mode of the divine and

238

Berkeley’s final remarks on this subject in Alciphron
give us a clue as to why he did not feel compelled to work
out a thorough rational defense of the doctrine of divine
incarnation:

There is, if I mistake not, a practical faith, or

assent, which sheweth itself in the will and

actions of a man although his understanding may

not be furnished with those abstract, precise,

distinct ideas, which, whatever a philosopher may

pretend, are acknowledged to be above the talents

of common men... What should hinder, therefore,

but that doctrines relating to heavenly mysteries

might be taught, in this saving sense, to vulgar

minds, which you may well think incapable of all

teaching and faith, in the sense you suppose?42
So Berkeley refuses to submit to the free thinkers’ mandate
that all tenets of religious faith be subject to the
dictates of reason. The teachings of the church, Berkeley
points out, are not intended to compose a rigorous
philosophical system. He asks, "what footsteps are there in
Holy Scripture to make us think that the wiredrawing of
abstract ideas was a task enjoined [by] either Jews or
Christians?"‘3 Their teachings, Berkeley will maintain,
are largely practical and intended first and foremost to

produce saving faith, charity and obedience. And since they

regard the domain of faith, they are consequently not

 

human natures but also attempts to show why it was fitting God
should become incarnate at the beginning rather than at the
end of the world (Summa Theologica Pt. III, Q. 2-6). In
recent years this aggressive tradition has been continued in
the work of Thomas V. Morris. See The Logic of God Incarnate
(Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1986).

42. Alciphron, VII, 9.

43. Ibid.

239
properly to be evaluated by reason alone.

As with the doctrine of the divine incarnation, the
doctrine of the Trinity is conceded by Berkeley ultimately
to be a mystery which defies satisfactory rational
justification. Berkeley’s reluctance to give any evidence
for these doctrines places him in the mainstream among
Christian apologists. Aquinas, for instance, maintains
these teachings can only be known by biblical authority and
not by natural reason alone.“ Berkeley thinks, however,
it is a tenet of the faith that is also susceptible to some
support from extra-biblical authorities. In the final pages
of Siris, Berkeley discourses on the doctrine, arguing for
its plausibility on the basis of philosophical authority,
Christians and non-Christians alike. 'He writes, "Certain it
is that the notion of a Trinity is to be found in the
writings of many old heathen philosophers--that is to say, a

notion of three divine Hypostases."45 He refers to

 

44. See Summa Theologica, pt. I, Q. 32, Art. 1. And for
similar approaches to the doctrine of the Trinity, see St.
Ambrose (De Fide, II, 5) and Hilary (De Trinity, I) The
alternative view, that the doctrine of the plural personality
of God can be rationally demonstrated, is not without its
proponents. St. Bonaventure attempts such a proof, arguing
that God, being the highest good, must be self-diffusive, a
single substance present in many persons (The Mind’s Road to
God, VI, 1-6). Compare St. Victor (De Trinity, I, 4).
Augustine, while stopping short of offering a strict proof,
believed strong evidences of the Trinity to be available,
specifically in the nature of human beings in whom mind, love,
and knowledge mirror the divine nature. (De Trinity, IX, 4; X,
11-12). See also Augustine’s City of God XI, 26 and
Confessions, XIII, 11.

45. Siris, 361.

 

240
Plotinus’ remark that an investigation of the writings of
Plato and Parmenides shows that at least a rough conception
of the plurality of personhood in the deity predates
Christianity.“6 As textual evidence for this claim,
Berkeley quotes a cryptic passage from an epistle of Plato.
The text is as follows:

All things are related to the Sovereign of all

things, and all things are for the sake of Him;

and that is the cause of all things that are

excellent. There is a Second related to the

second things, and a Third to the third

things.‘7
Berkeley admits his ignorance of the precise meaning of the
text and appeals to the use of this text by the Alexandrine
Fathers as anticipatory of the Christian teaching of a
Triune God.

Of course, Berkeley is on very thin philosophical ice
here, for not only is his an argument from authority, it is
not at all clear that those individuals he uses as his
authorities actually intended to suggest the truth of
anything like the Christian Trinity. It is possible that
Berkeley was led into such a weak line of reasoning because
of its use by Ralph Cudworth who sixty years earlier had
made a similar appeal.48 Berkeley’s defense of the

doctrine of the Trinity is not at all strengthened by the

Siris discussion. It certainly is no improvement on his

 

46. Enneads V, 1, 8.

47. Siris, 365.

48. True Intellectual System, I, 4, xxxvi.

 

241
appeal to mystery and the legitimacy of faith in Alciphron
twelve years earlier.

As observed earlier, Berkeley’s preferred method
'regarding religious mysteries is to defer to the practical
effects of such teachings to justify belief in them. His
approach is no different when treating the doctrine of the
Trinity. And here again we find a significant precedent of
Berkeley’s method, specifically in the thought of Thomas
Aquinas. He maintained that reason could be employed in
justifying the doctrine of the Trinity just "by showing the
congruity of its results", and yet, like Berkeley five
centuries later, even this aggressive apologist can muster

no stronger argument by natural theology alone.49

V. Faith

Perhaps the pivotal point at which Berkeley and his
deist opponents diverge regards their understanding of the
essence of religious faith. For the deists, the essential
aspects of the Christian faith were not mysterious but could
be reasoned out completely.50 In Berkeley’s view, the
place of reason in religious inquiry is prominent but hardly
decisive. In keeping with Christian orthodoxy, the final

arbiter of theological truth is the inspired text of the Old

 

49. Summa Theologica, Pt. I, Q. 32, Art. 1.

5°. This claim boldly made by Toland in Christianity Not
Mysterious (1696) and Collins in Priestcraft in Perfection
(1710) emerged as the unifying theme of 18th century English
deism.

 

242
and New Testaments. Sometimes the teachings of scripture,
such as those examined above, cannot be rationally
demonstrated. This is when reason must defer to faith.
However awkward, obscure, or even logically incoherent a
biblical teaching may be, its authority takes precedence
over the judgment of reason.

How, then, are we properly to understand the
relationship between faith and reason and the role of
evidence in each of these domains? One’s answer to this
question is essentially a statement of one’s general
apologetic perspective. The sort of answer Berkeley would
give should by now be apparent. A very succinct formulation
of his position on this question appears in the sixth
dialogue of Alciphron:

Knowledge, I grant, in a strict sense, cannot be

had without evidence or demonstration: but

probable arguments are a sufficient ground of

faith. Whoever supposed that scientific proofs

are necessary to make a Christian? Faith alone is

required; and provided that, in the main and upon

the whole, men are persuaded this saving faith may
consist with some degrees of obscurity, scruple,

and error.51
Berkeley’s words here are remarkable for several reasons.
First, and most obviously, Berkeley refuses to identify
faith as knowledge. He thus opposes the view of certain

reformers such as John Calvin who vigorously insists that

faith is just knowledge of a certain sort, specifically

 

51. Alciphron, VI, 31.

243
knowledge of God and his will toward us.52 Secondly, he
is unabashed in his liberality regarding what may count as
”saving faith”, for such may include even erroneous beliefs.
Coming from an apologist, this might not be surprising, but
given Berkeley’s own philosophical acumen and his record of
placing a high premium on logical consistency and rigor, his
standards for rational belief here seem to be exceedingly
lenient. Thirdly, these remarks might seem to suggest that
Berkeley in fact used two different standards in judging the

rationality of belief. As we observe in the present I

 

passage, and in our examination of Berkeley’s defense of
Christian doctrines, Berkeley makes generous allowances for
religious beliefs apprehended by faith if the practical
consequences are significant. Yet he is not willing to
grant such latitude when dealing with strictly speculative
claims, such as regards the existence of material substance
or general abstract ideas.

While it is true Berkeley does have a double standard
regarding the rationality of religious beliefs and other
kinds of metaphysical claims, his position is not as
duplicitous as it was just represented. For while he does
allow even erroneous beliefs to provide grounds for genuine,
saving faith, this is not to say that such faith constitutes
knowledge, which, as he notes in Alciphron and elsewhere,

does require evidence or rational demonstration. In the

 

52. See Institutes of the Christian Religion, III, 2, 2-
6.

244
above passage Berkeley is answering the question "What makes
one a Christian?" not "When is a Christian’s belief
justified?" The latter is a question about the criteria of
knowledge; the former regards the prerequisites for
salvation. And the "double standard" objection confuses
these two questions. We have already seen that Berkeley’s
answer to the latter question intimates more relaxed

standards of rationality than what he applies to those who

.4}

seek justification of other kinds of speculative claims, but

the dissonance between these two standards, if they can

ri~+

rightly be called two standards, is far less severe than
what is suggested if we mistakenly construe Berkeley as
maintaining that knowledge is necessary for the Christian’s
salvation. '

We have arrived at perhaps the central feature of
Berkeley’s conception of faith. For him faith is nee a kind
of knowledge, though it most certainly is a kind of belief.
Furthermore, it is a kind of belief that is usually based on
eene evidence, though not absolutely conclusive evidence.

To some this might still seem an awkward position for a
philosopher such as Berkeley who usually displays stringent
standards for belief and who enjoins us to "proportion our
beliefs to the evidence". In Alciphron he seems to have
sensed this tension, for in dialogue VII, section 10, he
discusses at length the necessity of faith even for minute
philosophers. The religious devotee, it seems, is not

peculiar in his/her reliance upon faith but only in the

245

particular kind of faith that he/she displays. This is
because, according to Berkeley’s definition, faith may be
understood broadly as "an operative persuasion of mind,
which ever worketh some suitable action, disposition, or
emotion in those who have it."53 This conception of faith
allows Berkeley to include such things as time, number, and
force among those objects or notions apprehended by faith.
And having done that, he believes, the Christian has the
intellectual right to exercise faith in religious matters,
so long as there are positive practical consequences.

Berkeley’s view of faith is comparable to that of
Aquinas who maintains that "faith resides in the speculative
intellect" and, as was noted earlier, that some central
tenets of Christianity cannot be known by reason alone.54
Moreover (and here we see further similarities to Berkeley’s
position) Aquinas holds that the only non-scriptural
evidence we have for these doctrines is probabilistic at
best.55

VI. Conclusion

In summation, Berkeley’s defense of key Christian

doctrines does not depend upon his immaterialism. In fact,

his arguments do not presuppose any particular metaphysical

standpoint. Nor do most of his arguments display

 

53. Alciphron, VII, 10.

54. Summa Theologica, Pt. II, Q. 4, Art. 2 and Pt. I, Q.
32, Art. 1.

55. Ibid., Pt. I, Q. I, Art. 8.

 

246
originality. He seems to borrow freely from his ecclesial
ancestors, especially Augustine and Aquinas.

Berkeley’s general apologetic tactic when it comes to
Christian doctrine differs in an important respect from his
defense of, say, the existence of God and the immortality of
the soul: Rather than offer strict rational proofs for
these teachings, he is content to try to show that the
believer has a right to assent to them, a right to faith
secured not through compilation of philosophical evidence,

but by practical considerations, most importantly the

 

salvific power of belief in such doctrines as the Trinity,
divine incarnation, and grace. This slackened apologetic
ambition on Berkeley’s part when it comes to these central
doctrines betrays his concession that they are, when all is
said and done, incomprehensible mysteries. By their nature
they are insusceptible to rational proof, so Berkeley has no
other resort in making a case for them but to appeal to
their perceived practical benefits. This he does, if not
cogently or convincingly, with extraordinary eloquence and

rhetorical facility.

 

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