Recovering Bishop Berkeley: Virtue and Society in the Anglo-Irish Context (Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History)

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Recovering Bishop Berkeley

P S  C  I H Series Editors Anthony J. La Vopa, North Carolina State University. Suzanne Marchand, Louisiana State University. Javed Majeed, Queen Mary, University of London. The Palgrave Studies in Cultural and Intellectual History series has three primary aims: to close divides between intellectual and cultural approaches, thus bringing them into mutually enriching interactions; to encourage interdisciplinarity in intellectual and cultural history; and to globalize the field, both in geographical scope and in subjects and methods. This series is open to work on a range of modes of intellectual inquiry, including social theory and the social sciences; the natural sciences; economic thought; literature; religion; gender and sexuality; philosophy; political and legal thought; psychology; and music and the arts. It encompasses not just North America but Africa, Asia, Eurasia, Europe, Latin America, and the Middle East. It includes both nationally focused studies and studies of intellectual and cultural exchanges between different nations and regions of the world, and encompasses research monographs, synthetic studies, edited collections, and broad works of reinterpretation. Regardless of methodology or geography, all books in the series are historical in the fundamental sense of undertaking rigorous contextual analysis.

P  P M: Indian Mobilities in the West, 1900–1947: Gender, Performance, Embodiment By Shompa Lahiri The Shelley-Byron Circle and the Idea of Europe By Paul Stock Culture and Hegemony in the Colonial Middle East By Yaseen Noorani Recovering Bishop Berkeley: Virtue and Society in the Anglo-Irish Context By Scott Breuninger The Reading of Russian Literature in China: A Moral Manual of Practice By Mark Gamsa Rammohun Roy and the Making of Victorian Britain (forthcoming) By Lynn Zastoupil The American Bourgeoisie: Distinction and Identity in the Nineteenth Century (forthcoming) By Julia Rosenbaum and Sven Beckert, eds. Science in Practice: Law, Practices, and Institutions from the Renaissance to the Present (forthcoming) By Jessica Riskin and Mario Biagioli, eds. Carl Gustav Jung: Avant-Garde Conservative (forthcoming) By Jay Sherry Character, Self, and Sociability in the Scottish Enlightenment (forthcoming) By Thomas Ahnert and Susan Manning, eds.

Recovering Bishop Berkeley VIRTUE AND SOCIETY IN THE A NGLO-IRISH CONTEXT

SCOTT BREUNINGER

RECOVERING BISHOP BERKELEY

Copyright © Scott Breuninger, 2010. All rights reserved. First published in 2010 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN® in the United States—a division of St. Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Where this book is distributed in the UK, Europe and the rest of the world, this is by Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN: 978–0–230–10280–4 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Breuninger, Scott. Recovering Bishop Berkeley : virtue and society in the Anglo-Irish context / Scott Breuninger. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978–0–230–10280–4 (alk. paper) 1. Berkeley, George, 1685–1753. 2. Ireland—Civilization. 3. Ireland— Culture. 4. Virtue. 5. Philosophical theology. I. Title. B1348.B75 2010 192—dc22

2009039955

A catalogue record of the book is available from the British Library. Design by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd., Chennai, India. First edition: April 2010 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Printed in the United States of America.

For Hudson Kehs Breuninger

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Contents

Acknowledgments

ix

A Note on Abbreviations

xi

1

1

Introduction

2 Berkeley’s Sermons on Passive Obedience in the Irish Context

15

3

Science and Sociability: Berkeley’s “Bond of Society”

35

4

Piety, Perception, and the Freethinkers

53

5

Luxury, Moderation, and the South Sea Bubble

71

6

Planting Religion in the New World, 1722–32

95

7 Improving Ireland: Luxury, Virtue, and Economic Development

117

8 Bishop of Cloyne: Protestantism, Patriotism, and a National Panacea 9 Epilogue

137 159

Notes

167

Bibliography

211

Index

235


Acknowledgments

This project has been the work of several years and has been greatly enhanced by the generous assistance of many people, especially the following exemplary models of scholarship and teaching: John Kirkland, Joseph Fell, Ernest Keen, James Donnelly, Johann Sommerville, David Sorkin, Maxine Berg, and Chris Fox. I would especially like to express my gratitude for Laurence Dickey’s unstinting encouragement and direction in formulating the dissertation upon which this is based, as well as his insights into the practice of intellectual history as a whole. I have been fortunate to learn a great deal from my peers and colleagues, and would like to acknowledge the valuable insights shared over the years by David Burrow, David Sheffler, Sean Farrell, Timothy McMahon, David Holmes, Ted Frantz, Greg Bond, and Skip Willman. I would also like to thank Anthony La Vopa and the anonymous reviewers at Palgrave for their suggestions and comments, which have helped improve the final form of this book. I am particularly grateful to my parents, Ruth and Millard, for their encouragement and interest in my project, as well as the Wood family for making my transition to South Dakota more manageable. Finally, I would like to offer my most profound thanks to my wife, Melanie, who helped make it possible for me to finish this project and for giving me reasons to appreciate its completion. Some of the material included in this text has been published in other forms and I would like to recognize these editors and publications and thank them for permission to reproduce these earlier works: James Rogers for “Rationality and Revolution: Rereading Berkeley’s Sermons on Passive Obedience,” portions of which appeared in New Hibernia Review, a journal of Irish Studies published by the University of St. Thomas in Minnesota; the Journal of Religious History, the Association for the Journal of Religious History, and Blackwell Publishing for “Planting an Asylum for Religion: Berkeley’s Bermuda Scheme and the Transmission of Virtue in the Eighteenth Century Atlantic World”; the Associated University Presses for “Berkeley and Ireland: Who Are the ‘We’ in ‘We

X

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Irish Think Otherwise’?” originally published in Anglo-Irish Identities 1571–1845, edited by Jill Bradbury and David Valone (Lewisburg: Bucknell University Press, 2008), 104–125; the Presses Universitaires de Rennes for “A Panacea for the Nation: Berkeley’s Tar-Water and Irish Domestic Development,” Études Irlandaises 34 (2009); and AMS Press for “Irish Clergy and the Deist Controversy: Two Episodes in the Early British Enlightenment,” Religion in the Age of Enlightenment 1 (2009), 199–226. Copyright © 2009 AMS Press, Inc. All rights reserved.

Abbreviations

Unless otherwise indicated, all citations to Berkeley’s works are taken from George Berkeley, The Works of George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne, 9 vols., ed. A. A. Luce and T. E. Jessop (Edinburgh: Thomas Nelson, 1948–57) and are indicated parenthetically by the following abbreviations. PC NTV PO RGB PR ALC Q DISC S WW

Philosophical Commentaries (references are to entry numbers in volume 1 of the Works) New Theory of Vision (1709, references are to section numbers in volume 1 of the Works) Passive Obedience (1712–13, references are to page numbers in volume 6 of the Works) An Essay toward Preventing the Ruin of Great Britain (1721, references are to page numbers in volume 6 of the Works) Proposal for the better Supplying of Churches in our Foreign Plantations (1725, references are to page numbers in volume 7 of the Works) The Alciphron (1732, references are to page numbers in volume 3 of the Works) The Querist (1735–37, references are to numbered queries in volume 6 of the Works) Discourse Addressed to Magistrates and Men in Authority (1738, references are to page numbers in volume 6 of the Works) Siris (1744, references are to section numbers in volume 5 of the Works) Word to the Wise (1749, references are to page numbers in volume 6 of the Works)


Chapter 1 Introduction

When George Berkeley died on 14 January 1753 in Oxford the Anglo-Irish world not only lost one of its foremost philosophical minds, but also one of its most compassionate figures. Fittingly, he passed away quietly while listening to his wife read Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, surrounded by members of his family. As news of his death spread, his widow received condolences from religious and political leaders throughout Ireland and Britain, while his obituary in The London Evening-Post recorded the pious nature of “the Good Bishop’s” passing.1 Berkeley had gained a reputation among his contemporaries as a singular paragon of virtue, expressed by Alexander Pope’s famous attribution to him as having “ev’ry virtue under heav’n” and Jonathan Swift’s contention that Minerva had “left him Virtue for a guard.”2 These impressions were echoed by Bishop Francis Atterbury, who remarked after meeting him, “So much understanding, so much knowledge, so much innocence, and such humility, I did not think had been the portion of any but angels, till I saw this gentleman.”3 Later, Immanuel Kant added to what had become a chorus in his analysis of the “good Bishop.”4 Berkeley was valorized for his morality and piety by his peers, many of whom further saw his work as being deeply embedded within Irish matters. In 1749, Faulkner’s Dublin Journal suggested that Berkeley was the successor of Swift as a “patriot” and “sage, born to delight thy country, and defend.”5 By the time of his death, this reputation had been well established by Berkeley’s consistent concern for the moral, economic, and political problems besetting Ireland and his desire to foster the common good across sectarian lines. Despite the fact that most of his life and work was devoted to encouraging a virtuous approach to the practical matters facing Ireland and England, today Berkeley’s name is most commonly recognized as a key figure of

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British Empiricism: the middle link in a philosophical chain connecting Locke and Hume. There is a certain irony to an Irishman acting as the bond between the foremost English and Scottish philosophers of the day, but this image fails to account for the issues that occupied the vast majority of Berkeley’s career by privileging his writings during the seminal years of 1709–13. Berkeley’s contributions to philosophy are certainly important, but stressing this aspect of his life elides the significance of his own work after leaving Trinity in 1713. Philosophical issues continued to inform his thought but, after he departed from Dublin, Berkeley eschewed returning to these matters in any concerted effort and formulated a series of critiques of contemporary society based on a belief in the expansive power of religion and morality to ameliorate social and economic problems. Even Berkeley’s final actions illustrate his desire to highlight his nonphilosophical interests. Just before his death, Berkeley returned to Oxford after an absence of forty years to be closer to his son George. While ensconced in his home on Holywell Street, Berkeley oversaw the publication of his last two books: a new edition of The Alciphron and a collection of pieces known as The Miscellany. The former, a Platonic dialogue defending Christianity against the dangers of freethinkers, had been first published in 1732 and was quite popular during his lifetime.6 Of even more interest for discerning Berkeley’s self-image and desire to shape his legacy is The Miscellany. This collection of essays and short tracts included almost all of his social and economic writings published after 1713, providing a convenient overview of his work after leaving Trinity.7 Today, scholarship on Berkeley heavily favors his philosophy, which puts it at odds with the actions he took during his lifetime and with how his contemporaries viewed his contributions to Irish and British society. The work of Berkeley “the philosopher” has been well explored, and rightfully so; but this focus has come at the cost of neglecting the vast corpus of Berkeley “the good bishop” whose writings were even more influential during his lifetime, particularly those dealing with Ireland. This study aims to recover the Bishop Berkeley known to his peers by contextually examining his works that relate to Irish social, moral, and economic problems. Two factors have contributed to this disconnect between the scholarly view of Berkeley’s significance and that of his contemporaries. The first stems from the dominant legacy of Berkeley today: that of the abstract philosopher so unconcerned with the material world that his theories could be refuted by Dr. Johnson kicking a stone.8 This reputation is an historical construct that does not account for Berkeley’s numerous practical engagements with the thorny economic and moral issues facing those on both sides of the Irish Sea. The failure of many investigations of Berkeley to consider his writings outside the realm of philosophy leads to a second

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problem: a general failure to recognize that Berkeley lived and worked within a context circumscribed by Irish thought and events. Exploring this dimension of Berkeley’s work has been made more difficult by contentious debates concerning the place of the Anglo-Irish within Irish history of the eighteenth century. On this point, it is essential to note that Berkeley was “Irish” and wrote extensively about Irish issues. While Berkeley’s philosophy played a crucial part in shaping modern traditions of thought, scholars have not accounted for the depth of his engagement with eighteenthcentury society. As a result, Berkeley’s commitment to Irish economic, social, and moral issues has been obscured or overlooked, along with his contributions to broader currents of Enlightenment thought. This task is also important in light of recent scholarship concerning the roles of “improvement” and religion during the Enlightenment, since Berkeley’s writings outside the field of epistemology fit well within this growing field. John Robertson identifies three related areas of inquiry as central to Enlightenment thought. According to this interpretation, Enlightenment explorations of human nature, political economy, and the civilizing process “converged upon the concept of ‘sociability’ . . . to establish the material and moral conditions and mechanisms of sociability, the better to clear the path for human betterment, and to assess the prospects of its realisation.”9 Robertson’s insights into the social thought of the Enlightenment have been complemented by a renewed interest in the role of religion. David Sorkin suggests that “the Enlightenment was not only compatible with religious belief but conducive to it.”10 Even more tellingly for the study of Berkeley, J. G. A. Pocock argues that the Enlightenment (or Enlightenments) was “a product of religious debate and not merely a rebellion against it” and that the “Enlightenment in England was of course intimately bound up with the special, indeed unique character of the Church of England.”11 Although Pocock’s analysis locates Gibbon within the context of the “English” Enlightenment, his reference to the national character raises a final issue that must be addressed: namely, the diversity of Enlightenments that took place during the eighteenth century. Recognizing this problem, Michael Brown has identified a specifically Irish Enlightenment that viewed “the human being, not a divine creator” as “the basic unit of analysis.” According to Brown, this indigenous Irish movement was shaped by the political circumstances facing Irish Anglicans and was consequently more sympathetic to religion. Thus, Irish thinkers “could defend the orthodoxies of confessional life while availing of Enlightenment methodologies.”12 While Berkeley’s philosophy has long been seen as a staple of Enlightenment thought, his works on virtue, society, and religion have not received the same accolades; however, if we consider his writings within

4


the context of this more nuanced reading of European Enlightenments a different view emerges. Rather than dismissing his contributions to these areas of inquiry as being peripheral to his thought, his engagement with questions of human nature, political economy, and sociability was central to his goals for improving Ireland and thus marks a crucial part of his contributions to the Irish Enlightenment.13 This study addresses these scholarly lacunas by reexamining Berkeley’s writings from a vantage point more sensitive to the influence of Ireland and his Irish peers upon his work, especially those works that he felt important enough to include in his The Miscellany. Philosophers who have studied Berkeley often explain him as though his thought existed within a vacuum, detached from the context within which he lived and wrote. This project recovers the moral and Irish dimensions of his thought and locates it within these larger contexts in order to recover the Bishop Berkeley known to his contemporaries for being deeply moved by the serious problems facing both Ireland and England.

I. The Dominant Legacy: Berkeley the Philosopher In attempting to “recover” the economic and moral aspects of Berkeley’s work, I have had to make a number of choices concerning methodology and technique. In many ways, these decisions have been shaped by the nature of the scholarship on Berkeley. Given the philosophical importance of Berkeley’s writings it should not be surprising that he has inspired insightful commentaries, but this intensive focus upon only one facet of his work has correspondingly blurred our understanding of his personal interests and reputation during the early eighteenth century. The dominant philosophic interpretation of Berkeley was constructed during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and has come to obscure the complexities of his intellectual development. By locating Berkeley’s work within the context of the early eighteenth-century Irish and British world, this project aims to uncover an important dimension of his thought that has traditionally been overlooked. Briefly stated, one of the fundamental problems facing modern scholars of Berkeley stems from the concern displayed by many philosophers about discerning the “objective” value of his work alone, with no interest in the historical context within which it was written. According to this interpretation Berkeley’s philosophical writings are “classics,” whose meaning can only be disclosed by careful reading of the texts themselves—no

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knowledge of the author’s biography or his historical context(s) is deemed necessary. Even among those sympathetic to Berkeley’s corpus, such as Ian Tipton, investigations of Berkeley focus almost exclusively on “the views he was concerned to propound in the Principles and Dialogues.”14 In his overview of Berkeley’s work George Pappas stresses the themes of “abstract ideas . . . perception . . . and common sense,” despite acknowledging that “a number of different avenues into Berkeley’s philosophy might be perused, each with valuable insights.”15 More recently, John Roberts has sought to illustrate how “the roots of Berkeley’s metaphysics are ancient and that the ground from which it grows is common to us all,” yet his analysis rarely shies away from the well-trodden path of Berkeley’s canonical texts.16 Costica Bradatan has shown a laudable interest in Berkeley’s extensive writings in his wide-ranging engagement with his philosophy “from the perspective of its past rather than its future,” yet his analysis also privileges the philosophical dimension of his work. Bradatan notes that Berkeley made “significant contributions to the fields of ethics, politics, economics, philosophy of mathematics, and philosophy of science,” but laments that “discussion of such contributions in this book, important and interesting as they are, would have made it unreasonabl[y] lengthy” and thus is jettisoned from his analysis.17 Finally, in some cases modern philosophers merely use Berkeley’s thought as a point of departure, to take his “theses to their extreme,” in order to “provide a significant voice to the contemporary debate over subjectivity and its subjectivation.”18 While the overall thrusts of these studies differ, they share a common goal of explaining the meaning and significance of Berkeley’s philosophical project divorced from its historical contexts. This study corrects this imbalance by recovering Berkeley’s nonphilosophic works and locating them within both his career and the historical circumstances within which he wrote. The neglect of Berkeley’s relationship to his contemporary intellectual environment has not only given us a one-sided view of Berkeley the philosopher, but has also ignored his role as an important “representative figure” in early eighteenth-century Irish and British thought. In his study of Samuel Pufendorf, Leonard Krieger observes that while “none of [Pufendorf’s] intellectual accomplishments [are] particularly remarkable,” he still occupies a vital place in the history of political ideas.19 According to Krieger, this significance does not stem from his work on natural law, the secularization of politics, or the growth of absolutism, but rather from the historical problems with which he was engaged. He describes his project as being concerned with “a set of problems arising [rather] from his indubitably representative than from his putatively creative function in history. . . . Pufendorf raises questions at every turn . . . of such general import as to make Pufendorf a symbol of a larger issue.”20 In many ways, Krieger’s

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description of Pufendorf’s importance may be applied to this study of Berkeley. Berkeley’s work reflected a wide range of important issues— questions concerning the meaning of language, human sociability, the role of morality in commercial society, the nature and spread of empire, and the paths for economic development within Ireland—that allows him to be placed at a crucial nexus point in eighteenth-century intellectual history. Thus, while these aspects of Berkeley’s work may occupy “that second level in the structure of human society whence ideas are transmitted from the study to the forum, and the experience is passed back from the forum to the study,” this does not lessen their importance.21 Rather, it allows this study to recover this facet of Berkeley’s thought and to explore the larger context within which he wrote, describing him in his “representative” function. In this sense, Berkeley’s writings on virtue and society represent a key strand of thought within the Irish Enlightenment and thus he may be seen as an important “representative” thinker of this tradition. The traditional focus on the philosophic dimension of Berkeley’s corpus has been a great boon for thinkers concerned with metaphysical and epistemological questions, but these benefits have been offset by a corresponding neglect of other facets of Berkeley’s work. Typically, when historical surveys mention Berkeley, they focus on his contributions to philosophy: references to his political, economic, and religious thought are few and far between.22 Berkeley often is introduced as “Bishop Berkeley,” despite the fact that his major philosophical works were written while he was still a struggling research fellow in his early twenties. Thus, Leslie Paul argues that Berkeley’s philosophy “was in the main completed before he was thirty,” yet still consistently refers to him as the “Bishop of Cloyne.”23 As a result, the traditional image of Berkeley has remained tied to philosophical interpretations of his work originally forged during the eighteenth century. This association between Berkeley’s work and questions of epistemology has led many scholars to view moral questions as being immaterial to their understanding of Berkeley. In his “classic” study of Berkeley’s idealism, George Dawes Hicks bluntly observes that “Berkeley’s contributions to ethical theory were not important.”24 Leslie Stephen likewise opines, “Berkeley’s moral theory is not sufficiently prominent to require investigation.”25 Despite these claims, more recent scholars have called for a renewed study of Berkeley’s work outside the realm of philosophy. Joseph Kupfer has noted that “nowhere is to be found a unified account of Berkeley’s ethics.”26 Although this gap in scholarship certainly exists, a handful of studies have pierced together scattered fragments of his moral thought. For instance, Paul Olscamp argues that “whatever Berkeley’s moral theory was, it is impossible to discover and analyze it without

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examining his entire philosophical system in some detail. This is because his ethics is fundamentally connected to his analysis of the real world and man.”27 While this is an important step toward recovering “Bishop Berkeley,” Oscamp does not examine Berkeley’s popular political and economic tracts nor does he mention the specifically Irish context within which he wrote. More promisingly, David Leary has called attention to the numerous “occasional works” Berkeley published during his lifetime, contending that “Berkeley had a social theory, that this social theory arose within a definable social and intellectual context, and that it provided the basis for theoretical and practical elaboration in a number of later writings and projects in Berkeley’s life.”28 Leary’s insistence on the need to contextualize Berkeley’s thought is on target and also provides a point of entry for David Berman’s efforts to explain Berkeley’s work as part of its “specific historical and Irish context.”29 Unfortunately, Berman’s contextualization continues to privilege his philosophical work at the expense of his more socially engaged writings.30 Nonetheless, these approaches pose a strong methodological challenge to earlier investigations of Berkeley’s thought. This project builds upon the insights of Leary and Berman by examining the development of Berkeley’s theories concerning society between 1713 and 1753. By focusing on his contributions to a distinctively Irish Enlightenment, which stressed the need for social “betterment” and virtuous “improvement,” this study aims to show the breadth of his engagement with eighteenth-century thought. One possible step providing a more nuanced understanding of Berkeley’s work hangs on recovering those aspects of his thought that traditionally have been ignored. In this case, the largest such area concerns his engagement with social and economic issues. By seeking to “recast” Berkeley’s reputation in terms of the nonphilosophic issues that dominated his work following 1713, including topics such as human sociability, morality in commercial society, and the spread of empire, I hope to call attention to some of the themes that were central to his own writings and earned him the reputation for virtue among his contemporaries.

II. Berkeley and Ireland: An Anglo-Irish Patriot In addition to examining how Berkeley gained his complimentary sobriquet, the second goal of this study is to recover and highlight the Irish context within which Berkeley lived and to stress how concerns for his native isle marked his work. This task is complicated by two related problems. The first stems from the paucity of intellectual histories of Ireland.

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While there have been a number of studies of specific Irish thinkers, until recently there has been almost no comprehensive overview of Irish intellectual traditions during the eighteenth century. David Berman’s pioneering work on the early Irish Enlightenment does provide an important point of entry, but his concerns are primarily to highlight the philosophical fervor in Dublin during this period.31 Thomas Duddy’s recent wide-ranging study has also helped illuminate the robust nature of Irish thought, but his effort to outline thinkers ranging from John Scottus Eriugena to William Desmond results in a corresponding lack of detailed analysis for many of these figures.32 In the field of economics, Patrick Kelly and C. George Caffentzis have highlighted a distinctively Irish set of circumstances that helped shape Irish thought and have done admirable work in helping contextualize Berkeley’s economic writings within specific periods, but neither makes a concerted effort to link their observations to the larger issues that consumed Berkeley during his own life.33 Additionally, there have been a few important collections of essays that have investigated Irish political thought during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but by their nature these texts fail to locate a single figure (in this case Berkeley) within the contexts they describe.34 In part this goal of recovering the Irish dimension of Berkeley’s work parallels Luke Gibbons’s recent examination of Burke’s engagement with Irish politics and culture, but also faces the challenge of addressing the fact that Berkeley was a member of the AngloIrish ascendancy.35 Due to this fact, Berkeley’s legacy within Ireland has been somewhat muddled, as later sectarian concerns have overshadowed his connection with Ireland: a situation this project seeks to rectify. Writing as a student at Trinity in 1707, Berkeley rejected the contemporary theories of Locke and Newton with the claim that “we Irish men can conceive no such lines” (PC 392–94 and 398). It was this brazen refutation of the dominant English philosophy that earned Berkeley Yeats’s praise as a “fierce young man” whose intellectual struggles (along with Swift) concerned “all those who feel a responsibility for the thought of modern Ireland.”36 Yet, as a Protestant Anglo-Irish figure, the question of “which” Ireland he chose to identify with remains open. This problem is acerbated by the fact that over the course of his career Berkeley eventually became one of the leading figures of the Irish Church, yet remained steadfast in his concern for the social and economic welfare of the nation. Thus, a key goal of this project is to trace the development of Berkeley’s engagement with Irish matters, paying particular attention to his changing attitudes toward the sectarian and class differences that plagued Irish society. His proscriptions for the economic well-being of his native land illustrate Berkeley’s espousal of a vision of Irish “patriotism” grounded in practical recognition of the challenges facing Ireland as a whole. While this mature position

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contained elements of religious prejudice, these were tempered by a greater concern for creating a self-sufficient state able to weather the storms of social upheaval. In his study of this period Joep Theodoor Leerssen places Irish Protestant thought within an international context, specifically a notion of “patriotism” premised upon civic virtue, the pursuit of the common good, and active citizenship.37 As explained by Leerssen, the idea of Irish “patriotism” provides a useful tool for discussing Berkeley’s Irish identity. Noting that the ideological connotations of the term “Anglo-Irish” have too often resulted in a “binary polarity” between “pro-English/anti-native Irish ‘Ascendancy’ interests” and “anti-English/pro-Irish ‘National’ interests,” Leerssen contends that this division fails to account for the diversity of attitudes held by pro-Irish individuals of English descent.38 By locating the idea of Irish “patriotism” within the broader context of European thought, Leerssen attempts to prove that this concept was a precursor of moderate liberalism, not extreme nationalism.39 While this idea typically drew upon traditions of individual liberty and the common good, among Anglo-Irish patriots the historical record circumscribed their choices. Since they were unable to cite Irish examples of these beliefs many Anglo-Irish writers were forced to appeal to the English historical tradition, including Magna Carta and the Glorious Revolution, to support their constitutional claims. This strategy allowed them to highlight their own Englishness against the backdrop of the native Irish majority and provided a storehouse of traditional English liberties to which they could claim inheritance. The main problem with this tactic centered on the fact that these individuals also needed to account for Irish constitutional thought, much of which had been repudiated by the events of 1688–89. By seeking to explain the position of these patriots straddling English and Irish thought Leerssen contends that Irish patriot discourse was “by necessity remarkably a-historicist,” on the grounds that it could not draw upon pre-1688 Irish thought without evoking fears of Catholic resurgency.40 Leerssen observes that early eighteenth-century notions of patriotism were often premised upon a sense of “disinterested service to one’s country.”41 Although Berkeley’s references to the plight of the native Irish often were tarnished by prejudice, they were still premised upon the desire to improve the overall health and security of the island: a task that he saw as cutting across class and confessional lines. This goal was evident in many of Berkeley’s works, in which he presented a moderate vision of patriotism grounded in practical concerns for improvement and the public good. For instance, in the dedication to his New Theory of Vision (1709), he contended that a “true patriot” has “the interest of the publick at heart, and omits no means of informing himself what may be prejudicial or

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advantageous to his country, in order to prevent the one and promote the other” (NTV Ded.). Likewise, in his Maxims Concerning Patriotism (1750) Berkeley gave further voice to this idea, defining a patriot as “one who heartily wisheth the public prosperity, and doth not only wish, but also study and endeavour to promote it.”42 In each of these cases, chosen from both his early and later writings, it is possible to see that his hopes for the general welfare of Ireland provided the underpinning of his engagement with Irish matters. In this respect, Leerssen’s notion of Irish patriotism seems to aptly describe some of Berkeley’s attitude toward his homeland as evidenced by his interest in the practical improvement of Ireland.

III. Recovering Ireland’s Good Bishop By training and conviction my development as an historian has been greatly influenced by the contextual strategies of the Cambridge School of intellectual history. The methodological techniques pioneered by Quentin Skinner, John Dunn, and J. G. A. Pocock have provided important and useful ways to understand both the meaning of texts and their relationship to their social contexts.43 Against writers who sought “eternal truths” or “genuinely universal or objectively true political theories” within the pages of classical texts, contextualist historians stressed the importance of reading these works as historical documents that were historically produced. As acknowledged by Skinner, this reemphasis on exploring the meaning of historical texts through reference to the social context(s) surrounding their production was not necessarily “new,” but rather a response to contemporary challenges within the historical profession in general and intellectual history in particular.44 In the process of trying to explain Berkeley’s role as a “representative figure” within Irish thought, the methodological techniques of contextual intellectual history have been extremely useful. According to Skinner, the essence of his approach to historical texts “consists of trying to place such texts within such contexts as [to] enable us in turn to identify what their authors were doing in writing them.”45 For Skinner, two questions shape this process, namely “the question of what the text means” and “what its author may have meant.”46 Focusing on the second of these topics, Skinner suggests that intellectual history should seek to describe the field of “linguistic action” at play in specific historical contexts to study the “range of things that speakers are capable of doing in (and by) their use of words and sentences.”47 This goal, of locating historical texts within social and linguistic contexts in order to unlock their meanings, is shared by this study

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of Berkeley. In doing so, I seek to not only explain his works but also place them within and against contemporary traditions of thought, indicating those lines of argument he accepted, those he rejected, and those points where his contributions helped shape existing debates. As Skinner warns, this approach may have the effect “of de-centering” Berkeley, “of questioning his standing as the author of an original and eponymous system of thought,” but has the benefit of allowing me to return to Berkeley’s texts with the historical information necessary to explain their significance.48 With this in mind I shall seek to show Berkeley’s socially oriented writings as representative of larger strands of thought common during the early Irish and British Enlightenments, illustrating some of the key moments in the development of Berkeley’s understanding of the roles of sociability, morality, and religion within commercial society. The first five chapters of this book focus on Berkeley before the development of his plan for a missionary college in Bermuda, paying particular attention to his analyses of society and the factors he identified as threatening it. During this period, Berkeley’s work reflected contemporary Irish debates concerning religion and politics. David Berman has shown that the first half of the eighteenth century witnessed a flourishing of Irish philosophy—bounded by the works of John Toland, William King, Peter Browne, William Molyneux, and Edward Synge—and that Berkeley’s writings played an essential role in the formation of this corpus.49 While diverse, these thinkers shared a common interest in a number of questions such as the nature of perception, the acceptable uses of language, and the limits of human knowledge.50 In his sermons on Passive Obedience Berkeley wrote within a context defined by Irish interpretations of 1689, explaining the nature of political obligation through recourse to rational reflection and an appreciation for the common good. After he traveled from Dublin to London and made his entry into the wider intellectual world, Berkeley turned his eye to serious practical consideration of public affairs. Through a number of essays in The Guardian, he outlined his understanding of human benevolence, “God-implanted” sociability, happiness, and the afterlife. Furthermore, Berkeley used these essays as an opportunity to launch one of his first attacks on the “pernicious, so-called freethinkers” whose avocation of atheism threatened the body politic. It was during this period that the South Sea Bubble elicited a wide array of political, moral, and economic responses that sought to redefine the place of commerce in English society. In 1721, fresh from a continental tour as the tutor to St. George Ashe, Berkeley entered this debate with his Essay towards Preventing the Ruin of Great Britain. In this piece Berkeley indicted the character of England, suggesting that the nation was standing on the edge of a moral precipice. Melding his theoretical defense of morality with practical

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concerns, Berkeley outlined a series of specific programs that could be used to ameliorate the decline of English ethical standards and rehabilitate the role of religion in the lives of his contemporaries, while also allowing for the economic rejuvenation of the nation that he would later apply to the Irish situation. Still, in the aftermath of the South Sea bubble, Berkeley’s disenchantment with Britain began to rise and he soon turned his attention to a new project: the formation of a missionary college in Bermuda. The final four chapters of this book examine Berkeley’s efforts to encourage the spread and maintenance of virtuous societies in the New World and Ireland. First, he published A Proposal for the Better Supplying of Churches in our foreign Plantations (1724), in which he outlined the practical aspects of his missionary plan and sought to persuade readers of its necessity. At the height of this enthusiasm Berkeley wrote “America, or the Muse’s Refuge” (1725/6), which in many ways may be seen as the foremost expression of the ideals guiding his Bermuda venture. In this important piece, Berkeley pointed to the “decay” of Europe and the “rise of Empire and of Arts” in the “west,” suggesting that at this point in his career he was hoping for a moral renewal in the Atlantic world. Following his return from Rhode Island in 1732 and the assumption of his new post as the bishop of Cloyne, Berkeley became acutely concerned with Irish issues. Thus, these chapters also examine Berkeley’s work after his arrival in Cloyne, highlighting his adoption of a “patriotic” concern for the nation as a whole. During the 1730s and 1740s, Ireland faced a number of economic and social problems—a shortage of currency, unemployment, famine, and a series of epidemics— which sapped at the nation’s strength. From the time he arrived at Cloyne until his death in 1752 Berkeley worked tirelessly to improve the morals of the nation, which he believed was an essential step in ensuring the practical well-being of Protestants and Catholics alike. In doing so, the “mature” Berkeley espoused a series of proposals that helped cement his reputation to his contemporaries as “the good bishop” and overshadowed his contributions to philosophy. As a whole, this study uses Berkeley’s writings as a vehicle for the contextual exploration of a variety of early eighteenth-century issues central to the evolving development of early commercial society—specifically, the changing roles of morality, luxury, and understandings of history in social affairs. Berkeley’s career brought him into contact with many of the key figures of this period, allowing an investigation of his life to illuminate important intellectual currents during the early Enlightenment. Although his social and political writings may not have placed him among the upper tier of social theorists during this time, his engagement with these figures allows Berkeley to be seen as a “representative figure,” a perceptive critic

INTRODUCTION

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who gave voice to and popularized a number of important ideas during a crucial moment in the formation of modern society. At the same time, I hope to “recover” the Berkeley known to his contemporaries. References to Berkeley in traditional histories typically have cast him as the “middle empiricist” philosopher, ignoring his extensive engagement with social issues. While this is understandable in light of the quality of his philosophical contributions, it does a great disservice to an individual whose career was deeply informed by social issues. By highlighting the development of Berkeley’s concern for society and his analyses of the forces he believed were threatening it, I hope to present a side of his work that is more in line with the vision of his contemporaries: of an individual deeply concerned with the fate of the Irish, British, and American peoples.


Chapter 2 Berkeley’s Sermons on Passive Obedience in the Irish Context

Even while writing his major philosophic works, Berkeley’s interests were not limited to epistemological inquiries. Berkeley was also deeply concerned with questions of a more social nature, often dwelling on the role of religion as a support for morality and as essential to a well-ordered society and the common good. For instance, in a 1709 letter to his friend Sir John Percival, Berkeley observed that “Socrates’ whole employment was the turning men aside from vice, impertinence, and trifling speculations to the study of solid wisdom, temperance, justice and piety, which is the true business of a philosopher.”1 Adopting the mantle of Socrates’s publicly engaged philosopher, Berkeley’s writings after 1712 exhibit an increasingly deep and abiding interest in the relationship between religion, morality, and society. Berkeley’s sermons on Passive Obedience set forth an interpretation of the laws of nature that allowed him to defend a weak form of passive obedience, while simultaneously putting him at odds with key figures in the social contract tradition, particularly as expressed in the Irish context. In articulating this doctrine, Berkeley developed a justification for the existing social order premised on individual obligations to God and reason. In this initial foray into the field of politics, he began to apply his philosophical insights concerning reason and language to practical political issues. Nonetheless, this work resulted in a great setback to his career. As word of his sermons spread, Williamites saw his advocacy of passive obedience as evidence that he harbored Jacobite sympathies. Berkeley hoped to clear his reputation by publishing the full text of his sermons but had little success, thus raising the question of why he committed them to print in the first place.

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Modern scholars seeking to assess Berkeley’s sermons on Passive Obedience for evidence of his political views have drawn a variety of opinions from this work.2 David Berman has argued that Berkeley may have been a Jacobite sympathizer in 1712, but that he had renounced these ideas by 1715 when he anonymously published his Advice to the Tories. Berman suggests that Berkeley’s original aim in publishing Passive Obedience may have been to “encourage a Stuart return after Anne’s death” that would “erase the moral blot of rebellion in 1688–89” and “resolve the problem of the Non-jurors.”3 According to this reading, by 1715 these issues were no longer relevant due to the fact that George I “came to the crown without force or artifice,” and members of both parties had taken the morally binding Oath of Allegiance.4 Geoffrey Warnock presents a more nuanced and practical reading of Berkeley’s position. Noting that passive obedience and support for hereditary kingship were traditionally yoked together by defenders of the Stuarts, Warnock carefully draws attention to Berkeley’s choice of words in the opening of Passive Obedience, in which he claimed that “I shall endeavour to prove that there is an absolute unlimited nonresistance, or passive obedience, due to the supreme civil power, wherever placed in any nation” (PO 17). The key point here is that Berkeley is referring to subjects’ relations with their supreme civil power “wherever placed” and “by implication, however it may have come to be supreme.”5 From this, it would appear that Berkeley had no real objections to the legitimacy of either William or the Hanoverians: once ensconced in power, the sovereign was due obedience from his subjects. S. J. Connolly has generally supported this interpretation, noting that “what bridged the gap between Berkeley’s theory of obedience and his acceptance of the Revolution was a highly pragmatic definition of legitimacy.”6 Ian Ross agrees with this position, further stressing that Berkeley’s rhetoric in Passive Obedience was designed to “turn Jacobite arguments against Jacobite students not by depending on the authority of scripture but by the exercise of the intellect.” 7 These analyses accord with both the historical contexts within which Berkeley wrote Passive Obedience. Unlike those who had been politically active during the Revolution, Berkeley was of the generation to whom these events were part of history, but not part of their own immediate history. Whereas popular writers such as William King and Edward Wetenhall wrote to justify their own actions during a time of strife, Berkeley lived during a period when these concerns were less personal. As a result, he had the luxury of approaching them from a more abstract perspective that meshed well with his interests before his arrival in London in 1713. Two important Irish contexts help us better understand Berkeley’s sermons. The first of these stems from the ubiquity of mathematical reasoning during his time as a student at Trinity College and emphasizes the

BERKELEY’S SERMONS ON PASSIVE OBEDIENCE

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importance of “rationality” for his 1712 sermons. The second concerns Irish deployments of the doctrine of passive obedience. In light of recent scholarship focusing on the Irish response to the events of 1688–89, it is important to identify the languages used to explain the Williamite settlement in Ireland. The majority of the fighting took place on Irish soil and the nation was torn by sectarian differences. Irish reactions to the Revolution, therefore, took place in a much different environment than contemporary debates in England. As Berkeley came of age during this period, it is crucial to highlight the discursive options available to the young scholar from Kilkenny when discussing the duties and rights of citizens. Once this is completed I examine Berkeley’s argument in Passive Obedience, both as evidence of his early political leanings and as a benchmark for measuring his later forays into the field of social policy. This chapter demonstrates how Berkeley applied the fruits of his earlier philosophical interests to questions of a more social nature and thus provides a springboard for examining his shift toward a more practical engagement with the ills he saw besetting Ireland and England.

I. Mathematics and Morality at Trinity After arriving at Trinity, Berkeley quickly came to value the study of science and mathematics. A key figure that fostered these pursuits was his tutor, John Hall.8 Although not primarily a mathematician, it was “by his exhortations” that Berkeley “was excited to the delightful study of mathematics.”9 Berkeley was especially interested in the potential of algebra, which is evident not only in his first two published texts, the Arithmetica and Miscellanea Mathematica, but also, as we shall see, in his first foray into moral philosophy: his sermons on Passive Obedience.10 While Hall may have sparked Berkeley’s interest in the use of reason and mathematics, it flourished under the direction of St. George Ashe. Perhaps best known today for his association with Swift, Ashe has been often overlooked in the context of Berkeley’s education. Ashe came from a Wiltshire family that had settled in Ireland and entered Trinity at the same time as William Molyneux and Robert Molesworth, becoming a fellow in 1679 and later professor of mathematics (1685).11 During his time at Trinity he was a firm advocate of the new sciences and played an active role in the Dublin Philosophical Society (DPS). As provost of Trinity from 1692 until 1695, Ashe oversaw the introduction of Locke’s Essay into the curriculum and actively encouraged the study of science and mathematics at the university.12

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As a scientist Ashe’s work may not have been particularly impressive, but his advocacy of mathematical knowledge highlights his connection to Berkeley. While at Trinity he argued that mathematics was the supreme form of knowledge due to its “clear and distinct” ideas, “exquisite order and methods,” and use of “rational . . . demonstration.”13 Ashe further stressed that reason and science were bulwarks against “enthusiasm” and “superstition,” since their study provided glimpses of the “Divine management of the world,” which was essential for the “freedom of Men’s Minds.”14 This theme ran through many of Ashe’s works, as his later calls for the conversion of Irish Catholics were premised on an appreciation for the value of education in overcoming the “Slavery of the Mind and Body” that he believed trapped these “unwary people.”15 For Ashe, reason was a crucial weapon in the defense of religion and the social order, supporting revealed religion through its explication of God’s craftsmanship.16 Ashe’s appreciation for the power of mathematics and reason to refine human morality and religion displayed an important point of affinity between the DPS and its English counterparts. For many Dublin divines, empirical knowledge of the physical world was seen as rationally supporting the “design argument.”17 Furthermore, according to Ashe and other members of the DPS, reason was believed to be the cornerstone upon which morality could be built. Roughly contemporaneously in England, a powerful (if short-lived) school of moral philosophy was defined by the doctrines of “ethical rationalism.” Originating with the Cambridge Platonists, ethical rationalism affirmed that reason by itself can (and should) determine the fundamental principles of morality. Through a process independent of revelation, experience, sentiment, or desire, ethical rationalists maintained that reason could not only discover the final ends of providence but also the eternal laws of good and evil—the laws believed to manifest the divine will itself.18 The “mathematical method” provided a key technique for these thinkers, who were governed by the conviction that morality could be a demonstrative science whose first principles were as self-evident as the laws of geometry. For thinkers in this tradition, such as Samuel Clarke, the notion of “natural law” played an essential role in the determination of ethical rules. As articulated by ethical rationalists, “natural laws” were seen as possessing independent ethical authority by virtue of their normative force or moral value. They were “natural” in the sense that their origins and authority were not derived from revelation, but rather known through natural reason. At the same time, ethical rationalists stressed the social nature of human existence and the importance of personal choice in the formation of ethical rules. They saw society not as the result of a contract, but as part of a providential order, “a divine corporation.”19 This conception of the


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world—coupled with their belief in a necessary connection between virtue and happiness, vice and misery—led to the conclusion that natural laws were designed to ensure the common good of society. Since natural laws were rationally deduced and eternal in nature, it was commonly accepted that humans (and God) should not abrogate them for any reason.20 Berkeley’s work on social issues while a student at Trinity fits into this tradition. He was convinced of the importance of reason as a determinant of morality and the need to pursue the common good. Berkeley’s correspondence of 1709 and 1710 also reveals that he thought highly of Samuel Clarke and parts of Passive Obedience bear a close resemblance to Clarke’s influential Boyle lectures.21 Between 1706 and his departure for London in 1713, the tradition of ethical rationalism, in its Irish guise, forms a key context for understanding Berkeley’s view of social and political issues. Berkeley completed his BA degree by February 1704 and stayed at Trinity to prepare for the next round of fellowship examinations, which he passed in June 1707. While a fellow at Trinity, Berkeley kept two private notebooks outlining his intellectual pursuits. Known today as his Philosophical Commentaries, these works provide crucial insight into the development of his thought. Early in the Commentaries, under the influence of Locke’s Essay, Berkeley believed that morality could be proven through the demonstrative technique.22 He observed that convincing people to accept a system of ethics premised on mathematical reasoning was fraught with difficulty, since “the short jejune way in Mathematics will not do in Metaphysicques & Ethiques, for y t about Mathematical propositions men have no prejudices, no anticipated opinions to be encountered” (PC 163). Despite these reservations, he eventually came to accept that ethics could be “demonstrated in a Geometrical way” and that “[m]orality may be Demonstrated as mixt Mathematics” (PC 239 and 755). The problem with this approach stemmed from questions of language, on the grounds that the process of assigning meaning to words played a critical role in the determination of morality. Berkeley claimed that “to demonstrate Morality it seems one need only make a Dictionary of Words & see which included which. at least. This is the greatest part & bulk of the Work” (PC 690). Underlying this entry was a fear that the terms used to describe certain actions determined, at least in part, the morality associated with them. For instance, does the state “execute” or “murder” criminals? From this perspective, word choice determined ethical judgments and consequently attempts to creative an objective system would eventually run aground upon the rock of verbal inconsistency. This sensitivity to the power of language to determine moral values provided an important touchstone for his argument in his sermons on Passive Obedience, especially when considered in conjunction with the controversial nature of the events of 1689 in Ireland.

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II. The Irish Context of Berkeley’s Sermons on Passive Obedience: Responses to 1688 The contentious doctrine set out in Passive Obedience arose in the Irish context of the “Glorious” Revolution’s aftermath. Recent scholarship on Irish political thought during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries has done much to illuminate how the ascension of William and Mary to the English throne had very different ramifications across the Irish Sea.23 English Protestants could praise the constitutional settlement as a “bloodless Revolution”; their coreligionists in Ireland faced a much more complex situation. The struggle between James II and William was fought on Irish soil and Irish Protestants were forced to endure eighteen months of uncertainty and warfare. Both during and after this conflict, Irish Protestants faced conflicting choices concerning their actions and a myriad of possible ways their actions might be justified. For radical whigs, a straightforward defense of the Revolution commonly evoked Lockean political theory and dismissed the idea of passive obedience. For instance, Robert Molesworth’s influential tract, An Account of Denmark (1694), rejected the “pernicious doctrine” of passive obedience as an affront to humans’ natural liberties.24 Internal wrestling over questions of loyalty and sovereignty was particularly acute for members of the Irish Church, who faced a severe test of conscience stemming from the evolution of church doctrine since 1660. Following the Restoration, the notion of passive, or double, obedience formed a key component of Anglican teaching. This belief was premised on the assumption that monarchs possessed an irrefutable divine right to rule. An important consequence of this notion was the corollary prohibition against subjects resisting their ruler, even if asked to perform immoral or impossible actions. In these cases, subjects were enjoined to refuse to obey and then passively submit to the consequences of their disobedience.25 By 1688 this doctrine was firmly established within the Irish Church, seemingly preventing Irish Protestants from taking any active part in rebellion. This situation posed a great problem for Irish Protestants upon the arrival of James II to the island, since they were doctrinally forbidden from acting against him—despite the personal dangers they foresaw stemming from the reign of a Catholic monarch. These theological issues were, in general, put to the side during the conflict, only to resurface in its wake, as Irish Protestants were faced with the challenge of reconciling their religious doctrines—especially passive obedience—with the actuality of James’s ouster. A host of sermons and tracts published during the early 1690s defended the actions of Irish


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Protestants in both political and religious keys. On a political level, failure to observe the dictates of passive obedience was often excused on the grounds that James’s actions amounted to his abdication, thereby releasing his subjects from their oaths and plunging them into a Lockean state of nature.26 Considered that way, Irish Protestants could justify pledging loyalty to William as a bulwark against political anarchy that would protect their personal rights. In some cases, this argument evoked Hugo Grotius’s notion of a jus gentium by casting William as a conqueror who had intervened on “just” grounds to deliver them from oppression.27 In his influential De Jure Belli ac Pacis (1625), Grotius observed that even though subjects of a prince are forbidden to resist their rulers, other sovereigns could intervene on their behalf.28 During the 1690s, Protestant supporters of William such as Edmund Bohun applied this insight to justify the new regime and explain their actions during the Revolution: while they may not have acted against James, they could enjoy the fact that William had stepped into the breach to “deliver” them from his power.29 Additionally, William’s victory was also explained in religious terms as a “providential delivery” from James’s tyranny.30 According to this tradition, God chose to intervene in the struggle between James and William in order to ensure the preservation of the Protestant state. For Irish Anglicans who deployed these political and religious languages, the ultimate goal was to tread the fine line between affirming the sovereignty of William and Mary and supporting the doctrine of passive obedience, thereby ensuring their own privileged place in postrevolutionary Ireland. The argument that James had abdicated his throne was central for two of the earliest apologists for the Protestant succession in Ireland, Edward Wetenhall (bishop of Cork and Ross) and William King (newly appointed dean of St. Patrick’s), both of whom entered the debate in 1691. Wetenhall’s influential Case of the Irish Protestants (1691) was the first to see print. It was supposedly written in response to a personal crisis of conscience regarding the legitimacy of William’s seizure of power.31 Earlier, during James II’s reign, Wetenhall had written in support of passive obedience, claiming that subjects should be “loyal absolutely and without exception.”32 Now, faced with the actuality of James’s ouster and the installation of William and Mary, Wetenhall was confronted with the task of justifying his apparent change of heart. In his Case, Wetenhall explained how Protestants who had earlier taken oaths to James could now swear allegiance to William and Mary. Wetenhall claimed that James’s willingness to “subject the Imperial Crown and the Dignity of the three Kingdoms” to foreign powers and the pope had made it “unlawful to pay him such allegiance.”33 Furthermore, since James had been militarily defeated Ireland found itself “under the power

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of the Second William the Conqueror,” who Wetenhall believed to have a Grotian “right to our allegiance by conquest.”34 In light of these circumstances, Wetenhall concluded that Irish Protestants were excused for casting aside their oaths to James and accepting the legitimacy of William and Mary. Although these rationales may have supported the current reign of William and Mary, Wetenhall still had to justify why the doctrine of passive obedience could have been ignored during the Revolution—an allegation that ran perilously close to exposing Irish Protestants to charges of hypocrisy. In response to the accusation that members of the Church of Ireland had disregarded their own cherished doctrine, Wetenhall suggested that the boundaries of passive obedience needed to be reconsidered. He claimed that “Passive Obedience . . . as well as other Christian duties, has its bounds and seasons of practice; and tho it be an undoubted duty, obligatory to private persons . . . yet does not either concern all sorts of men, or all bodies of people; much less whole nations.”35 Thus, Wetenhall conceded that there were limits to the application of the doctrine. The disengagement of passive obedience from the Church of Ireland is even more evident in the work of William King, who defended the Revolution on both theological and political levels. Imprisoned during James’s reign, King was later rewarded by William with the bishopric of Derry and then the archbishopric of Dublin in 1703.36 King’s position on the Protestant succession in general, and the doctrine of passive obedience in particular, may be gleaned through an examination of two key works written during the immediate aftermath of the Revolution: his Thanksgiving Sermon of 16 November 1691 and The State of the Protestants (1691). In the first of these texts, King based his defense of the Revolution almost entirely upon the belief that William’s triumph represented the will of God and, as such, could not be questioned by humans.37 As evidence, King cited eighteen specific acts of God’s intervention, a “miraculous concurrence of Providences for our deliverance” that paved the way for William and Mary to ascend to the throne.38 In this sermon, King argued that the Revolution occurred solely “by the Grace of God” and that “we, in this place, have had no hand in it, or pretence to it. . . . ‘Twas manifestly God, rather than the People, set our King and Queen on the Throne.”39 King thereby avoided the question of passive obedience altogether, by claiming that the responsibility for William’s ascension lay entirely with God and, in the process, absolved Irish Protestants from their failure to keep their oaths to James II. King’s second publication on this issue, The State of the Protestants, was extremely popular and articulated a more complex position regarding the duties of subjects to their sovereign power.40 Although he still advanced a


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providentialist interpretation of 1688, he now layered this argument with a closer, more “pragmatic” concern for the political rights of the governed.41 Of particular interest is the fact that while King continued to feign acceptance to the idea of passive obedience, he stressed that it need only be applied to “tolerable evils.” Thus, should a sovereign actively begin to conspire against his subjects or seek their destruction, King argued that this ruler would have effectively abdicated his government over them and could legitimately be resisted. He noted that “if then in some cases the mischiefs of tamely submitting to the tyranny and usurpation of a Governour, may be worse and have more dangerous and mischievous consequences to the Common-Wealth, than a War . . . people may lawfully resist and defend themselves even by a War, as being the lesser evil.”42 For King, strict adherence to the doctrine of passive obedience was of secondary importance to the protection of subjects’ rights.43 As S. J. Connolly has observed, King’s emphasis on temporal politics actually had more in common with John Locke’s contractarian argument than with contemporary Protestant writings on passive obedience.44 Nonetheless, while the writings of Wetenhall and King on this subject may have left them vulnerable to charges of hypocrisy, the difficulty they faced in reconciling doctrine and practice during the immediate aftermath of the Revolution illustrates a key challenge facing Irish Protestant thought during this period. In a sermon that was given at the opening of the first post-Revolution Parliament in Ireland in October 1692, John Vesey (archbishop of Tuam) tried to walk the fine line between affirming the sovereignty of William and Mary and supporting the doctrine of passive obedience.45 In this piece, Vesey equated the term “king” with “civil authority in general” and claimed that it was the responsibility of the government to “quench the Fire of Ambition, and keep down the Passions of Men” within society, thereby preventing the spread of civil and religious anarchy. Given this image of human competition, Vesey defended the “absolute necessity of Civil Power, and a due Execution of Penal Laws, for the Governing of any People” by highlighting the role of government in ensuring personal security. This idea also appeared in his insistence of the “unreasonableness of those that contend for an Indefinite Liberty, either in Religious or Civil Matters . . . for it is the first end of Law and Government to bound and limit such Liberty.”46 In making this defense of the monarchy as an institution capable of limiting the passions of its citizens, Vesey was treading on familiar ground; however, his stress on the need for social stability provided the key to jettisoning the notion of passive obedience through a rereading of recent history. In considering the Book of Judges, Vesey argued that if “the want of Civil Government be so great an Evil, Then it is both the Duty and Interest of any People, who are fallen into such a Circumstance,

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immediately to apply the proper Remedy, by filling the Vacant Throne by a free Election.”47 By elevating the right to rule bestowed by a “free election” to the legitimacy of “those who have the right,” Vesey provided a pragmatic justification for accepting the rule of William and Mary. This conclusion was bolstered by the fact that throughout his sermon Vesey never specified which of these claims could be applied to their Protestant deliverers. Instead, Vesey only referred to the time “when there was no King in England,” implying that James had abdicated and thus plunged the nation into civil chaos, effectively equating the vacant throne with the dissolution of the government.48 By claiming that James had stepped down, Vesey was not only able to applaud the providential belief that “God has restor’d our Religion and our Monarchy, our Laws and our law-makers” but also laid the foundation for preserving the authority of the doctrine of passive obedience.49 Since James had voluntarily relinquished his position, there was no reason to continue supporting him and thus there was no inherent contradiction in accepting William and Mary as sovereigns and affirming the doctrine of passive obedience. By strengthening the power of the government and the authority of the Anglican Church, Vesey believed that a reformation of morality would ensue that could act as a bulwark against further civil and religious confusion. Furthermore, he continued to adhere to the notion of passive obedience through his interpretation of James’s actions and thus provided a model for the reconciling support of this doctrine with the actual events that was to prove influential during the early 1700s.

III. Rereading Passive Obedience in Early Eighteenth-Century Ireland These historical events were part of living history for those writing during the 1690s, but by the early eighteenth century the specific details of these controversies blurred. Not only did a new generation come to view the issue of passive obedience as divorced from its immediate revolutionary context, but fears of an uncertain future also forced the reexamination of this doctrine. During the early eighteenth century, as Whigs and Tories grew more strident in opposing one another, both sides sought to appropriate the events of 1688 for their own purposes.50 These issues were not confined to the halls of government. During Berkeley’s tenure at Trinity, a number of politically charged events at the university reflected the resurgence of concern for 1688. For instance, in 1708, Provost Peter Browne oversaw the settlement of the controversial Forbes Case. Edward Forbes


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had come to Dublin from Aberdeen and in July 1705 was admitted to the degree of bachelor of arts. On 10 July 1708 Forbes was selected to receive a master of arts degree and at the Master’s Supper he gave a speech in Latin that compared King William unfavorably with Balfe, a highwayman who had been hanged in Dublin. News of this reached Browne, who suspended Forbes from his degrees and expelled him from the college.51 St. George Ashe, Archbishop King, and Browne made speeches in praise of King William and a Declaration of Loyalty to Queen Anne was drawn up and signed by all present.52 These political tensions continued through August 1710, when a number of drunken students desecrated the statue of King William in College Green by ripping the baton out of his hand.53 Soon caught, they were expelled by the board. Although relatively minor, these incidents indicate the political polarization of the time—at the heart of which simmered issues stemming from 1688 and 1689 in Ireland. Reinterpretations of the Revolution in Ireland continued during the first decade of the eighteenth century, as writers a generation removed from the events began to consider it as an historical event with still potent polemical value. For instance, on 30 January 1707 Samuel Synge, dean of Kildare, preached the anniversary sermon commemorating the execution of Charles I at Christ Church cathedral in Dublin.54 Synge’s sermon was devoted to countering accusations of inconsistency stemming from the Church’s support for the Revolution and repudiation of the murder of Charles I. In making his case, Synge carefully differentiated between Charles I and James II. According to Synge, Charles may have been illadvised, but he was no tyrant, whereas James II ruled arbitrarily before abdicating his throne and abandoning his nation. Synge followed Vesey’s argument and held that by elevating William and Mary to the throne, Parliament was merely filled an empty seat rather than resisting its rightful sovereign. Synge even saw this as following a generally conservative route, since Parliament’s choice had “preserved the succession in the royal family.”55 Relying on the assumption that the English crown legally bound Ireland, Synge claimed that Irish Protestants were correct to view James II as having relinquished his claim to the throne by his actions in England and thus implicitly defended the doctrine of passive obedience.56 Between the 1690s and 1712 a key problem that Irish Protestants faced was the question of how to justify the ascension of William and Mary to the throne, while also affirming the doctrine of passive obedience. They drew on several bodies of thought to reconcile this conflict: theories of the just war and the right of conquest inspired by Grotius; the more radical contract theories inspired by Locke; the “divine right of providence” so eloquently evoked by William King; and a fourth argument that stressed the distinction between de facto and de jure sovereigns. As J. P. Kenyon notes,

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this theory held that during the Revolution, “the king de jure, without prejudice to his long-term right, had simply been replaced by a king de facto, to whom a qualified and limited allegiance was owing, but who enjoyed no legal rights.”57 This was the position taken in William Higden’s View of the English Constitution (1709), a book that helped to spark Berkeley’s interest in the subject. Although generally agreeing with Higden’s argument, Berkeley rejected his distinction between de facto and de jure sovereigns. In a letter to Percival, he offered the opinion that Mr. Higden has in my mind clearly shewn that the swearing allegiance to the king de facto (whether right or wrong) is conformable as well to the laws of the land as to Scripture and reason, and the practice of nations. . . . For my part, when I consider what the difference is between a king de jure and a king de facto I cannot easily find it . . . I would ask him [Higden], for example, how upon his principles it is possible to distinguish between the posterity of the usurper Cromwell (in case they had obtained and continued on the throne) and the posterity of the Conqueror, which is but a more specious name for an usurper.58

While Higden’s publication may have turned Berkeley’s interest toward the notion of passive obedience, current events further conspired to move this issue to the forefront of the public’s (and Berkeley’s) attention. This was due to the occurrence later that year of the Sacheverell affair. On 5 November 1709, a date of double significance to the ruling Whigs for its associations with both the Gunpowder Plot and the arrival of William of Orange, the Tory clergyman Henry Sacheverell launched a blistering attack upon popular justifications for the Revolution of 1688 and claimed that Whig efforts to grant toleration to dissenters were undermining the foundation of good government. In the published version of his inflammatory, and hugely popular, 1709 sermon The Perils of False Brethren, Sacheverell defended the mutual support of church and state, attacked the Act of Toleration, questioned the legality of 1689, and argued in support of the doctrines of divine right and passive obedience.59 He contended that the security of government “is founded upon the steady belief of the Subject’s obligation to an Absolute and Unconditional Obedience to the Supream Power, in all things Lawful, and the Utter Illegality of Resistance upon any Pretence whatsoever.”60 Sacheverell’s position presented a danger to the Whigs and by extension to the Irish Protestants: by rejecting the right to resist, he was effectively delegitimizing the current sovereign power as well as that of the Anglo-Irish Ascendancy whose political authority was dependent upon the Williamite settlement.61 It was upon this point that the Whigs could


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not allow the continued propagation of Sacheverell’s sermon and he was brought to trial in Parliament for libel. Over the course of ten days in 1710, Sacheverell’s defense managed to “affirm the result of 1689 without giving up the principle that resistance was generally inadmissible.” Still, this was not enough. In the end, Sacheverell was suspended from preaching for three years and copies of his sermon were subjected to public burning; however, these actions helped to usher the Tories into power during the elections of the following year, suggesting that Sacheverell’s arguments had won public approval.62 This was the political context in which Berkeley began composing his sermons on Passive Obedience. We know from his correspondence that he followed the trial of Sacheverell, and that he was generally supportive of his position.63 Although Berkeley may have shied away from embracing Sacheverell’s extremism due to its political ramifications in Ireland, his arguments still presented a moderated interpretation of this doctrine. Nonetheless, despite Berkeley’s attempts to soften the inflammatory nature of passive obedience at this time, the issue clearly remained volatile. Word of his sermons plunged him into a position similar to that of Sacheverell vis-à-vis his superiors in the church, particularly Archbishop King and Duke Tyrell. It was Berkeley’s fear of just such a controversy that prompted him to publish his work, for he hoped that consideration of his writings would remove suspicions of his supposed Jacobite sympathies. The tactic was not as successful as he had wished. We can see from his arguments that Berkeley advanced a permissive variant of passive obedience, one that allowed for resistance in a number of cases and was premised on “scientific” and “rational” grounds.

IV. The Laws of Nature in Berkeley’s Sermons on Passive Obedience In deciding to publish his sermons on Passive Obedience, Berkeley sought to advance both a defense of this doctrine and attack a number of dangerous theories that he saw flourishing in the debates following 1688–89. While sharing some common assumptions with many of these thinkers— for instance, the notion of natural law and the desirability of promoting the common good—Berkeley’s understanding of these concepts was at odds with many of those who argued for expanding the rights of citizens. Berkeley did not reject the legitimacy of William’s claim to the throne, but his criticism of Lockean contract theory made his argument unpalatable for most Whigs and Irish Protestants despite the fact that his theme of

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obedience to civil authority generally supported their cause.64 Given the tension surrounding the idea of nonresistance, Berkeley’s decision to publish his sermons may seem provocative. While he might have intended to plunge headlong into the controversy, his stated explanation to his readers suggests something less controversial; it appears he merely underestimated the impact this tract would have upon his reputation and career. Berkeley prefaced the printed version with a note explaining his reasons for publishing them. After listing a series of doctrines “pernicious to mankind and repugnant to right reason” that had been recently circulated, Berkeley announced his goal of rehabilitating the idea of passive obedience. As befitting a fellow of Trinity, he was particularly adamant that this concept be disseminated to students, in order “to arm the youth of our University.” He claimed to have published his sermons both in order to bolster support for the doctrine of passive obedience, as well as to correct “the false accounts that are gone abroad concerning them.” Fearing that his name had been tainted by unfounded claims of Jacobite sympathies, Berkeley hoped that his audience would read his piece with “that cool and impartial temper which becomes every sincere inquirer after truth” and thus recognize his innocence of these charges (PO 15). In Passive Obedience Berkeley repeatedly made it clear that he was seeking to ground his inquiry upon a rational foundation, an approach that drew upon the ideas currently circulating at Trinity. He claimed that his intention was “not to build on the authority of Holy Scripture, but altogether on the principles of reason common to all mankind” (PO 17). He assumed that all rational people would accept the existence of God, but he did not contend that God’s will must be followed solely because of its divine origins. Rather, Berkeley echoed Ashe and the ethical rationalists by arguing that the “principles of reason must govern” humans’ understanding of the laws of nature (PO 20). Berkeley’s conceptualization of the laws of nature was predicated upon his belief that these injunctions were to be “discovered by the deductions of reason,” not through an appeal to any type of “moral sense” (PO 19). Since the ends of these laws were good, Berkeley concluded that the ultimate “design of Providence, is not . . . the private good of this or that man, nation, or age, but the general well-being of all men, of all nations, of all ages of the world” (PO 21).65 Thus, if the laws of nature were aimed at procuring the common good for all humans, it followed that it was in everyone’s best interest to obey them.66 Writing as an aspiring member of the Protestant Ascendancy, Berkeley’s stress on rationality and obedience had important implications for Irish society. In making this part of his argument, Berkeley drew an analogy between the natural and moral worlds, noting that the best example of following the laws of nature stemmed from the actions of God. He contended


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that “surely, it is not possible for free intellectual agents to propose a nobler pattern for their imitation than nature, which is nothing else but a series of free actions produced by the best and wisest Agent” (PO 24).67 Berkeley argued that if one examined the actions of God, it became apparent that once natural laws (in the physical sense) were created, they were never breached. Following this logic, humans should not circumvent the moral laws devised by providence. Berkeley observed that God does not “suspend” physical laws, no matter how injurious to humans, for any reason. “Plagues, famines, inundations, earthquakes,” all cause “pain and sorrow” to individuals, but God “will not change or deviate from upon any of those accounts, how wise or benevolent soever it may be thought by foolish men to do so” (PO 24).68 For instance, Berkeley imagined a situation in which the death of a prince could be baneful to society. Should this individual fall off a precipice, Berkeley argued that “we have no reason to think that the universal law of gravitation would be suspended in that case. The like may be said of all other laws of nature, which we do not find to admit of exceptions on particular accounts” (PO 32). Berkeley’s understanding of the laws of nature left no justification for casting them aside. In this respect Berkeley’s conceptualization diverged from that of his superior in the Irish Church, William King. Whereas King’s defense of the Glorious Revolution was premised on the notion that God had lifted the injunction against rebellion Berkeley did not see this as an option, since God would not take the remarkable step of suspending the laws of nature, or their moral equivalents, for any reason. As a result, Berkeley firmly rejected the Irish Protestant argument for a “providential delivery” advocated by King. Still, he noted that there could be cases in which two or more natural laws came into conflict. In order to help clarify this type of situation, Berkeley further distinguished between two types of natural law: positive and negative. This distinction provided the basis for his argument against rebellion and was a key to his doctrine of passive obedience. According to Berkeley, positive and negative laws of nature were needed to guide humans in those situations where there appeared to be a contradiction between two or more laws. As Kupfer explains, positive laws, such as “everyone ought to support the needy,” could be seen as “prescriptions” for action, whereas negative laws, such as “no one ought to lie,” were “proscriptions” from action.69 Positive laws impelled one to perform certain actions, such as to “tell the truth,” whereas negative laws were “prohibitions of vice . . . to be taken in a most absolute, necessary, and immutable sense” (PO 31). When faced with a conflict between these laws, Berkeley held that positive laws should be “suspended” in favor of negative ones.70 Berkeley built his argument for passive obedience on the strength of the bonds of negative laws. When faced with the possibility of breaking a

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negative natural law, he strongly contended that one should “abstain from all manner of positive actions whatsoever” (PO 31). Since Berkeley defined the injunction against rebellion, “Thou shalt not resist the supreme power,” as a negative law of nature, it followed that there could be no legitimate resistance to the established sovereign (PO 26). This prohibition of rebellion was absolute; it is also important to note that its force was purely negative. If instructed by the sovereign to commit actions against the people, Berkeley argued that it was the duty of the monarch’s agents to passively refuse to take any action. Berkeley stressed that “most certainly the subordinate magistrates may not, nay, they ought not, in obedience to those decrees, to act any thing contrary to the express laws of God” (PO 43). Geoffrey Warnock has argued that this idea, an early version of “civil disobedience,” was premised upon the right of subjects to avoid active participation in government actions that they found distasteful and indicates that he was not willing to countenance tyrannical rule.71 Considering the abstract nature of this plan, one could question how this doctrine would have held up if put to the test, as was the case in Ireland for the generation before Berkeley. Still, the crucial component of Berkeley’s system was the prohibition of violent action against the government: citizens could not lawfully rebel against authority, but did not necessarily have to actively obey all of the sovereign’s commands. Berkeley asserted that there could be no exceptions to negative laws of nature, but he did admit that there could be room for clarification. He imagined that there could be circumstances where legitimate objections could be raised against negative precepts. For example, he noted that if universally applied, the command “do not kill” would delegitimize the lawful duties of magistrates and soldiers. Here, Berkeley allowed that when a duty is expressed in too general terms, as in this case, either those terms may be changed for others of a more limited sense, as kill for murder, or else, from the general proposition remaining in its full latitude, exceptions may be made of those precise cases which, not agreeing with the notion of murder, are not prohibited by the law of nature. (PO 34)72

As George Pitcher has pointed out, Berkeley’s distinction between positive and negative laws of nature was “more verbal than real.”73 It would appear that while he held negative precepts to be unbreakable, he allowed for a significant linguistic loophole. Although Berkeley acknowledged that it was against the law of nature for sovereigns to use their power “to the ruin and destruction of the people committed to their charge,” this did not provide justification for subjects to rebel (PO 40). Since the injunction against rebellion was a moral


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duty supported by the negative laws of nature, no amount of provocation could diminish this obligation. As an elite Protestant in a predominantly Catholic country, this was such a threat that he claimed even “those who have the light of reason alone for their guide” must accept the idea that rebellion against the supreme civil authority is dangerous to all (PO 25). Stressing the universal quality of the laws of nature in general and the injunction against rebellion in particular, Berkeley used the language of Ashe to claim that in morality, the eternal rules of action have the same immutable universal truth [as] propositions in geometry. Neither of them depends on circumstances or accidents, being at all times, and in all places, without limitation or exception, true. “Thou shall not resist the supreme civil power” is no less constant and unalterable a rule for modeling the behaviour of a subject toward the government than “multiply the height by half the base” is for measuring a triangle. (PO 45)74

On a more practical level Berkeley also pointed to the dangers of rebellion, observing that “if things are rightly considered, it will appear [that] the redressing the evils of government by force is at best a very hazardous attempt, and what often puts the public in a worse state than it was before” (PO 41).75 Pursuing this logic, the results following from rebellion were certain to produce increased misery among the people, not improvement. Thus, instead of rebelling, Berkeley enjoined his readers to follow the advice of Plato, who argued against changing government by force and asserted that individuals should “sit still, and pray for better times” (PO 42).76 Despite rejecting the notion that subjects possessed a distinct right to resist, Berkeley did discuss a few situations where this action would be acceptable. For instance, he held that “by virtue of the duty of nonresistance we are not obliged to submit the disposal of our lives and fortunes to the discretion either of madmen, or of all those who by craft or violence invade the supreme power.” To do so, he continued, would be “a notion so absurd, and repugnant to common sense, that the foundation on which it is built may justly be called into question” (PO 44–45). While this may seem to be only a small exception, it shows that Berkeley was willing to entertain the idea that sovereigns need not be obeyed at all times: especially Catholic monarchs who sought to upend the political order of Ireland. Finally, it is important to note that Berkeley argued that society was built upon a natural inclination of humans toward sociability. He contended that “there is implanted in mankind a natural tendency or disposition to a social life. I call it natural because it is universal, and because it

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naturally results from the differences which distinguish man from beast” (PO 31). By suggesting that humans shared an innate sociability, Berkeley placed himself alongside Clarke’s position. For both Berkeley and Clarke, the basis of sociability was not self-love or self-preservation, but rather God’s will for humans to exhibit a form of cosmopolitan benevolence. Clarke suggested that all humans should view themselves as “a part and member of that one universal body or community, which is made up of all Mankind.” 77 By invoking a natural sociability implanted by God, Berkeley sought to strengthen his argument concerning the necessity of submission to sovereign authority and thus further bolster the claims of passive obedience. Since humans were necessarily social, and civil society depended upon the smooth interaction of individuals, the threat of rebellion could only work against this providential design. Thus, instead of focusing upon self-love, Berkeley held that people should seek to improve themselves in a moral sense, which in turn would force them to recognize their duty to pursue the common good.

VI. Berkeley’s Sermons and Reputation Berkeley’s youthful defense of a limited version of passive obedience had important ramifications upon his career. In 1716, following the first of his continental tours, Berkeley sought the preferment of St. Paul’s in Dublin. In May 1716, he wrote to tell Percival that he had been recommended by the Prince of Wales to succeed Charles Carr, who had been appointed to the bishopric of Killaloe. Along with his own letter Berkeley enclosed a letter of support from the prince, seconded by Secretary Stanhope, which he contended “cannot fail of success.” Berkeley further noted that “the living is reckoned to be worth about a hundred a year, but I put the greater value on it because it is consistent with my Fellowship.” 78 It seemed that the young scholar was poised to cement his reputation and fortunes in Dublin, but these plans soon fell disastrously awry. By the end of the month, Berkeley again wrote to Percival, asking him to “write a letter next post to the Duke of Grafton, imparting your acquaintance with me, and your confidence of my being well affected to his Majesty’s Government.” From his perspective in London, Berkeley feared that some of his “competitors have wronged [his] character on the other side of the water.” He sought to “have [his] character cleared to the Lords Justices and others there, who are probably misled by the calumny of interested persons who are strangers to [him].”79 Within a few days, Percival learned that his efforts on Berkeley’s behalf were likely to be for


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naught, as Charles Dering informed him that while Berkeley had originally been slated for the position it was now going to be offered to Duke Tyrrell. According to Dering, this was because “the Lords Justices” had “made a strong representation against” Berkeley.80 Shedding more illumination upon this matter, Joseph Stock has argued that Berkeley was passed over for St. Paul’s because Lord Galway, a lord justice in 1716, had associated his name with the Jacobite cause.81 Galway’s accusation was particularly effective in the wake of the Jacobite uprisings of 1715. Tyrrell was a leading competitor for St. Paul’s and had written a letter to Robert Molesworth on 14 May 1716. In this letter, perhaps the only contemporary criticism of Berkeley existing on this point, Tyrrell implored Molesworth to “obstruct the promotion of a person who appeared publicly nay printed a book in defense of the slavish doctrine of passive obedience . . . he [Berkeley] has been ever since highly esteemed by all the Jacobites in this kingdom.”82 Berman suggests that Molesworth used it in government circles, thus resulting in the widespread perception of Berkeley as a Jacobite.83 Despite the efforts of Samuel Molyneux to counter these attacks, Tyrrell was appointed to St. Paul’s and Berkeley’s reputation remained tainted. For his part, Berkeley soon left the country as the personal tutor to George Ashe, the invalid son of St. George Ashe. Politically, Berkeley’s association with the doctrine of passive obedience may have made his advancement more difficult, but it should be noted that he wrote against Jacobitism before his quest for St. Paul’s. In 1715, Berkeley anonymously published his Advice to the Tories who have taken the Oaths in London. In this piece, Berkeley returned to the de facto/de jure distinction that he had earlier raised in his letter to Percival and sought to convince his readers of the danger attendant upon rebellion.84 Berkeley wrote “as a Christian who intends the advancement and honour of religion” and sought to show his readers “the ill consequences which the violation of [their] oaths” would have upon church and state.85 Referring to the succession of George I, Berkeley contended “though we should grant that he had originally no right to the crown, yet when a prince is once in possession of it and you have sworn allegiance to him, you are no longer at liberty to inquire by what unrighteous steps he might have obtained it.” Although not meaning to impugn George I’s right to the crown, Berkeley’s argument in this text centered on the idea that oaths of allegiance to the crown were made “to the Sovereign, and not to the person.” Thus, should a person, “by forfeiture or abdication, loseth dominion, he is no longer sovereign.”86 Although Berkeley was notoriously close-vested about his political views, this piece written in the wake of the Jacobite uprisings indicates that Berkeley’s politics may not have been as clear-cut as indicated by Tyrrell. Thus, his sermons on Passive Obedience should be viewed

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less as a Tory political pamphlet and more as an exercise in political theory, admittedly one of a conservative bent. As a whole, Berkeley’s sermons on Passive Obedience set forth an interpretation of the obligations of citizens that limited their right to resist sovereign power and highlighted their moral duty toward others. Writing almost twenty years after the Revolution, Berkeley’s attitude toward these questions took a more detached perspective on the events than those of his predecessors. He was able to frame his analysis in terms of “universal laws,” rather than in terms of the immediate concerns of those seeking to justify their actions during these tumultuous events in Ireland. In the process of doing so, Berkeley drew upon his earlier interests in the applicability of mathematics, reason, and linguistic meaning to questions of morality. Perhaps even more importantly, this piece contained the seeds of notions of sociability and duty toward the common good that were to guide his writings over the course of the following decade. In both his “Bond of Society” essay in The Guardian and his Essay toward Preventing the Ruin of Great Britain, Berkeley stressed the idea that individual actions should be undertaken with an eye not only toward the good of the nation, but of humanity in general. Part of the difference between these later works and Passive Obedience stems from the nature of this piece. In 1712, Berkeley was concerned with the political implications of this doctrine, whereas by the following year he was much more interested in social questions: that is, he turned his eye from the traditions of political theory within a nation and toward the more general issues facing humans across different societies. Thus, although Passive Obedience lacks concrete suggestions for governing, it represents an important step in the evolution of Berkeley’s intellectual development—an early effort to ameliorate the lives of his fellow subjects, before a deeper engagement with practical questions concerning the interactions between individuals in commercial society.

Chapter 3 Science and Sociability: Berkeley’s “Bond of Society”

Before 1713, Berkeley’s philosophic concerns and the interests of his Irish peers influenced his approach to social questions. The subtitle of his Principles suggested that he hoped to expose “the chief causes of error and difficulty in the sciences, with the grounds of scepticism, atheism, and irreligion.”1 Even more directly, his sermons on Passive Obedience were devoted to exposing the tenets underlying personal responsibility within society; however, in each of these cases Berkeley explained his position within a context linked to epistemological issues. In the Principles, Berkeley tried to prove that there could be no legitimate alternative to recognizing the importance of God and religion from a philosophic vantage point. Likewise, his argument in Passive Obedience was premised on a theoretical understanding of human nature and individual duties to God and country. While these works show Berkeley’s interest in questions relating to society, his analysis was couched in the philosophic language that dominated the environment at Trinity. This is an important factor to keep in mind while examining his writings after 1713, since they displayed a distinct shift in tone and character. No longer solely seeking to frame his position within the context of pure political theory or philosophy, Berkeley experimented with new styles and techniques that engaged with specific issues of national concern. A key period of this transition was his sojourn in London in 1713. Immersed in a cultural milieu that valorized public writing and speaking, Berkeley adopted popular tactics to serve his goals of social reformation. Berkeley faced the dangers of freethinkers, atheists, and advocates of party by co-opting their style and attempting to defeat them with their own weapons. In this task, his exposure to and close friendships with many

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of the leading figures of Augustan Britain shaped his expectations and strategies. Targeting a wider audience, Berkeley’s critiques focused more on the daily problems facing Britain and drew heavily upon the ideas he first expressed in Ireland. In this, he learned a great deal from two of the leading figures of the period, Richard Steele and Joseph Addison. Additionally, 1713 marked the beginning of a long-term friendship with Jonathan Swift, whose visceral social criticism served as a fruitful example of swaying public opinion. While he did not entirely abandon his theoretical bent, he started focusing more upon the specific ills plaguing British, and by extension Irish, society. In order to understand the nature of this shift within Berkeley’s thought and tactics, it is important to recognize the immediate context within which he found himself. In 1713, London was a cosmopolitan, commercial city whose social circles were more contentious than the insulated academic community in Dublin. In this highly polarized political terrain, newcomers faced many potential pitfalls and dangers. Still, Berkeley did an admirable job of positioning himself between potential enemies, trying to remain aloof from the dangers of party identification. Despite his relatively short stay in England, the heady excitement of this time left an indelible mark upon his later intellectual development. This chapter focuses on one of the main themes of his essays in The Guardian that built upon his earlier work in Dublin in a more popular manner: the idea that humans are born with an innate disposition toward sociability. Although he had explored this idea briefly in Passive Obedience, his essay the “Bond of Society” set forth a sophisticated analysis of human sociability that later proved central to his writings concerning Ireland. By stressing the common humanity of all peoples, Berkeley’s vision of social interaction laid the foundation for his later plans for Irish improvement.

I. Among the London Wits The year 1713 marked an important turning point in Berkeley’s life and career. Until this point, his education and experiences had been firmly grounded in his native Ireland. While Kilkenny and Dublin held much merit—not the least of which were the exceptional intellectual traditions of Trinity College—the young dean’s social circles were still circumscribed by the Irish Sea. Having spent five years as an academic, primarily concerned with personal and abstract issues, Berkeley now jumped directly into one of the leading intellectual centers of the early eighteenth century: London. A. C. Fraser notes that Berkeley had resolved to visit London “in

SCIENCE AND SOCIABILITY

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order to print [his] new book of Dialogues, and to make acquaintance with men of merit,” but his stated reason for taking a leave of absence from his position at Trinity was “for the recovery of his health.”2 He only planned to stay away from Dublin for a few months, but he soon found his visit prolonged and was thus forced extend his leave of absence far beyond his original intentions.3 It was during this period that Berkeley embarked on what was certainly one of the most exciting and formative years of his life. Berkeley’s scholarly credentials at point were fairly impressive, he had already published four books and was seeking a publisher for his fifth, but he had yet to make much of an impression outside of his native island.4 His efforts to draw leading philosophers into correspondence had failed and his carefully crafted books had met with scant public or critical approval.5 In 1710 his friend Percival reported to him that in response to the publication of his Principles, his friends “immediately treated it with ridicule, at the same time refusing to read it.”6 Early in 1713, the situation was effectively the same: outside of a close circle, Berkeley’s name was unknown in England. This relative anonymity changed after Berkeley’s arrival in the English capital catapulted him into the world of the literary elite. Berkeley left the homey confines of Trinity College in January 1713 and arrived in London after a fortnight of travel. Berkeley lodged with the provost of Trinity (Benjamin Pratt) and Mr. (Samuel) Molyneux, while meeting with a number of family friends.7 His letters speak highly of his newfound companions, who seemed to delight in introducing him to London society, which, in turn, warmed very quickly to Berkeley. Soon Berkeley moved within the highest social and intellectual circles, as his personality and wit enabled him to gain almost instant credibility and acceptance in an environment that placed great stock in personal ability. Within days of his arrival a friend of Percival, Mr. Stockwell, introduced Berkeley to Lord Pembroke, the man to whom Berkeley had dedicated his Principles and Locke his Essay. Pembroke had earlier been Lord Lieutenant of Ireland and was widely known for his support of scientific and philosophic endeavors.8 In April, Jonathan Swift, a fellow graduate of both Kilkenny School and Trinity College, introduced Berkeley at court. While there is no record of the two meeting before Berkeley’s arrival in London, circumstantial evidence suggests that they almost certainly had met in Dublin.9 As Rector of Laracor (approximately 30 miles from Dublin), Swift was often in the city and was well aware of events at Trinity.10 Swift introduced Berkeley to Lord Berkeley of Stratton, a distant relation of the young philosopher to whom he dedicated his newly published Dialogues. Swift’s motives and opinion of Berkeley are revealed in his Journal to Stella, where he wrote that, “Mr. Berkeley is a very ingenious man and a great philosopher, and I have mentioned him to all the ministers, and given

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them some of his writings, and I will favour him as much as I can.”11 The two were in frequent contact throughout 1713, until Berkeley left London as the chaplain to the Earl of Peterborough, “by the favour of [his] good friend the Dean of St. Patrick’s.”12 Swift played an important role in introducing Berkeley to London society, but the close bonds he forged with Swift’s former friends and future foes, Joseph Addison and Richard Steele, were even more influential. Although he worked more closely with Steele, Berkeley’s temperament and attitudes were more in line with those of Addison. Berkeley lauded Addison as “a great philosopher” and provided rehearsal directions for his play Cato in April 1713.13 For his part, Addison introduced Berkeley to important scientific figures in early eighteenth-century London: it was through Addison that Berkeley finally met Samuel Clarke, in a discussion that took place in the presence of Princess Caroline.14 Addison’s interest in Berkeley’s career may have begun in Ireland, where Addison was undersecretary to Lord Wharton (lord lieutenant of Ireland) from 1708 until 1710.15 During this time Addison was a major figure in Irish politics, sitting in the Irish House of Commons and acting as one of Wharton’s chief advisors.16 Furthermore, in his official capacity Addison worked closely with Archbishop William King and frequently corresponded with two figures with close ties to Berkeley: St. George Ashe and Joseph Keally (a leading figure in County Kilkenny).17 The possibility of an encounter between Berkeley and Addison in Ireland helps to explain how Berkeley entered into the confidences of the London literary elite so quickly. In his initial letter to Percival from London, Berkeley noted that the “first news I heard upon coming to town was that Mr. Steele did me the honour to desire to be acquainted with me: upon which I have been to see him.”18 Berkeley’s letters from this period abound with laudatory references to Steele, even though their political interests and temperament differed.19 Steele’s forte was in the world of periodical publications, excelling at the organization and composition of rapid-fire responses to the events of the day. Berkeley, on the other hand, favored well-crafted arguments that gently persuaded his readers to adopt his position, rather than invectives against his enemies. Despite their different styles, Steele recognized Berkeley’s literary skill and enticed him to contribute to his newest publishing venture: The Guardian. As conceived by Steele, The Guardian was to continue the tradition of public criticism begun with The Tatler (1709–11) and The Spectator (1711–12). In the first issue, the narrator, Nestor Ironside, announced that his purpose was to “make the pulpit, the bar, and the stage, all act in concert in the care of piety, justice, and virtue.”20 While the literary quality of The Guardian may not have been as high as Addison and Steele’s earlier ventures, it served


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an important role as a “spokesman for what would later come to be called the Enlightenment, especially with respect to interest in the new science.”21 For a young scholar fresh from Ireland, Steele’s invitation was a great opportunity and Berkeley contributed a number of essays to the new journal. Berkeley’s submissions to The Guardian marked the beginning of a more practical engagement with social issues, for which he supposedly received a guinea and a supper from Steele for each submission.22 Berkeley’s essays of 1713 presented thoughtful critiques and analyses of contemporary society that drew upon the work of his new friends and his previous Irish interests to examine society from a scientific point of view and defend religious piety. Berkeley’s contributions to The Guardian ended on August 1713 when he left for Italy as Lord Peterborough’s chaplain (a position brought about by Swift’s influence). Soon thereafter, Steele’s interests in politics grew too strong and the pretense of impartiality that was supposed to guide The Guardian was cast aside. Seeking a more explicitly political venue in which to express his views, Steele quit publication on 1 October 1713 and The Guardian passed into oblivion after 175 issues. While Berkeley remained in touch with Steele, through their collaboration on the Ladies Library, this stage of his career had ended.23 Berkeley’s contributions to The Guardian covered a number of topics that played a key role throughout his career, especially when he returned to Ireland and sought to identify some of the problems facing Irish society. In an essay entitled by Luce as “The Bond of Society,” Berkeley produced an insightful and complex analysis of the forces governing both individuals and society. This piece used scientific language to express his vision of sociability, which he couched in terms of Newtonian “attraction” and “gravity.” In doing so, Berkeley explained how humans interacted within society and the bonds that united them; insights that he would later use extensively to justify his hopes for improving all of Irish society. Berkeley’s contribution to the debate about sociability drew heavily upon the Stoic notion of oikeiosis to suggest that there was a divine imperative for individuals to recognize their connections to others and elevate their own minds, which in turn would lead to the moral uplift of the human race.

II. Ideas of Sociability in the Early Eighteenth Century Berkeley’s “Bond of Society” essay has proved a fruitful starting point for many investigations of his understanding of the relationship between solitary individuals and their peers. In his survey of social thought, Harry

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Barnes identified this essay as “one of the most suggestive essays in the whole history of social philosophy. [Furthermore,] this was probably the first attempt to interpret social processes in terms of the Newtonian laws of mechanics.”24 Likewise, David Leary cites this essay as his starting point for his insightful investigation of the development of Berkeley’s social theory.25 In this short work, Berkeley succinctly set forth his understanding of the forces holding human society together, as well as some of the challenges to this system, drawing heavily upon Newtonian scientific discourse to support what was essentially a religious position. Berkeley’s understanding of the ultimate ends of God’s design was premised on a notion of the “common good.” In his sermons on Passive Obedience, Berkeley argued that God ultimately sought the “general wellbeing of all men” (PO 21). He returned to this argument in the “Bond of Society,” couching his position in terms of the principle of attraction that formed the guiding theme of the essay. Berkeley linked notions of providential guidance to human understandings of nature in order to explain the origins of society, which in turn later shaped his responses to the problems facing Ireland. For Berkeley, humans’ natural faculties (such as the impulse toward sociability) were a part of the overall design of a “providential nature.” This stress on “providential” or “teleological” naturalism allowed Berkeley to claim that God “implanted” this inclination in humans to facilitate their self-preservation and eventual self-perfection.26 It was their responsibility to exhibit benevolence “outwardly” toward others, which in turn would have the benefit of elevating humanity as a whole. In doing so, Berkeley adapted the Stoic notion of oikeiosis to the question of human sociability, articulated in a scientific key that melded the new philosophy with the old. This explanation of sociability may be placed into the context of early eighteenth-century ideas of human nature and the organization of society that explained human relationships through reference to either beliefs in the egoistic pursuit of self-interest or an innate benevolence common to all humanity. During the early eighteenth century, a number of competing languages were used to explain why individuals enter into society and the nature of the bonds that unite them with one another. Whether stressing contractual bases for social interactions, or less formal causes, Enlightenment thinkers investigating this topic built their analyses upon one of two rival views of human nature. “Pessimistic” observers of humanity followed the example of Thomas Hobbes by emphasizing the power of self-love and egoism as the primary spurs of human action. By privileging the goal of self-preservation and the need for a superior power to ensure personal safety, the jurisprudential tradition cast “sociability” as the result of humans rationally obeying natural laws that ensured their survival. Other


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“pessimistic” theorists, such as Mandeville, took a less explicitly political approach, but still saw social harmony as the result of human vices being “pitted against one another” and thus “counterbalancing contrary defects and competing egoisms.”27 Conversely, champions of an “optimistic” view of human nature tended to stress the strength of innate feelings of “universal benevolence,” “sympathy,” and “compassion.”28 Rather than seeing individuals as solely pursuing their own interests, thinkers in this tradition contended that people could be motivated to achieve the common good by appealing to these preexisting bonds uniting humanity. Before turning to Berkeley’s “Bond of Society,” it is important to distinguish between these competing conceptions of human society, so as to facilitate locating his thought within this debate.

A. “Constructing” Society: Nature Law and Countervailing Vices During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, descriptions of the formation of the social sphere were often driven by interpretations of human nature. The belief that humans were ultimately motivated by self-interest and that this inclination undermined social interactions was a staple theme of classical moralists and proved crucial for the “natural law” theorists who later considered the origins of society.29 One of the foremost figures in this tradition was Hugo Grotius, whose work emphasized how the impulse toward self-preservation led to human sociability. In De iure belli ac pacis (1625), Grotius argued that “the first impression of nature” was “that Instinct whereby every Animal seeks its own Preservation, and loves its Condition, and whatever tends to maintain it.”30 While he conceded that natural law contained a social component (an appetites socialis), this belief existed in tension with his individualistic theory of rights.31 Thus, when faced with the choice between these two competing drives, Grotius’s account privileged the principle of self-preservation and helped set the stage for perhaps the most influential writer in this tradition: Thomas Hobbes. Hobbes famously argued that humans were not naturally sociable, but rather entered into society due to an urge for self-preservation. Fearing for their lives in the state of nature, individuals rationally determined that setting up a common power was the most prudent way to safeguard their own lives. Thus, by introducing “restraint upon themselves,” the creators of the commonwealth found a way of getting “out of that miserable condition of Warre.”32 Hobbes’s description of the founding of society thereby refused to acknowledge any type of “innate sociability” among humans, instead emphasizing the importance of self-preservation.

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Samuel Pufendorf melded Hobbes’s “intellectual method” with Grotius’s “jurisprudence” in order to explain why individuals in the state of nature would choose to enter into society.33 Pufendorf began with the notion of self-interest, observing that when a human “voluntarily seeks civil society, it must be that he has had regard to some utility which he will derive from it for himself.”34 Since joining the community of others was the most promising path to self-preservation, it followed that “the obligation to cultivate the social life with others” could be seen as having the force of a natural law.35 Human sociability was “natural” in the sense that it was encouraged by the circumstances of the state of nature, but it did not stem from any innate feelings of benevolence toward others. Rather, rational actors making practical choices concerning their future survival created society and thus, in Istvan Hont’s words, Pufendorf sought to prove that “ ‘natural’ sociability was a ‘social’ construct.”36 For Pufendorf, natural law commanded humans to act sociably in order to improve their chances of survival, which in turn was predicated upon their ability to obtain the goods necessary for modern living. Other thinkers elevated this notion that the interaction of human desires creates a system of reciprocity to provide the foundation for what Kant would later call “unsocial sociability.”37 Bernard Mandeville’s work exemplified this tradition, showing how the self-interest of disparate individuals could be used to construct a wide-ranging vision of human sociability. Although Mandeville did not appeal to jurisprudential arguments, his stress on the role of self-interest (as a subset of the urge for self-preservation) illustrates a powerful attack on the idea of “natural sociability.” Mandeville’s vision of human nature has been linked to Hobbes’s as being premised on an “egoistic psychology,” but they drew upon different arguments to deny the existence of innate social inclinations. Whereas Hobbes utilized the language of natural law and the state of nature to reify the role of selfpreservation, Mandeville distanced himself from Hobbes’s political position and sought to “socialize egoism so that a political regime of absolutism would not be necessary to ensure social cohesion and political order.”38 Thus, Mandeville’s work represents a second idea of sociability, predicated upon a “pessimistic” view of human nature, available to thinkers during the early eighteenth century. In the Fable of the Bees (1705–14), Mandeville explained the formation of society in terms of human motivation, citing the importance of selfpreservation and personal desires. Rejecting Hobbes’s attempt to conflate the needs of individuals and the state, Mandeville emphasized the importance of having a diversity of private interests.39 In Mandeville’s view the welter of human desires could be harnessed into a system that promoted the common good, but without the correlative assurance of political uniformity.


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Mandeville’s account of the origins of society stressed the value of humans’ “vilest and most hateful Qualities,” specifically self-love and pride.40 Mandeville contended that in the “State of Nature” humans were “untaught Animals,” who were “only solicitous of pleasing themselves, and naturally follow[ed] the bent of their own Inclinations.”41 In contrast, “society” was a “Body Politick, in which Man, either subdued by Superior Force, or by Persuasion drawn from his Savage State, is become a Disciplin’d Creature.”42 The key to explaining how humans could evolve from a state of savagery to the discipline of “taught animals” centered on his explanation of the origins of human sociability. Mandeville suggested that the “Sociableness of Man” emerged from the conflict between personal desires and the “opposition” raised against their gratification.43 The role of governments was to use “severe punishments” to discourage antisocial behavior, while trying to convince the population that “it was more beneficial for every Body to conquer than indulge his Appetites.”44 According to Mandeville, only psychological rewards, typically related to self-love, were suitable for encouraging the self-denial needed to motivate humans toward socially acceptable behavior. The notion that self-love (amour-propre) helped shape the socialization process was used by a variety of thinkers such as Pascal, Nicole, La Rochefoucauld, and Abbadie.45 An important problem facing these theorists of amour-propre stemmed from discrepancies between individuals’ “inner” and “outer” natures: were outwardly moral actions sufficient to consider one moral or did these behaviors need to be accompanied by selfless motives? Accepting the “dualistic view of human nature” articulated by the Jansenists, Mandeville contended that self-love was the fundamental well-spring of human actions and that it could be refined into an “enlightened” form.46 Mandeville claimed that “self-denial” was fashioned into a virtue, and therefore made into a source of “pride” by the founders of civilization: in order to maintain a favorable self-image, individuals were forced to orient their “outer selves” toward the ideal of selfdenial, despite what their “inner selves” desired.47 No matter how corrupt they might be at heart, these individuals could at least be counted on to act in a socially acceptable manner. Mandeville suggested that “this was the manner after which Savage Man was broke,” as the “first Rudiments of Morality, broach’d by skilful Politicians” were used to socialize individuals.48 Mandeville saw this association of vice with antisocial actions and virtue with sociable ones as being governed by the pursuit of public approval, which in turn satisfied one’s pride. In the end, sociable behavior was actually encouraged by self-love: a system Lovejoy has described as the “method of counterpoise.”49 Thus, for Mandeville human passions and desires were turned against themselves in order to facilitate the creation

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of society, since it was the “dextrous Management of a skilful Politician” that enabled “Private Vices” to “be turned into Publick Benefits.”50 As George Davie points out, Berkeley’s problem with Mandeville’s implicit stress on hedonism did not necessarily center on the idea that self-love was an “active principle in man’s nature—but rather [on] the unenlightened nature of this hedonism.”51 As we shall see, this stress on the need for “elevating” individual morality, and in turn that of humanity, was a central component of Berkeley’s understanding of sociability.

B. Naturally Implanted Sociability: Benevolence and Virtue In contrast to Hobbes’s and Mandeville’s “pessimistic” visions of human nature, a number of their contemporaries began to develop more “optimistic” accounts that explained how humans were drawn to one another. A crucial aspect of these theories was a belief in an “innate” form of sociability: the notion that humans were imbued with a natural “sympathy” or “benevolence” toward others. By providing a “principle by which one can limit or govern selfish or narrow attachments,” these inclinations presupposed an “automatic mechanism for social good.”52 Grounding their interpretations of interpersonal relations in “sympathetic” feelings these thinkers cited notions of “goodwill” toward others as proof of their assumption that sociability was an essential part of human nature, a fact that was underlined by the common association of “universal benevolence” with “virtue” during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.53 The earliest formulations of this “optimistic” tradition of thought lay in the classical world, particularly among the Stoics. Norman Fiering notes that the Greek idea of storgè (“natural affections”) may have formed part of the intellectual inheritance concerning notions of benevolence, despite the fact that it was primarily used to describe the bond between parents and their children.54 In The Republic Plato argued for an expansive view of human affections, when he suggested that the inhabitants of “the best governed city” would feel a sense of community with one another, united in “pain” and “pleasure.”55 In addition to his famous definition of man as “zoon politikon,” Aristotle also claimed that “a social instinct is implanted in all men by nature.”56 Cicero drew upon these Greek ideas to provide an extended account of the origins of human fellowship and sociability in De Officiis. Operating within a broader framework of “benevolence” circumscribed by the Stoic notion of oikeiosis, Cicero claimed that “nature, by the power of reason, unites one man to another for the fellowship both of common speech and of life, creating above all a particular love for his offspring.”57


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The Greek word oikeiosis has been translated in a variety of ways, but generally denotes an important relationship on par with “endearment” used to explain the process by which individuals were drawn into everwidening social networks.58 Typically this followed Cicero’s model, passing “outward” through a series of concentric circles to include family, friends, states, and eventually (in its full cosmopolitan form) humanity itself.59 According to Cicero and the Stoics, the ultimate source of this movement was self-preservation, but “reason” allowed humans to recognize the value of associating with others.60 Additionally, a key part of this “outward” movement stressed the moral injunction for humans to improve themselves and display “benevolence” toward others. Cicero stressed that this sense of “fellowship” needed to be accompanied by the virtue of “learning,” yoking the elevation of the individual mind “upward” with a sense of sociability.61 In the end he concluded there were “degrees of duties within social life itself,” culminating in “that vast fellowship of the human race.”62 By the eighteenth century, this “out-and-up” movement associated with a Christianized form of Stoicism was an important strand of thought and provides a useful conceptual tool for describing the mechanism supporting Berkeley’s system. Following upon these classical forerunners, the “doctrine of irresistible compassion” became an important part of humanitarian discourse during the seventeenth century. The French theologian Nicholas Malebranche was a key continental advocate of innate sociability and his religious and philosophical writings later found resonance in Berkeley’s works. In The Search After Truth (1674), Malebranche contended that God had fashioned individuals so as to be united with each other through the sentiments. At the core of his analysis was a belief that “Natural Inclinations” of both selflove (amour-propre) and a love of others motivated humans.63 Elaborating upon this description of human nature Malebranche stressed the importance of loving others within the scheme of God’s plan for humanity, since God had created “a Natural Love, which he impresses on us: and for that purpose has given us some invisible Bonds, which bind and oblige us necessarily to love them.”64 This notion of “natural affection” binding humans to one another provided an important model for writers pursuing this line of thought in England. In seventeenth-century England, the Cambridge Platonists were among the first to articulate a defense of the expansive power of compassion to motivate humans. In Enchiridion Ethicum (1667) Henry More stressed the importance of human feelings and their relationship to God. More claimed that both an “animal appetite” and a “Boniform Faculty” governed human nature.65 While the former drew men to the level of “brutes,” the latter oriented humans toward the pursuit of the common good.66 Starting

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from the position that “self-conservation of one man be really good,” he claimed that it was “doubly so to preserve two men, and thrice as much to save three, and so forward.” Following the Stoic notion of oikeiosis More pushed this argument “outward” from the individual to the greater community, before concluding that “every Intellectual Creature” was “bound to provide . . . for his own, and his Neighbor’s Preservation.”67 By making it imperative that individuals seek to provide for the welfare of others, More effectively laid the foundation for more expansive considerations of sociability. These suggestions of an “instinctual capacity for disinterested benevolence” formed the basis for the “sentimental school” of thought associated with Anthony Ashley Cooper, the third Earl of Shaftesbury, and his notion of a “moral sense.”68 Shaftesbury’s first serious foray into philosophy, An Inquiry Concerning Virtue (1699), contained a vigorous attack on Hobbesian egoism and an exploration of “the emotional impulses that prompt to social duty.”69 He claimed human “passions and affections” were oriented toward “the interest of a species or common nature,” and thus “virtue,” or “goodness,” required one to properly orient their “affections” toward society.70 Writing in the wake of Hobbes, Shaftesbury could not deny the existence or power of self-interested motives, but sought to downplay their importance. Shaftesbury focused his attention on beneficial human “affections,” in an effort to combat what he perceived to be the egoism of Hobbes and the French Augustinians.71 While he was willing to admit that selfishness had a place within the sphere of virtuous action, he was careful to limit its role in encouraging moral behavior. If humans indulged in their “natural affections” aimed at sociability they could educate their sensibilities to better reflect the moral injunction toward benevolence, as described by the Stoic notion of oikeiosis.72 In stressing the importance of these “natural affections” toward others, Shaftesbury laid the foundation for an influential defense of the notion of innate sociability. Shaftesbury argued that “there is naturally in every man such a degree of social affection as inclines him to seek the familiarity and friendship of his fellows,” and that “whoever is unsociable and voluntarily shuns society or commerce with the world must of necessity be morose and ill-natured.”73 For Shaftesbury, these “horrible abnormalities” were incapable of either sociable or virtuous action and thus were doomed to misery. As a result, he contended that “the wisdom of what rules and is first and chief in nature has made it to be according to the private interest and good over everyone to work towards the general good.”74 In this manner, Shaftesbury not only called attention to the notion that the universe had been shaped by a “cosmic principle of order,” but further suggested that an integral part of this system required humans to be innately moved to assist one another.75


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According to this line of reasoning, humans’ natural faculties (such as the impulse to sociability) were “part of the overall design of a Providential Nature, and [could] be trusted implicitly.” 76 This stress on the link between religious and naturalistic conceptions of the world suggested that the former could be used to illuminate the latter. Thus, while religious views could not “ justify natural belief, they may nevertheless serve to explain or render more comprehensible its authority.”77 In terms of the traditions of thought concerned with sociability, this stress on “providential naturalism” allowed thinkers to claim that God “implanted” this inclination in humans in order to facilitate their self-preservation and eventual self-perfection. It was their responsibility to exhibit benevolence “outwardly” toward others, as per the Stoic concept of oikeiosis, which in turn would have the benefit of elevating humanity as a whole. This correlation between the structure of the cosmos and of human society was popularly expressed in the work of the “social Newtonians,” whose influence peaked during the early eighteenth century and provided the central image of Berkeley’s seminal essay.

III. Berkeley’s “Bond of Society:” Social Gravity and Sociability Historians have shown the ubiquity of Newtonian language in the social and political writings of the early eighteenth century and the influence of this physical model upon the moral world.78 During this period, celestial notions of balance, order, and natural laws found ready application to descriptions of human interaction. Although perhaps most closely associated with the social Newtonians identified by Margaret Jacob, the appeal of scientific imagery reached beyond luminaries such as Robert Boyle, William Whiston, and Samuel Clarke. For those inspired by the “New Science,” notions of balance, order, and natural laws found ready application to descriptions of human interaction on both sides of the Atlantic, as Newtonianism provided a language to explain theories of social organization and the forces acting upon interpersonal relationships. This connection between the cosmos and society contained many elements of tension, which was evident in the common deployment of the “design argument” during this period.79 In the “Bond of Society,” Berkeley drew upon this Newtonian language to note parallels between the material and social worlds.80 He suggested that when comparing the physical and moral worlds, there was “a certain correspondence of the parts, a similitude of operation and unity of design, which plainly demonstrate the universe to be the work of one infinitely good and wise Being.”81

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Berkeley may have been familiar with the rhetorical strategy of depicting the physical and moral worlds as analogous from his time at Trinity. In his 1707 presentation “Of Infinities” to the Dublin Philosophical Society, Berkeley referred to George Cheyne’s work on infitesimals and he may have also been aware of Cheyne’s Philosophical Principles of Natural Religion (1705), which used cosmological observations as evidence for the existence of God, highlighting the role of “gravity” or “attraction.”82 In his essay Berkeley adopted parts of the design argument common to the Newtonians, but was unwilling to accept the deistic conception of “natural religion” associated with many advocates of this position. Accordingly, he found himself in a rather tight position, treading the fine line between the design argument (with its roots in classical and medieval theology) and deism (the object of his ire in his attacks on freethinkers). For Berkeley and the Newtonians, the natural religion advocated by John Toland and Anthony Collins was one of the more serious threats to virtue in the modern world. As a result, he reconciled his belief in the intervention of God in the physical world with the deistic emphasis on rationality by explaining human sociability through the physical analogy of “gravity” and the image of a “chain of affection.” In the “Bond of Society,” Berkeley contended that the mental and physical worlds were both governed by a system of laws derived from “divine power.” Berkeley then introduced scientific language into his analysis, by noting that “from the contemplation of the order, motion, and cohesion of natural bodies, philosophers are now agreed that there is a mutual attraction between the most distant parts at least of this solar system.” Considering the organization of the heavens, Berkeley suggested that physical bodies, in this case the planets, were drawn to each other and the sun by “some secret, uniform and never-ceasing principle.”83 He continued by observing that even the “larger systems in the universe” were held together by this “attraction” or “gravity.” In The Principles, Berkeley had addressed “gravity.” While critical of the universal application of the idea, Berkeley’s discussion of this “great mechanical principle now in vogue” suggested a close familiarity with the physical concept.84 For Berkeley, the primary usefulness of the idea of “attraction” was that it helped explain certain physical tendencies, not that it represented any type of “essential” quality. He cautioned against pronouncing attraction to be a “universal” force, instead stressing that it remained dependent on the “will of the governing spirit.”85 In other words, Berkeley claimed that the idea of “attraction” or “gravity” served a useful descriptive function, in the form of an analogy, but was careful to emphasize that the ultimate source of this physical principle was divine. This is the same position that Berkeley advanced in the “Bond of Society,”


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although now this Newtonian language explained a vision of sociability built upon the Stoic notion of oikeiosis. Thus, one could say that Berkeley effectively dressed Cicero in Newton’s clothes. In this essay, Berkeley’s explanation of the physical world centered on the constant intervention of the “Author of nature.” He noted that the “rectilinear motions the Author of nature hath impressed on each of them, which concurring with the attractive principle” prevented planets from collapsing into a common center of gravity. For Berkeley (and Newton earlier), gravity acted constantly in the physical universe only through the sustaining activity of God. Implanted by God, this force gave direction to bodies according to the divine will and produced “innumerable effects”—it was the “key to explain[ing] the various phenomena of nature.”86 Berkeley’s model of the physical world was drawn from the scientific literature of the day and he carefully applied this knowledge to the realm of human interactions. Just as the universe was held together by gravity, so too, the “moral universe” (society) gained its cohesion through the “principle of attraction.” Berkeley claimed that this force drew humans into “communities, clubs, families, friendships, and all the various species of society.”87 Here, Berkeley’s linguistic choices distinguish this essay from traditions of sociability associated with natural jurisprudence and ideas of “counterpoise”; however, more detailed examination of his argument reveals elements of the Stoic argument for cosmopolitanism within this Newtonian guise. Berkeley drew on an analogy with the natural world, claiming that the attractive force between humans was variable. He suggested that “as in bodies, where the quantity is the same, the attraction is strongest between those which are placed nearest to each other, so is it likewise in the minds of men . . . between those which are most nearly related.”88 While individuals may feel a stronger attraction toward their families, this feeling was merely the most prominent manifestation of a general “affection” for all humans and did not diminish his conviction that all humans shared a general bond with others and that it was their duty to cultivate this “outward” connection. In the end, Berkeley followed the example of Aristotle, and more recently Addison, in suggesting that man is a “social animal.”89 Berkeley’s musings on the universal appeal of the general principle of attraction led him to conclude that every person is “linked by an imperceptible chain to every individual of the human race.”90 Berkeley’s use of this metaphor, the idea of a “chain of attraction,” echoed the popular notion of a “great chain of being.”91 At its core, this was a belief that the universe was constructed along the principles of plentitude, continuity, and gradation, resulting in a smooth vertical spectrum of various “intelligences” (or “species”) ranging from the lowest worm to God. Applied to

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social systems, this metaphor typically supported an “ethics of prudent mediocrity . . . man’s duty was to keep his [social] place, and not to seek to transcend it.”92 Political appeals to the idea of the “great chain of being” generally were grounded in an attempt to justify the political status quo. One was born into a position on the social ladder through the will of God and should therefore remain on the same rung for life. By using the metaphor of a chain to highlight the horizontal connections between individuals and to stress the principle of attraction (rather than hierarchy), Berkeley effectively tilted the great chain of being on its side. For him, as for the Stoic advocates of oikeiosis, the primary relationship of identity was between humans, rather than between species or orders, an insight that would later prove crucial to his analysis of Irish society in the 1730s and 1740s. This raises a larger question facing Berkeley: where does this principle of attraction originate? In the “Bond of Society,” Berkeley stressed that just as gravity acted in the natural world, so too the “reciprocal attraction in the minds of men” was caused by the immediate operation of God. Evoking the ideas of providential naturalism, he suggested that the principle of attraction was originally “engrafted in the first formation of the soul by the Author of our nature.”93 Not only was it an essential part of human existence, but this inclination was meant to serve a number of important purposes, particularly to further God’s plan for humans, enhancing the lives of individuals and furthering the common good. Just as “gravity” played a key function in explaining the operation of the physical world, so Berkeley contended that the “social appetite” acted as the “great spring and source of moral actions.” Implanted by God, sociability “inclines each individual to an intercourse with his species and models everyone to that behavior which best suits with the common well-being.” The sympathy humans felt toward others in pain or joy, the love of parents for their children, and even individuals’ concerns for foreign affairs were all cited as evidence supporting this principle. For Berkeley, the principle of attraction was the foremost characteristic of humanity and provided the foundation for personal identity. Those who had somehow become so selfish as to be unable to recognize their incorporation into this “diffusive sense of humanity” were seen as “a sort of monster or anomalous production.”94 As Berkeley explained, God planted this “seed of mutual benevolence in our souls” to encourage the “common good of his creatures.” At the heart of Berkeley’s argument was a belief that the social appetite had been given to humans in order to ensure that they acted according to their best interests. As Berkeley repeatedly stressed, “social inclinations are absolutely necessary to the well-being of the world.” These forces led individuals to envision themselves as part of a larger social community


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and encouraged them to elevate their consciousness through contemplation of the common good. In light of their importance, it was the “duty and interest of each individual to cherish and improve them to the benefit of mankind.”95 This formulation touched on the core of Berkeley’s argument: a belief that the “good of the whole is inseparable from that of the parts.” For Berkeley it was in everyone’s own private interest to promote the common good, because there could be no real distinction between the two in the cosmopolitan form of Stoicism he saw emerging from this gradual process of enlightenment. Unlike Mandeville, Berkeley did not think public benefits were derived from private vices; instead, as he later stated in The Alciphron, he followed the example of the classical historians who argued that vice is the “likeliest way to ruin and enslave a people” (ALC 76). Thus, there could no private vice without public ruin. Berkeley’s positions in Passive Obedience and in the “Bond of Society” diverged due to how he articulated his position and the objects of his inquiry. In the former, the “principle of attraction” was subordinated to a concern for outlining the moral obligations enjoined upon individuals by providential principles of natural law. In the latter, this idea of sociability formed the guiding thread of his analysis. Whether he adopted a more popular and scientific idiom in order to persuade The Guardian’s audience of his position, or it was a reflection of his close collaboration with the socially minded Addison, this linguistic shift did not alter his continuing acceptance of a “providential sociability” that provided the inspiration for individuals to act in accord with the common good.

IV. Conclusion While Berkeley’s writing displayed concern for social matters before 1713, after his arrival in London he was much more sensitive to these issues. As his familiarity with Steele and Addison increased, Berkeley began raising the types of questions that they were asking about contemporary society. He explored the nature of society and challenged the freethinkers he saw as undermining social stability. Throughout these essays, Berkeley critiques were predicated upon an expansive appreciation for the roles of morality and religion in ensuring a stable and virtuous society. In the “Bond of Society” essay, Berkeley’s extended analogy between the natural and moral worlds allowed him to posit the existence of a “principle of attraction” supporting his understanding of society. By comparing this human trait to gravity, he suggested how and why humans were drawn together, as well indicating the forces that could impede this process. What

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is most striking about his piece is the articulation of his primary argument in terms of contemporary science, rather than religion. He wrote about “gravity” and the “principle of attraction” as the basis of human sociability in order to further a divine plan for the common good of all humanity. In making this analysis, Berkeley rejected a number of other competing interpretations of human sociability. Whereas in his sermons on Passive Obedience Berkeley was concerned with circumscribing an individual’s political rights and responsibilities, his “Bond of Society” focused more upon explaining interpersonal relationships within the social sphere. In this essay there is no mention of political responsibilities toward the state, but only the social “bonds” uniting humans to one another. These texts also evince Berkeley’s increasing concern for questions concerning the role of individuals within society. Berkeley’s essay stressed the connection between individual morality and social good even more forcefully than he had in Passive Obedience. By rejecting Mandeville’s contention that sociability originated in self-interested behavior, Berkeley also jettisoned his equation of “private vices” with “public benefits.” For Berkeley, personal morality was an important pillar of social strength, providing a guiding principle for society: a belief that would prove to be central to his later writings concerning Ireland. This notion also informed Berkeley’s identification of “freethinking” as a particularly dangerous threat. Berkeley believed that a firm connection between religion and government was necessary and that the attacks on faith by freethinkers such as Anthony Collins not only undermined religion, but the stability of society itself. Berkeley’s essays attacking the “minute philosophers” were the first in a series of salvos against deists and remained a staple reference point for his later work, which is the focus of chapter 4.

Chapter 4 Piety, Perception, and the Freethinkers

During the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, an important question facing Anglican divines was the relationship between reason and religion. Initiated by the publication of John Toland’s Christianity not Mysterious (1696), the controversy concerning deism raged across both sides of the Irish Sea and called into question the sanctity of revealed religion, forcing believers to articulate more “rational” defenses of Christianity. Closely associated with the problematic origins of the “English Enlightenment,” Toland’s provocative tract valorized reason in matters of religion and drew heavily upon the natural philosophy associated with Newtonian cosmology.1 Although viciously attacked for its heretical tenets, Toland’s position found support during the early eighteenth century among a loosely allied group of individuals dubbed “deists.” Basing their analyses upon Toland’s epistemological arguments for the authority of reason, deists such as Anthony Collins built upon Toland’s original position and further called into question the pillars of revealed religion.2 After Toland’s opening salvo and Collins’s Discourse of Free-Thinking (1713), a number of Irish theologians launched philosophical challenges against the emphasis on reason advocated by the deists. From the perspective of the Irish Church during the aftermath of the Glorious Revolution, the contentious nature of the recent struggle and religious settlement led to a fear that Toland’s tract could shatter an already fragile peace. Rallying to the defense of orthodoxy, clerics such as Peter Browne and Edward Synge assailed Toland’s use of reason to define truth in religious matters, claiming other forms of knowledge could be equally valid. In doing so, both Browne and Synge couched their arguments in the philosophical language

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often associated with the Enlightenment in order to refute Toland’s position. Furthermore, both also drew upon a common Irish concern for issues of perception and perspective to support their attacks. The works of Browne and Synge were aimed at a scholarly and ecclesiastical audience and did little to stem the relative tide of deist publications during the first decade of the eighteenth century, although few of these were particularly noteworthy until Collins published his Discourse in 1713. This piece reopened a vitriolic debate after Collins defended Toland’s use of reason and linked freethinking to public liberty and virtue. Just as Toland was opposed by Irish thinkers almost two decades before, Collins found himself faced with an adversary trained in Dublin. In this case, Berkeley’s contributions to this debate attacked his “freethinking” enemies on both theological and linguistic grounds. In a series of essays published in The Guardian, Berkeley rejected the theological proposition that reason was superior to faith and tried to show how these two modes of thought could be seen as complementary, rather than diametrically opposed. Although the religious component of Berkeley’s argument was important, his participation in this intellectual quarrel was premised upon a deep concern for the emotive possibilities of specific words. Berkeley recognized the positive connotations associated with “freedom” and sought to change the nature of the debate by redefining the combatants, dismissing freethinkers as “minute philosophers” and highlighting how the disinterested pursuit of virtue (for its own sake) could eventually result in widespread iniquity.

I. Toland and His Irish Opponents: The Theological Assault on Deism One of the key points of reference for Irish philosophy and theology during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries was the debate over deism initiated by John Toland’s inflammatory Christianity not Mysterious. Hailed as the “father of Irish philosophy,” albeit a “hated father,” Toland’s work sparked a heated Irish reaction that illustrates the complex relationship between rationality and religion in Ireland on the cusp of the Enlightenment.3 Cosmopolitan by nature, but Irish by birth, Toland studied in Glasgow and Edinburgh before traveling to Leiden, Oxford, and London. At each of these stops, sometimes hastened by his own indiscretions, Toland combined scholarly inquiry with increasingly heterodox religious ideas. In London Toland associated with Locke, whose arguments in The Reasonableness of Christianity

PIETY, PERCEPTION, AND THE FREETHINKERS

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(1695) lurk behind Toland’s own religious writings.4 It was during his sojourn in London that Toland wrote and (anonymously) published Christianity not Mysterious. Toland traveled to Dublin the following year where he hoped to become the secretary to John Methuen, an English Whig recently appointed lord chancellor. Showing the bravado that would characterize much of his later life and in stark contrast to earlier challengers of orthodoxy who remained anonymous, Toland let his authorship of this text be known after his arrival. Thus, when Irish notables such as William Molyneux and William King opposed Metheun’s appointment, his association with Toland proved an inviting proxy target for Anglophobic fears. As a result of their objections, the Irish Commons condemned Toland’s masterwork as heretical, ordered the common hangman to burn it, and called for its author to be arrested and prosecuted by the attorney general.5 Faced with this warm reception, Toland fled to England within the month while criticism from Irish churchmen continued to simmer in Dublin. There may have been political maneuvering behind the public attack on Toland, but the vitriol of these critiques suggests that there were also significant philosophical and religious objections to his text. If this is true, then what did he say? Why was his position so roundly condemned within Ireland, especially by members of the Church of Ireland? The subtitle of Toland’s study set out his main goal: to prove that there “is nothing in the gospel Contrary to reason, nor above it: and that no Christian Doctrine can be properly call’d a mystery.”6 Seeking to show the value of rational inquiry to religious study, Toland began by outlining a theory of reason that clearly reflected Locke’s empiricism.7 After noting the hostile nature of claims for authority over religious knowledge Toland contended that the final criterion for determining truth was reason, since “reason is the only foundation of all certitude.” Following in Locke’s footsteps, Toland explained knowledge in terms of “simple and distinct ideas” and reason as “that Faculty of the Soul which discovers the Certainty of any thing dubious or obscure, by comparing it with something evidently known.”8 Toland’s epistemology not only assigned an important role to reason, but further distinguished between the “Means of Information” and “the Ground of Perswasion.” According to this schematization “revelation” could transmit information to humans, but did not necessarily provide the grounds for belief. Rather, Toland argued that the “Ground of all right Perswasion, is Evidence,” which for Toland consisted of “the exact Conformity of our Ideas or Thoughts with their Objects, or the Things we think upon.” Toland also argued that “Ideas therefore being representative Beings, their Evidence naturally consists in the Property they have of truly representing their objects.” Elsewhere, in a famous example, Toland asked

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who could have “infallible Assurance that something call’d blictri had a Being in Nature, [who] in the mean time knew not what this Blictri was?” Stressing the importance of correlating ideas with their objects, Toland was convinced that if religious mysteries could not be explained by reference to distinct ideas, they were effectively as meaningless as his imaginary “blictri.”9 In the end, Toland constructed a system of “epistemological rationalism” that could provide certainty to human understanding of ideas and perceptions.10 Having established reason as the basis of knowledge in the first section of Christianity not Mysterious, Toland applied these insights to the study of religion in the second. Toland argued that in order to be “intelligible,” the essential truths of Christianity must be at least describable or conceivable by reason: if something were contrary to reason, humans could not form an idea of it. This part of Toland’s argument potentially placed reason and revelation into opposition, by suggesting that if scripture contained “a downright Contradiction to Reason,” it would “justify all Absurdities whatsoever . . . [and] make God the Author of all Incertitude.” While scripture was an important source of knowledge for Toland, revealing “several wonderful Matters of Fact, as the Creation of the World, the last Judgment, and many other important Truths,” this information was also confirmed by the “indisputable Characters of Divine Wisdom and Sound Reason.”11 Therefore, reason remained the bedrock of certainty for Toland and the point of departure for his conviction that there was nothing above reason in the New Testament. Toland’s enemies believed that his tactic of enshrining rationality as the final determinant of truth and his stress on the necessary relationship between ideas and their objects undermined the authority of religion in general and the church in particular. Questioning the validity of miracles and satirizing the multiplicity of religious sects (all of whom claimed to possess the “real truth”) deists such as Toland were seen to espouse, in the contemporary words of William Stephens, a belief that “deism . . . is a denial of all reveal’d Religion.”12 According to their opponents, deists encouraged skepticism by holding revelation to the standard of pure reason. For instance, in his response to Toland, John Norris argued that there are “many things, and those of the highest Nature, and greatest importance, wherein our Reason is utterly at a loss, and cannot help us out, and with respect to which being destitute of Sight, we must be Content to walk altogether by Faith.”13 Critics such as Norris believed that the deistic emphasis on reason undermined the authority of revealed religion and thus needed to be refuted. Nonetheless, given the plasticity of deism during this time, it was quite difficult to stamp out the fire ignited by Toland, which gave rise to an extremely fruitful period of Irish philosophical and theological reflection.14


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II. Perception and Religion in Irish Thought During the early Irish Enlightenment, one of the central issues debated by philosophers and churchmen alike was the nature of perception and its relationship to human knowledge. In this context, the “Molyneux problem” not only played a crucial role in explaining the epistemological bases of the natural world, but also had theological ramifications as well: if humans could not rely upon their perceptions of physical objects, what assurance could they have of metaphysical (or divine) ones? Originally posed as a “jocose problem” in a letter to Locke, William Molyneux asked him to imagine a man who was born blind, but had learned to distinguish between a cube and a globe by touch. Should this individual be given his sight, Molyneux questioned whether or not he would be able to visually distinguish between the two objects before touching them. Molyneux suspected that he would not be able to make this leap, on the grounds that the individual would not have “obtained the experience” needed to make a connection between visual and tactile forms of perception.15 Locke agreed with Molyneux’s negative answer and included it (with slight modifications) in the 1693 printing of the second edition of his Essay.16 Once in the public domain, Molyneux’s problem sparked a number of philosophical responses and soon became a staple of Irish philosophic and religious discourse.17 More generally, this “similitude of the blind man” was extremely popular in Dublin, becoming what Berman has called “the root metaphor, as it were, of Irish philosophy” and was often used to refute Toland’s analysis of reason.18 Given the close connection between theology and philosophy in Ireland during this period, it is perhaps not surprising that two of the main figures who critiqued Toland’s position were members of the Irish Church and both made extensive use of visual metaphors: Peter Browne and Edward Synge.19 These clerics raised slightly different philosophical points against Toland, but shared a pragmatic fear of the implications of his doctrines.20 From their vantage point, Toland’s argument against established religion and his support for reason as a method to understand God struck directly at their own position in Irish society.21 According to this reading of the reaction to Toland the danger of his position stemmed from the fear that if legitimate knowledge could only be established on rational grounds, then the first step down the road to radical skepticism would have been taken. This threatening path not only would undermine the authority of the church by suggesting that all individuals should seek to apply their rational faculties to the study of religion, but could also have political ramifications.22 If Toland was right about the scope of reason, then the religious

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settlement of Ireland came into doubt. The Penal Laws were predicated on the authority of the Church of Ireland and calling this institution’s legitimacy into question would undermine the distribution of Irish political power.23 Efforts to preserve religious mysteries ensured the continued division between Anglicans, Catholics, and Dissenters. Thus, there were practical and social grounds for putting theology and philosophy in service to the state by attempting to stifle the danger posed by Toland. When Toland published Christianity not Mysterious, Peter Browne was a senior fellow at Trinity and his spirited (and personal) attacks upon it catapulted him into the upper echelons of the Dublin clerical establishment. After the release of Toland’s work, Archbishop Marsh of Dublin sent a copy of it to Browne and asked him to respond to its heretical tenets. Browne’s hastily written response, A Letter in Answer to a Book entitled Christianity not Mysterious, appeared in May 1697, and Browne gained a reputation as a staunch defender of orthodox faith. Soon thereafter, Archbishop Marsh recommended Browne for the position of provost of Trinity and later the bishopric of Cork.24 At the core of Browne’s attack on Toland was a theory of knowledge that sought to confound the rationalistic assault on religious mysteries. Browne began by stressing that “Christianity is so far from being Mysterious, that it is the plainest Institution in the World.”25 According to Browne’s critique, part of the problem with Toland’s argument stemmed from his inability to recognize multiple degrees of “understanding.” Rather than seeing religious knowledge as a type of binary opposition between “clear ideas” and “utter unfathomability,” Browne contended that there was a hierarchy of comprehension. In the middle ground between certainty and mystery, Browne held that humans had “some clear and distinct ideas which lead [them] to believe in other ideas of which [they] have only a confused and imperfect understanding.”26 Thus, human knowledge of the divine was much more encompassing than Toland would admit. This aspect of Browne’s epistemological argument is evident in the fact that while Browne agreed with Toland that “clear and distinct Ideas are the foundation of all our Knowledge and Assent,” he rejected his claim that “we can believe nothing but what we have a clear and distinct idea of.” Instead, Browne argued that it was “upon the account of those things whereof we have clear and distinct Ideas, that we give a first Assent to the Existence of things whereof we have no Idea at all.”27 Furthermore, Browne challenged Toland’s equation of knowledge with “clear and distinct ideas,” noting that “we are so far from having clear and distinct Idea’s of those things of another World which are revealed to us, that we have no proper or immediate Idea at all of them.”28 In this sense, Browne acknowledged that humans did not have knowledge of the divine “as it is


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in it self,” but rather were forced to form notions of God “by Analogy or Similitude.”29 As a result, while humans may “have no proper Ideas of the things of another World,” they were capable of “framing to [themselves] Conceptions of them, from those things in this World whereof [they] have clear and distinct Ideas.”30 According to Browne, this meant that God could be seen to possess attributes such as wisdom, power, and justice, but that these terms were merely “the greatest Perfections we are able to conceive . . . [by] us in this condition of Infirmity and Blindness.”31 Thus, while it was impossible for humans to directly know God, they could identify various attributes of the divine. These, in turn, could legitimately provide a solid and rational ground for belief. The defense of mysteries outlined by Browne, with its characteristic Irish reliance upon visual metaphors, proved quite influential and a similar argument appeared in Edward Synge’s Gentleman’s Religion (1698). Synge, vicar of Christ Church (Cork) and later archbishop of Tuam, had already entered the public debate over perception by offering the first affirmative answer to Molyneux’s question. In a letter written to Dr. Quayl, Synge argued that “upon sight of the globe and cube, there be grounds enough for such a person clearly to perceive the agreement, and the difference, between his preconceived ideas, and newly conceived images of those figures,” and should “know which is the globe, and which the cube, without touching them.”32 Applying Molyneux’s thought experiment to the question of religious belief, Synge’s Gentleman’s Religion critiqued Toland’s position on mysteries through a careful redefinition of reason. Synge pointed to the limitations of language as a means to convey information, suggesting that it did not “afford us variety of Words sufficient to express all the Diversities and Peculiarities of our Thoughts.”33 For Synge, the inability of language to convey adequately the minute details of one’s thoughts undermined the process of communication and provided the grounds for misinterpretation. He cited the dispute over the word “mystery” as a particularly acute example of this tendency, claiming that by paying closer attention to the “propriety of the Word” much of the confusion “about which, so great a Noise has of late been made” could be alleviated.34 Synge was careful to define “reason” and provided a detailed explanation of the means by which “truth” could be discerned. Following Toland’s example, Synge noted that “Reason is that faculty in Man . . . whereby he apprehends things and their Attributes or Properties; and frames a Judgment concerning what he apprehends.” Following this general description Synge suggested five criteria by which the truth or falsehood of various judgments could be related to reason, claiming that truths could be self-evident, built upon reason alone, reconcilable to reason, contrary to reason, or above reason.35 It was the last of these categories, truths “above reason,” that served as the fulcrum upon which Synge’s critique of Toland turned.

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In the course of explaining the nature of truths “above reason,” Synge made extensive use of the visual metaphor of the blind man pioneered by Molyneux. He argued that notions could be considered “above reason” when a “Proposition is in it self true, but we are unable clearly to apprehend or frame a Notion or Conception of the things contained under the terms of it.” Clarifying this position by way of analogy, he admitted that the “Doctrine of Light and Colours, is wholly above the Reason of a Man born blind, who can frame no manner of Notion of these things from the Description which others make of them.” Still, he was convinced that “the same Doctrine would not be so much above the Reason of a Man, who had some faint and confused glimmering of Sight.” Even for an individual born blind, Synge carefully noted that the existence of light and colors could be proven “upon account of the Veracity, and Authority of the Person or Persons who affirm it.”36 In this case, Synge held that knowledge was “believed” rather than proven. Up to this point in his argument, Synge worked within the epistemological framework set by Christianity not Mysterious, but his estimation of the value of “belief” and its relationship with reason provided a point of divergence from Toland. Although Synge agreed with Toland that it was “absolutely impossible” for an individual to “believe or give his Assent to any Doctrine or Proposition which appears to him to be contrary to Reason,” his expansive understanding of those ideas “reconcilable to Reason” provided a bulwark against Toland’s skepticism. Unlike Toland, Synge was willing to accept “Revelation, or the Testimony of another . . . not only as a means of Information, but also as a motive of Perswasion.”37 To prove this assertion, Synge made his most extensive use of the visual metaphor by relating a “conference” he had with “a blind Man” concerning his ability to conceive of light and colors. Despite Synge’s greatest efforts this person remained unable to “frame any Conception” of light and color on his own, nor was he cognizant of any “Defect or Imperfection” in himself that could explain this deficiency. At first Synge’s correspondent refused to believe his acquaintances when they informed him that he was blind, but physical experiments and interactions with others eventually convinced him that these things existed, despite not having “the least Conception” of them. Extrapolating from this story Synge claimed that while in some instances it may be nearly impossible to “frame any direct Notion, or Conception, of the things themselves,” it was still possible to form “analogous Representations” to which assent and belief could be given.38 To buttress this argument from the senses, Synge also noted the fact that individuals who were deaf from birth could learn of the existence of sounds with relative ease.39 In light of these analogies, Synge confidently dismissed Toland’s contention that human understanding of the divine


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was not in accord with reason and provided an Irish response to the dangers of Toland’s deism. This was especially true during the late 1690s when Irish divines saw Toland’s emphasis on reason not only as an assault on religion, but also believed that it harbored a threat to the already precarious position of the Irish Church. During this initial round of the deist controversy in Ireland, Toland was assailed by Irish clerics from a philosophical position grounded in a scientific appreciation for human perception and guided by the Molyneux problem. For both Browne and Synge, the key to rebutting Toland’s heresies was epistemological in nature: to illustrate that knowledge of the divine was possible through analogy and that reason was not the sole determinant of truth. While their arguments may have been persuasive to other members of the Irish Church who were already sympathetic to their position, neither Browne nor Synge wrote for a popular audience and thus did little to stem a growing tide of heterodox religious ideas. The case of Thomas Emlyn illustrates the power of Toland’s opponents in Ireland and the contentious nature of this debate through the early eighteenth century. A Presbyterian minister in Dublin, Emlyn claimed that after reading William Sherlock’s Vindication of the Trinity, he discovered “how far many were gone back towards polytheism.”40 Emlyn questioned the nature of the holy trinity in his sermons and published his views as An Humble Inquiry into the Scripture-Account of the Lord Jesus Christ (1702). In this piece Emlyn advocated a rationalistic approach to religion that hearkened back to Toland, further infuriating the more orthodox clergy who still harbored resentment for the fact that their earlier target had seemingly managed to escape punishment for his views.41 Writing in response, Emlyn’s former sponsor Joseph Boyse argued for a distinction between belief and understanding of God in his Vindication of the True Deity of our Blessed Saviour.42 Echoing the positions of Browne and Synge, Boyse claimed that humans could believe in various divine attributes without necessarily having a completely clear conception of their properties.43 Emlyn was accused of blasphemy, found guilty by the lord chief justice, and imprisoned for a year (along with a £1000 fine). The importance of this incident stems from the visceral reaction of the established church to the presumption that reason should play a central role in religious thought. Bearing the brunt of the vitriol meant for Toland, Emlyn suffered greatly for rationally examining the nature of the divine. This not only illustrates the power of the more conservative establishment in Dublin during Berkeley’s education, but also suggests the dangers threatening those who stepped outside the bounds of orthodoxy. Berkeley seemed to recognize this in his Commentaries, when he warned himself “to

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use utmost Caution not to give the least Handle of offence to the Church or Church-Men” (PC 715). Questions concerning deism continued to simmer on both sides of the Irish Sea until 1713, when Anthony Collins published his infamous Discourse of Free-thinking. In this text, Collins applied reason to the study of religion through the use of language calculated to appeal to a popular audience. Just as Toland’s text inspired Browne and Synge to defend the Irish Church in the 1690s, Collins’s work also encouraged an Irish figure to straddle the fields of philosophy and theology in support of orthodoxy; however, in this case the young scholar from Kilkenny who took up the attack, Berkeley, wrote in a more accessible style that used the rhetoric of the freethinkers against them.

III. Anthony Collins and the Defense of Free-Thinking There are two reasons for focusing on Collins’s Discourse and Berkeley’s responses to it in The Guardian. First, it was in these publications that the term “freethinker” first entered into common parlance and became a point of contention, advanced by Collins as a positive word associated with notions of liberty and rationality and denounced by Berkeley as inappropriate for individuals he believed to be motivated by narrow-minded prejudices. Second, this period marked an important step in the public debate concerning the relationship between rational and revealed religion that was to become a central issue throughout the rest of Berkeley’s career. Educated at Eton and King’s College, Cambridge, Collins married a wealthy woman and was a confidant of John Locke during the last two years of his life. Among the most “philosophical” of the deists, before his Discourse Collins had published a number of tracts that increasingly entangled him within the deist controversy, including a heated exchange with Samuel Clarke over the properties of matter. While these works were important, and perhaps better written than his Discourse, it was through the latter that Collins truly made his mark on contemporary thought. In this popular tract Collins defended freedom of thought, the right to examine all religious beliefs according to reason, and the obligation to publicize the results of such inquiries. Divided into three parts, Collins’s Discourse first defined and lauded freethinking, then raised a vicious attack on the clergy and their shortcomings, and finally responded to the common criticism that freethinking destroyed virtue.44 In addition to advocating the use of reason in religion Collins’s work also harbored a political


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component, since his decision to publish it was in part a response to the growth of the High Church party in Parliament that was threatening to restore conformity and reintroduce censorship.45 Expanding upon Toland’s belief in the autonomy of reason, Collins contended that rational thought should be free from all external authority and thus marked an important assertion of the political right to the free expression of reason, even if it conflicted with the official Church. With this in mind, he defined “freethinking” as “the Use of the Understanding in endeavoring to find out the Meaning of any Proposition what soever, in considering the nature of the Evidence for or against it, and in judging of it according to the seeming Force or Weakness of the Evidence.”46 According to Collins, it was only through the unfettered exercise of reason that humans could accept the existence of God and his attributes. Collins argued that only “artificial designing men or crack-brain’d enthusiasts . . . presume to be guides to others in matters of speculation.”47 It was through the solitary work of rational inquiry that religion was to be purified, not blind adherence to traditional doctrines. After castigating organized religion as irrational and grounded in superstition Collins countered that freethinking was not only essential for the perfection of society, but also prevented widespread superstition.48 In support of his views, Collins recounted clerical abuses in Holland and lauded the heroic freethinkers who had wrested “out of the priests’ hands the power of taking away so many innocent peoples’ lives and reputations.”49 Collins further developed this argument for the individual pursuit of divine knowledge by attacking the “infinite number of pretenders . . . to revelations” among the religious sects.50 Pointing to the divisions of opinion among the clergy and their variant readings of the scriptures, Collins suggested that freethinking was necessary to allow individuals to construct their own rational belief-systems.51 Collins took aim at organized religion, claiming that since the priests, not only of different religions and sects but of the same sect, are infinitely divided in opinion . . . we have no way of setting ourselves in a right notion of God . . . nor can we be easy in our own minds under the prejudices and difficulties which the priest put into us against these truths, but by ceasing to rely on them, and thinking freely for ourselves.52

By highlighting the value of the individual use of reason, Collins tried to create a new standard for judging human accomplishments and thus redefined public virtue in terms of the rational pursuit of truth. In the third section of his Discourse, Collins advanced a new “pantheon” of virtuous freethinkers to decouple the association of freethinking with

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libertinism. According to Collins, Socrates was “the divinest man that ever appear’d in the heathen world . . . [and] a very great free-thinker.”53 Further “saints” in Collins’s “cult” of the freethinker included ancient figures such as Plato, Aristotle, and Cicero and more modern writers such as Hobbes, Descartes, and Locke. In composing this list, Collins undermined the easy assumption that freethinking led to atheism by reversing his critics’ position and asserting that “ignorance is the foundation of Atheism, and Free-Thinking the Cure of it.”54 Along with his reading of great historical freethinkers, Collins’s attempt to enlist freethinking among the defenders of religion was a key element in his effort to shift the terms of the debate over deism toward the side of rational religion. As noted by Frederick Beiser, freethinkers such as Collins did not truly care what individuals believed, but how they believed, and in particular whether or not their faith was arrived at by individual scrutiny. As a result, for Collins Protestantism could be seen as consistent with any belief, so long as it was the result of a free examination.55 Just as Toland’s text elicited a series of challenges, so too did Collins’s contribution to the deist debate. High-flying churchmen saw it as an example of the evils associated with toleration and attacked his general principles as part of a larger effort to restore conformity. Richard Bentley penned a withering critique of Collins’s scholarship, dismissing it as an example of the “flat insipid Drollery” that results when “Buffoonery grows up to Impiety.”56 For most defenders of orthodoxy, Collins was seen as aiming “at all the Evil and Mischief that can befall a nation” and his text was rejected on the grounds that “ ‘tis all to no valuable purpose and serves no good end.”57 In these pieces, Collins’s historical analysis in his Discourse was taken to task, especially his “pantheon of free-thinkers,” but the concern for perception and perspective evinced by Browne and Synge was only used by Irish writers. For instance, Jonathan Swift’s response to Collins’s Discourse began by satirically thanking him for “opening the Eyes of this blinded Nation,” and then proceeded to mock Collins’s emphasis on liberty by asking, “why may not I be deny’d the liberty of Free-seeing, as well as Free-thinking? Yet no body pretends that the first is unlawful, for a Cat may look on a King; though you be near-sighted, or have weak or soar Eyes, or are blind, you may be a Free-seer.”58 Berkeley also drew upon this Irish trope and coupled it with an appreciation for the emotive value of words. According to Berkeley Collins’s valorization of reason marked a different kind of “slavish devotion,” a movement away from the sustaining faith that had been so useful for society and toward narrow-mindedness of a different kind. Recognizing the polemical value of defining the terms of the debate, particularly the positive connotations of liberty and freedom associated with the idea of


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“freethinking,” Berkeley explored the nature of freethinking and recast its adherents as “minute philosophers.” In this manner, Berkeley hoped to lessen the popular appeal of writers such as Collins and shift the language of the debate toward one more in line with his own opinions.

IV. Berkeley’s Attack on the “Minute Philosophers” While a fellow at Trinity, Berkeley was extremely interested in questions of perception and optics. This was a popular field of inquiry during the early eighteenth century, which produced a substantial body of scholarship with which Berkeley was familiar.59 Berkeley’s concern for this topic is evidenced by his numerous references to the Molyneux problem in the Philosophical Commentaries (PC 11 and 18–28). These early observations were later expanded in his New Theory of Vision (1709), where Berkeley explicitly discussed this question and agreed with Molyneux’s negative response (NTV 41–43, 106, and 132–36). In these pieces, Berkeley contended that there was a “heterogeneity” between different forms of perception, in this case between sight and touch. Stressing the discontinuity between perception and language, he claimed “a man blind from his birth would not, at first sight, denominate any thing he saw by the names he had been used to appropriate to ideas of touch” (NTV 135). Furthermore, for Berkeley the very task of differentiating between the cube and sphere would be “downright bantering and unintelligible” to the blind subject, since “nothing he sees being able to suggest to his thoughts the idea of body, distance, or in general of any thing he had already known” (NTV 135). When he arrived in London, Berkeley targeted a more popular audience than he had in his earlier philosophical works and sought to expose the errors associated with the freethinkers’ claims to represent the dispassionate pursuit of truth. Berkeley not only highlighted what he believed to be the most pernicious effects of this doctrine upon its proponents, but also illustrated how their ideas could worry at the threads of religion and virtue holding together the fabric of both English and Irish society. In making his case, Berkeley advanced a number of powerful images premised upon the use of sight, graphically emphasizing his contention that writers such as Collins were blinded by their own prejudices.60 In these pieces Berkeley wrote in an unabashedly polemical style, rather than the philosophical idiom he had used before 1713, to belittle his opponents. In the end, he advanced a few suggestions for “curing” these poor individuals by opening their minds to an appreciation for the value of religion.

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Berkeley’s essays repeatedly stressed the notion that freethinkers accepted a corrupt logic proceeding from “a poverty of imagination and narrowness of soul.”61 Identifying in the freethinkers a “certain shortsightedness in the mind,” Berkeley claimed that this “deficit . . . branched forth into innumerable errors in life.”62 As an example of the prejudices Berkeley associated with freethinking, he wrote a fanciful tale of a mysterious substance called “philosophical snuff.” When taken, this substance allowed one to be transported into the minds of others and perceive their manner of thinking. Berkeley consumed some of this drug and then entered into the thoughts of “an eminent Free-thinker.”63 Here he not only discovered “[p]rejudice in the figure of a woman standing in a corner, with her eyes close shut, and her forefingers stuck in her ears . . . [with] many words in a confused order, but spoken with great emphasis, issuing from her mouth,” but also witnessed a more frightful sight. In the mind of this freethinker Berkeley saw a great castle in the distance, filled with “men in black, of gigantick size and most terrifick forms” working in both a high tower containing “racks and halters” and in dungeons filled with the “scattered bones of men.”64 As he approached this horrific sight his vision cleared and he found the castle to be only a church, whose steeple with its clock and bell-ropes was mistaken for a tower filled with the instruments of torture. Likewise, the “terrible Giants in black shrunk into a few innocent clergymen” and the dungeons turned out to be merely vaults designed for the dead.65 Citing these images as examples of the errors of the freethinkers whose sense of perception had been compromised Berkeley ended by commenting that he had recently read Collins’s Discourse, which he found to contain the “same confused notions on paper.”66 In making his argument against the freethinkers in general and Collins in particular, Berkeley conceded that they may have been moved by the highest of motives, but emphasized that their faulty reasoning prevented them from distinguishing between means and ends. To illustrate this point, Berkeley wrote of taking a solitary walk though St. Paul’s, where he imagined “a certain analogy between the fabrick and the Christian Church in the largest sense.” Noting that “the divine order and oeconomy of the one seemed to be emblematically set forth by the just, plain, and majestick architecture of the other,” Berkeley saw “a fly upon one of the pillars; and it straitway came into [his] head, that this same fly was a freethinker.” In a revealing passage Berkeley argued that to truly appreciate the symmetry and design of the church, a sense of perspective was essential. Unfortunately for the fly (or the freethinker), who was “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


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but small inequalities in the surface of the hewn stone, which in the view of that insect seemed so many deformed rocks and precipices.”67 According to Berkeley, freethinkers, like flies, could only see limited parts of the whole, which led them to focus upon “certain minute particularities of religion, the difficulty of a single text, or the unaccountableness of some step of Providence.” This limitation prevented them from appreciating the “scope and design of Christianity . . . and the close connexion it hath as well with the good of public societies as with that of particular persons.”68 Berkeley also disputed the freethinkers’ claim that they were among the vanguard of those seeking “liberty and truth.” Rather than seeing “liberty and truth” as desirable in themselves, Berkeley pointed out that both were useful “only as they related to a further end.” Recalling his familiar stress on the pursuit of the common good, Berkeley claimed that the true “duty of each particular person” was to “aim at the Happiness of his fellow creatures.” Accordingly, liberty and truth could play extremely valuable roles in increasing human happiness, but they also harbored dangers as well. Berkeley asked whether one should “prefer a liberty to commit murder or adultery before the wholesome restraint of divine and human laws?” Likewise, he questioned whether a “wise man” would “prefer the knowledge of a troublesome and afflicting truth before a pleasant error that would cheer his soul with joy and comfort, and be attended with no ill consequences.” In each of these cases Berkeley tried to convince his readers that there were higher goods than liberty and truth, thereby dulling two of the freethinkers’ primary rhetorical weapons. More broadly, Berkeley showed how freethinker’s attacks upon religion in the cause of virtue actually succeeded in eroding its foundation. Sarcastically suggesting that these “knight-errants” sought to free humans from “the ties that religion imposeth on our minds, from the expectation of a future judgment, and from the terrors of a troubled conscience,” Berkeley contended that these actions not only failed to reform “men’s lives, but . . . [gave] encouragement to their vices.”69 In a similar manner, he derided the “important truths” taught by the freethinkers and suggested that the freethinkers “would degrade us to an opinion that we are on a level with the beasts that perish.” 70 Since the freethinkers lacked an understanding of what Berkeley believed to be the true “good,” he concluded that “their endeavors, instead of advancing the cause of liberty and truth, tend only to introduce slavery and error among men.”71 Berkeley’s contention that the freethinkers were actually limiting human freedom and undermining the cause of truth was premised upon his view of human nature. He contended that humans not only possessed a “baser” nature moved by the “senses and passions,” but also a higher, “more noble and rational” part.72 While willing to accept the claim that the freethinkers

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wanted to improve the lot of humanity, he argued that their assessment of the power of reason to motivate humans was unrealistic. Thus, while Berkeley observed that the “sober Free-thinkers tell you, that virtue indeed is beautiful, and vice deformed . . . [and that] the former deserves your love, and the latter your abhorrence,” he went on to suggest that by encouraging their readers to applaud virtues “for their own sake, or on account of the good and evil which immediately attend them,” freethinkers were acting “treacherously in the cause of virtue.” This was because their attacks on religion effectively destroyed or weakened what Berkeley believed to be the strongest motive for virtue: the expectation of a future life. Stressing the “baser” side of human nature Berkeley ridiculed the freethinkers’ overvaluation of reason, claiming that they “must be destitute of passion themselves, and unacquainted with the force it hath on the minds of others” if they believed that the dispassionate pursuit of virtue could be “sufficient to sustain the mind of man in a severe course of self-denial against all the temptations of the present profit and sensuality.”73 For Berkeley, the key to maintaining virtue among humanity was an appreciation of the power of religion to rein in the excesses of the passions and provide a broader framework for understanding the place of humans within a providential plan. Only by maintaining the prohibitions and exhortations of religious thought could individuals hope to ensure the greatest happiness for all. The problem with the freethinkers, from this point of view, was their failure to comprehend this grand design. With these criticisms in mind Berkeley advanced a number of “cures” for the errors of freethinking, raising the hope that these individuals could be brought to see the pernicious consequences of their arguments. Since the crux of his argument against the freethinkers was his stress on their “short-sightedness,” Berkeley’s exhortations were premised upon methods aimed at expanding their minds. Not surprisingly, given his earlier writings, he noted that the study of philosophy and the natural sciences were helpful in this regard. While these were important, Berkeley was even more optimistic about the beneficial effects that could be garnered by the study of the Christian religion. In an important passage, Berkeley argued that the greatness of things is comparative; and this does not only hold in respect of extension, but likewise in respect of dignity, duration, and all kinds of perfection. Astronomy opens the mind, and alters our judgment, with regard to the magnitude of extended beings; but Christianity produceth an universal greatness of soul. Philosophy encreaseth our views in every respect, but Christianity extends them to a degree beyond the light of nature.74

Berkeley believed that only by inculcating religious thought could the passions be restrained and humans be motivated toward truly virtuous action.


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Thus, he lamented the freethinkers’ efforts “to ridicule Christians as men of narrow understandings, and to pass themselves upon the world for persons of superior sense, and more enlarged views.” 75 Rather than seeing the freethinkers as being at the forefront of virtue Berkeley contended that they were acting as drains upon the rest of humanity, advocating pernicious doctrines that were destined to undermine human happiness and lead individuals into despair. He assaulted them personally and philosophically, seeking to use rational arguments against their supposed champions and thereby pave the way for a renewal of Christian religion. Whether he was successful or not is a different question but, in his quarrel with Collins, Berkeley mobilized a number of striking images to support his contention that reason and religion could be compatible.

V. Conclusion During the course of the deist controversy both Toland and Collins argued that reason should act as the final criterion for determining truth, challenging institutional and traditional forms of authority that limited the individual pursuit of knowledge and certainty. Their tracts advanced criticisms of religion that have often been associated with traditional notions of the Enlightenment, especially those of the French philosophes, yet within the English and Irish contexts these positions were complicated by the philosophical orientation of their opponents within the established Church. Browne and Synge both were well equipped to pen weighty tomes that addressed the epistemological issues raised by Toland, but their very erudition undermined their popular appeal and prevented them from quelling the deist controversy. Berkeley’s jeremiads against the freethinkers in the pages of The Guardian drew upon his earlier interests in perspectives and perception, castigating his opponents for threatening the stability of the state. The message of this attack resonated on both sides of the Irish Sea, since many of the charges he raised could also apply to contemporary disputes in Ireland. Even more importantly in terms of Berkeley’s intellectual development, these essays marked his engagement with a more popular, less philosophic, audience. Berkeley quickly mastered this rhetorical strategy and became increasingly engaged with contemporary issues. Not only did he defend orthodox religion and the pursuit of virtue, as befitting a future bishop, but he also began sketching a cosmopolitan vision of “improvement” that drew upon Stoic principles. Taken in conjunction with Berkeley’s “Bond of Society” essay, these pieces show that Berkeley had gained proficiency in writing for a more

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popular audience. Whereas his earlier works had been aimed at philosophers these essays were extremely accessible, primarily relying upon visual imagery and “commonsense” arguments to undermine his opponents. Berkeley recognized the demands of his audience and sought to construct essays that would work in a popular publication. Still, he was careful to stress the importance of morality and religion as key factors ensuring the stability of society. Thus, these short essays contributed to his goal of inculcating personal morality within his readers: an idea that later was one of the fundamental themes of his 1721 response to the South Sea Bubble, his Essay toward Preventing the Ruin of Great Britain.

Chapter 5 Luxury, Moderation, and the South Sea Bubble

Two of the key problems facing Britain during the early eighteenth century centered on clarifying the place of morality in the marketplace and identifying the role of currency in determining the proper balance between poverty and luxury. The expansion of commercial society led many writers to question how virtue could be preserved while modern financial institutions, such as the national bank and joint-stock companies, dramatically broadened personal and national fiscal opportunities. As individuals sought to negotiate their economic well-being within this world of easy credit and seemingly unfettered economic growth, new forms of wealth challenged the traditional valorization of landed property and called accepted maxims into question. A key moment in the unfolding of this discussion was the bursting of the South Sea bubble in 1720. Not only did this affair traumatize the British financial sector for almost a century, but it also elicited a wide array of political, moral, and economic responses that sought to redefine the place of commerce in British society. At the heart of many of these analyses was a deep concern for the influence of luxury upon citizens and society. While a powerful strand of classical thought had long denounced luxury as “the root of all evils,” the seventeenth-century “discourse of trade” literature had begun to undermine this belief.1 For these writers luxury served an important role in encouraging commercial growth, innovation, and production. Additionally, this pursuit of commercial advantage and luxury goods helped spark a widespread interest in financial speculation, as individuals sought their fortunes in the emerging stock markets—a pursuit that led to disaster in 1720. Thus, by the time of the South Sea Bubble, British thinkers were

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faced with the task of reconciling these economic interpretations of national greatness with more ethically driven views of social advancement.2 In 1721, fresh from a continental tour as the tutor to George Ashe, George Berkeley entered this debate with his Essay towards Preventing the Ruin of Great Britain (RGB). In this piece, Berkeley set forth an analysis of Britain’s plight that highlighted the thin line that a nation needed to walk between the extremes of luxurious decadence and frugal barbarism—an idea termed the “mediocrity of money” thesis.3 Berkeley’s discussion of Britain’s problems highlighted the moral and economic affects of luxury and provided the foundation for his later analyses of Ireland. In the end, by imbuing his economic theories with an ethical dimension, Berkeley sought to escape from the cycle of “human folly, that as industry produces wealth, so wealth should produce vice, and vice ruin” (RGB 85). This chapter locates Berkeley’s RGB within its intellectual and social contexts. The former centers on the moral and economic effects of luxury and frugality on society, beginning in the classical world and running through the late seventeenth century. The second context of Berkeley’s piece stems from the spectacular failure of the emerging French and British stock markets brought about by bold financial experiments. These contexts provide the backdrop against which Berkeley’s proposals for the amelioration of Britain were constructed: plans that later formed the core of his solutions for the problems facing Ireland during the 1730s.

I. Returning to London Following the demise of The Guardian in October 1713 Berkeley left Britain for his first tour of Europe, acting as Lord Peterborough’s chaplain on his trip to witness the coronation of the new Sicilian king.4 While on the continent Berkeley traveled through France, possibly meeting with French theologian Nicholas Malebranche while in Paris, before crossing the Alps into Italy.5 The group returned to England late in the summer, just about the time of Queen Anne’s death (August 1), where Berkeley remained until the autumn of 1716. While in London Berkeley published his Advice to the Tories, which not only took the Pretender’s supporters to task but also raised concerns about the moral state of Britain that would become a staple of his social criticism. This short pamphlet was grounded in a firm belief that the stability of the state required strong religious convictions. He observed that fears over “the wickedness of the times” has been constantly repeated throughout history, but that “in the present age, vice and skepticism join their forces to destroy Christianity. If men were wicked in former times, their wickedness was

LUXURY, MODERATION, AND THE SOUTH SEA BUBBLE

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attended with remorse and shame. But now they are openly and courageously wicked, being so upon principle.”6 Writing “not as a Politician . . . but as a Christian” Berkeley strongly argued for the legitimacy of 1689 and stressed that if the Tories broke their oaths, it would not only “prove the greatest Injury to the Church,” but would also “be destructive of all Religion.”7 This stress on the established church reflected Berkeley’s belief that Christianity was crucial for ensuring the stability of the state both in Britain and Ireland. Despite this effort to counter the popular image of himself as harboring Jacobite sympathies, Berkeley was denied the preferment of St. Paul’s Church in Dublin.8 With his options in Dublin limited, in 1716 Berkeley began a second continental tour; this time as the tutor to the invalid son of the bishop of Clogher. During this trip Berkeley lost his draft of the second part of his Principles of Human Knowledge and, much to the consternation of scholars, never rewrote it. Crossing the Alps by midwinter Berkeley’s party soon reached Rome via Turin, where they stayed for three months.9 For the next three years Berkeley and his charge traveled throughout Italy, visiting most of the major cities before arriving in London in the autumn of 1720. During his return Berkeley passed through France, where he may have learned of the spectacular failure of John Law’s Mississippi scheme. This financial plan had been devised to help France rein in the public debt through the use of joint-stock companies and provided the model for the South Sea Company in England. Throughout the first half of 1720, Law’s system crumbled and great fortunes were made and lost. By the time he reached London, cracks had already begun to appear in the South Sea Company: the “bubble” was about to burst. For many writers the bursting of the South Sea Bubble encapsulated the numerous problems facing Britain. Corruption, luxury, and private interest were all seen as contributing to the degeneration of the nation and it was within this immediate social context that Berkeley wrote his Essay. This essay critiqued the contemporary social order and suggested strategies for the amelioration of current problems. The bubble triggered these thoughts in Berkeley, not because it was the cause of the ills facing Britain (and by extension Ireland), but rather because it was the most visible symptom of the underlying problems of the time (RGB 84).

II. Morality and Luxury: Sallust to the English Discourse of Trade Pamphleteers The question of luxury posed a great moral challenge to thinkers of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Following a classical tradition,

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excessive luxury was believed to weaken virtue and expose nations to corruption.10 This moralizing critique was often linked to an economic analysis that stressed the danger luxury raised for national security. During the seventeenth century, an increased concern for commercial affairs forced a reevaluation of these negative assessments of luxury and the articulation of an “economized” defense of luxury. At the same time some writers began to question the financial sources of national greatness, giving rise to the belief that states need to find the balance between having too much and too little wealth in order to prosper. Known as the “mediocrity of money” thesis, this idea served as a touchstone between positive and negative judgments of luxury in society. One of the hallmarks of Berkeley’s schooling was an appreciation for classical literature.11 Throughout his works he cited passages from Cicero, Caesar, and Sallust to buttress his arguments with the “maxims of antiquity.” This tendency was particularly strong when he addressed the question of luxury and Berkeley’s analysis of its influence bore a clear debt to these classical moralists. Of course the legacy of these works was not limited to Berkeley, since until the eighteenth century “it was the Roman response to ‘luxury’ that attained paradigmatic status in discussions of virtue and corruption.”12 In these works, moral virtue and martial values were identified as the source of Rome’s original strength. According to the traditional narrative of Rome’s decline, the introduction of luxury and corruption undermined these traits and led to the degeneration of the nation.13 Although a number of historical events were seen as possible causes for this decline, the majority of these texts pointed to the second century BCE as the moment when luxury entered into Roman life. Thus, Livy cited the victorious return of Manlius Vulso’s troops from “Asia” in 187 BCE as bearing the seeds that would eventually flower into luxurious decadence.14 For Polybius, the importation of luxuries from Macedonia began in 168 BCE and resulted in the “universal supremacy of Rome” and the “prodigious display of wealth and splendor both in public life and in private.”15 In both these cases, as was typical for Roman historians writing in this tradition, luxury was seen as entering Rome from an outside source. Part of the reason for this stress on the external origins of luxury centered on the result of its arrival: corruption, decay, and eventual ruin. Typically, it was assumed that once luxury entered a nation, its spread was almost impossible to stop. Thus, the task of the moralist was to prevent luxury from entering in the first place or at least to curtail its influence. Given the dominance of this theme in Roman histories, it is useful to consider how the argument that luxury corrupts nations was used by one of the foremost figures in this tradition: Sallust.16 The choice of Sallust is also important for the purpose of discussing Berkeley’s Essay, since in


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the preface to this piece Berkeley included a tag line from Sallust’s Bellum Catilina.17 Thus, describing Sallust’s interpretation of the role of luxury in society and its link to corruption will help illuminate Berkeley’s own belief in the detrimental effects of luxury. Both Sallust’s Bellum Catilina and Bellum Jugurthinum advanced a number of themes that would later resonate in eighteenth-century Britain, providing a powerful interpretation of how moral corruption led to national decline.18 According to Sallust, the city of Rome was originally founded upon martial prowess and austerity—encouraged by the constant threat of invasion—which produced a people willing to endure hardship and discipline.19 The ethic underlying this society valued praise and glory far more than money and stressed the importance of harmony (concordia) over faction; thus, public spirit and virtue ensured the harmonious functioning of society.20 Although Sallust’s idealized reading of the early years of Roman government portrayed this period as one of pristine “virtus,” it also contained within it the seeds of later decline.21 For Sallust the process of decline at the heart of this model flowed from the defeat of Carthage in 146 BCE. In Catiline Sallust suggested that this decline stemmed from the intervention of fortune, personified as a supernatural force governed by chance. He claimed that “when Carthage, the rival of Rome’s sway, had perished root and branch, and all seas and lands were open, then Fortune began to grow cruel and to bring confusion into all our affairs.”22 This theme was repeated in the Bellum Jugurthinum, where Sallust noted the role played by “fortune,” but stressed that “fortune can neither give to any man honesty, diligence, and other good qualities, nor can she take them away.”23 Accordingly, fortune could be mastered through the exercise of virtue, which would allow humans to “control fate rather than be controlled by it.”24 By linking virtue with control, Sallust implied that the downfall of Rome was due to the disintegration of Roman virtue: had they remained true to their original ethic, Rome would have been less susceptible to decline.25 In his schematization of Roman history, Sallust suggested that the introduction of luxury marked the final stage of a process of decline initiated by avarice and ambition: two vices seen by Sallust (and later Berkeley) as the “root of all evil.” He contended that Sulla’s army, returning from Asia, acted as the driving force behind the dissemination of luxury. To maintain the loyalty of his troops Sulla allowed his army to indulge in “luxury and license,” which “easily demoralized the warlike spirit of his soldiers.” Whereas avarice and ambition contributed to the general decay of Roman virtue, luxury represented an advanced form of avarice that spread throughout all levels of society—particularly as the nation reaped the economic spoils of empire.26 As luxury became an acceptable goal the

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bonds joining individual Romans to the larger community disintegrated, private replaced public interest, and luxury overshadowed virtuous frugality. Thus, according to Sallust factionalism, idleness, and greed were implicated in the decline of Rome. Sallust’s depiction of luxury remained powerful through the early modern period, providing an important moral critique of luxury and explanation for its effects upon the political order. Between the fall of Rome and the seventeenth century, this model served as a touchstone for those who sought to understand the rise and fall of states.27 It was not until the seventeenth century that the moral interpretation of luxury was challenged, particularly in England. As English commerce expanded, luxury’s economic role was reassessed and “demoralized” (or “economized”). This, in turn, led a number of thinkers to advance defenses of luxury premised upon its ability to encourage economic growth, thereby providing a support for the growing equation of national health with wealth. Since this tradition of thought was particularly popular in the years before 1720, it represents an important context for explaining Berkeley’s Essay. In the year 1600 few writers would defend luxury on a moral level, but economic arguments against it were increasingly less sacrosanct. Through interpretations of trade, the idea that the careful use of luxury could be beneficial to the state began to gain acceptance on two levels. First, some thinkers believed that by harnessing the natural inclination toward prodigality, luxury could spur industry and facilitate commerce within the nation. Commerce in turn would “soften” and “civilize” individuals within society. The second aspect of the economic defense of luxury stemmed from the problem of determining to what extent it should be allowed to exist before introducing checks against it. The main issue here centered on the influence of luxury upon the state’s international status: following a commonly accepted mercantilist position, it was feared that too much luxury could result in an unfavorable “balance of trade” that would threaten national security.28 Thus, while many believed that the threshold of accepted luxury should be kept as low as possible, their position was not unchallenged. Albert Hirschman has argued that during the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries a discourse concerning the civilizing influence of commerce developed. This language, termed “doux-commerce” by Hirschman, stressed the “douceur of commerce.”29 At the heart of this interpretation was an appreciation for the “softening” and “polishing” effects of commerce upon civilization. A key result of this convention was the sense that a nation must have a certain degree of commerce to advance. Nonetheless, despite the necessity of commerce for the civilizing process, there were also dangers associated with it. The most notable of these stemmed from the challenge of


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too much emphasis on commerce, expressed by the economic and continuing moral fear of luxury. In place of luxurious vice, frugality should be encouraged. Here, it was the opposition between luxury and frugality that served as the fulcrum upon which the economic argument turned. Advocates of this argument recognized the delicacy of this situation, in which frugality was seen as being essential to “commercial development and to the preservation of civilized values, within a commercial environment whose very expansion threatened those values in fundamental ways.”30 One of the first articulations of this position was Francis Bacon, who observed that “treasure does advance [national] greatness where it is rather in mediocrity than in great abundance.” The problem, as he saw it, lay in the fact that “excesses of riches” and “surfeit” of treasure both could lead to national ruin. Bacon found a solution to this dilemma by suggesting that a nation’s money should be in as “many hands as possible.”31 Provided that these individuals exercised frugality and avoided luxuries such as fashionable apparel, Bacon argued that spreading wealth throughout the state would spur industry and production. This argument, explaining the thin line a nation must tread between barbarism, on the one hand, and luxury, decadence, and corruption on the other, soon became a staple of the English discourse of trade literature. For instance, in his pamphlet A Discourse of Trade (1621), Thomas Mun contended that “industry to increase and frugality to maintain are the true watch words of a kingdom’s treasury.”32 While Mun suggested that frugality played an important role in facilitating commerce, he cautioned against placing too much stock in this virtue. Mun claimed that “all kind of Bounty and Pomp [are] not to be avoided, for if we should become so frugal that we would use few or no Forraign wares, how shall we then vent our own commodities?”33 Luxury consumption could be defended on the grounds that it encouraged other nations to increase their imports of English goods, which in turn would strengthen England’s economy. Still, he was careful to interject a moral critique of wealth into his text, when he cautioned that states “ought religiously to avoid our common excesses of food and rayment, which is growne to such a height in most degrees of people (above their abilitie) that it is now beyond all example of former ages.”34 Thus, while luxuries could be beneficial to the state, by stimulating domestic production and foreign consumption, it was important to keep them from gaining too much influence upon the nation’s virtue.35 The key was to strike a balance between the two extremes, encouraging “moderate spending” that could allow for economic expansion but would avoid excessive consumption. In a similar vein, Rice Vaughan’s influential tract, A Discourse of Coin and Coinage (1675), proposed to examine the “history of money,”

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questioning, “what proportion of money [is] fittest for the [preservation of the] commonwealth.”36 Vaughan utilized language informed by Bacon’s mediocrity of money thesis, suggesting that just as “the want of money makes the life of citizens penurious and barbarous, so the over-great abundance of money makes their lives luxurious and wanton.”37 In light of this dichotomy, Vaughan suggested that “industriousness” could alleviate the first problem, while a mediocrity of money policy could dispense with the second. Berry argues that the original model of decline brought about by luxury was not believed to be self-correcting; that is, once the sequence of decay began, there was no way to stop it. During the early seventeenth century, with the rise of “economic” models, it was now thought possible to stop this process through the use of trade legislation and moral retrenchment.38 This idea provided the foundation for an interpretation of economic cycles. The first part of this argument stressed the need for states to bolster profits from foreign trade, which would spur industry and provide the nation with a surplus of money that could be used in the event of war. Furthermore, domestic production would rise, causing higher exports and profits. The problem with this situation was the fact that as exports rose the quantity of money in the nation would rise, leading to increased prices. Along with rising prices national competitiveness would fall in relation to other states, and the economy would begin to decline.39 The best way to avoid this fate (according to this line of thought) was to prevent too much money from entering into circulation. This would prevent the spread of luxury goods, which hastened the rise of prices and sapped industry, and also ensure that money would remain diffused throughout society. Thus, by discerning the fine line between too much and too little wealth in a society, it was possible to ensure the prosperity of the majority of its members. An essential part of this process centered on identifying both the positive and negative roles luxury played in trade, disengaging these economic analyses from the traditional moral ones. While the mediocrity of money argument helped justify limited consumption a more purely economic defense of luxury increasingly gained acceptance over the course of the seventeenth century, reaching its pinnacle in Nicholas Barbon’s influential Discourse of Trade (1690). In the Preface to this pamphlet, Barbon noted that commerce only came to be seen favorably when “trade became necessary to provide Weapons of War.”40 This view of national power, as embodied by Defoe’s statement that “ ‘tis the longest purse and not the longest sword that conquers nations,” suggested that wealth played an essential role in preserving the security of commercial states.41 This reading of international relations led Barbon to suggest that if luxury consumption helped strengthen the national economy, its effects on


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individuals could be discounted. Thus, Barbon rejected Mun’s earlier calls for “Parsimony, Frugality, and Sumptuary Laws, as the means to make a Nation Rich,” on the grounds that these virtues might be “true, of a Person, but not of a Nation.”42 As a result, Barbon contended that “[p]rodigality is a Vice that is prejudicial to the Man, but not to Trade.”43 Foreshadowing Bernard Mandeville’s later equation of “private vices” with “public virtue,” Barbon claimed that liberal spending practices served a valuable purpose for the nation. Barbon also argued that the main use of trade is “to make, and provide things Necessary Or useful for the Support, Defence, Ease, Pleasure, and Pomp of Life.” The last of these, trades “imploy’d to express the Pomp of Life” were believed to be “Infinite” and formed the basis of Barbon’s defense of luxury.44 According to Barbon trades catering to the basic necessities were important but, since they were relatively limited in scope, they were not as valuable to national greatness as those that aimed to satisfy humans’ infinite wants. This clearly marked a departure from the hitherto dominant Aristotelian view of “limited wants.”45 Of particular importance to Barbon were those goods associated with “fashion,” which “occasions the Expence of Cloaths before the Old ones are worn out: It is the Spirit and Life of Trade.”46 Since Barbon held that trade was essential to the stability and security of the nation, the fact that luxury items were crucial to this commercial development suggests that economically, goods associated with the “pomp of life” were valuable parts of society. While economic pioneers such as Barbon were valorizing the benefits of luxury to commerce, it is important to recognize that the moral argument against luxury did not disappear. Despite these challenges, it continued to play an important rhetorical role during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries: on an ethical level, “luxury” and “frugality” were still powerful words that formed the basis of an influential language that sought to shape human actions. By explaining human motivation through recourse to their acquisitive desires, it became possible to outline ethical guidelines for the emerging commercial society. For instance, Sir George Mackenzie’s The Moral History of Frugality (1691) explicitly rejected the notion that luxury could play a beneficial role in society and stressed the importance of frugality for ensuring national strength. Voicing ideas that would have found hearty approval from Sallust, Mackenzie contended that luxury “debased the mind,” made men “soft,” and reduced them to “slavery.”47 For him, the only real strategy for ensuring a strong state was to adopt a position founded upon the mediocrity of money thesis. He claimed that it was in the interests of all men “to hold the Scales equal, betwixt Riches and Poverty.”48 For Mackenzie, and many others on the cusp of the eighteenth century, the traditional moral view of luxury as a harbinger of

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doom remained in sharp contrast to the increasingly economic justifications for commercial diversification. These interpretations of luxury played a crucial role in shaping the way the emerging commercial society of the eighteenth century envisioned the relationship between morality and marketplace. These works form the intellectual context within which England’s Financial Revolution of the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries occurred. Concurrent with these new emphases on luxury, changes in consumer spending also had dramatic effects upon the commercial system. In 1720 many of these innovations came to a dramatic head, with the advent of the South Sea Bubble fiasco.

III. The South Sea Bubble: The Social Context of Berkeley’s Essay The financial “bubbles” of the early eighteenth century, such as the Mississippi scheme that shook France in 1719 and the South Sea Bubble that enveloped Britain a year later, were important moments in the evolution of the modern commercial system.49 Led by innovative financiers, the Mississippi and South Sea companies both sought to help their governments deal with the problem of rising national debts. In each case, private companies were used to restructure government debt through the use (and eventual abuse) of private stock: the “bubble” referred to the dramatic expansion in both the quantity and value of these stocks. This inflation was based on a gossamer-thin foundation that ultimately attracted investors from across society into an ever-widening scheme. The speculation associated with these bubbles ran across class and gender lines, as women began to enter into commercial society in unprecedented numbers, much to the consternation of contemporary moralists.50 As additional bubbles appeared—smaller companies who sought to take advantage of consumer optimism—this system failed and the “bubbles” burst, showering investors with now-worthless stock and dim financial prospects, thus precipitating the first international stock market speculative boom and bust in European history. John Law first experimented with the privatization of national debt in France, using the Compagnie des Indes to finance the Banque Royale in 1719. Until early 1720, popular enthusiasm soared as speculators flocked to purchase shares in his Mississippi plan. Across the English Channel, Law’s model appealed to British financiers who saw parallels between the crushing national debt that had afflicted both economies. Like France


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Britain had incurred a huge debt, valued at £49,902,762, during the early years of the century.51 When news of Law’s early successes trickled into London through the British ambassador at Paris (Lord Stair), the question of Britain’s national debt came to the fore. Just as the government became interested in this problem, private operators were struck by the profitability of the model posed by Law’s Compagnie des Indes. One of the most innovative groups of speculators was running the South Sea Company. Robert Harley, then at the head of the Tory government, had set up the South Sea Company in 1711 as an alternative to the Whig-dominated Bank of England and East India Company.52 After its creation, the South Sea Company was granted the right to purchase £10 million of the government debt in return for a monopoly of trade to the South Seas (Spanish South America).53 The terms of the Asiento Treaty that granted the South Sea Company these trading rights were not particularly lucrative and as a result between 1713 and 1719 the Company’s only reliable source of income came from servicing the national debt.54 Thus, on the eve of 1719 the South Sea Company was an institution with some financial clout in the circles of government, yet illustrated little potential for dramatic growth. Inspired by Law’s plan in 1719 the leading director of the Company, John Blunt, undertook a massive reorganization. To some commentators, the fact that Law had complete control of the French economy suggested that the directors of the South Sea Company aimed for the same goal in Britain.55 By 1720 the South Sea Company proposed to assume the entire National Debt, offering to give holders of the government debt stock in exchange for their securities. For the privilege of making this potentially lucrative transaction, the Company sweetened the pot by dangling the offer of £1.5 million in front of the government: money that was to be a “gift to the nation,” not a loan.56 Blunt’s hopes for an easy coup were dashed during the parliamentary debate, when advocates of the Bank of England suggested that their proposal should be considered. After they submitted their plan Parliament decided to grant both institutions time to revise their offers, which were debated in Parliament on 1 February 1720. The Bank’s design was an improvement over the South Sea Company’s original one. They offered £5.5 million for the privilege of assuming the debt, but specified that the conversion of debt to stock would be undertaken at a fixed rate of £170 debt to £100 bank stock. For their part, the South Sea Company increased its bid to £4 million and further agreed to pay a sum to the government based on the amount of annuities converted; however, Blunt and the Company were not willing to specify the rate of exchange in advance. The Whig ministry overlooked this “minor” fact, persuaded in part by a number of large bribes.57 Thus, the South Sea

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Company was allowed to convert over three-fifths of the National Debt (£31,000,000) into private stock.58 The two key features of this agreement were the facts that the ratio of government debt to be exchanged for South Sea stock was not fixed and that the Company was authorized to increase its stock “as necessary” to facilitate the conversion. The Company would only make a profit if it could weigh the terms of the exchange against the government’s creditors. If they could convert the entire national debt with the price of stock at a high level, the Company stood to gain handsomely. As a result the directors of the Company had a natural interest in a rising market, which they facilitated by encouraging speculation. The Sword Blade Company offered easy loans for the purchase of stock and prices soon rose dramatically.59 In January 1720, the price of Company stock stood at £128, by April it sold for £302, and June saw the price rise from £610 to £754. Fueled by speculation, prices peaked in early June at £950.60 Throughout the first half of 1720 the rising price of stock offered an almost irresistible lure to all types of investors: from the wealthy foreign speculator, to the cash-starved nobility, to the humble merchant. There appeared to be no limits to the potential heights this stock would reach and consumer confidence skyrocketed through July 1720. A number of factors contributed to this rosy view of the market. First and foremost was the news from Paris—the dizzying pinnacles reached by the Mississippi Company convinced London investors that the South Sea Company was too good of an opportunity to miss. Additionally, the managers of the South Sea Company were particularly adept at controlling media representations of their venture. They also made masterful use of financial innovations, experimenting with new techniques for offering credit to people who were more than willing to accept it. In 1720 about 2,300 people borrowed money from the Company to purchase its own stock, with the average loan being £4,900.61 This massive extension of credit was only seen as excessive after the bubble burst. Finally, a general euphoria encouraging speculation enveloped London in general and Exchange Alley in particular.62 In a vicious cycle, as people were drawn to buy the ever-appreciating stock, the scene in Exchange Alley grew increasingly frantic, particularly as other entrepreneurs tried to take advantage of the popular speculation. Looking back over this period, Paul Chamberlen claimed that Britain had been “under the direction” of “the Emperor of the Moon” for the duration of the bubble, not only because the British were “professed Admirers” of “Lunaticks,” but also due to the fact that their actions in 1720 illustrated “the full extent of [his] power.”63 A great number of other “bubbles” appeared throughout London during the summer of 1720: new joint-stock companies whose sole purpose, it seemed, was to encourage


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financial gambling. Most of these companies were short-lived operations and some only lasted for a single day. In this heady atmosphere at least 80 other bubble companies formed, some of which had practical aims (“the making of iron and steel in Great Britain” or “for paving the streets of London”), while others were a bit more fantastic (“extracting silver from lead,” or building “a wheel for perpetual motion”).64 During this period an ingenious card-maker published a pack of South Sea playing cards, each of which contained, beside the usual features (of a very small size), a caricature of a bubble company. The speculative fever was so intense that stock in some of these bubble companies often sold at a difference of 10 percent from one end of the Alley to the other. Realizing that this wild speculative boom was digging into their own pockets, the directors of the South Sea Company responded to these competitors by calling upon their shareholders in Parliament to pass the Bubble Act of 24 June, which outlawed the existence of unchartered companies. Unfortunately, this did little to counteract the lure of speculation. When writs were served on three unchartered companies in August 1720, the stocks of those who had speculated on these companies fell and these investors had to sell their other holdings, including that of the South Sea Company, to cover their liabilities.65 Public confidence in the market plummeted and the value of all stocks fell dramatically. By 28 September the price of South Sea Company stock had fallen to £190 (which was still higher than the stock had stood on 1 January 1720, when it sold for £128). During this financial calamity those who had the foresight to sell early earned great fortunes, but even more were lost, leading to widespread chaos and confusion. At this point, the financial irregularities of the South Sea Company were publically debated amid charges of widespread corruption. Parliamentary investigators discovered the rampant bribery associated with the directors of the Company and to those who had been wary of the whole scheme in the first place, this proved to be the worst of all possible results. During the parliamentary debate, Lord Molesworth perhaps most forcefully enunciated the popular fury with the directors when he evoked the ancient Roman punishment for parricide and called for them to be sewn up in sacks and thrown in the Thames.66 Molesworth was not alone in considering the directors to be “Traytors [who] out to be punish’d in an extraordinary manner.”67 Perhaps most gruesomely, the anonymous author of A New-Year’s-Gift for the Directors (1721) proposed that these villains be paraded through London before being decapitated and skinned.68 Since the directors of the Company had cultivated close ties with the government these calls for punishment were unheeded and, from a legal standpoint, little was done.

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Despite pleas for justice, many of those implicated in the scandal left the country or were too well placed within the government to receive punishment. Thus public ire was allowed to simmer, enhanced by a spate of publications purporting to explain the events of 1720 in prose and verse.69 For these writers, the bursting of the South Sea Bubble seemed to encapsulate the numerous problems attendant upon the spread of corruption and the pursuit of private interest. In many of these texts the idea of luxury came to occupy a central position, as either a relatively harmless promoter of trade or as the harbinger of national doom. Berkeley’s RGB was an important contribution to this debate, which combined both moralistic and economic analyses of the situation in a manner that would later provide the basis for his work in Ireland.

IV. Berkeley’s Essay: Political Corruption and the Moral Response Berkeley’s Essay shows his deep concern for the role of luxury within society, an appreciation of the ideas associated with the mediocrity of money thesis, and a turn away from the excesses associated with the bubble. In this piece, Berkeley drew upon the ideas of Sallust as he stressed the dangers luxury posed to the stability of society and called for a return to the “frugal” ethics of the state’s founders.70 While advancing this moralized view of luxury, Berkeley also offered an economic argument for balancing luxury and poverty within a nation. Based upon a cyclical view of national prosperity, Berkeley contended that nations must find the mean between too much and too little wealth in order to flourish. To this end he advanced a number of specific proscriptions aimed at curbing the influence of luxury and promoting commercial expansion. One of the primary themes of Berkeley’s Essay was the widespread nature of corruption in Britain. He began this piece by observing the sad state of contemporary affairs, writing that “since it hath pleased God to visit this land, and make us feel the fatal effects of our corruption and folly, it should be our care to profit by this judgment and make it an occasion of our reformation rather than of our final ruin” (RGB 69).71 Berkeley saw the events of 1720 as both a threat and an opportunity. The danger lay in allowing complacency to govern British attitudes. Unless they turned aside from the vices that had “bewitched and debauched the nation,” the British were doomed to become “vile corrupt slaves” to “vices and follies.” Unlike a number of contemporary analyses that blamed the introduction of these vices upon the directors of the South Sea Company or Parliament,


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Berkeley argued that they took root due to a failure of the population to embrace virtue.72 At the same time, if the country could learn from its mistakes, there was the possibility of great reform. While some of the tracts contended that the restoration of national greatness required financial legerdemain, he claimed that the proper response was grounded in morality.73 By “restoring and promoting religion, industry, frugality, and public spirit,” it would be possible for “public happiness and prosperity” to return (RGB 69). Berkeley was not alone in calling for the nation to turn toward virtue—in a similar manner, the anonymous author of The Naked and Undisguis’ d Truth (1721) also linked the “Cure for our dying Country” with an “entire Change wrought in the Minds of Men”—but the majority of the contemporary responses took aim at the directors or Parliament, rather than popular morality.74 One of the keys to Berkeley’s plans centered on countering what he believed to be a lack of public spirit. Although public spirit is the “glorious principle of all that is great and good,” and is affirmed by “right reason and the maxims of antiquity,” the present age had rejected it (RGB 79 and 82). Instead, Britain had fallen under the sway of an “atheistical narrow spirit, centering all our cares upon private interest” (RGB 79). The lure of private interest undermined society by promoting a series of vices that fed the corruption of the age. Berkeley indicted the practices of bribery and perjury as being “common” ways in which the public spirit was demeaned (RGB 83).75 As a result, Berkeley claimed that “vice and villainy have by degrees grown reputable among us. . . . In short, other nations have been wicked, but we are the first who have been wicked on principle” (RGB 84).76 Still, despite this grim assessment of British morality, Berkeley believed that certain actions could reverse the course of national decline. Premiering arguments that would later be staples of his Irish work, Berkeley suggested that the corrupting influence of private interest could be countered on both religious and political levels. First, Berkeley believed that fostering “a true sense of religion” could ensure the virtue of the people, since it would force individuals to consider a future state of rewards and punishments and thus make private sacrifice in this life more appealing (RGB 79).77 Furthermore, Berkeley linked religious belief with patriotism, contending that the two were mutually supportive. He observed that “religion hath in former days been cherished and reverenced by wise patriots and lawgivers, as knowing it to be impossible that a nation should thrive and flourish without virtue, or that virtue should subsist without conscience, or conscience without religion” (RGB 69). Acknowledging that appeals to religion might fall upon deaf ears, Berkeley also prescribed a number of political tactics designed to minimize the appeal of private interest.

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Berkeley’s call for government action developed along two lines. Citing the example of the ancient Greeks, the first of these highlighted the value of having the legislature “regulate the public diversions by an absolute prohibition of those which have a direct tendency to corrupt our morals” (RGB 78). Objecting to the dangers of “our gaming, our operas, our masquerades,” Berkeley argued that Britain should forsake these luxurious forms of “elegant entertainment” (RGB 77 and 79). Instead, care should be exercised to encourage only diversions that provided “those fine lessons of morality and good sense to the Athenians of old, and to our British gentry above a century ago” (RGB 78). Berkeley also argued that a government could turn self-interest toward the public good by making “the natural love of fame and reputation subservient to promoting” public spirit. The construction of “triumphal arches, columns, statues, inscriptions, and the like monuments of public services” could potentially enflame public spirit throughout the nation (RGB 79).78 Properly used, monuments could also discourage actions against the public interest. Drawing inspiration from his travels in Italy, Berkeley posited the idea of erecting a “pillar of infamy” to signify spectacular breaches of the public interest and to provide a “proper and exemplary punishment . . . where the loss of fortune, liberty, or life, are not proportions to the crime, or where the skill of the offender, or the nature of his offence, may screen him from the letter of the law” (RGB 79–80).79 Using both the carrot and the stick, Berkeley believed that the British government could promote public spirit and revitalize the nation’s virtue. In his RGB, Berkeley’s analysis of Britain’s moral degeneration followed the Roman model presented by Sallust. Berkeley believed public spirit was essential to ensuring personal virtue and that it played an important role in securing the stability of the state. He claimed that “concord and union among ourselves is rather to be hoped for as an effect of public spirit than proposed as a means to promote it” (RGB 81).80 His call for a return to public spirit was accompanied by a moral imperative as well. Echoing Sallust, Berkeley warned that luxury corrupted virtue and that there was a need to return to the ethic of the nation’s founders. In a manner analogous to Sallust’s indictment of fortune, Berkeley suggested that supernatural forces could hasten Britain’s ruin. He warned that attempts to “patch up our affairs . . . will be to no purpose” unless they were part of a larger program of moral reform (RGB 71). Without curing the underlying corruption of manners, Britain would be unprepared to face God’s judgment. Although Berkeley’s analysis did not suggest an apocalyptic end for the nation, he claimed that “the finger of God will unravel all our vain projects, and make them into snares to draw us into greater calamities, if we do not reform that scandalous libertinism which is our worst symptom, and


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the surest prognostic of our ruin” (RGB 71).81 This sense of providential intervention had a natural parallel in France, since news of an outbreak of the plague in Marseilles had just reached London. This link between the financial ruin of France and the spread of disease proved to be a powerful image for many in Britain. Since Law’s Mississippi scheme had first taken place in France, the fact that this nation soon experienced an outbreak of the plague raised the suspicion that these two events might be providentially linked. In some of the more politically oriented pamphlets, such as The Nation Preserved (1720), the influence of Law’s scheme upon the directors is blamed for the “ruin” of the British economy.82 Berkeley took a more religious approach, observing that the “general corruption of manners never faileth to draw after it some heavy judgment of war, famine, or pestilence. Of this we have a fresh instance in one of the most debauched towns of Europe, and nobody knows how soon it may be in our own case” (RGB 78).83 By abandoning the virtues that built the nation, Britain faced a bleak future dominated by decay and ruin. Only through a revitalization of virtue could the country avoid this fate. At the heart of Berkeley’s call for the remoralization of Britain was a need to encourage “simplicity” and “frugality” of manners. Here the language Berkeley used to describe the corrupting effects of luxury echoed Sallust. Condemning luxury as the most dangerous of vices, Berkeley suggested that it “draweth after it a train of evils which cruelly infest the public; faction, ambition, envy, [and] avarice” (RGB 76).84 On a moral level, luxury eroded public virtue and liberty by placing private interest above that of the public. Unable to sacrifice for the greater good, a nation dominated by luxury was doomed to ruin. Drawing upon the lessons of history, Berkeley observed that “we have the experience of many ages to convince us that a corrupt luxurious people must of themselves fall into slavery, although no attempt be made upon them” (RGB 77). By remaking the virtue of frugality, Berkeley suggested that a nation may stave off luxury and thus prevent decline. This emphasis on virtue is even clearer in his analysis of the factors governing a healthy state. Berkeley’s interpretation of national stability was built upon an appreciation for the value of simplicity and frugality. He claimed that frugality of manners is the nourishment and strength of bodies politic. It is that by which they grow and subsist, until they are corrupted by luxury, and natural cause of their decay and ruin. Of this we have examples in the Persians, Lacedaemonians, and Romans, not to mention many later governments which have sprung up, continued a while, and then perished by the same natural causes (RGB 74).85

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Two points need to be made concerning this passage. First, Berkeley believed simplicity of manners was essential for national stability. Luxury posed a grave challenge to public morality, leading to ruin and decay. Second, Berkeley’s interpretation suggested that the process leading from a healthy nation to ruin was governed by “natural causes.” But if it was “natural” for a nation to pass from strength to weakness, what did this imply about the stability of all states? Berkeley understood the pernicious effects of luxury according to the Roman model, suggesting a cyclical pattern of rise and fall. He questioned “whether it be in the order of things that civil States should have, like natural products, their several periods of growth, perfection, and decay” (RGB 85). If this were the case, there would appear to be no possibility for the salvation of Britain. But Berkeley continued by suggesting that national decline may be “an effect, as seems more probable, of human folly that, as industry produces wealth, so wealth should produce vice, and vice ruin” (RGB 85). One reading of this line suggests that Berkeley believed the foundation of empire to be the moral virtue of its citizens. Once a people fell away from this ideal, the decline of the state was inevitable unless a remoralization of society counteracted the effects of “human folly.” Hence Berkeley argued that it was essential for Britain to reinstill virtue and eschew corruption. In this case the cycle of decline could be stopped, if not reversed; rather than “naturally” heading toward ruin, judicious tactics could help Britain regain its former glory. Berkeley contended that luxury posed a moral threat to the stability and virtue of the nation, but he also supported this with an economic argument. He emphasized that a nation must walk a fine line between having too much money in circulation and not enough. In doing so, Berkeley articulated a theory of economic cycles that placed his thought in the mainstream of the economic theory of this time and would later prove instrumental in his analysis of the problems facing the Irish economy in the 1730s. Furthermore, the concrete proposals that Berkeley advanced for the economic reorganization of Britain show his increasing engagement with practical social issues.

V. Economics and the “Mediocrity of Money” Thesis Berkeley incorporated a variant of the mediocrity of money thesis in his analysis of Britain’s condition in 1721, articulating a theory of economic cycles premised on the detrimental effects of luxury and corruption on the


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economy that also harbored within it practical suggestions for national renewal. Throughout his RGB Berkeley repeatedly stressed the importance of frugality and industry, on the grounds that they were “the only sure foundation of public happiness and prosperity” and “the nourishment and strength of bodies politic” (RGB 69 and 74). As we have seen, Berkeley followed Sallust’s argument by highlighting the moral ramifications of luxury, suggesting that luxury “draweth after it a train of evils which cruelly infest the public” and is the “natural cause of their [nation’s] decay and ruin” (RGB 76 and 74). In outlining these effects, Berkeley presented an interpretation of economic cycles based on “human folly.” He claimed that national decline was not necessarily a “natural” process; rather, it was an effect of “human folly” (RGB 85). While this statement can be viewed as part of Berkeley’s moral critique of decline, it can also be seen from the vantage point of the economic innovations associated with the seventeenth-century discourse of trade theorists. Berkeley observed that “men are apt to measure national prosperity by riches” (RGB 74).86 While this would seem to place him squarely in the camp of mercantilists, Berkeley introduced a sophisticated definition of “wealth” to his argument that moved beyond the mere consideration of specie. Rather than valorize money, Berkeley claimed that it would be “righter to measure it [national prosperity] by the use that is made of them [riches]. Where they promote an honest commerce among men, and are motives to industry and virtue, they are, without doubt, of great advantage; but where they are made (as too often happens) an instrument to luxury, they enervate and dispirit the bravest people” (RGB 74–75).87 For Berkeley national wealth was not to be measured by specie, but rather by the practical applications toward which it was used.88 This did not mean that Berkeley was advocating a vast extension of private credit, as was a popular response to the bubble, but rather that he believed that money was necessary to improve the nation when it was used to spur industry and “honest” labor.89 By circulating throughout the nation, riches facilitated commerce and ensured “the slow moderate gains that are to be made by an honest industry” (RGB 71). By this definition, national prosperity was based upon “industry.” Berkeley stressed that “industry is the natural sure way to wealth. This is so true that it is impossible an industrious free people should want the necessaries and comforts of life, or an idle enjoy them under any form of government” (RGB 71).90 Money and credit were both useful for this process only insofar as they “promoteth industry.” This illustrates the first part of the mediocrity-of-money thesis—that there must be enough money in the state to support industry. Berkeley again highlighted the association between industry and the public good, claiming that “money or credit circulating through a nation from hand to hand without producing labour

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and industry in the inhabitants, is direct gaming” (RGB 71). This mention of “gaming” illustrates Berkeley’s indictment of the South Sea Bubble on economic grounds and echoed contemporary authors who lamented how gaming led to the “madness of the People . . . running headlong to their own Destruction.”91 According to Berkeley, economic “gaming” involved the “blind, fortuitous” shifting of specie from one individual to another. Unaffected by “industry or merit,” this movement was detrimental to the public good. Rather, Berkeley suggested “it is an evident folly for any people, instead of prosecuting the old honest methods of industry and frugality, to sit down to a public gaming table and play off their money one to another” (RGB 71).92 As evidenced by the results of the stock-jobbing associated with the South Sea Company, these actions could only result in ruin. The rapid exchange of fortunes inherent in this type of system could, on the one hand, lead to “abandoned luxury and wantoness, or, on the other, but extreme madness and despair” (RGB 71). Thus, too much money led to the second part of the mediocrity-of-money thesis: luxury and decline. Faced with these problems in 1721, Berkeley proposed a number of economic plans for the revitalization of Britain. These prescriptions took two forms and provided a starting point for his later proposals for Ireland in The Querist. First, Berkeley outlined a series of internal “projects” to encourage both domestic industry and foreign commerce. These reforms were aimed at economic production and in ensuring an adequate supply of money for the state. At the same time, Berkeley also suggested techniques Britain could use to curb the influence of luxury, thereby preventing the nation from having too much money. In this case Berkeley’s tactics focused on the need to govern consumption. Taken together, Berkeley believed that these innovations could help to alleviate the “human folly” fueling the cycle of ruin and could produce a stable monetary policy. Berkeley’s domestic plans were predicated on the belief that the poor tax was a key to reforming the economy. He claimed that “there is no country in Europe where there is so much charity collected for the poor, and none where it is so ill managed” (RGB 72).93 Given this state of affairs, Berkeley proposed that for seven years Parliament should raise a sum equal to the average annual yield of the poor tax. This money could then be used “frugally and prudently” to produce “workhouses,” which would “for ever free the nation from the care of providing for the poor, and at the same time considerably improve our manufactures” (RGB 72).94 If this strategy were adopted idle beggars would be removed from the streets, while children, the maimed, and the blind could be usefully employed.95 Furthermore, if this tax were continued for three more years, the proceeds could support the development of infrastructure, such as building high roads and


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making rivers more navigable. Thus he concluded that “in the space of ten years the public may be for ever freed from a heavy tax, industry encouraged, commerce facilitated, and the whole country improved, and all this only by a frugal honest management” (RGB 72). While these reforms would enhance industry, Berkeley believed that they would not go far enough toward ensuring national prosperity. Rather than supporting only existing industries, Berkeley thought it was necessary to seek “invention or improvement in most trades and manufactures” (RGB 73).96 Citing the example of the Dutch trade in black cloth, Berkeley contended that the British should seek technical innovations that could break into this market. As encouragement for this type of improvement, he introduced an idea similar to intellectual property rights. Noting that the man who had devised a new scarlet dye that revolutionized British industry was a pauper, Berkeley argued that he should receive “an honourable maintenance from the public” (RGB 73). This arrangement could encourage innovation and thus improve manufacturing. At the core of these proposals for revitalizing industry was Berkeley’s belief in the need to bolster domestic production and consumption.97 He claimed that there are “several manufactures which we have from abroad that may be carried on to as great perfection here as elsewhere” (RGB 73). Products requiring intensive labor, such as tapestry, lace, and linen could be manufactured domestically rather than imported. Setting up these industries in areas with low labor costs would “employ many hands, and save money to the nation as well as bring it from abroad” (RGB 73–74). By thus bringing wealth into the country and allowing it to circulate, industry would improve and production would increase. While these proposals targeted areas where British industry could be improved, Berkeley also suggested ways the government could influence consumption. Again, the primary problem identified by Berkeley was luxury. In order to combat luxury, Berkeley advocated sumptuary laws. He admitted that “in former times the natural plainness and good sense of the English made them less necessary,” but the strength of the current peril facing Britain needed to be met with drastic measures (RGB 76).98 He observed that “a private family in difficult circumstances, all men agree, ought to melt down their plate, walk on foot, retrench the number of their servants, wear neither jewels nor rich clothes, and deny themselves expensive diversions; and why not the public?” (RGB 76). According to Berkeley, the immorality of the age prevented Britain from taking responsibility for its debts. Berkeley claimed that “it is very remarkable that luxury was never at so great a height, nor spread so generally through the nation, as during the expense of the late wars, and the heavy debt that still lieth upon us” (RGB 76).99

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For Berkeley a sure sign of luxurious corruption was the extensive trade in fashionable attire. Berkeley argued that “there being nothing more apt to debase the virtue and good sense of our gentry of both sexes than the trifling vanity of apparel which we have learned from France” (RGB 75).100 Quoting a long passage from Isaiah, Berkeley equated fashion with pestilence and repeated his call for the use of sumptuary laws. Still, Berkeley cautioned against a general prohibition of luxury goods; rather, he called for “sumptuary laws judiciously framed, not to damage our trade, but [to] retrench our luxury” (RGB 77). By following this course of action, as shown by the example of the Dutch, Britain could increase both its trade and industry. By outlining his economic proposals for Britain, Berkeley hoped that the cycle of “human folly” could be broken and the nation revitalized allowing domestic manufactures and commerce to proceed unencumbered by the corruption of luxury. Using both moral and economic language to support his argument, Berkeley tried to turn Britain from the path leading toward ruin and in doing so developed a core set of beliefs concerning the intersection of virtue and economics that later acted as the foundation for his proposals aimed at improving his native Ireland.

VI. Hope and Despair: From the South Sea Bubble to America Berkeley hoped that through these actions, the baneful effects of the bubble could be reduced and England be placed back on the path to prosperity. In the end, he concluded that The South-Sea affair, how sensible soever, is not the original evil, or the great source of our misfortunes; it is but the natural effect of those principles which for many years have been propagated with great industry; and as a sharp distemper, by reclaiming a man from intemperance, may prolong his life, so it is not impossible but this public calamity that lies so heavy on the nation may prevent its ruin. It would certainly prove the greatest of blessings . . . if it should revive and inflame that native spark of British worth and honour which hath too long lain smothered and oppressed. (RGB 84)

For Berkeley the bubble was a disaster, but it also marked an opportunity to bring Britain back from the brink of ruin and face the future with newfound purpose and direction. Berkeley returned to these themes in his later writings, particularly in Alciphron and The Querist. In these works Berkeley expanded upon many


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of the ideas first advanced in the Essay. For instance, the second dialogue of the Alciphron incorporated an extensive critique of the idea of luxury advanced by Bernard Mandeville in The Fable of the Bees. In The Querist Berkeley presented a series of questions suggesting practical solutions to the problems facing the Irish economy in the 1730s that drew heavily upon the proposals advanced in his Essay and adapted to the Irish context. If Berkeley’s intellectual development and engagement with social issues is placed within the larger framework of his career, an even more dramatic shift in emphasis may be detected. While Berkeley did dabble in economic theory in his essays in The Guardian, they were certainly not the focus of his work. Instead Berkeley devoted his time to more abstract analyses of society, such as in Passive Obedience. Comparing Passive Obedience to the Essay, we can see that by 1721, he had already begun to develop a keen interest in devising concrete plans for national renewal. Thus, his works between 1712 and 1721 may be seen as a transitional period, during which Berkeley’s thought moved from abstract theory to practical programs. Unfortunately for Berkeley his calls for moral rejuvenation were unheeded, leading him to devise a second, more radical, plan for the salvation of British culture. Following the resolution of the South Sea bubble fiasco, Berkeley’s disenchantment with Britain began to rise. For one who had derided the British as the first people “who have been wicked upon principle,” the failure of any noticeable reform following 1721 could only weaken his hopes for the revitalization of national virtue (RGB 84). The trials of those involved with the South Sea bubble continued for some time, but in Berkeley’s eyes there was little substantial effort aimed at curbing the culture of excess that allowed this problem to arise in the first place. Fearing that this corruption could not be dislodged simply through words, Berkeley soon turned his attention to a new project: the formation of a missionary college in Bermuda, where a decaying European society could be transplanted and begin to grow anew.


Chapter 6 Planting Religion in the New World, 1722–32

As early as 1722, Berkeley determined that the most appealing prospects for future development lay in the New World. In a letter to his close friend Lord Percival, he confessed that it “is now about ten months since I have determined with myself to spend the residue of my days in the Island of Bermuda, where I trust in Providence I may be the mean instrument of doing good to mankind.”1 At the heart of Berkeley’s missionary venture was the desire to use his college, to be named St. Paul’s, to teach clergymen strategies designed for “propagating Christianity among the Savages.” Even more ambitiously, Berkeley imagined that this institution could be used to train Native Americans in Christian religion, making them “the ablest and properest Missionaries for spreading the Gospel among their Countrymen” (PR 345 and 347). Through this method of propagating Anglicanism, Berkeley hoped to instill a firm foundation of Christian values in all aspects of colonial life and to transform the New World into a home for virtue. The next ten years of Berkeley’s life, 1722–32, were primarily devoted to planning, organizing, and implementing this Atlantic enterprise.2 In pursuing his Bermuda venture Berkeley not only lobbied friends and government officials, but he also worked tirelessly to persuade the public of his scheme’s value. To this end, in 1725 he published his plan under the title A Proposal for the Better Supplying of Churches in our foreign Plantations. This short tract outlined the practical aspects of Berkeley’s design and sought to persuade readers of its necessity. As popular excitement grew, Berkeley’s vision moved toward actuality as he took financial subscriptions and accepted volunteers for his venture. It was at the height

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of this enthusiasm that Berkeley wrote his only (existent) poem, “America, or the Muse’s Refuge.” In this important piece, Berkeley pointed to the “decay” of Europe and the “rise of Empire and of Arts” in the “west.”3 These verses were premised upon a classical commonplace, the notion of a translatio imperii or studii: the belief in the constant westward migration of empire or learning. The direction of this providential movement was reevaluated during the early eighteenth century, as the discovery of “unexplored” territory across the Atlantic forced European thinkers, particularly in Britain, to question whether the “final” migration would be to America. Berkeley’s poem is perhaps the clearest enunciation of the translatio tradition during the first half of the eighteenth century and may be seen as the foremost expression of the broader ideals guiding his Bermuda venture.4 Despite popular British interest in evangelical missions during this time, Berkeley’s task ran aground upon political controversy and was eventually discarded. Still, his unflagging diligence in pursuing this venture raises a number of questions. On a practical level, what was the nature of the training to be offered at St. Paul’s and where would he obtain students? On a more personal level, what motivated Berkeley to focus his evangelical zeal upon America and how did his goals fit into his larger view of history? Although these are diverse issues, hints of an explanation may be discerned through an examination of the historical context of early eighteenth-century missionary thought and of Berkeley’s understanding of historical development within the Atlantic world. This chapter examines the origins of Berkeley’s plan for St. Paul’s, locating Berkeley’s justifications for the conversion of Native Americans within the context of contemporary writings. Additionally, while the Proposal provides an important insight into Berkeley’s evangelical motives his poem suggests that his actions harbored a deeper level of meaning, which may be seen by considering his influential “America” in light of the translatio tradition. Taken together, these works and his unflagging devotion to the Bermuda project help nuance our understanding of Berkeley’s activities outside the philosophic arena.

I. “If not Britain, whither next?”: The Genesis of Berkeley’s Bermuda Plan After Berkeley returned from his continental tours in late October 1720 and published his Essay towards Preventing the Ruin of Great Britain he spent most of the first year in London, most likely at Charlton, Lord Percival’s seat near Greenwich.5 Back among his old haunts, he was soon reacquainted

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with many of those he had first met during his 1713 sojourn. Pope greeted him warmly and his friends in the clergy now included the future bishops Benson, Secker, and Rundle.6 Berkeley’s love of the arts and architecture, cultivated in Italy, soon endeared him to the Earl of Burlington and Cork, who in turn introduced him to the Duke of Grafton (lord lieutenant of Ireland). Just as in 1713 Berkeley’s time in London was dominated by social engagements at increasingly high levels of society, despite being somewhat out of favor in his native land. Grafton was impressed with Berkeley and promised him a preferment, inspiring Berkeley to return to Trinity College in September 1721.7 He took the degrees of BD and DD, passing on 14 November 1721, and within a week he was appointed divinity lecturer. Between October and December of 1721, Berkeley was comfortably ensconced in Dublin and awaiting news of his preferment. After learning that the deanery of Dromore was vacant, a sinecure that was estimated at £500 a year, he wrote to Percival that he had “applied to his Grace [Grafton], and put him in mind of his promises.”8 Berkeley continued his anxious waiting until February 1722, when he reported to Percival that his “patent is now passing the seals for the Deanery of Dromore.”9 Although Grafton finally delivered on his promise, it was a mixed blessing at best. While the deanery was perfectly suited to Berkeley’s needs, having neither residence nor duties associated with it, it was at the crux of a dispute between the Church of Ireland and the English Crown. The controversy over this seat was part of the broader political and ecclesiastical tension between Ireland and England over questions of sovereignty and constitutional authority. During the reign of Queen Anne, clergymen had played important roles in party politics and at the time of her death in 1714 the majority of Irish bishops were Tories. Following the ascension of the Whigs, the government sought to weaken the Tory majority on the Irish episcopal bench and during this time “every vacancy on the ecclesiastical bench became a trial of strength between what quickly became known as the Irish and English interests.”10 By 1719, the dispute between Irish and English clergy had become entangled with the constitutional debate associated with the Annesley v. Sherlock case. The original decision in this case, which centered on a question of property ownership in Kildare, had been successfully appealed to the Irish House of Lords. This decision was appealed over the Irish Lords to the British House of Lords, which reversed the Irish judgment. The Irish Lords quickly protested that appeals in Ireland could only be made to them. This, in turn, provoked the Declaratory Act of 1720 from Westminster, effectively denying any appellate rights to the Irish Parliament. Since Tory bishops had backed the Irish Lords’ response, supporters of the English interest soon sought to increase their

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reach among the Irish episcopate and attacked the Duke of Grafton’s tendency to appoint Irishmen to Irish ecclesiastical positions. In February 1722, Berkeley’s hopes for the Dromore vacancy were challenged when Dr. Lesley was nominated for the position. Thus, when Berkeley wrote to Percival in February 1722, his position was contingent upon the results of a lawsuit that had dim chances of success.11 This situation remained stagnant through 1724, when Berkeley confessed that “the affair of Dromore is still undecided, and likely to be so for some years, but it is now in other hands, God be praised.”12 Part of the reason for Berkeley’s relatively blasé attitude toward Dromore in 1724 stemmed from the fact that during the interim he had been granted the deanery of Derry. In October 1722, the dean of Derry had fallen perilously ill of palsy and Berkeley’s friends convinced him to petition for the office after the dean’s death. After a brief trip to London to press his case, he returned to Dublin Castle to join with the other candidates for this office.13 In 1724, just before the announcement of a decision on the preferment, Trinity College intervened and he received his patent on 4 May 1724. After quickly traveling north to be installed, he sent the provost a letter of resignation of his Senior Fellowship and thus ended his twentyfour-year connection with Trinity College.14 While seeking clerical advancement, Berkeley had also started formulating his Bermuda plan. In 1723 his efforts were rewarded with a bequest from Mrs. Hester Van Homrigh, known to literary history as Swift’s Vanessa.15 Berkeley may have been chosen to receive this legacy as a tribute to his growing reputation in Dublin and, for his part, Berkeley saw it as a “providential event.”16 Part of Berkeley’s responsibilities required him to settle Van Homrigh’s debts, but he still cleared approximately £2000 for his efforts—money that was used to further his plans for Bermuda. The first indication of Berkeley’s interest in Bermuda was a letter to his close friend Lord Percival dated 4 March 1722–23. He observed, “[T]he reformation of manners among the English in our western plantations, and the propagation of the Gospel among the American savages, are two points of high moment.” He proposed to build a college in the West Indies for the purpose of training both English youths and “young American Savages;” the former were to help supply the colonial churches with clergy while the latter would (after obtaining a Master of Arts degree) serve as the “fittest missionaries . . . among their countrymen.” Berkeley had apparently been considering this scheme for some time, since he had gathered “about a dozen English men of quality and gentlemen” who intended to retire to Bermuda—a land where men could find “whatsoever the most poetical imagination can figure to itself in the golden age, or the Elysian fields.”17


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One of Percival’s cousins living in Dublin, Daniel Dering, testified to Berkeley’s early enthusiasm.18 Convinced of Berkeley’s earnestness, Percival counseled Berkeley to seek the “protection and encouragement of the government” to facilitate his plan, noting that if he were successful his name might one day be exalted “beyond that of St. Xavier, or any the most famous missions abroad.”19 Berkeley’s zeal for the Bermuda project was exhibited during his struggles for preferment and he confessed that he primarily saw ecclesiastical advancement as a means to further his missionary goals.20 Even outside of Berkeley’s circle of close friends, news of the Bermuda plan began to generate momentum after 1723. After patiently listening to his detractors at a dinner of the Scriblerus Club hosted by Lord Bathurst, Berkeley explained the project to them with such “animation and eloquence” that they were speechless. Following a short pause, the crowd all rose together exclaiming, “Let us set out with him immediately.”21 At the same time, some Dublin wits found the popularity of Berkeley’s plans to be suitable for jests. In the fall of 1723 these individuals arranged for an anonymous young girl to deliver a satirical poem, “The Humble Petition of Anne de la Terre,” to Berkeley’s chambers before having them printed and circulated in Dublin.22 During the winter of 1724 Berkeley left Ireland for London, where he published his Proposal and joined the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge before lobbying the government in earnest. Thus, by 1725 Berkeley was publicly committed to Bermuda, investing all of his time and effort to ensuring its success. Believing the Vanessa inheritance and his appointment to the deanery of Derry to be signs of providential approval, Berkeley’s hopes rose to increasingly lofty heights around the time he composed his poem “America” and continued as his Proposal led to political victories in 1725–26.

II. Berkeley’s Bermuda Proposal: Enthusiasm Rising Berkeley’s Proposal was printed in London in 1725 and announced his missionary intentions to British society at large. Aimed at a popular audience, Berkeley sought to persuade his readers that there was an urgent need for additional clergymen in the American colonies. He suggested that the missionaries who had been sent to minister to the colonists were generally underqualified and their scarce numbers meant that “the Gospel hath hitherto made but a very inconsiderable Progress among the neighbouring

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[Native] Americans.” With vacant churches and degenerating manners failing to protect the spiritual health of the colonists and natives alike, Berkeley argued that a missionary college could serve a twofold purpose: it would ensure a “constant Supply of worthy Clergymen for the English Churches in those parts,” and provide a steady “Supply of zealous Missionaries, well fitted for propagating Christianity among the Savages” (PR 345).23 Considering the first of these goals, Berkeley claimed that his college would prepare the brightest British youths in the plantations for the demands of the ministry. A key point of Berkeley’s argument was the belief that until this point, the “clergy sent over to America have proved, too many of them, very meanly qualified both in Learning and Morals for the Discharge of their Office.” In effect, the colonial churches were a “Drain for the very Dregs and Refuse of ours” (PR 346 and 347). Berkeley hoped that his college would train a new generation of ministers who could guide the colonists in the “uncorrupt Doctrine of the Gospel” (PR 345). In order to make his piece more persuasive Berkeley painted a dark picture of American spirituality, but Berkeley’s stress on the weaknesses of colonial ministers put him at odds with an institution that would otherwise have been numbered among his staunchest supporters: the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (SPG). Originally founded by Thomas Bray in 1701, the SPG used philanthropic donations to extend the “protestant religion” throughout the world.24 In this role, the SPG was one of the primary instructors of the very ministers castigated as inept by Berkeley. Bray himself had traveled to the New World over thirty years earlier, as the Anglican commissary to Maryland.25 Before, during, and after his visit, Bray was deeply involved in questions concerning colonial missions and published a series of tracts near the turn of the century that outlined the state of religion in the colonies. Faced with Berkeley’s attack on colonial spirituality, Bray could not remain silent. Moved by the rising enthusiasm for Berkeley’s project, Bray responded with a collection of missionary pieces, Missionalia (1727), that attacked Berkeley’s Proposal. Bray’s tract lambasted Berkeley’s knowledge of the practicalities of colonial life and his impressions of the local ministers. Testifying from his own experience, Bray claimed that the Maryland missionaries were sincerely devoted to the discharge of their burdens. He stressed their dedication, in contrast to a certain Irish dean of Derry currently living in London, and noted that they had not yet “Learnt that Black Art of turning large Parishes having Care of Souls, into Sine-Cures, or as some call them, Non-Cures, or utterly leaving [their] own Cures to live elsewhere, to no purpose of [their] Ministry, but like Lay-Gentlemen, on the Rents thereof.”26 In Bray’s eyes, Berkeley’s Proposal was steeped in sheer ignorance of local conditions and slanderous accusations. Even worse was


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the financial threat posed by Berkeley’s plan. If this scheme were accepted, the SPG could lose some (if not all) royal aid.27 Despite these objections, Bray did leave the door open for compromise. He suggested that if Berkeley’s plan could be “set upon a Practicable Method” then “perhaps none could, or would be more ready and Capable to Assist him therein than our Religious Societies.”28 As Gaustad notes, Bray’s primary complaint against Berkeley was the fact that he did not consult with him before the publication of the Proposal.29 Since Berkeley’s subsequent relationship with the SPG was characterized by friendship, it seems evident that he did not intend to provoke animosity from this quarter. Nonetheless, in 1725 these critiques lay in the future. Of more immediate concern to the program outlined in the Proposal was the question of location. As mentioned earlier, Berkeley had focused his attention on Bermuda and his conviction in this choice did not waver. For Berkeley, the determination of the college’s location stemmed directly from his understanding of American geography and economy.30 Given the difficulties of land-based communication, Berkeley concluded that there were no particular benefits to be had from settling on the continent. He briefly considered Barbados, but thought that a place of “so high Trade, so much Wealth and Luxury, and such dissolute Morals . . . must at first sight seem a very improper Situation for a general Seminary intended for the forming Missionaries, and educating Youth in Religion and Sobriety of Manners” (PR 349–50). Since Bermuda seemed to be conveniently close to both colonists and Britain it appeared to be the ideal location for Berkeley’s college, an impression further reenforced by the absence of moral temptations and other possible distractions from the pursuit of virtue and learning. Focusing on the merits of Bermuda, Berkeley’s Proposal elaborated upon the factors he had already privately communicated to Percival. A quick perusal of these additional factors reveals that Bray’s criticism of Berkeley’s knowledge of the New World was on target. The chief reasons enumerated by Berkeley included the belief that the island was equidistant from the other islands and the mainland and that it laid on a direct line from Great Britain to America (PR 351). Still, while these were important factors in his determination of the location of the college, Berkeley’s true concern was the area’s ability to encourage virtue and in this respect Bermuda seemed ideal. Before leaving the subject of Berkeley’s choice of the island of Bermuda, it is important to consider it within the context of his growing identification of this project with the unfolding of providential history.31 A clue to Berkeley’s thoughts on this matter may be found in the fact that throughout the Proposal he only directly mentions two other texts: an historical study and a sermon given by the dean of Canterbury (PR 357 and

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349).32 Immediately after Berkeley’s first trip to London in 1714, George Stanhope, the dean of Canterbury, gave a sermon at the annual meeting of the SPG. In this piece, Stanhope took Isaiah 60: 9 as his point of departure and discussed the special role of “islands” in the process of spreading the gospel. The key for Stanhope was the notion that islands are particularly well suited for the demands of missionary activity: they are easily defended and are closely linked to commerce.33 Given that one of Berkeley’s few direct citations in the Proposal pointed to Stanhope’s meditations on the religious significance of islands, it seems likely that this image of “evangelical islands” may have influenced his insistence on settling his college upon Bermuda.

III. Berkeley’s Proposal and Native Americans: Religion and Civilization In addition to training the children of the English settlers, Berkeley’s Proposal also contained the ambitious goal of training Native American children.34 At the heart of this plan was a belief that by co-opting these youths and raising them as “civilized” Europeans, they would later be able to serve as ideal emissaries to their original peoples. Berkeley suggested that the “children of savage Americans, brought up in such a Seminary, and well instructed in Religion and Learning, might make the ablest and properest Missionaries for spreading the Gospel among their Countrymen” (PR 347). Underlying Berkeley’s plans for these children was a belief in the innocence of “primitive” people: they were a tabula rasa upon which Anglican doctrine could be etched. Countering an anticipated objection to his plan, Berkeley noted that “whereas the savage Americans, if they are in a State purely natural, and unimproved by Education, they are also unincumbred [sic] with all that Rubbish of Superstition and Prejudice, which is the Effect of a wrong one” (PR 356). He continued by stressing that not only must the college seek to “plant Religion among the Americans,” but also it must strive to civilize these students at the same time (PR 348). In the end, Berkeley clung to the notion that if young Native Americans were taught religion and manners at the right time and in the proper manner, these lessons would produce the “civilized” individuals needed to spread the gospel among the native people.35 Berkeley’s plan for civilizing and Christianizing the Native Americans was embodied by his proposed curriculum. As explained in the Proposal, students at St. Paul’s would follow a program closely modeled on the English educational system. In preparation for a hard missionary life in


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the wilderness, all students, English and “natives” alike, were expected to earn a Master of Arts degree in the traditional liberal arts in Bermuda and then travel to England to take Holy Orders.36 Again, while this may seem somewhat unpractical, it did bear a close resemblance to the model used in New England.37 Thomas Bray took issue with the formal aspect of the Proposal, acknowledging that while colleges could aid in the education of Native Americans, “even a Charity School, or Schools, taught tho’ by old Women, would answer the Ends better than by Professors of Sciences. And the Mechanicks would be more usefull taught among such than the Liberal Arts.”38 For Berkeley, a firm foundation in the traditional liberal arts was essential to the success of his plan. He was more concerned with inculcating virtue among his prospective charges than with ensuring their skill in practical matters. Recalling the proscriptions of his 1721 Essay, Berkeley argued that “during the whole Course of their Education, an Eye should be had to their Mission . . . to rescue their Countrymen from their savage Manners, to a Life of Civility and Religion” (PR 348).39 For Berkeley, the “maxims of antiquity” were not only still useful but were essential in an increasingly commercialized society. Berkeley stressed that the relative pauperism of Bermuda cultivated the virtue of its inhabitants, making it easier for them to live moral lives, since “if they have less Wealth, they have less Vice and expensive Folly than their Neighbours” (PR 352). The rocks upon which St Paul’s would be built, as sketched by Berkeley, were Christian morality and virtue, not the sun-dappled sands of indolence, luxury, and Caribbean leisure. If the conversion of Native Americans was to be an important part of the Proposal there still remained the question of where these individuals would be found, since Bermuda was an island with few inhabitants. Berkeley’s solution was to suggest that the “young Americans necessary for this Purpose, may in the Beginning be procured, either by peaceable Methods from those savage Nations, which border on our Colonies, and are in Friendship with us, or by taking captive the Children of our Enemies.” He took care to suggest that only the youngest children be taken, those who “are under ten years of Age, before evil Habits have taken a deep root; and yet not so early as to prevent retaining their Mother Tongue” (PR 347). Modern readers may find it difficult to view kidnapping and forced conversion as anything other than “chilling,” but some colonists suggested (with questionable sincerity) that his plans be expanded through the use of large-scale military exercises to procure future converts.40 Hinting at the providential dimension of Berkeley’s plan, Harry Bracken claims that the key to understanding this aspect of the Proposal is the fact that “Berkeley accepts the [then] popular view that the American

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Indians are the Lost Tribes of Israel. As Jews, their conversion is especially dear to God.”41 According to this reading the motivation for his plan stemmed from a millenary interpretation of Romans 11, in which Paul called the conversion of the Jews in order to facilitate the end of time. If the Native Americans were the Lost Tribes, any efforts aimed at bringing them into the fold of Christianity were of the utmost importance. Following Bracken’s argument, Bradatan suggests that “in Berkeley’s mind” these tasks “would have had a highly spiritual value as they would have been at the same time preparation for, and a sign of, the approaching Second Coming.”42 The only problem with this hypothesis, as Bracken admits, is the fact that Berkeley never mentioned the “Jewish-Indian thesis.” Bracken claims that this omission may be overlooked on the ground that no other reason adequately explains why Berkeley would have been willing to commit himself personally to this risky venture, but this argument places too much emphasis on conjecture. Millenary notions may well have influenced Berkeley, but this argument does not have to rely solely on the identification of the Indians as the Lost Tribes; rather, the providential facet of Berkeley’s thought is evident in his own writings within the translatio tradition.

IV. The SPG, the Translatio Imperii and Religionis, and Berkeley’s “America” At the peak of his lobbying for his Bermuda scheme in 1726, Berkeley wrote one of his shortest, yet most influential, works, the poem “America, or the Muse’s Refuge.” Although this was not published until its inclusion in the 1752 Miscellany, it captured the spirit guiding his hopes for Bermuda. In this piece, Berkeley adapted the medieval commonplace of a translatio imperii or studii to the colonial situation. The historical movement identified in “America” not only recalled his cyclical view of history first evinced in his Ruin essay, but grafted what was originally a moral and economic argument onto a sophisticated vision of a providentially guided transmission of empire and culture. This belief was premised upon the double notion that the seat of world “empire” and “learning” was always carried forward by a single dominant nation and that the direction of this movement was from east to west. In both its classical and Christian forms, the translatio argument depended upon a cyclical theory of history that explained the growth of empire or learning in terms of organic development. As a state aged, it inevitably passed through stages of youth, maturity, and eventual decline—resulting in the passage of empire and learning


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to another nation further to the west. While returning to the “original principles” of the society could slow this cycle, it could not be reversed before moving to a new home further to the west and repeating the cycle anew. During the early eighteenth century this notion of the westward transfer of empire and learning enjoyed a surge of popularity, as writers throughout the emerging British Empire used this literary convention to explain and justify the expansion of imperial power; however, some writers focused upon the Atlantic world and possibility of America acting as the eventual home for empire.43 This political discourse was reflected on a religious level as well, especially by leading figures of the SPG.44 To put Berkeley’s use of the translatio argument into context it is important to recognize that during the early eighteenth century the SPG not only acted as the dominant vehicle for evangelical impulses aimed at the conversion of Native Americans and slaves, but also coupled this religious goal with support for the emerging British Empire. In effect, it represented “British imperialism in ecclesiastical guise.”45 Almost from its formation the SPG served as the “prime instrument for energetic Imperial Anglicanism,” since Bray’s successors viewed themselves “as stormtroopers, the ecclesiastical arm of eighteenth-century imperialism.”46 The SPG was deeply involved in the logistical support for colonial clergy and sponsored an annual sermon every February. The topics of these sermons were diverse, but proved to be “the most prominent attempt by the Church of England to envision the new overseas empire” and thus serves as an important window into the “Anglican vision of imperialism” during this period.47 Since these speakers sought to mobilize their audience behind the SPG, they often responded to contemporary events and therefore provide an ongoing record of the religious and political issues facing Britain during the eighteenth century. During the years Berkeley was organizing his Bermuda venture, many of the SPG sermons blended their religious appeals with an appreciation for political and economic issues, calling into question both British and colonial morality. In doing so, these speakers used the notion of Anglican purity to predict the future course of empire, linking the imperial project to the religious health of the nation. By and large, until 1726 the SPG speakers extolled the virtues of British missionary activities and held forth hope for their eventual success in the New World. While a common tactic of these sermons was to question the role of wealth within the state and caution against the dangers of luxury, they also stressed how trade could support their evangelical mission. These optimistic assessments changed during the mid-1720s, when the moral corruption attendant with economic expansion became more apparent. To make matters worse for

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Anglicans considering Britain’s fate, domestic morality was increasingly under attack by the deists such as Anthony Collins and Matthew Tindal.48 Amid fears that Britain was entering a period of decline, pious writers on both sides of the Atlantic seized upon the logic of the translatio argument to refocus attention to the potential of the colonies with an increasing sense of urgency. These sermons suggested the possibility of a translatio religionis by grafting their religious concerns upon a political vision of empire.49 While these works often glorified British accomplishments, they also were skeptical of Britain’s piety and called for the establishment of an “asylum” or “refuge” for “true religion” across the Atlantic. Citing domestic moral decadence SPG speakers railed against the decline of British religiosity and suggested that there would be a providential transfer of empire and religion to the New World, explained through the paired notions of a translatio imperii and religionis. At the heart of both of these notions of transference was a belief in the providential intercession of God to direct these movements at particular times to punish people for their pride and misuse of prosperity. The seats of empire and religion were seen as moving in accordance with God’s justice and human morality: from the moment a world empire fell into decadence or pride, its downfall was assured. Generally speaking, this model suggested that the “true” seat of civilization experienced a cyclical rise and fall, reclaiming its greatness only with the transference to a new locale. Not surprisingly, notions of a translatio religionis were particularly prominent among English missionaries. In 1727, Richard Reynolds’s SPG sermon built upon these ideas to provide an explanation for the spread of religion, linking this economic analysis with a religious appreciation for a “geography of salvation” that was a crucial component of the translatio tradition.50 After observing that God had spread goods throughout the world to encourage commerce Reynolds cited David, suggesting that true religion followed “the heavenly Motions . . . the Course of the Sun in particular.”51 Reynolds charted the spread of Christianity within the ancient world and noted that while Christianity had once “possessed the Throne of the Empire,” the growth of “Ignorance, Barbarism, and Infidelity” caused its home to shift.52 Through this analysis, Reynolds first introduced two related ideas to the SPG sermons: the notion that the seat of religion could migrate to the west and the suggestion that it could be “lost” by those who failed to adhere to pious manners. Later SPG sermons adopted the twin notions of a translatio imperii and religionis to explain the transatlantic goals of the society. In 1729, Zachary Pearce provided an eloquent expression of this idea when he delivered the annual SPG sermon, taking Isaiah 49: 6 as a point of departure. Directly appealing to the translatio tradition, in both its political and religious keys,


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Pearce claimed that this prophecy would be fulfilled in the New World. First, Pearce affirmed the notion of a world empire by observing “every great Empire is called the whole World . . . particularly the Roman Empire.”53 After discounting the possibility of the Apostles spreading Christianity to the New World, he combined the SPG’s religious and imperial goals by calling for the “enlargement of his [Christ’s] spiritual Empire.”54 Linking these two levels of analysis through his reading of history, Pearce claimed that [i]t is observable, that this so lately discover’d World lies in the very Route and Road, which Christianity seems to have all along taken: in the East, we know, it first appear’d; and, as it spread itself, it shaped its Course with that of the Sun, the Emblem of its Light and Glory: to the Westward it travell’d, and in length of time took possession of those European Countries, which are now called Christendom; and ever since this more Western Tract of America has been known, [Christianity] has continued by degrees to gain ground.55

This passage clearly articulated the classic translatio model on a religious level, using this concept to explain the growth of Christianity and stress its westward movement: from the east, to Europe, and now (potentially) to America. Furthermore, Pearce also alluded to one possible reason why this transfer could occur: the presence of “Infidels” at home.56 Concern for the potential for damage to Christianity at home was taken up the following year by John Denne, whose SPG sermon combined a rigorous defense of missionary activity with an attack on the dangers of freethinkers. Given in the wake of Matthew Tindal’s Christianity as Old as the Creation (1730), Denne’s sermon roused his listeners to the domestic threats facing true religion from deists. While attacks on deism had been a part of the SPG sermons almost from their inception, by 1730 the stakes at issue had been raised by the growth of the imperial system.57 He observed that there were people “among us, who spare no Subtlety or Pains to root out Christianity at home, and to spread Infidelity abroad, with the Vigilance, the Malice, and the Cunning” of Satan.58 While he suggested that these individuals could be “banished to their Paradice of New-Jersey, leaving them to think and live as freely as Heathens ever did,” Denne claimed that the New World could be a source of religious renewal.59 Drawing upon the logic of the translatio process, Denne argued that it would be wise to “plant the Gospel in the new-discovered Continent of America, that we may have some Place to flee into, an Asylum from persecuting Infidels, if God in just Judgment should permit it to be lost in Europe, as he did heretofore in Asia and Africa.”60 In this passage, Denne not only drew upon the idea of a transfer of religion to the New World,

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but did so by citing the immorality of Britain as the possible reason for this movement. Thus, in the sermons of Reynolds, Pearce, and Denne, the two main components of the translatio process are clearly visible: the identification of a moral failing and the consequent transfer of empire and religion to a new home to the west. During this same period, Berkeley’s “America” was one of the clearest applications of the translatio process to the Atlantic colonies. By this point, the notion of the translatio process existed as a composite concept with at least three layers: religious, political, and cultural. While some commentators have identified aspects of the translatio process within Berkeley’s “America,” these investigations have been hampered by the fact that most explications of this piece typically only isolate one of these discursive contexts. A result of this failure to identify the historical languages within Berkeley’s poem has been a general nescience concerning the broader appeal of this idea within the early eighteenth-century Atlantic world.61 Scholarly explications of Berkeley’s poem have alternatively identified religious, political, and cultural aspects of Berkeley’s description of westward movement. While these interpretations raise important questions concerning the nature of his enterprise, the narrow focus of these commentators upon only one (or two) of these dimensions fails to capture the complexity of Berkeley’s vision and the flexibility of the translatio tradition upon which he was drawing. Rather than merely predicting the westward migration of religion, empire, or the arts, the process sketched by Berkeley suggested a simultaneous westward movement by all three. Thus, it is important to examine the dominant interpretations of this work, which in turn will help clarify the multiple layers of the translatio process at play in this piece. Before turning to the most hotly contested section of Berkeley’s poetic work, the final stanza, it is important to note the few changes he made between the first draft of the poem and its final published form. Taken as a whole the first five stanzas of the two versions are virtually identical, with the later version having a slightly more negative view of European virtue. For instance, the use of the word “disgusted” instead of “offended” and “barren” for “nought . . . found” in the first stanza suggests that by 1752 Berkeley’s hopes for a European revival had sunk even further.62 Nonetheless, the main themes of both versions were quite similar. Each took the “decay of Europe” as a central image, along with a concurrent hope for “progress.”63 Similarly, notions of primitivism also figure prominently as Berkeley looked to the “innocence” of these far-distant, “happy climes.”64 Finally, both versions of the poem ended by evoking the ideas of universal history and the scheme of history common to the translatio process.


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In “America,” Berkeley explicitly linked the rise and fall of empire and the arts with a general westward movement of culture, modeling his work on the historical scheme associated with the translatio tradition. Berkeley began with an image of European decline and colonial potential, claiming that “The Muse, disgusted at an Age and Clime, / Barren of every glorious Theme, / In distant Lands now waits a better Time.”65 After extolling the virtues of the New World, Berkeley contended that “There shall be sung another golden age, / The rise of Empire and of arts / . . . Not such as Europe breeds in her decay.”66 Envisioning the transfer of empire and learning to the New World Berkeley stressed the potential greatness of the American colonies as the future repository of European political and cultural values, in sharp contrast to the “decay” of the Old World. Explaining the general shape of this movement, Berkeley’s closing stanza combined a belief in the “westward course of empire” with an optimistic vision of universal history.67 While Berman has stressed the religious dimension of the translatio process embedded within “America,” Ernest Tuveson and J. G. A. Pocock have investigated the easy equation of this poem with eschatological concerns.68 Tuveson detects an “echo of apocalyptic commentators,” but is not convinced that this stanza can be read as belonging to any of the eschatological categories he has identified. Instead, he argues that Berkeley grafted the “ancient idea of translatio imperii to the prophetic ‘image’ in Daniel, and the Book of Revelation has no place whatever in his poem.”69 Pocock, like Tuveson, grounds “America” within both the translatio imperii tradition and a type of apocalyptic discourse. Rather than seeing Berkeley’s reference to “four acts” of empire followed by a fifth as elegiac, Pocock claims that this passage represents an appeal to millennarian beliefs.70 The notion of the transmission of empire and learning may have included a sense that these motions encouraged the flight of virtue, but this movement presumed a secular character and was flexible enough to incorporate the transfer of corruption as well. Furthermore, while the “four plus one” scheme of empire had origins in the Book of Daniel, by the eighteenth century its incorporation into the translatio process had effectively overshadowed its millennial origins. Thus, this mechanism did not require an “apocalyptic context” in order to function as a persuasive discourse. Consequently, Berkeley’s reference to the “four plus one” sequence of empires may have been inspired by a religious variant of the translatio process that optimistically looked for the creation of a human utopia on earth (as explained by Tuveson), rather than any hidden apocalyptic leanings. Berman, Tuveson, and Pocock link Berkeley’s poem to religious and political notions of transference, suggesting the close association of these layers of meaning during this time. While Pocock does also mention in

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passing that Berkeley prophesized the spread of learning, this notion is much more central in Rexmond Cochrane’s analysis of the translatio studii. Focusing on the 1752 version of the “Verses,” Cochrane suggests that this poem “represents a turning point in the development of this longlived literary convention.” Cochrane argues that while the central image of the poem, the “westward progress of civilization,” had been used before, Berkeley’s explanation “appears in no other expression of the commonplace.” Berkeley’s main innovation, according to Cochrane, stemmed from his belief that the “coming period of earthy perfection” would be located in America.71 Taken in conjunction, these readings of “America” suggest that this poem contained the seeds of a complex vision of historical development predicated upon the westward movement of religion, empire, and learning. Berkeley, like many others during the early eighteenth century, increasingly began to doubt virtue’s future viability in Britain. Faced with images of widespread corruption and immorality, the logic of this translatio process began to look increasingly appealing to colonial and British thinkers alike. Seeking to preserve the cultural legacy of Europe, the creation of a refuge or asylum for virtue in the New World held particular appeal. As such, the creation of a missionary college in Bermuda seemed a worthy vehicle to foster the spread of spirituality and learning in the colonies.

V. Success and Failure, 1726–32 On a practical level, Berkeley’s plans were grandiose and accordingly needed widespread support. At the heart of Berkeley’s fundraising strategy was an appeal to both private and public charity. His enthusiasm, persuasiveness, and energy were seemingly unlimited, driving him to arrange support from across the spectrum of British society. Within two years after making his mission public, this crusade became the talk of London. If we consider the early financial success of the Bermuda scheme, it is easy to understand the optimism that pervaded Berkeley’s letters during this time. As shown by his Proposal and “America” he believed that St. Paul’s was destined to play an important part in a providential plan for the New World, an idea that was supported by the backing of highly placed religious and political figures. Shortly after the publication of the Proposal, Berkeley began to lobby the government for the approval of his plan. On 16 February 1724–25, Berkeley officially submitted a petition for a royal charter for the proposed college. Countersigned by three fellows of Trinity College


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Berkeley’s Petition followed the substance of the Proposal and provided specific details concerning the rights and duties of the potential college, as well as an extract of Sir Nathaniel Riche’s will (dated 1635), stating that lands in Bermuda were to be left “for the education of Indian children to be brought from Virginia or New England or other parts of America.” 72 Berkeley’s efforts quickly bore fruit and the Report of the Law Officers recommended approval of the Petition on 15 March 1725. The only objection that the officers could make to the plan was “that no Provision appears for the Endowment or Support of the College intended to be Erected.” 73 Despite the lack of secure funding, the officers were persuaded to approve the plan on the potential support of Riche’s lands and the prospect of “Voluntary Contributions of Persons well disposed towards so Pious a work.” 74 At this point Berkeley’s plan began to move from a dream to actuality: the practicality of the scheme was legitimized by the fact that the government’s legal minds could not find fault with the idea of St. Paul’s. In April 1725 Berkeley assembled favorable recommendations from other sources and his hopes for the royal charter rose.75 Marshalling these forces seemed to be enough and Berkeley reported to Thomas Prior that the “Charter [had] passed the Privy Seal” on 2 June 1725.76 Just over a week later the charter was in Berkeley’s hands and with this sign of royal favor he resumed his fundraising in earnest.77 Although Berkeley was able to raise significant sums, £3400 by the end of the year from private subscriptions, he became convinced that this would not be enough.78 By a stroke of fortune, Berkeley became aware of a potential windfall for the proposed college in the fall of 1725. He hinted to Prior that he had the “good assurance that our College will be endowed beyond anything expected or desired hitherto.”79 Early the following year he reassured Prior that he was “in a fair way of having a very noble endowment for the College of Bermuda, though the late meeting of parliament . . . will delay the finishing things.”80 The source of this prospective windfall was the sale of lands in the island of St. Christopher (St. Kitts), in the West Indies. The funds resulting from the sale of this land had been earmarked for public use and St. Paul’s had been deemed a suitable recipient for a portion of this money.81 While this represented a fantastic opportunity for Berkeley’s plans, throughout the spring of 1726 it remained only a possibility. Delays plagued the approval of the royal grant, stemming from the king’s extended stay abroad. Although Berkeley was prepared to introduce his “affair to St. Christopher” in mid-February, it was not until April that the House of Commons began to debate the issue.82 Despite opposition from “several quarters,” the Commons approved Berkeley’s proposal on

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12 May 1726. Berkeley happily informed Percival that the grant of money from St. Christopher’s was “carried in a full house with but two negatives” and Berkeley began making plans for his departure.83 Unfortunately, the approval of the Commons and the assent of the king were not enough. Opposition continued in the Cabinet and complications delayed the government’s sale of the St. Christopher’s lands. Finally, in December 1726 Walpole’s government agreed to pay £20,000 toward the endowment of St. Paul’s, although the date of payment was not specified—an oversight that would later cause serious problems.84 Berkeley spent the next two years preparing for his departure to the New World. Much of this time was spent futilely trying to obtain the money promised to St. Paul’s and gathering recruits for the mission.85 Until the money was in hand, few people were willing to commit themselves to traveling to Bermuda. At the same time, the fact that he was constantly delaying his departure began to fuel doubts concerning his sincerity. Faced with this dilemma Berkeley decided to set sail for Rhode Island on 6 September 1728, hoping it would serve as a base for supplying Bermuda and that his actions would prove his sincere devotion to the plan. Despite Berkeley’s best efforts, and an auspicious beginning, his Bermuda plan eventually failed. Shortly after his arrival in Rhode Island, Berkeley purchased a farm and built a house outside of Newport, Whitehall, where he planned on awaiting the £20,000 promised by the government. For a year after his arrival in Rhode Island, his correspondence continued to display optimism about his plan. In a letter to Henry Newman, Berkeley affirmed that his experiences in the New World had reinforced his belief that Europe had entered a period of decline and also confided his increasing concern for the materialization of the promised funds.86 Shortly after his letter to Newman, he noted that his associates in London were already seeking to discover the cause of the delay.87 Berkeley remained in Newport until the fall of 1731, where he was active in the religious life of the colony. Berkeley worked closely with Rev. James Honeyman, the leading Anglican figure in Newport and gave at least fourteen sermons in Trinity Church.88 Berkeley and his family made themselves at home in Rhode Island, and as delays in obtaining the £20,000 promised by the government mounted he considered moving his proposed college north from Bermuda. In a 1729 letter to Newman, Berkeley admitted that he had written to “some friends in England,” asking them to “take the proper steps for procuring a translation of the College from Bermuda to Rhode Island.”89 Despite the appeal of this plan he quickly cast it aside and resolved to “go to Bermuda,” upon the arrival of his funding.90 Berkeley’s commitment was further tested by the fact that before leaving Britain he had obtained an eighteen-month leave from his preferment in Derry, but had used all of this


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time without making it to Bermuda. In January 1730, this fact led Newman to counsel Berkeley to “think of returning to secure yr Deanery before it can be liable to forfeiture.”91 Berkeley soon had ample reason to follow this advice. In 1731 Berkeley’s friend Edmund Gibson, the bishop of London, questioned Walpole about the disbursement of the long-awaited funds. Walpole candidly told Gibson that as “a Minister I must and can assure you that the money shall most undoubtedly be paid . . . but if you ask me as a friend whether Dean Berkeley should continue in America, expecting the payment of £20,000, I advise him by all means to return home to Europe, and to give up his present expectations.”92 Berkeley wrote to Percival in March, blaming the failure of his plan upon freethinkers and noting that he had set his thoughts “towards Europe, where I shall endeavour to be useful some other way.”93 During the summer of 1731 Berkeley finished his manuscript for The Alciphron and settled his affairs in Rhode Island. Following the death of his daughter Lucia during childbirth on 4 September 1731, Berkeley and his family made the journey to Boston where he gave a sermon on the “Mystery of Godliness.”94 The family set sail for London on 21 September and arrived safely five weeks later. After his return to London, Berkeley quickly moved to solidify his reputation within the church, which had been tarnished by the failure of his Bermuda plan. In early 1732, Berkeley announced his return to London society by giving the annual SPG sermon. Drawing upon the ideas first articulated in his poem “America,” Berkeley’s sermon criticized domestic morality and raised the possibility of divine chastisement. According to Berkeley far too many of his contemporaries believed that “the Christian Religion is in a declining State,” which led otherwise pious individuals to turn away from spreading the word of God and to only seek their “own Salvation.”95 Cautioning against this attitude, Berkeley stressed that there were strong reasons to preach “at home, as abroad, within, as without the Pale of the Church.”96 Given the nature of his audience Berkeley carefully described the state of religion in Rhode Island, noting “too many of them have worn off a serious Sense of all Religion.”97 After calling for an increase in the number of missionaries sent to the New World, Berkeley shifted his attention to Britain. In doing so, Berkeley drew a link between the religious health of the mother country and her colonies that allowed him to justify his renewed attention to Europe. He claimed, “[I]t is hardly to be expected that so long as Infidelity prevails at home, the Christian Religion should thrive and flourish in our Colonies abroad.”98 Likening the corruption within Britain to a river, he railed against the “unstemmed Torrent of Profaneness” overwhelming the nation.99 He asked his audience, “[A]re we not grown drunk and giddy with Vice and Vanity and Presumption, and

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Free-thinking, and Extravagance of every kind?” In his eyes the nation had fallen under the thrall of a “Torrent of Infidelity,” exacerbated by the “Prevalency of Atheism and Irreligion,” that led him to question whether or not it had been “abandoned by Providence.” Although Berkeley held out the hope that national ruin could be averted by a return to sound morals, he warned that the historical progress of empire traveled in unison with sound religion and failure to act would have severe consequences. According to Berkeley the fate of the nation (and empire) depended upon an almost immediate reformation of morals, for once this divine punishment was set into motion it was almost impossible to avert. The only hope, according to Berkeley, was to redouble efforts at improving the piety of Britain itself. For the Berkeley, who returned from the New World, there was hope that the transfer of empire and religion could be halted, but the rising tide of domestic and colonial immorality called for a sense of urgency that seemed to be absent from the popular will. Following the failure of his Bermuda plan and his return to the British Isles, Berkeley shifted his attention to improving the morals of his European brethren. Berkeley spent the next two and a half years in London with his family, negotiating the shoals of ecclesiastical politics. Since he had been absent from his deanery at Derry while in the New World, Berkeley’s position and influence was dependent upon a mark of royal favor. During the first few months of 1732, Berkeley socialized with Percival and met with James Oglethorpe to discuss the latter’s plans for a settlement in America.100 Percival’s journal indicates that the Irish ecclesiastical establishment opposed Berkeley’s quest for a more prestigious preferment. Due to his absence from Derry and contempt for the utopian nature of Berkeley’s Bermuda plan, the Primate and Archbishop John Hoadly of Dublin convinced the lord lieutenant of Ireland (the Duke of Dorset) to intervene in his case. As recorded by Percival, the duke apparently wrote to the king that Berkeley was “a madman, and highly disagreeable to all the King’s best friends in Ireland.”101 Percival confronted the archbishop’s brother, Benjamin Hoadly (bishop of Salisbury), who defended his brother’s actions by claiming that Berkeley had ignored his obligations to Derry while “undertaking that ridiculous project of converting the Indians, and leaving his Deanery where there was business enough for him to convert the Papists.”102 After Percival consulted with the bishop of London on Berkeley’s behalf, it became clear that Berkeley’s future lay in Ireland since any effort to grant him a position in England would “revolt all the clergy of England.”103 Throughout the rest of 1732 and 1733, Berkeley remained in London awaiting a vacancy to occur in Ireland and thus to allow him to return to his native land with his reputation intact. Through his correspondence


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with Thomas Prior, he sought to familiarize himself with specific details concerning the relative strengths of the religious denominations of Ireland.104 While he waited in London Berkeley’s advocates (including the queen) pressed their case, and support from Ireland began to materialize. Eventually this led the Duke of Dorset to write on his behalf and on 17 January 1734 he kissed the king and queen’s hands for the bishopric of Cloyne.105 Although there were some delays due to his health (gout) and preparation of travel arrangements, Berkeley and his family reached Dublin by May and he was officially consecrated in St. Paul’s Church by the archbishop of Cashel on 19 May 1734. While Berkeley’s plans for a missionary college ran aground upon contemporary political problems, his efforts were substantial and need to be considered for both their practical and theoretical aspects. For instance, Berkeley’s missionary goals helped inspire a number of other efforts aimed at ameliorating the spiritual health of American colonists and natives alike. Even more importantly, his clear and forceful articulation of the translatio process, and its application to the New World, provided an important template for later thinkers concerned with the possibility of transplanting European virtue to the New World. As such, these short works display an importance that should not be underestimated in considerations of the early eighteenth-century Atlantic world. Once in possession of Cloyne Berkeley turned his attention fully to the situation of Ireland, particularly the economic plight facing the island. These efforts reached fruition with the publication of his Querist in three parts (1735–37), which complemented the work of his former Trinity friends who now formed the Dublin Society and drew upon the critique of luxury in The Alciphron. In the Querist and his other publications during the 1730s, Berkeley illustrated a deep concern for Irish issues vis-à-vis England and advanced a number of issues that could help the nation move toward self-sufficiency. Additionally, through these works and his actions in Cloyne, Berkeley began to assume the mantle of an Irish “patriot” who sought to revitalize the moral and economic health of his country, eventually earning him a reputation as one of Ireland’s foremost defenders.


Chapter 7 Improving Ireland: Luxury, Virtue, and Economic Development

Following his return from Rhode Island in 1732 and the assumption of his new post as the Bishop of Cloyne, Berkeley became acutely engaged with Irish issues. From Berkeley’s vantage point, the primary problems facing Ireland during this period were economic and moral in nature. Cloyne was not particularly wealthy and much of his flock was mired in poverty, but even worse from his perspective was the overall state of the Irish economy. Crippled by British trade restrictions Ireland sorely lacked industry and trade, which limited the general well-being of the nation as a whole. For an individual such as Berkeley who was deeply concerned with the spiritual health of others, the stifling effects of endemic material suffering hampered moral upliftment. As a result, his primary interest upon arriving in Cloyne was to devise a strategy that could alleviate these pressing economic problems. Berkeley’s Bermuda plan had been predicated upon the notion of transplanting European culture to the New World, but before his departure from Rhode Island he had reconsidered the moral and economic conditions of Europe. Berkeley’s renewed interest in the problems facing Britain and Ireland are shown by his Alciphron (1732), which not only took aim at the pernicious doctrines of the freethinkers but also included an extended critique of Mandeville’s defense of luxury that was to prove central to his analysis of vice and virtue in the Irish economy. Once ensconced at Cloyne, Berkeley launched a “patriotic” call for national renewal that aimed to improve the nation’s economy. In doing so, Berkeley was responding to the dire contemporary economic conditions facing Ireland, a situation that was exacerbated by the dearth of coinage

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and fears of foreign luxury consumption by the gentry. Members of the Dublin Society also addressed these problems and their writings provide an important context for understanding the nature and scope of his proposals. With the support of Thomas Prior and Samuel Madden, Berkeley published The Querist (1735–37), which illustrates his attitudes toward the sectarian and class differences that plagued Irish society. Berkeley’s hopes for the economic development of his native land were grounded in a vision of Irish patriotism that sought to create a self-sufficient state able to weather the storms of social upheaval. In his attacks on luxury in The Alciphron and broader economic analyses of The Querist, Berkeley espoused an appreciation of the need for individuals throughout Ireland to eschew their private interests and work together for the common good. This chapter locates Berkeley’s writings during the 1730s within two related contexts. The first is Berkeley’s engagement with Mandeville over the question of luxury, since this moral critique laid the foundation for his more detailed and practical analysis of the Irish situation. After identifying his position in The Alciphron, it will be possible to place his Querist within the context of Irish economic thought of the 1730s and examine how he hoped to improve the economic health of the nation and thus ensure the betterment of Ireland as a whole.

I. The Good Bishop and the Luxurious Doctor: Berkeley and Mandeville on Luxury During the early eighteenth century one of the leading figures calling for the decoupling of morality from the marketplace was Bernard Mandeville, whose Fable of the Bees (1705–14) called into question the easy identification of private and public virtue. Outlining the complex relationship between individual actions and their effects on society at large, Mandeville suggested that personal avarice might have benefits for the nation. Berkeley’s Alciphron attacked Mandeville’s defense of luxury, basing his argument on an economic system imbued with an ethical dimension grounded in religious devotion. In The Fable of the Bees, Mandeville argued that self-love acted to motivate individuals and that this was beneficial for the common good. In the Fable, Mandeville describes a hive living in “luxury and ease” whose inhabitants were nonetheless “knaves.”1 Although dominated by their “lust and vanity,” the interplay and predictability of these desires among the population ensured that “Luxury Employ’d a Million of the Poor, and odious Pride a Million more.”2 When the hive decided to cast aside the

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mask of hypocrisy and embrace honest frugality, the collective fortunes of the society took a dramatic turn for the worse. The bees of the moral hive who lacked the prideful desire for gain and recognition found themselves bereft of luxury and facing economic dearth. According to Mandeville, “vice” fueled the successful hive. Once the hive’s self-indulgent vices were replaced by a more “virtuous” sense of moderation domestic production declined and international trade withered, leaving the state defenseless until it was forced to fly into “a hollow tree, Blest with Content and Honest.” In the end, Mandeville concluded that the moral of the Fable was that any attempt to create an “honest hive” is a “vain eutopia seated in the Brain,” since economic success required “Fraud, Luxury and Pride.”3 Berkeley’s Alciphron: or, the Minute Philosopher was written while he was in Rhode Island and took aim at Mandeville’s equation of private vices with public benefits. Using the character Lysicles as a mouthpiece for Mandeville, Berkeley presented a caricature of Mandeville’s economic argument. Taking the example of drunkenness, Lysicles argued that self-interested vice brings about advantages to the state. Not only does the malt tax increase the government’s coffers, but the circulation of money attendant to its consumption benefits “the brewer, the maltster, the ploughman, the dealer in hops, the smith, the carpenter, the brazier, the joiner, with all the other artificers necessary to supply those enumerated with their respective instruments and utensils” (ALC 66). Furthermore, when those involved with the foreign trade in alcohol were also considered, he claimed that “you will be amazed at the wonderfully extended scene of benefits which arise from the single vice of drunkenness, so much run down and declaimed against by all grave reformers” (ALC 67). After extolling the “virtues” of gaming, fashion, and highway robbery, Lysicles concluded that the pursuit of luxurious vices, “the benefit whereof is universal, and the damage only particular to private persons or families, ought to be encouraged in a wise commonwealth” (ALC 70). From Berkeley’s perspective, as voiced by the characters Crito and Euphranor, these supposed insights were foolhardy at best and harbored the potential for national catastrophe at worst. While he acknowledged that pleasure could be equated with happiness and virtue, Berkeley claimed that this was not the ultimate telos of humanity. Drawing upon the Stoic notion of oikeiosis and an appreciation for the value of religious sentiment Berkeley held that individuals could harness the power of their intellect, thereby coming to enjoy the pleasures of the “imagination” and “reason” (ALC 86). In this light, “rational” pleasures were seen by Berkeley as encompassing a “future state” that was more “real and lasting” than the transient pleasures of the senses (ALC 88).4 These insights into the nature of pleasure, in turn, could spread through society via the principles of religion and wise government.

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In addition to undermining Mandeville’s notion of human nature, Berkeley also sought to challenge his contention that luxury was beneficial for the state. First tackling Mandeville’s valorization of drunkenness, Berkeley observed that on a micro level, “a sober healthy man . . . in a long life, may circulate more money by eating and drinking, than a glutton or a drunkard in a short one” (ALC 71). If the circulation of money improved the economy, moderate consumption could be more advantageous in the long run than shortsighted indulgence in sensual pleasures. Stressing the role of luxury in this process of national decline, Berkeley observed that it “makes a nation, like a diseased pampered body, look full and fat with one foot in the grave” (ALC 105). Having already established that happiness was not purely an offshoot of sensual pleasure, Berkeley thus claimed that virtuous moderation was the key to national health and security. By the 1730s critics of luxury were beginning to lose ground in the British public sphere, as an increased concern for commercial affairs encouraged the articulation of an “economized” defense of luxury. From Berkeley’s perspective in the mid-1730s, the growing chorus of texts emanating from London lauding self-interested luxury was especially pernicious when applied to Ireland. Not only was the Irish economy underdeveloped when compared to Britain, but the gross inequalities of wealth between the landlords and the mass of the population acted to further undermine the economic health of the nation and stifle any possible growth. During the 1730s, Berkeley sought to chart a course that could enable Ireland to emerge from this situation and his economic plans in The Querist played a key role in cementing his reputation as an “Irish patriot” among his contemporaries. Berkeley was not alone in decrying the state of the Irish economy; so in order to appreciate his contributions to this debate, it is important to first outline two contexts surrounding his text: the state of the Irish economy and the tracts published by Berkeley’s friends in the Dublin Society.

II. The Irish Economy in the 1720s and 1730s With a few exceptions, studies of early eighteenth-century Irish economics have often overlooked the important theoretical advances generated in response to the problems besetting the nation.5 The overwhelming impression of Ireland’s economy during this time, as relayed by contemporary observers, was of a “poor and backward” nation.6 While some historians have argued that the financial situation was not in as dire a state as conveyed by writers of the time, it was still a far cry from the level of prosperity

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enjoyed by her neighbors. For many Irish writers and historians examining this period, these economic issues were symptomatic of deeper political ones: namely, the influence and power exerted by Britain over the island. While the question of political dependency was certainly important, as evidenced by the Declaratory Act (1720), L. M. Cullen has rightfully noted that studies of this period are often filtered through a concern for “nascent constitutional agitation and economic nationalism.” 7 While it is true that many early eighteenth-century Irish figures saw the economic problems facing Ireland as being inextricably linked to the political power wielded by Britain, it is important not to fall victim to the historical “mythology” that sees the former as a mere shadow of the latter.8 Certainly, pressure on Irish trade from the British Parliament had slowly increased, since the 1663 prohibition of live cattle exports, to include more strict enforcement of the Navigation Laws and the 1699 Woollen Act.9 When coupled with the prohibitive duties on the import of Irish goods to Britain, these measures struck at the heart of Irish trade. Yet at the same time, the economic theories advanced by Irish writers during the late 1720s and 1730s were not limited to political issues or fears of dependency; rather, they advanced sophisticated plans for the amelioration of the Irish economy that were grounded in a nuanced understanding of the practical realities and challenges facing a cash-poor nation whose wealth was threatened by both internal and external forces. As James Kelly has noted the first two decades of the eighteenth century were generally good, but by the end of the 1710s the collapse of prices and a series of poor harvests “exposed the weaknesses of the Irish economy and plunged the nation into crisis.”10 Irish frustration with Britain’s unsympathetic attitude was further acerbated during the early 1720s, with the eruption of the Bank Controversy (1720–21) and Wood’s Halfpence affair (1723–25).11 In 1720 there was a strong proposal to establish a National Bank in Ireland, modeled on the Bank of England, whose main customer was to be the Irish government.12 Writers such as Francis Hutcheson (bishop of Down) and John Irwin argued that it would help alleviate the long-running shortage of money within Ireland by offering credit to the government.13 Furthermore, a public bank would be “stable, fixed and immortal in its Nature,” thus ensuring the financial security of the state.14 One of the problems with the plan, from the perspective of Irish patriots such as Hercules Rowley, was the fear that the British would manipulate it to perpetuate the poor state of the Irish economy by facilitating the transfer of resources from Ireland to Britain.15 Even the wealth that remained in Ireland could potentially be detrimental, since the recent events associated with the South Sea Bubble had highlighted the “corruption” attendant upon great sums of money and raised the

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classical specter of “luxury” undermining the moral health of the nation.16 After a protracted pamphlet and political debate upon merits of such a bank, in December 1721 the Irish Parliament rejected these proposals and issued resolutions claiming that it was constitutionally “dangerous” to the well-being of Ireland.17 This persistent economic and political distrust of British motives during the bank controversy also colored the debate over the introduction of Wood’s halfpence, sparking a flurry of tracts against the establishment of this coin. To briefly recount, in 1722 Westminster approved a patent by William Wood for the private minting of copper halfpence and farthings for circulation in Ireland, without first consulting Irish authorities. This proposal was aimed at alleviating the perennial problem posed by the scarcity of small-denomination silver coins, since no such Irish currency had been minted since the reign of James I in 1605.18 If fact, the “need for money” grew so acute that a number “of manufacturers were obliged to pay their men with tallies or card tokens signed on the back for exchange into money at a later date.”19 As such, it was hoped that the introduction of Wood’s halfpence would facilitate trade within Ireland.20 The main problem with this plan was the fact that Wood’s patent did not require the Irish to accept his coins as legal tender, nor did it “oblige [Wood] or his agents to convert the coin on demand” into gold or silver currency.”21 Thus, despite these somewhat laudable intentions, Wood’s scheme quickly ran into opposition when Irish writers raised a number of complaints against it. Following on the heels of Jonathan Swift’s Drapier’s Letters (1724) and popular agitation, Walpole’s administration was forced to remove Wood’s patent in August 1725.22 In addition to these political problems, the Irish economy was also hit hard during the later 1720s. Although there was improvement between 1722 and 1724, the failure of Wood’s halfpence meant that there was still a shortage of low-denomination coins in circulation.23 Furthermore, beginning in 1726 a series of poor harvests and unseasonable weather culminated in near-famine conditions by 1728.24 To add insult to injury, these natural calamities were accompanied by a series of rent increases. Most of the land had been leased on twenty-one- and thirty-one-year terms during the 1690s, and as these contracts expired landlords operating on fixed budgets sought to increase their incomes at the expense of their tenants.25 Thus, not only did political issues act to undermine the stability of the Irish economy, but so too did more “natural” or “domestic” forces. As Ireland entered the 1730s, a number of economic writers suggested possible solutions to the plight facing the nation. Some of these authors focused upon the need to encourage new methods of agricultural production, particularly the cultivation of flax, which would improve “our

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Fortunes without hurting our Neighbours.”26 Other tracts aimed at alleviating the conditions of the poor through the introduction of public granaries or by opening the woolen trade, but these proposals failed to sway the British Parliament.27 As these efforts came to naught the individuals who later formed the Dublin Society began writing, culminating with the foundation of the organization in 1731.28 Faced with the cash-poor Irish economy and the flight of specie to Britain, writers such as Prior, David Bindon, Arthur Dobbs, and John Browne took important strides toward analyzing the challenges facing Ireland and offered a number of practical solutions for improving the economic health of the nation.29

III. Patriots and the Nation: The Dublin Society The Irish writers associated with the Dublin Society confronted the challenge of placing their nation on the track for growth during 1730s and shared a number of common concerns. Their ultimate goals were neatly encapsulated by a poem by James Arbuckle, who lauded the “patriotic” vision of the organization amid what he saw as “an Age of sickening Virtue.” According to Arbuckle, the true “patriots” of the Dublin Society were individuals willing to “devote their Labours to the Public Weal” and would play a crucial role in encouraging the industry needed to allow Ireland to be “Repair’d by Arts, and Industry, grow great.”30 Although the foci of their investigations differed, they tended to eschew grand theories in favor of solving immediate, practical issues. As noted by Salim Rashid and Patrick Kelly, these thinkers identified three interrelated problems as underlying Ireland’s economic plight. First, they recognized that the presence, or rather absence, of landowners acted to sap Irish wealth toward Britain—the fruits of Irish labor were exported through rents paid to these absentees. Second, these writers were also deeply troubled by the quantity of coinage within the realm. In particular, they feared that the dearth of small-denomination coins made it difficult to conduct daily trade and thus acted to discourage industry; however, these writers also recognized that there were limits to how much money should exist within the nation, which they expressed through their critiques of luxury.31 Accordingly, the third facet of their contribution to understanding the early eighteenthcentury Irish economy stressed the deleterious effect luxury consumption could have upon a developing nation. The first major problem identified by Irish writers during the late 1720s stemmed from the fact that many Irish landlords resided abroad in Britain. The most influential indictment of these “drains” upon the Irish economy

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was that of Thomas Prior, whose 1729 List of the Absentees of Ireland carefully analyzed how these individuals “deserted their own Country,” resulting in the “Loss of our Trade, Loss of our Money, and additional Taxes.”32 On the most basic level, Prior argued that the demand for specie by absentee landlords lowered the stock of coin in Ireland. He claimed money is “the Measure of all Commerce . . . [and a] Want of Money in the Kingdom, throws a damp upon all business.”33 As explained by Prior, this process was a cumulative one, since the absentee landlords consistently drew wealth away from Ireland without any effort to repair the damage they were causing. If this state of affairs were to continue, he could only lament the fact that Ireland eventually would be “reduc’d to the Condition of some of our Plantations,” devoid of industry or trade.34 Prior’s analysis was echoed by the anonymous author of The Present State of Ireland Consider’ d (1730), who blasted these figures as “a dead Weight on the Nation” whose actions would “reduce the Kingdom to Beggary.” Through their foreign spending, absentee landlords were to blame for a “great OverBalance in Trade” that could only result in economic ruin.35 These sentiments were echoed with particular vitriol by a popular broadside that compared absentees to neglectful “husbands” who “Starve their Family’s, while they riotously support Whores and Followers whom they have no Kin to, but Lasciviousness.”36 In each of these cases, the self-interested actions of the absentee landlords were seen as drawing away the wealth of Ireland and thus retarding the growth of industry and trade, a problem made worse by the scarcity of coin. Despite its flaws, the failure of Wood’s halfpence meant that there was still a dramatic shortage of small denomination currency. Once again a leading figure in calling attention to this danger was Prior, whose 1730 Observations on Coin in General focused upon the “inconveniencies we labour under, for want of a due Regulation of our Coin.” Alluding to the scarcity of low-valued coins, Prior contended that “this Want of Change greatly embarrasses the Dealings of poor People, and is a great Obstruction to all Sorts of Business.”37 Prior noted in passing the roles of absentee landlords and the “vast Importation of Silver into Europe” from the New World in contributing to this problem, but claimed that the ultimate blame lay with the proportion of precious metals in Irish coins compared with those of other nations.38 Surveying recent history he argued Irish copper had been overvalued compared with colonial coins, which resulted in traders sending halfpence and farthing coins to the New World while no new coins were minted to replace them.39 The pseudonymous Isaac Broadloom also saw a connection between the circulation of “small change” and the health of the nation as a whole, claiming that the want of copper coins had a visible affect upon “all degrees of People among us.”40 In a similar manner

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David Bindon argued that “the scarcity of Money in Ireland deprives the common people of a great part of the necessary means of their subsistence,” increasing “the number of Beggars and idle People among us” and making “others fly the Country.”41 Bindon observed that while “[m]oney is the Common measure of other Commodities,” at the same time it “is a Commodity itself” whose value was “measured by the Interest . . . paid for it.” Drawing a connection between interest and credit, Bindon contended that the scarcity of coin in Ireland raised interest rates, which in turn hampered the development of industry and trade.42 According to this position the Irish economy failed to expand due to the want of specie, in effect keeping the nation locked in a condition of dearth compared to her more commercially successful neighbors. While the lack of money hurt the poor, these writers also took aim at the prevalence of luxury spending among the Irish gentry. Here, the brunt of their scorn was reserved for the absentees, whose “extravagance,” “vanity,” and “luxury” were seen by Prior as contributing to the “impoverishment and ruin of their native country.”43 In Prior’s opinion Irish nobles were motivated by “an Affectation of imitating the Nobility and Gentry of other Countries in their Expences,” which resulted in profligate spending.44 Arthur Dobbs also railed against the overwhelming consumption of luxury by the wealthy and its more widespread influence upon Irish society. According to Dobbs, “our Luxury and Extravagance . . . is one of the principal Sources of all our National Evils.”45 Given this situation it was essential for Ireland to “retrench” against luxury spending “before idleness and debauchery prevail too far among the middle and lower ranks of men,” since these people “readily follow the examples of those of higher station.”46 In 1730 the anonymous author of The Present State of Ireland Consider’ d also exhibited this fear of the creeping demand for luxuries, arguing against the “pleasure which attends luxury, the Bane of every State,” on the grounds that it promotes “luxury in your inferiors, by their following” the examples of the gentry.47 The dangers of luxury were stressed even more in An Inquiry into Some of the Causes of the Ill Situation of the Affairs of Ireland (1731), whose author lamented the fact that “many of our Gentry, regardless of the Publick Good, seem drowned in Luxury.” In this tract, luxury was placed into opposition to “public spirit” and was closely identified with foreign commodities (especially from France).48 These descriptions of how luxury could lead to national ruin in an economic sense were perhaps most eloquently stated in a series of tracts by Sir John Browne. In his Seasonable Remarks on Trade (1728), Browne noted that “industry begets trade and wealth, so whenever the minds of a people are unbent by excessive riches into indolence and luxury . . . they soon see their grandeur moulder away, and their slow acquired riches depart with

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hasty strides to their rising successor.”49 Elsewhere Browne reinforced this notion, claiming that “want by obliging to industry begets wealth, and wealth by a strange reverse, reduces to poverty again, if prudent oeconomy is wanting; for indolence and luxury are ever in the train of wealth, and stalk close upon the heels of riches; these beget a shameful neglect of industry, and an immoderate consumption of foreign commodities.”50 If these were the main problems facing Ireland, what then were the solutions proffered by the members of the Dublin Society? According to Prior’s assessment of the situation, the main goal was to increase the amount of specie in circulation. First taking aim at the extravagance of the absentee landlords Prior proposed a tax upon their estates, claiming that it would stop “in a great Measure those wasteful Drains of our Money” and encourage them to “return home.”51 The benefit of this plan was that the spending of the gentry would be confined to Ireland, thereby encouraging domestic consumption. Prior also advanced a scheme calling for the government to manipulate the value of Irish coins. Hoping to prevent the flight of specie from the island, he “proposed to raise the Crown a Penny, and to settle the Values of the Gold Species, as near as may be, to the Proportion of Gold to Silver in England.”52 As explained by Prior, both of these actions would increase the amount of coin circulating within Ireland and thus encourage industry and trade. Prior’s concern with the value of coins and their use in facilitating trade within Ireland was shared by Bindon, who coupled this insight with a strong attack on luxury. Rather than focus upon the amount of coins in Ireland Bindon seized on the idea of credit as a spur to domestic industry, which would in turn create greater opportunities for employment. In order to facilitate this growth, Bindon called for the creation of a general fund in Dublin (to the tune of £10,000) that would offer grants to individuals seeking to develop new enterprises.53 Citing the example of Holland, Bindon’s plan called for the legislature to loosen banking laws and thus allow manufacturers to raise the capital they needed.54 Still Bindon cautioned against allowing wealth to become too concentrated, due to the fear of luxury gaining a foothold. In his preface to his translation of JeanFrançois Melon’s Political Essay on Commerce in 1738 Bindon left no doubt that the consumption of foreign luxuries could lead to national ruin, but noted that if this impulse could be directed toward domestically produced goods the overall health of the economy would improve.55 These benefits could be amplified if the government spent more on public works projects—such as encouraging tillage, improving navigation, and building public granaries—that would lessen the plight of those at the lower end of the economic ladder.56 Taken as a whole, Bindon’s emphasis on encouraging domestic production and consumption harbored an appreciation for

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the industry of Irish workers that was common to members of the Dublin Society. Echoes of Bindon’s fears of luxury and plans for encouraging specific industries may also be seen in the works of Dobbs and Browne, who both shared an appreciation for the role of government in harnessing “industrious” labor. In his Essay on Trade, Dobbs called for tax laws that would “encourage frugality in the rich and industry in the poor.” This was accompanied by a call for sumptuary laws designed to curb the self-indulgence of the nobility.57 Browne, who sought to “improve the national industry” wherever possible, made similar points. The first part of this process was to prevent or limit the consumption of luxury goods, thereby tackling the consumer side of the equation. According to Browne (and many others), “sumptuary laws and a prudent imposition of taxes” could help alleviate this problem.58 Still, in terms of practical programs for improving Ireland’s economy, Dobbs went further when he called for government intervention in building granaries, assisting the linen trade, facilitating mining operations, and spurring the development of Irish fisheries.59 Through these programs, Dobbs hoped that Irish industry would grow and the overall state of the nation’s economy would improve. Despite the perception of being on the periphery of commercial development during the 1720s and 1730s, Irish thinkers advanced a number of important strands of economic thought. Through their sophisticated analyses of the influence of absentee landlords upon national wealth, the need for sufficient specie in circulation to facilitate trade, and the dangers of excessive consumption, these figures identified three core challenges facing Ireland and used them as the basis for their proposals for stimulating production and industry within the state. In their published tracts and the formation of the Dublin Society, these self-proclaimed Irish “patriots” constructed an “improving” literature that translated their economic insights into concrete proposals and provided a friendly audience for Berkeley’s own economic writings.60

IV. Berkeley’s Querist: Identifying and Improving the “Irish Nation” Berkeley’s collection of semirhetorical questions, The Querist, reflected many of the concerns articulated by the Dublin Society and his connection with this group is highlighted by the fact that Prior and Madden supervised the Dublin edition of the text.61 Published over the course of three years, this tract is an important work in the history of Irish economics

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and is guided by his proscriptions for the revitalization of Ireland. The first edition of this text was anonymously published and it was not until the 1750 publication of a second edition that Berkeley’s authorship was announced to the world at large. Amid this welter of queries Berkeley set forth a sophisticated interpretation of monetary theory, contending that money was a “counter” or “ticket” whose value could be divorced from any intrinsic value of the metallic coins.62 While economic historians have identified this work as crucial for later economic thought, it is also important to consider Berkeley’s analysis of the forces he believed were undermining Ireland’s economic position and preventing the nation from growing: in particular the important distinction between the beneficial, “moderate fashions” that encouraged industry and domestic consumption and the pernicious influence of luxury that lulled the wealthy into indolence and drained the nation’s wealth. In the Preface to The Querist, Berkeley outlined his goals, specifically noting his desire to help increase the “sum of human happiness” (Q Preface).63 While acknowledging that he might receive “censure” for “meddling out of my profession,” he argued that “to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, by promoting an honest industry, will, perhaps, be deemed no improper employment for a clergyman who still thinks himself a member of the commonwealth” (Q Preface). Although the rhetorical style of his queries may have obscured his message, Berkeley’s goal of ameliorating the problems facing the Irish economy, as a whole, was clear. In this respect, Berkeley may be seen as an “Irish economic nationalist” who sought to improve the Irish economy against that of Britain.64 By framing his text as aimed at the general welfare of the nation, Berkeley positioned himself within the tradition of improving literature articulated by the members of the Dublin Society and the nature of his text confirms this affinity. Rather than relying upon abstract theories, the organization of Berkeley’s Querist is “built upwards out of particular practical proposals suggested by the closelyobserved problems around him.”65 Douglas Vickers has rightfully claimed that The Querist should be seen as a work of “applied economics” on par with the tracts of Prior and Dobbs.66 While Swift believed “Ireland’s economic problems were firmly subordinated to political considerations,” for Berkeley and the writers of the Dublin Society practical programs aimed at improving society were essential for the future well-being of the nation.67 Generally speaking, his queries referred to two social groups: the “inhabitants of Ireland” and the “native” or “common” Irish. He used the first of these terms primarily to designate everyone on the island, Protestant and Catholic, while the latter solely signified the Irish Catholics. In The Querist, Berkeley’s sporadic references to the “inhabitants of Ireland” or to “our people” occur at points where he contrasted the

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economic interests of Ireland (as a whole) with those of Britain. He took issue with the Irish strategy of raising large numbers of sheep, suggesting that too much dependence upon the wool trade could be dangerous to “Ireland” and to “the Irish” (Q 88, 89, 490). He further claimed that the whole nation should work together (vis-à-vis Britain), asking “whether anything can be more ridiculous than for the north of Ireland to be jealous of a linen manufacturer in the South?” (Q 95). Berkeley sought to encourage domestic consumption, by both Protestants and Catholics, in order to raise the living standards of everyone (Q 127). In this case, he considered himself “Irish” when the interests of his native land were placed into juxtaposition with those of Britain. This is the Berkeley cited by those who have enshrined him in the pantheon of early Irish economic protectionists and it would thus seem as though Berkeley harbored an inclusive attitude toward “Irishness,” at least when faced with economic issues close to the hearts of Irish Protestants. As he surveyed the general economic condition of Ireland Berkeley expressed dismay that the bulk of the Irish (Catholic) population remained mired in poverty, despite being blessed with abundant natural resources. He wondered “whether we are not in fact the only people who may be said to starve in the midst of plenty?” (Q 446).68 In a similar vein, he asked “whether it be not a new spectacle under the sun, to behold, in such a climate and such a soil, and under such a gentle government, so many roads untrodden, fields, untilled, houses desolate, and hands unemployed” (Q 418).69 Berkeley’s analysis of this situation focused upon two main segments of the Irish population. First, he lamented the poor living conditions of the bulk of the Irish Catholics, but suggested that their plight was partially of their own making due to their moral (and presumably religious) failings.70 Berkeley also took aim at the luxurious lifestyles of the AngloIrish gentry (at home and abroad) who placed their own personal interests above those of the nation and failed to recognize their moral duty to assist others within Ireland. In The Querist, Berkeley articulated a two-pronged plan for improving the economic health of the nation and the well-being of its inhabitants. Expanding upon the arguments of his 1721 Essay, Berkeley’s strategy centered on a carefully nuanced interpretation of the benefits and dangers luxury could hold for a developing economy. In making this argument, Berkeley displayed a newfound appreciation for the value of “low-level” luxury on a strictly economic level. Suggesting that the Irish needed to cultivate a “taste for prosperity” among the laboring classes, Berkeley displayed a willingness to adopt tactics absent from his earlier forays into economics. Still, while this limited embrace of “reasonable fashions” indicated that Berkeley recognized the importance of “appetites” as a spur

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to industry, he was careful to note that the stimulation of demand should only be targeted at the lower classes.71 Thus, Berkeley’s encouragement of new wants was tempered by his moral disdain for luxury, particularly the spending patterns of the Irish gentry and their taste for foreign goods. In effect, he sought to counterbalance the creation of new wants among the lower classes by reining in the luxurious expenditures of the gentry. By encouraging the consumption of domestic goods, Berkeley hoped to make it possible for the Irish to “live cleanly and comfortably, till the land, and reap the fruits of it,” even “if there was a brass wall a thousand cubits high round this kingdom” (Q 134). Underlying Berkeley’s plans was a sophisticated understanding of the needs of a developing economy. Rather than accepting the traditional mercantilist association of precious metals with wealth, Berkeley’s position was much more dynamic. He quickly dismissed the notion that gold and silver alone could make a people wealthy, noting that those living “amidst the gold sands of Afric” are “poor and destitute” (Q 29). According to Berkeley, gold and silver did not have any intrinsic value, but were useful only so far as they “set people at work” and thus created “industry” (Q 30). In this sense, Berkeley saw the issue of coinage that so concerned members of the Dublin Society as being less crucial for the improvement of the Irish economy. Berkeley equated wealth with “power,” further suggesting that a coin is merely a “ticket conveying power” (Q 475). By redefining wealth or specie as a “ticket,” Berkeley’s analysis raised a number of possible tactics that could ameliorate the problems associated with the scarcity of coin. Perhaps the easiest solution was the introduction of paper currency, which could be “of more dispatch in payments, more easily transferred, preserved, and recovered when lost” than coins (Q 226). After quickly surveying the history of exchange, Berkeley claimed that the use of “paper with proper marks and signatures” was “the greatest improvement,” and as such could be implemented to benefit all of Ireland (Q 445). Part of the reason for Berkeley’s valorization of paper currency stemmed from what he saw as being the crucial role of money within society: the need for it to circulate and thus create industry. For Berkeley, money that is hoarded does nothing to help the economy, but when it is moved by the “proper means of circulation” a nation may “hope for thriving manufacturers and a busy people” (Q 477 and 480). While Ireland may have fallen short of traditional measures of wealth, in the form of gold and silver specie, Berkeley suggested that the nation’s economy could grow by harnessing its own industry. Contending that the health of the economy was dependent upon the employment of its people, Berkeley asked “whether there ever was, is, or will be, and industrious nation poor, or an idle rich?” (Q 1).72 Berkeley stressed the idea that “human labour” is “the true source of wealth” (Q 42).

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By redefining a nation’s prosperity in terms of the activities of its citizens and not specie, Berkeley shifted his analysis away from traditional concerns for the “balance of trade” and made it possible to look within Ireland for the solutions to its problems.73 The presence or absence of metallic specie was no longer the primary determinant of a state’s economic power, but rather the industriousness of its inhabitants.74 By thus refocusing attention upon the domestic conditions within Ireland, particularly the work habits of the labor force, Berkeley made it possible to identify the specific problems facing his homeland and to suggest targeted solutions for them. Berkeley trained his eye upon the chronic unemployment of Ireland and identified what has since been termed the “perverse supply curve of labor.”75 Accepting a long-standing commonplace, Berkeley recognized that once the workforce achieved a minimum standard of living it was difficult to induce individuals to increase their labor. Involuntary unemployment was a serious problem, but the prevalence of voluntary unemployment was even more troubling and he explained this by singling out the faults of the native Irish Catholics. Berkeley asked “whether the bulk of our Irish natives are not kept from thriving, by that cynical content in dirt and beggary which they possess to a degree beyond any other people in Christendom?” (Q 19).76 Berkeley saw this endemic lack of industry among Irish laborers as part of a vicious circle, by which the poor lacked incentives to improve their standard of living, thus encouraging idleness and resulting in economic stagnation.77 He suggested that “nastiness and beggary . . . extinguish all . . . ambition, making men listless, hopeless, and slothful” (Q 61). Faced with this state of affairs, Berkeley sought to introduce psychological spurs to the industry that he believed was so essential for the development of the Irish economy. Berkeley contended that the easiest and most effective way to encourage industry was to stimulate demand for a higher standard of living. Keying in on the low expectations of the bulk of the Irish population, he suggested that introducing the desire for new commodities would provide the motivation needed to eliminate idleness. Applying this insight to the lower classes, he asked “whether the creating of wants be not the likeliest way to produce industry in a people? And whether if our peasants were accustomed to eat beef and wear shoes they would not be more industrious?” (Q 20). If the laboring classes came to expect a higher standard of living, the bare minimum of “comfort” could spur industry. Asking “whether comfortable living doth not produce wants, and wants industry, and industry wealth?” Berkeley highlighted the cumulative effects that minute improvements in the standard of living could produce (Q 107). Through the process of stimulating and expanding the wants of the population, Berkeley hoped to break through the cycle of poverty and idleness that had become

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entrenched throughout the Irish countryside. Berkeley believed that once the poor were driven to acquire “incentive” goods, they would be selfmotivated toward industry and thus eschew the idleness previously common throughout the nation; in effect using an economic carrot to lure them from their “innate” disposition toward sloth. Berkeley articulated the end-result of this shift in values by asking, “[S]uppose the bulk of our inhabitants had shoes to their feet, clothes to their backs, and beef in their bellies, might not such a state be eligible for the public, even though the squires were condemned to drink ale and cider?” (Q 112). This last query suggests the second aspect of Berkeley’s plan: a concerted effort to stamp out the luxury of the Protestant gentry classes. Berkeley, along with most of his fellow Irish economists, castigated “Irish squires” who preferred costly imports as symptomatic of a more general economic problem facing Ireland. Couching his analysis in terms of the national interest, Berkeley argued that “he whose luxury consumeth foreign products, and whose industry produceth nothing domestic to exchange for them” was “injurious to his country” (Q 57). While Berkeley’s earlier writings on luxury had a strong moral component, The Querist grounded his position in considerations of the effects of foreign luxury goods upon the well-being of the nation as a whole. Asking “how far the vanity of our ladies in dressing, and of our gentlemen in drinking, contributes to the general misery of the people?” Berkeley identified two foreign imports that illustrated the widespread “vanity” of the Irish, rather than any true necessity, and posed a grave danger to the state (Q 102).78 Berkeley argued that the Irish gentry failed to recognize that Ireland’s economy was substantially different from those of its trading partners.79 Thus, when the upper classes began “imitating those neighbours in our fashions, to whom we bear no likeness in our circumstances,” Berkeley asked “whether we are not undone by fashions made for other people? And whether it be not madness in a poor nation to imitate a rich one?” (Q 17 and 140).80 At the heart of Berkeley’s critique of foreign luxuries was an appreciation for the national interest, thus indicating his greater allegiance to Ireland as a whole. By spending their fortunes on foreign delicacies, the Irish gentry were ignoring the needs of their countrymen and undermining efforts for national improvement. A nation could not grow rich, according to this analysis, if “what is made by domestic industry is spent on foreign luxury” (Q 511). It is important to note that Berkeley’s argument against foreign trade was not premised upon mercantilist concerns for the flow of money, but rather upon the needs of the domestic population. Taking aim at the habits of the gentry Berkeley opposed “the vanity and luxury of a few . . . with the interest of a nation,” clearly siding with the position that “national wants ought . . . to be the first considered” (Q 167 and 168).

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Vividly encapsulating this idea, Berkeley questioned “whether she would not be a very vile matron, and justly thought either mad or foolish, that should give away the necessaries of life from her naked and famished children, in exchange for pearls to stick in her hair, and sweetmeats to please her own palate?” (Q 117). By sending essential Irish goods abroad to pay for imported luxuries, the Irish gentry were irresponsibly squandering the opportunity to improve the wealth of the nation and dooming the bulk of the population to poverty. Berkeley proposed a number of measures that could potentially alleviate this situation. First and foremost were plans for encouraging the demand for domestic manufactures, which he believed would spur production and industry throughout the nation. Berkeley contended that while “fashion” created “appetites,” it was possible for “the legislature to interpose in the making of fashions; and not leave an affair of so great influence to the management of women and fops, tailors, and vinters” (Q 13).81 For Berkeley, a key tactic was the creation of a moderate, “general good taste” that placed value on domestically produced commodities (Q 15). He repeatedly compared Irish goods with foreign ones, pointing out that the quality of the former often surpassed that of the latter.82 If Irish goods, such as tiles and plaster, were substituted for foreign ones, such as Norwegian fir, domestic production would increase and unemployment would be ameliorated. Once this process of national rejuvenation began, it would quickly pick up momentum and “become more and more considerable” (Q 591).83 Eventually, Ireland could develop new areas of manufacturing, so that it would no longer be necessary to “fold our hands, and repine that we are not allowed the woollen [trade]” but instead could “strike out and exert [ourselves] in permitted branches of trade” (Q 73). Expanding the Irish economy into new markets would raise rates of employment, production, and the Irish standard of living. Although Berkeley’s plans generally favored using positive incentives to encourage industry—stimulating demand through new “fashions” and “tastes” and highlighting the value of Irish goods—he was keenly aware of the powerful role that the state could play in this process.84 If the carrot did not entice the Irish poor to industry, Berkeley was willing to use the stick. After asking “whether the public hath not a right to employ those who cannot or who will not find employment for themselves,” Berkeley suggested that “temporary servitude” might be the “best cure of idleness and beggary” (Q 382 and 383). More chillingly, he wondered whether “all sturdy beggars should not be seized and made slaves to the public for a certain term of years?” (Q 384). Less dramatically, the state could take more prosaic actions aimed at curbing excessive spending. Recalling some of the plans advanced in his 1721 Essay he noted that “nations as wise and

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opulent as ours . . . have made sumptuary laws,” and asked “what hinders us from doing the same?” (Q 103 and RGB 76). Berkeley’s willingness to use the coercive power of the state targeted the gentry, recognizing their authority to determine taste and fashion. He questioned “whether it would not be better for this island” if the nobility were “shipped off, to remain in foreign countries, rather than that they should spend their estates at home in foreign luxury, and spread the contagion thereof through their native land?” (Q 326). By thus encouraging the consumption of Irish manufactures and seeking to limit that of foreign goods, Berkeley hoped to lay the foundation for a strong economy in Ireland. While Berkeley may have thought of Ireland as a whole when confronted with Britain, he distinguished between the Irish Protestants and the “native” or “common” Irish Catholics when faced with situations within Ireland. Seeking to improve the lot of these “poor illiterate natives,” Berkeley advanced a moral argument that targeted “our old native Irish” who were perhaps “the most indolent and supine people in Christendom” (Q 357). Berkeley identified two possible sources of this lack of industry, first asking “whether our natural Irish are not partly Spaniards and partly Tartars; and whether they do not bear signatures of their descent from both these nations?” (Q 512).85 This question led Berkeley to the second possible source of the “native’s” “sloth,” namely their Catholicism. Writing as a leading Irish Protestant, Berkeley called for the state to implement plans so “that our Irish natives should be converted, and the whole nation united in the same religion, the same allegiance, and the same interest” (Q 289). At the core of this scheme was the use of the Irish language by Protestant missionaries, to make it easier to “convert the natives” (Q 261). Berkeley believed that not only adults but the children of the natives should be targeted, asking “whether a sum which would go but a little way towards erecting hospitals for maintaining and educating the children of the native Irish might not go far in binding them out apprentices to Protestant masters?” (Q 259). Despite having a personal reputation for great generosity in Cloyne, among both Protestants and Catholics, Berkeley differentiated between varying degrees of “Irishness,” with religion being the final determining criteria. While he ultimately hoped for improvements in the general welfare of all inhabitants of Ireland, he did not view them as all existing on the same level. As he came to view the economic plight of Ireland in increasingly stark terms, Berkeley sought to encourage different strategies of improvement toward particular groups (especially the “native Irish” and absentee gentry). Still, a key component of Berkeley’s writings during this time stressed the need for the improvement of his homeland as a whole, a goal in line with Leerssen’s idea of Irish patriotism.

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In the end, Berkeley hoped to both raise the standard of living at the bottom of Irish society and lower it among the gentry, resulting in a more moderate society with a more equitable distribution of wealth. He imaged “a society or nation of human creatures, clad in woollen cloths and stuffs, eating good bread, beef and mutton, poultry and fish, in great plenty, drinking ale, mead, and cider, inhabiting decent houses built of brick and marble, taking their pleasure in fair parks and gardens, depending on no foreign imports either for food or rainment,” and then asked his reader “whether Ireland be not as well qualified for such a state as any nation under the sun?” (Q 123 and 124). The answer, according to Berkeley, was a resounding “yes” and marked the goal of his hopes for the Irish economy and people.


Chapter 8 Bishop of Cloyne: Protestantism, Patriotism, and a National Panacea

In addition to his economic writings in The Querist, it was during his time in Cloyne that Berkeley began to seriously address the sectarian issues facing Ireland. In his Primary Visitation Address (ca. 1735) and his Letter to Sir John James (1741), Berkeley drew upon earlier essays in The Guardian and his critiques of freethinkers in The Alciphron to contrast the tenets of the Church of Ireland and the Catholic Church. While Berkeley’s position was critical of Catholicism, his attacks were relatively mild and premised upon notions of rationality. From his vantage point Irish Catholics were at least Christian, as opposed to the dangerous freethinkers whom he believed to be the true threat to his contemporaries. These concerns for the dangers of freethinkers were particularly acute during the period immediately following the publication of The Querist, due to the growing presence in Dublin of a libertine club known as the Blasters. This group was associated with the Hell-Fire Club and came to national prominence in 1736 for its “satanic” activities. Berkeley’s response to this organization, his Discourse Addressed to Magistrates and Men in Authority (1738), illustrates his abiding conviction that freethinkers were undermining the traditional supports of religion and that their actions posed a serious danger to the state that true patriots needed to address. The Blasters raised Berkeley’s ire to the point that he traveled to Dublin and took his seat in the Irish Parliament in order to better respond to their heretical attacks. Once he returned to Cloyne Berkeley sought to improve the material and spiritual conditions of his flock, but these concerns were soon dwarfed by a series of epidemics that were literally sapping away at the body politic.

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Moved by the plight of his country Berkeley turned his attention to the medical field, seeking a way to alleviate the suffering that surrounded him. Faced with these challenges, Berkeley published his controversial, and oftoverlooked, Siris (1744). For philosophers concerned with Berkeley’s legacy Siris is rarely, if ever, mentioned as anything other than a “curiosity”; yet during his own life, his call for the use of “tar water” as both a preventative medicine and panacea was extraordinarily popular and helped cement his reputation as “the good bishop.” After examining Berkeley’s writings on religion and his response to the Blasters, this chapter locates Berkeley’s Siris within the context of Irish thought during the 1740s. As one of the most successful publications during his lifetime, it is important to examine how his observations directly challenged medical orthodoxy of the time. This will also clarify the place of Siris in the context of his career, showing that it was not “a new enthusiasm” but rather that the metaphysical underpinnings contained therein harkened back to his popular writings in The Guardian. In particular Berkeley’s evocation of the great chain of being in Siris drew upon his earlier notions of human sociability, suggesting that Berkeley held an inclusive view of humanity that crossed sectarian lines, holding out hope for the improvement of all inhabitants of Ireland. Berkeley’s willingness to engage with all members of Irish society is further evinced by a series of publications during and after the Jacobite rebellion of 1745. In these short pieces, Berkeley adopted the mantle of a statesman in order to moderate the passions and fears that were spreading throughout Ireland and he increasingly showed a willingness to deal with Irish Catholics as “Irish.” Drawing upon the ideals of sociability inherent in Siris, Berkeley offered advice to the Catholic clergy of Ireland in his Word to the Wise (1749). This text was critical of the Irish Catholic peasantry on economic and moral grounds, but did not attack Catholic doctrine; rather, Berkeley encouraged the Catholic clergy to instill “industry” among their charges. Berkeley argued that if this were done, all Irish citizens would reap material and spiritual benefits.

I. Berkeley the Bishop: Protestantism and Religion in Cloyne Berkeley’s depiction of the Catholic population of Ireland in The Querist illustrates the fact that he harbored some deep-seated hostility against their religion, but also raises questions concerning the positive content of his religious beliefs. Although they were few in number, the aspersions he cast

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upon the “lazy” nature of the Irish Catholics suggests that by the time he was elevated to the bishopric of Cloyne he had internalized some of the sectarian beliefs associated with the Anglo-Irish aristocracy during the early eighteenth century. Still, while Berkeley was clearly a committed member of the Church of Ireland, there are questions concerning how fully he embraced these views. Part of the problem with identifying the extent of Berkeley’s religious conviction stems from the fragmentary nature of his writings on the subject of religious doctrine. Despite being a well-placed member of the Church of Ireland he rarely addressed these issues directly, preferring instead to couch his inquiries into religion in broader terms. The task of uncovering his own beliefs is made even more difficult by his relatively private nature. In almost every aspect of his life, Berkeley sought to keep his personal life out of the public eye and this tendency was also evident in his religious writings.1 Thus, in order to gain a sense of Berkeley’s personal belief in religion, there are two primary sources: his published works and his personal correspondence. By considering each of these in turn we can gain a somewhat clearer view of Berkeley’s beliefs, although regrettably the picture remains somewhat cloudy. Perhaps the most direct evidence of Berkeley’s attitude toward the differences between Protestantism and Catholicism in Ireland is his Primary Visitation Charge given soon after he arrived in Cloyne (ca. 1735). In this short piece Berkeley explored the relationship between the Protestant and Catholic clergy in his diocese, showing a mixture of religious tolerance and evangelical zeal. Berkeley began by stressing that all clergymen should “behave with more than common vigilance, zeal, and discretion.” He further clarified the duty of the Anglican clergy by announcing that they needed to act with “double diligence in their callings . . . as we live among men of a different communion, abounding in numbers, obstinate in their prejudices, backward to acknowledge any merits, and ready to remark any defects in those who differ from them.”2 In this passage, Berkeley raised what was perhaps his main issue with Catholic doctrine, the supposed “prejudice” of its adherents. As indicated in his more philosophical works, Berkeley placed great stock in the role of reason and his primary complaint about Irish Catholics centered on their “enslavement” to the pope in Rome. Berkeley believed that true religion required humans to “argue” and “judge for themselves,” instead of relying upon others to make their decisions. This led him to accent the dichotomy between Protestants motivated by “reason” and Catholics moved by their “passions.” Philosophically, this stress on the need for individuals to make their own moral choices in order for them to hold meaning showed the importance he placed upon the freedom of choice in ethical matters. He firmly believed that if Catholics could be

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introduced to the tenets of Protestantism and convinced to rationally consider them, “the business of their conversion would be more than half done.”3 In order to facilitate this process, Berkeley suggested a number of techniques that could ease the conversion of Irish Catholics into Irish Protestants. To this end, Berkeley called for the use of the Irish language in sermons, encouraged “friendly commerce” between the two religions, advocated the proper use of tone and deportment when speaking with Irish Catholics, and suggested taking advantage of the captive audiences found in the Irish charity schools.4 Nonetheless, Berkeley’s main point of contention with Irish Catholicism was not necessarily based upon theological doctrines, but rather upon the role of reason and private judgment. While these attitudes are certainly associated with the religious doctrines of Protestantism and Catholicism, it is instructive to note that Berkeley chose to frame his analysis in general terms, eschewing point-by-point attacks upon Catholic beliefs. Thus, while it is clear that he rejected the overall attitude of Catholics, he recognized that they shared a belief in Christ and therefore could achieve salvation with the proper guidance. Although Berkeley made passing reference to religion in many of his letters, he only addressed questions of religious belief directly once. This letter, written to Sir John James (7 June 1741), came in response to the news that James had considered converting to Catholicism and is the only surviving examination of doctrinal questions written by Berkeley.5 In this piece, Berkeley argued for continuity between the early Church and contemporary Protestantism, on the grounds that there was “no Popery in St. Augustine, or St. Basil, or any writers of that antiquity.”6 Berkeley ridiculed the Catholic use of indulgences and the treasury of merit, claiming that these “innovations” were a symptom of the unquestioning obedience granted to the pope. As in his philosophical writings, Berkeley held that the individual use of reason and guidance from God were the keys to salvation, not “simply believing on the Pope’s authority.” According to Berkeley Christians should be linked to one another “by faith, hope, & charity,” not by the pope. He held that Protestants “see, as all must do, with our own eyes, by a common light but each with his own private eyes.”7 Just as in his more philosophical writings Berkeley stressed the importance of personal choice and volition in moral matters, since without the private opportunity to choose ethical action was impossible. Berkeley examined the history of the Catholic Church, highlighting the divisions within the Church and its history of scandals (such as the Donation of Constantine).8 Still, for all of this, Berkeley did not really address the nature of his own belief, other than linking Protestantism with free intellectual inquiry. Instead, he repeated the somewhat standard litany of complaints about papal authority that were a staple of Anglicanism during this period.

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Taken together Berkeley’s writings on religion indicate that he emphasized the roles of reason and private judgment, but was relatively tolerant of dissenters and Catholics. What is perhaps even more astonishing is the fact that in all his published works, he only mentioned the penal laws once and seemed to avoid discussing sectarian differences whenever possible.9 To a large degree, this reticence seems to be due to Berkeley’s constant desire to encourage the common good of all Christians against their common enemies: the freethinkers who sought to justify atheism under the guise of promoting free inquiry. Thus, when Berkeley discussed religion within the context of Ireland, he rarely addressed issues that could divide the population, seeking instead to emphasize points of agreement. This was keeping with his overall tendency to avoid such things as “party spirit” that undermined the unity of the nation. As G. A. Johnston suggests, “Berkeley was certainly not a bigoted Churchman. But he was a bigoted Christian, and he had not the slightest sympathy with the free-thinkers.”10 Thus, on both economic and religious levels, Berkeley sought to develop plans that could strengthen Ireland and its people.

II. The Bishop and the Blasters Berkeley’s concern for the spiritual health of the nation was tested by the rise of the Blasters in 1736. The infamy of this group reached such a height that the Irish House of Lords instructed its Committee for Religion to investigate its activities. According to its report of 10 March 1737, Peters Lens, “painter, lately come into this kingdom,” admitted “to be a votary of the Devil; that he hath offered up prayers to him, and publicly drank to the Devil’s health.”11 William Lecky links the Blasters with the Hell-Fire Club, but otherwise not much is known about their activities.12 The Lords’ Report claimed that they were a symptom of a recent “neglect of religion and all things sacred” that was accompanied by “a great increase of idleness, luxury, and excessive gaming, and an excess in the use of spirituous and intoxicating liquours.”13 Thus, while the actual crimes of the Blasters were a bit shadowy, they soon became a cause célèbre among Irish moralists such as Berkeley. In the fall of 1737 Berkeley traveled to Dublin, where he assumed his seat in the Irish House of Lords through the end of the session in the following March. Berkeley’s political contributions during this time were apparently limited to a single speech, “received with much applause,” in which he denounced the Blasters.14 Although he may not have been particularly vocal in the Irish Parliament, he also published an extensive

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critique of the Blasters and the current state of piety in Ireland. This text, A Discourse Addressed to Magistrates and Men in Authority, roundly condemned the growth of licentiousness and called for renewal of religious leadership within the political sphere.15 Berkeley’s tract drew upon themes he had explored earlier in his 1721 Essay and The Alciphron to highlight the relationship between a nation’s morality and health. In doing so, Berkeley advanced a patriotic vision of Ireland as a single “Christian” community that could be revitalized by the adoption of more pious attitudes. In his Discourse, Berkeley began by claiming that the Blasters were a “symptom” of the “neglect of religion” among his contemporaries. Just as he had earlier sought to use the public outcry sparked by the South Sea Bubble to rouse Britain from its immoral slumber, in 1738 he tried to harness popular indignation to convince his Irish audience of the need for religious retrenchment. Drawing upon one of his staple themes Berkeley argued that “men’s behaviour is the consequence of their principles,” and as a result a nation can only “thrive and flourish” if “good principles be propagated in the minds of those who compose it” (DISC 201). As he turned his attention to the forces that could ensure a stable state, Berkeley developed an argument concerning the formation of society that was grounded in the need to inculcate a strong sense of morality through education. While Berkeley’s stress on education was common to many of his works, his analysis of how morality was instilled among a people drew upon a model that echoed Mandeville’s earlier description of this process (although not the content). Berkeley distinguished between the “outward form” of a state and the “inward ways of thinking” of its citizens, in order to highlight the need for “civil and religious institutions” to target the latter.16 Berkeley claimed that humans were moved by a combination of the passions and reason, but that these motives often tended toward selfinterested ends. As a result, the goal of society was to “tame this animal and make him amenable to order, to inure him to a sense of justice and virtue . . . in short, to fashion and model him for society.” According to Berkeley this required good principles be “early sown in the mind,” thus teaching individuals how to control their “impetuous desires” (DISC 202). If this were successful, the nation would be able to work toward the common good in a cooperative manner. In a broader sense Berkeley contended that the stability of the state was dependent upon “order,” derived from the “judgment” of its subjects, which in turn were shaped by their “notions or opinions” (DISC 203). If individuals were taught to value “modesty, decency, justice, charity and the like” they would make excellent citizens; if not, they could become “monsters, utterly unfit for human society” (DISC 204).17 Although rational thought was important Berkeley contended that for the bulk of the

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population complex moral proofs were unnecessary, since it was unlikely “the multitude should be philosophers.” Instead, the state merely needed to make sure that its citizens’ “first dawn of understanding” in “moral, political and religious matters” was oriented in the appropriate direction. From Berkeley’s perspective this only became threatening when this process was dominated by “prejudices and errors,” such as those propagated by the true targets of his tract: the freethinkers (DISC 205). At the heart of Berkeley’s analysis was a belief that the order needed for a state to thrive was best supported by sound morals steeped in religion. By decoupling morality and religion through their attacks on traditional institutions, freethinkers eroded the security of the state. For instance, Berkeley took aim at the supposed virtue of the “noble savage” valorized by freethinkers as a justification for eliminating traditional mores. He admitted that “among savages there are few instances to be found of luxury, avarice, or ambitions,” but he stressed that this is “because the opportunities and faculties for such vices are wanting.” If they were given the “means of transgressing,” Berkeley contended “they know no bounds” (DISC 207). Freethinkers posed a threat to the established order not only by undermining traditional restraints upon individual morality, but also by encouraging others to do the same. This was particularly important in Ireland, since Berkeley noted that “power—physical power—resides in the people” and consequently is crucial for the state to retain the authority to “restrain and direct the people’s power” (DISC 208). If freethinkers (or their Blaster allies) were allowed to propagate their doctrines with impunity, Berkeley feared that the state could collapse. Faced with these potential dangers, Berkeley’s advice to civic leaders stressed the “duty of all good men . . . to co-operate with the designs of Providence.” The ultimate goal, as he saw it, was for government figures to ensure the “public care of a national religion” (DISC 212). In making his argument, Berkeley did not suggest that a specific religion was more suited than others for inculcating morality; any system that respected a “future state” was sufficient.18 Conversely, Berkeley singled out writers such as Shaftesbury and Mandeville for their efforts to divorce morality from religious thought. According to Berkeley, Shaftesbury and Mandeville cynically argued that there was no true morality since “outward” behavior that appeared virtuous was due to the love of “pride” or “fashion” (DISC 216). Berkeley believed that this position held the potential for national disaster. He was convinced that if a state failed to inculcate religious virtue among its population, groups such as the Blasters would find refuge and thrive. This was particularly dangerous given the nature of the Blasters’ crimes: they were not guilty of “common blasphemy,” but had committed “a direct and open attack on God Himself.” Furthermore, by diminishing

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the “religious awe and fear of God” that acts as “the cement that connects all human society,” the Blasters’ actions opened “the door to all other crimes” (DISC 219).19 Faced with these grave threats, Berkeley was clear that the responsibility for combating their pernicious influence lay with the leaders of the nation. Berkeley glossed over confessional differences between Protestants and Catholics and stressed that Ireland was a “Christian country” whose religion was “wrought into the very frame and principles of our government” (DISC 220). The activities of the Blasters were sufficiently heinous that they needed to be censored by every legal means possible and Berkeley was clear that any leader who failed to do so was “a bad patriot, a bad citizen . . . as well as a bad Christian” (DISC 221). Berkeley cast a bleak pall over Ireland’s prospects when he concluded that if the nation continued down its current path, it would be drowned in a “torrent” of “impiety” that “hath grown to such a head, and daily gathers force more and more to that degree, as threatens a general inundation and destruction of these realms” (DISC 222).20 Following his contributions to the debate over the Blasters Berkeley returned to Cloyne and turned his attention to the conditions of his diocese, where by the end of the 1730s he was by all accounts devoted to the care of his flock. Cloyne was an isolated and impoverished area, but Berkeley implemented a number of plans aimed at improving local conditions in this “region of dreams and trifles of so little consequence.”21 Drawing upon the ideas of fellow members of the Dublin Society, Berkeley organized a spinning school, built a workhouse for vagrants, and experimented with the cultivation of hemp and flax.22 In addition to encouraging economic development Berkeley created a center of learning and culture, eventually retaining an “eminent Italian Master of Musick in his house.”23 While these innovations pointed toward growing prosperity, nature soon intervened and wrought havoc to Berkeley’s hopes.

III. Tar-Water: The Panacea and Its Critics The winter of 1739–40 was exceptionally harsh and caused great devastation throughout Ireland. The author of The Distressed State of Ireland Considered (1740) observed that the “uncommon Height of Markets through the Summer, the Scarcity of Bread (that in some Places come near to a Famine) and the Poverty of the greater part of Buyers, are Hardships that have been very general though the Kingdom this Year.”24 Seeking to help relieve the plight of the poor, during the spring frost Berkeley donated £20 every Monday to the underprivileged of Cloyne and in a show

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of solidarity with his neighbors abstained from using precious flour to powder his wig until after the fall harvest.25 Nonetheless, these moderate efforts were for naught and by the end of the summer Ireland faced nearfamine conditions that recalled those of the late 1720s. Contemporary reports described the “dearth of all sorts of Provision, attended by a severe and almost general Sickness, that by all accounts [has] nearly depopulated some parts of the Country.”26 During the summer of 1740 an outbreak of smallpox hit Cloyne and by winter an epidemic of dysentery, in Berkeley’s words the “bloody flux,” had added further misery to the countryside.27 By the following spring Berkeley wrote that “the distresses of the sick and poor are endless,” leading him to lament that the “nation probably will not recover this loss in a century.”28 Surveying this wreckage, the author of The Groans of Ireland (1741) described the nation as “the most miserable Scene of universal distress, that I have ever read of in History.”29 Faced with these awful conditions Berkeley felt as though he had no option but to aid in whatever manner he could, an urge spurred by the paucity of medical care available in the region. During the early 1740s Ireland was plagued by a dearth of doctors, especially outside of Dublin. Medical care was primarily a matter of private enterprise and public benevolence, which in rural areas such as Cloyne meant that the poor were reliant upon generosity of the local gentry and religious establishment.30 Although there were some popular “cures” for ailments—such as Ward’s “Pill and Drop,” Dr. John Arbuthnot’s diet of “asses milk,” Dr. Thomas Dover’s “Mercury Powders,” and Dr. Robert James’s “Fever Powders”—effective treatment for the problems facing the country in 1741 were effectively nonexistent.31 Since the medical establishment was far from institutionalized at this point, Berkeley justified his actions by claiming that “if physicians think they have a right to treat of religious matters, I think I have an equal right to treat of medicine.”32 It was in this immediate context that Berkeley began his experiments with tar-water, seeking to alleviate the suffering of his neighbors. Berkeley’s letters to his friend Thomas Prior indicate that he first began experimenting with tar-water as a cure for the epidemics afflicting his neighbors in the fall of 1741, but it was not until the danger had passed that he was able to translate his experiences to writing.33 First published in Dublin, Siris: A Chain of Philosophical Reflexions and Inquiries concerning the Virtues of Tar Water (1744) quickly became a bestseller and passed through six editions within the year.34 In this rambling text, Berkeley began with concrete instructions for the preparation of tar-water and a series of case studies of its success in treating a wide array of ailments. Following this initial foray into medicine Siris meandered from botany to chemistry to metaphysics, before ending with a discussion concerning

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the nature of God.35 This structure is in part alluded to by the title itself, since “siris” is a variation of the Greek word for “chain,” but as Berkeley later noted the word “siris” also was used by the ancient Egyptians to refer to the Nile. In this sense, he suggested “the virtue of tar-water, flowing like the Nile from a secret and occult source, brancheth into innumerable channels, conveying health and relief wherever it is applied.”36 In this description, Berkeley pointed out two issues of importance for understanding the nature of this work. First, he suggested that tar-water, like the Nile, could provide a healing function for those who imbibed it. Second, his claim that it originated in a “secret and occult source” pointed toward his view of divinity and the notion of sociability that he believed connected all of humanity. Turning to the practical side of Siris, Berkeley clearly harbored great hopes for its ability to improve the daily lives of those who drank it. Although there is some debate about whether he learned of tar-water while in Rhode Island or in the pages of the Gentleman’s Magazine, Berkeley began Siris by providing his own recipe for the healing liquid.37 Berkeley suggested that tar-water could act to ease nearly every physical problem imaginable, although initially he eschewed using the word “panacea” and tempered his conclusions by repeatedly reminding his readers that his observations were based upon his own personal experiences.38 For instance, he noted that in 1741, “twenty-five fevers in my own family [were] cured by this medicinal water, drunk copiously” (S 77). His enthusiasm for the potential of tarwater was also evident in his First Letter to Thomas Prior on the Virtues of Tar-Water (1744), where he declared “I freely own that I suspect Tar-water is a Panacea . . . [but] that by a Panacea is not meant a Medicine which cures all Individuals, (this consists not with Mortality) but a Medicine that cures or relieves all the different Species of Distempers.”39 Not only could tar-water cure and prevent natural illnesses, but Berkeley also claimed that it could “withstand that execrable Plague of distilled Spirits . . . which Pest of human Kind is, I am told, gaining ground in this Country, already too thin of Inhabitants.”40 As described by Berkeley cheap, readily available tar-water could safeguard the Irish population and usher in a medical utopia, populated with healthy and productive citizens.41 Just as his earlier Bermuda plan had captured the public’s imagination, so too did the potential of tar-water. In June 1744 William Duncombe wrote to Archbishop Herring that “[i]t is impossible to write a letter now without tincturing the ink with tar-water.”42 In a similar manner, Horace Walpole observed in May 1744 that “we are now mad about tar-water.”43 By the end of the year, the Tar-Water Warehouse had opened in St. James’s Street and published excerpts from Siris along with testimonials as to its usefulness.44 The virtues of tar-water inspired the author of Tar Water, A Ballad, who

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implored his audience to laud Berkeley’s praises since he had taken the “sting” from death.45 One of these tracts, Siris in the Shades (1744), purported to relay a conversation over the merits of tar-water in the afterlife. In this “dialogue of the dead,” the recently deceased Benjamin Smith encounters Dr. John Hancock, who had advocated the use cold water as a panacea in his Febrifugium Magnum (1722).46 While Smith defends tar-water, Hancock not only disparages it but further claims that Berkeley “[stole] his Invention, dress[ed] it up a-new, and pass[ed] it off for his own.”47 Dr. Samuel Garth then joins the pair, informing them that discussion of tar-water is all the rage in Hades and describes how he was asked to follow Berkeley’s directions to produce it as a respite to Tantalus from his punishment. Unfortunately for Berkeley’s reputation in the netherworld, Tantalus “had not been on this Course above three Days, before it made him so horribly sick, that he begged to be put into his Lake again; declaring that he had rather be parched with Thirst to all Eternity, than drink a Drop more of it.”48 In the end, Dr. Garth suggests that the real purpose of Siris was not to advocate for tar-water, but rather “to surprise People into certain Reflexions, for which they have no Curiosity . . . to make Converts to his Philosophy; and that Tar-water was intended only for a Bait to draw worldly-minded People to read it . . . for the Book is not, in Reality, a Treatise of Physic, but of Metaphysics.”49 This claim that Berkeley’s Siris was more philosophy than science also filtered into responses from the medical field, which challenged Berkeley’s command of chemistry and modern medical practices on the grounds that his efforts were misguided at best and potentially harmful at worst. Leading the attack from the medical establishment was Dr. Thomas Reeve, later president of the Royal College of Physicians, who argued that Siris was riddled with scientific errors. Alluding to Berkeley’s earlier philosophic work, Reeve pointed out the irony of “an attempt to talk Men out of their Reason” being lodged by “that Author who had first tried to persuade them out of their Senses.”50 Reeve not only charged that Berkeley’s “infidelity in our Art is too apparent,” but claimed that he knew “very little of the Art [he had] undertaken to disprove.”51 Reeve then outlined a series of errors in Siris concerning chemical analyses, coming to the conclusion that Berkeley had only settled on tar-water due to the fact that it was easily and cheaply obtained. Following this logic Reeve chided Berkeley for failing to acknowledge “mere Water to be more medicinal than Tar-Water,” since it was even more readily available.52 Still, while Reeve’s attack on Berkeley’s medical credentials was powerful, for the most part it relied upon scientific issues and refrained from the ad hominem attacks that characterized other critics of Siris. James Jurin, secretary of the Royal Society and later president of the Royal College of Physicians, launched one of the more telling assaults on

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Siris.53 Questioning Berkeley’s allegiance to modern medicine, Jurin feared that Berkeley’s plan would submerge “the whole Knowledge of Medicine to its Primitive Darkness to specific Remedies, and occult Qualities.”54 In his Letter, Jurin argued that Berkeley misunderstood contemporary medical writers, resulting in a farrago of theories without scientific basis. This relatively sober analysis was accompanied by a snide allusion to Pope’s famous verse, when he suggested that “the Author has serv’d his Medicine just as Pope serv’d him, by giving it every Virtue under Heaven, he has made all the World conclude it never had any.”55 In the end, he announced that “as Bishop of Cloyne, I honour and respect [you], but as a Physician, I despise and pity You.”56 While Jurin’s judgment was harsh, at least it was premised upon the scientific merits of Siris unlike the tactics used by the author of Anti-Siris (1744). This pamphlet openly ridiculed tar-water by comparing it to an earlier panacea: red cow urine.57 Channeling the spirit of Swift, this tract outlined how potent red cow urine could only be collected “one or two Months in the Year, and but to a very early Hour in the Morning.” Despite its origins, red cow urine was described as commonly leading to the “Breach of the public Peace . . . which happen’d every Morning in the Cow Houses about this great Metropolis, when Footmen, Chairmen, and other trusty Messengers from the Ladies broke on another’s Heads to be first serv’d with the first plenteous Bounty of the Animal.”58 While Anti-Siris questioned the medical qualities of Berkeley’s panacea, it also incorporated a political attack. According to Anti-Siris, Berkeley’s Siris was not meant to be a scientific tract at all but rather was a “Medley of Politics and Metaphysics” designed to further Berkeley’s “religious and political scheme.” Religiously, Anti-Siris claimed that Berkeley’s true aim was to “attack Deism,” with the ultimate goal of reforming “church and state.”59 Furthermore, if tar-water were to prove successful, “the Call for his Commodity here must raise the Price in Norway, which would not only endear our Prince and nation to the Danes, but will enable their King to help us against France without a Subsidy.”60 According to this reading, Berkeley’s concerns for universal health were a mask for his goal of strengthening religious orthodoxy and increasing the power of the state. In part these accusations concerning Berkeley’s true motives may have been due to his Irish background, a fact that filtered into a number of the other responses to Siris with less vitriol. In these cases Berkeley’s Irish heritage and post were not necessarily a cause for alarm, but did raise questions concerning the viability of this cure across the Irish Sea. In his defense of Siris Philanthropos admitted that Berkeley may have overstated his case, but found some value in tar-water. In part this stemmed from the nature of Berkeley’s flock, on the grounds that “we must make

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great Allowances for the Patients my Lord prescribe to, viz. upon poor People in Ireland . . . whose Constitutions are in some measure emaciated by a perpetual Revolution of vernal and autumnal Agues, intermitting and other cronic Disorders.”61 Risorius questioned the effectiveness of tar-water as a panacea and mounted a similarly lukewarm defense. After noting some general problems with Berkeley’s analysis, Risorius suggested that tar-water “may be better adapted to the Climate of Ireland, than to English Constitutions; in which Case, the prudent Part would be, to leave it entirely to the Irish.”62 In each of these cases, tar-water was dismissed as a panacea, but was seen to have some (limited) use in Ireland where medical care was scarce—thus echoing Berkeley’s argument concerning the paucity of doctors in Cloyne. In the first section of Siris, Berkeley proposed a solution to one of the foremost problems facing Ireland: the lack of adequate medical care beyond the areas serviced by Dublin. While this effort elicited a number of critiques, the crisis to which he was responding was legitimate and reaching a critical point. In terms of Berkeley’s larger goal of improving Ireland as a whole, the notion of a panacea played a crucial role. Not only could tar-water improve the well-being of the Irish population, Protestant and Catholic alike, but a healthy workforce was essential for the nation as a whole to move forward economically. In the second part of Siris Berkeley outlined the metaphysical basis for tar-water’s effectiveness, drawing upon his earlier work to support his contention that there was a fundamental sense of sociability among all humans. This universal bond could unite and elevate the nation across sectarian bounds, just as the power of tar-water could improve the physical bodies of its population.

IV. The Stoic Tradition and Berkeley’s Siris Although the first part of Siris was devoted to explicating the benefits of tar-water, Berkeley also provided a series of digressions, or “chain of reflexions,” addressing the question of why this liquid could be so powerful. In the course of doing so, Berkeley raised a number of philosophical issues that have made this text particularly hard to categorize. As a result, commentators on this text have often tried to locate Siris within the context of Berkeley’s career, seeking to determine whether it was a new departure for him or a continuation of an earlier project. Luce suggests that while Siris built upon Berkeley’s earlier philosophic system, it was a weak effort that “never should have seen the light of day as such.”63

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Focusing on notions of particles within Siris, Gabriel Moked claims that this text marked a “radical change of mind” regarding the idea of “corpuscularian philosophy.”64 Marina Benjamin argues that Siris was the final salvo in Berkeley’s long-running attack on deists and freethinkers that sought to “bring wandering souls back to true religion.”65 Berman also emphasizes the religious nature of Siris, explaining the text as an example of Berkeley’s “medical idealism,” since “tar-water is the closest natural thing to drinkable God.”66 A few scholars have taken a different route, choosing to place Siris within “archaic” traditions of the “Great Chain of Being” with roots in Platonism and alchemy.67 According to this reading, the theory of the great chain of being made it “ontologically possible” for tar-water to be effective.68 While these explanations provide important insights into how Berkeley understood tar-water to function, in terms of the larger Irish context a more useful suggestion comes from Timo Airaksinen, who argues that Siris should be seen as imbibing heavily from the Stoic tradition of social thought. According to Airaksinen Berkeley accepted the Stoic notion that the world “is an organic unity,” modeled on the Great Chain of Being, which possesses a fundamental sense of harmony.69 In this case, the chain is constructed in the physical world along a continuum, running from tar to God, with tar itself acting as the “condensation of light” or “an embodiment of the divine life.”70 Since tar-water was the distillation of the “divine fire,” it could bring beneficial effects to all physical bodies with which it came into contact. In terms of living beings and consciousness, Berkeley also used this notion of a chain to claim that all the parts of the world, “however distant each from other, are nevertheless related and connected by one common nature . . . [as] a chain or scale of beings rising by gentle uninterrupted gradations from the lowest to the highest, each nature being informed and perfected by the participation of the higher” (S 274). While Airaksinen is right to point out that this ancient tradition indicated the potential for “perfectibility” among all beings, in terms of Berkeley’s understanding of Irish society, a more fruitful avenue of approach is to see Siris as another expression of the Stoic notion of oikeiosis.71 While Berkeley first proffered this description of interpersonal relations in his 1713 “Bond of Society” essay it formed an important basis for his metaphysical analysis in Siris, suggesting that tar-water was not only a panacea for the body but a potent symbol of human improvement. In Siris, Berkeley explores this notion of oikeiosis in two important ways. The first of these is alluded to by the title and structure of the work, since the flowing nature of the former is reflected by the organization of the latter. According to the Stoics, humans are first drawn

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to their immediate surroundings in the material world and it requires the exercise of reason to elevate the soul and allow for an appreciation of higher, more abstract, forms of the good. Berkeley embedded a sense of this process of gradual enlightenment within the structure of Siris. Berkeley’s text begins with a close examination of the physical benefits of tar-water, grounding his analysis in the material sciences of botany and chemistry. His focus gradually shifts toward a metaphysical exploration of the nature of reality and the divine, just as the Stoics suggested that the process of oikeiosis led humans to enlightenment. As a result, the “reader only interested in the latest cure” is guided along a path of “speculative ascent” to “consider divine subjects without his being aware of the transition.” 72 In addition to this structural evocation of oikeiosis, Berkeley also addressed this issue more formally in his explanation of the ties uniting disparate individuals. At the core of Berkeley’s analysis was an appreciation for Stoic cosmology. In Siris, Berkeley contended that there is a “hidden force that unites, adjusts, and causeth all things to hang together, and move in harmony . . . the principle of union is no blind principle, but acts with intellect. . . . Intellect enlightens, Love connects, and the sovereign good attracts all things” (S 259). This appeal to a divine source of harmony, echoing the Stoic notion of a pneuma shaping the universe, provided the basis for Berkeley’s explanation of social interaction.73 After outlining classical notions of fate, Berkeley appealed to the Stoic idea of the “world as an animal” when he suggested that “the mutual relation, connection, motion, and sympathy of the parts of this world, that they seem as it were animated and held together by one soul: and such is their harmony, order, and regular course, as shweweth the soul to be governed and directed by a mind” (S 273 and 276). In this sense, Berkeley’s adoption of the Stoic notion of universal harmony and the attraction between individuals provided the first step in the process of oikeiosis—the outward bond of sociability between humans—which was coupled with the “upward” movement toward intellectual improvement. After tracing the origins and nature of harmony within the natural world, Berkeley turned his analysis to the mental world. He contended that from the outward form of gross masses which occupy the vulgar, a curious inquirer proceeds to examine the inward structure and minute parts, and from observing the motions in nature, to discover the laws of those motions. . . . But, if proceeding still in his analysis and inquiry, he ascends from the sensible into the intellectual world, and beholds things in a new light and a new order, he will then change his system and perceive, that what he took for substances and causes are but fleeting shadows; that the mind contains all, and acts all, and it to all created

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beings the source of unity and identity, harmony and order, existence and stability. (S 295)

For Berkeley human nature and the harmony of the universe engendered an obligation for individuals to expand their knowledge, to elevate their minds “upward” toward a more refined understanding of their telos. Berkeley carefully explained the various types of knowledge, noting how each step in the process leads to a finer appreciation of the divine. He argued that “by experiments of sense we become acquainted with the lower faculties of the soul; and from them, whether by a gradual evolution or ascent, we arrive at the highest . . . in this scale, each lower faculty is a step that leads to one above it. And the uppermost naturally leads to the Deity” (S 303). In this, Berkeley’s use of this metaphor echoed the widespread notion of a “great chain of being,” but for him, as for the Stoic advocates of oikeiosis, the primary relationship of identity was between humans. In this case, Berkeley contended that an appreciation for the ties between individuals (the “outward” movement) and the divine (the “upward” movement) were essential for political leaders. He claimed, “[H]e who hath not much meditated upon God, the Humane mind, and the Summum bonum, may possibly make an able earthworm, but will most indubitably make a sorry patriot and a sorry statesman” (S 350). In the Irish case, this cosmopolitan vision of human sociability suggested that confessional lines were human constructs that could be cast aside as the overall level of consciousness within society was raised. Thus, tar-water was the physical manifestation of Berkeley’s larger metaphysical belief in the need to improve the physical and spiritual conditions of the nation. Taken as a whole, Berkeley’s Siris presented two related ideas for the improvement of Irish society during the 1740s. The first of these addressed the physical world through the medicinal effects of tar-water and aimed to ensure the health and well-being of a people sorely lacking proper care. By providing a cheap and easy way to prevent illness in a society that faced neardaily epidemics, Berkeley’s Siris may be seen as an effort to alleviate widespread suffering. At the same time, the metaphysical notion of sociability, embodied in the Stoic idea of oikeiosis, provided a cosmopolitan justification for casting aside religious differences and recognizing the innate humanity of all inhabitants of Ireland. By calling upon political leaders to jettison sectarian divisions in favor of a universal definition of humanity and yoking this with the need to elevate their consciousness, Berkeley provided a model for the amelioration of the problems facing Ireland. Thus, in the end, Berkeley sought to care for both the physical and spiritual sides of the Irish body politic, with the hope of laying a foundation for social improvement and uplift.

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V. Promoting Patriotism: The Jacobite Rebellion and Economic Improvement Following the publication of Siris, Berkeley not only spent a great deal of effort promoting tar-water but also penned a series of pieces that addressed the intersection of politics, religion, and economics. The first of these were written in response to the Jacobite rebellion in 1745. Unlike 1715, when Berkeley labored under public misapprehensions concerning his loyalties and had to publish his Advice to the Tories anonymously, in 1745 he waded directly into the public fray. Berkeley’s brother William was serving in Scotland at the time and George’s attitude reflected a sense of militancy absent from many of his other writings.74 In a letter to his friend Gervais, the dean of Lismore, Berkeley described his alarm upon learning that “a great body of rapparees is up in the county of Kilkenny.” Berkeley provided arms and horses for the twenty-four members of the Cloyne militia, in order to “keep off rogues in these doubtful times.” 75 These actions were supplemented by a series of letters to the Dublin Journal (pseudonymously published under the name of the Athenian statesman Eubulus) that addressed military questions and echoed contemporary calls stressing the importance of militias for keeping Ireland secure.76 Berkeley closely followed the news of the day, looking favorably upon the appointment of the moderate Earl of Chesterfield as the lord lieutenant of Ireland. He wrote to Gervais that Chesterfield’s name was “sacred all over this island” and to Prior that “there could not have happened a luckier incident to this poor island than the friendship of such a man, when there are so few of her own great men who either care or know how to befriend her.” 77 In his immediate response to the Jacobites, two letters written to the Protestant and Catholic clergy of Cloyne, Berkeley sought to prove himself to be one such “friend” of Ireland. In both of Berkeley’s public letters of 1745 he urged his respective audiences to remain loyal, although he used different arguments in each case. In his letter to the Protestant clergy of Cloyne, he appealed to the insecurities and pride of the Irish Protestants, while stressing the political and religious dangers that would arise if the “Pretender” was successful. Alluding to the especially precarious position of the Church of Ireland, he observed that while Protestants “in some other part of His Majesty’s dominions” may harbor some sympathy for the Jacobites, this was not the case in Ireland where this movement directly threatened the “ruin” of the “established Church.”78 If this “popish prince, nursed and brought up in the very bosom of spiritual blindness and superstition” gained the throne, Berkeley was convinced that he would curtail the religious liberties of the

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Irish Protestants. After outlining these threats, he stressed that “no part of His majesty’s subjects are more loyal than our brethren” in the Church of Ireland and urged them to call upon their parishioners to display prudence and trust in God.79 From Berkeley’s perspective, the best course of action for Irish Protestants to follow was predicated upon the preservation of the status quo. Berkeley also addressed a letter to the Catholic clergy of Cloyne, in which he tried to convince his readers that they had been treated well by the Protestant establishment and should thus be wary of taking any actions that could undermine this state of affairs. Drawing upon sentiments that were echoed by a number of popular pamphlets Berkeley claimed that Irish Catholics had been “treated with a truly Christian lenity under the present government,” which had protected their political and property rights under “equal laws.”80 Furthermore, it was in the material interests of Irish Catholics to remain loyal to the current monarch since a Jacobite victory could undermine the Catholics’ “own interests and fortune,” which were “interwoven” with their Protestant neighbors. Recalling his earlier analysis in his Advice to the Tories concerning the uncertainty of rebellion, Berkeley contended that past Catholic uprisings had left them “weaker and in a worse condition” and thus should be avoided.81 In the end, he suggested that whether following “interest” or “conscience,” Irish Catholics should continue “paying allegiance and peaceable submission” to their rightful king, rather than allowing themselves to be used as “tools to the ambition of foreign princes” who “will not fail to abandon you, as they have always done.”82 Berkeley’s responses to 1745 illustrated his deep concern for the dangers threatening Ireland as a nation and the position of Protestants within Irish society. His analysis of the Penal Laws, for instance, failed to show any sympathy for the actual conditions facing Irish Catholics, since it is unlikely that they would agree with his assessment that “equal laws” governed them. While Berkeley’s Letter may illustrate “Ascendancy apprehensiveness” part of this attitude could have stemmed from his general antipathy toward rebellion in general, rather than the specific threat of Catholicism.83 Still, after the danger of 1745 passed, Berkeley adopted an increasingly moderate position vis-à-vis Irish Catholics that reflected his belief that all members of the nation needed to work together toward the common good. As a token of this shift, when Berkeley revised The Querist after 1745, he replaced references to “papists” with the term “Roman Catholics” and omitted many references to sectarian divisions within the nation.84 Even more importantly, in 1749 he published an extensive and relatively sympathetic tract entitled A Word to the Wise, or an Exhortation to the Roman Catholic Clergy of Ireland.

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Berkeley’s Word to the Wise struck a relatively sensitive tone, addressing the Catholic clergy as his “countrymen and neighbors.” Despite his position as a leading figure of the Protestant establishment, he stressed that he wanted to work with the Catholic clergy “in one and the same design, to promote the common good of our country” (WW 235). In couching his tract in conciliatory language, Berkeley argued that the improvement of Ireland required everyone to work together. He claimed that his attitude toward the Catholic clergy was that of a “sincere well-wisher,” since he viewed them as “my countrymen, as fellow-subjects, as professing belief in the same Christ” (WW 248). According to Berkeley’s analysis, the economic problems facing Ireland were sufficiently grave that religious divisions needed to be cast aside and he held out hope that the Catholic clergy could play a crucial role in this process. Throughout this text, Berkeley shied away from political issues and stressed his belief in the close relationship between national virtue and economic growth.85 Echoing his earlier analyses, he contended that “honest industry” is the key to economic growth (WW 239). The problem, as he explained to the Catholic clergy, stemmed from the dispositions of the Irish Catholic poor. Unlike their religious leaders, Catholic peasants had not learned the importance of industry and were mired in “sloth” and “beggary” (WW 235–36). For Ireland’s economy to grow, Berkeley was convinced that there needed to be a revolution in the attitudes of “our lower Irish” that could only be brought about through moral instruction and education (WW 242–43). If the bulk of the population adopted industrious habits, there were many projects involving the construction of infrastructure and agricultural development “crying out for work” (WW 239). Although much of A Word to the Wise encouraged the Catholic clergy to instill industriousness among their charges and was generally supportive of their efforts, Berkeley was rather dismissive of the Catholic peasantry. According to Berkeley, there was no direct connection between Catholicism and sloth, since France, parts of Flanders, and even the pope himself encouraged industry (WW 247). What then was the source of this vice among the Catholic peasantry? After dismissing the impact of the Penal Laws upon the Irish poor, euphemistically referring to them as “discouragements attending those of your communion,” Berkeley advanced a racial explanation for their sloth (WW 240).86 He suggested that their “ hereditary sloth” may have been caused by the “Spanish or Scythian blood that runs in their veins,” since the “Scythians were noted for wandering, and the Spanish for sloth and pride” (WW 235–36).87 Berkeley’s emphasis on the transient nature of the Irish poor implied that as a people the bulk of the native Irish population could not yet be counted among modern, “settled” civilizations.88 This was particularly unfortunate, since

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the Irish had “flourished many ages ago in arts and learning” but were now “a lazy, destitute, and degenerate race” (WW 238). According to Berkeley, the indolence of the poor Irish was reflected in their daily lives by the filth that surrounded them, leading him to lament that “our poor Irish are wedded to dirt upon principle” (WW 242). As a result, Berkeley claimed that they were “more destitute than savages, and more abject than negroes,” since “the negroes in our plantations have a saying, ‘If negro was not negro, Irishman would be negro’ ” (WW 237). Berkeley’s analysis in Word to the Wise drew upon staple themes of his social writings, especially the link between a peoples’ virtue and the health of the nation, and applied it to the Irish Catholic population. While it is difficult to gauge this tract’s effectiveness, the Dublin Journal published a response from the Catholic clergy on 18 November 1749. In this short piece, the authors acknowledged that Berkeley’s “views are only towards the public good” and he was a “Good man . . . and a true patriot.”89 Berkeley’s tract may have elicited some goodwill among Irish Catholics, but it also illustrates his mature approach to the problems facing Ireland.90 By stressing the economic dimension of the crisis facing Ireland, Berkeley effectively depoliticized the root causes of the nation’s plight. He contended that the common good could only be achieved by cooperation across religious lines, but this goal was defined in terms of wealth or at least material comfort; not political liberty or equality. Instead of seeing patriotism in terms of political rights, as bishop of Cloyne he focused more upon constructing and expanding civil society. This approach to improving Ireland enhanced Berkeley’s public stature. The Walpole administration had viewed the archbishoprics of Armagh and Dublin as “English,” but as early as 1746 Lord Chesterfield inquired about Berkeley’s interest in being elevated to a more prestigious see.91 In a letter to Prior, Berkeley noted that such a move could tempt him “by a greater opportunity of doing good” but that he had resolved upon his “Oxford scheme” and would not be dissuaded.92 Before he and his family left Cloyne in 1752, he published a small tract that encouraged the cultivation of virtue within Ireland, his Maxims Concerning Patriotism (1750). Berkeley’s Maxims were originally published anonymously, with the author listed as “A Lady.” Although short, this piece illustrates Berkeley’s belief that the morality of a nation determined its overall health. The immediate context within which Berkeley published his Maxims was the Dublin debate over political reform and the constitutional relationship between Ireland and Britain sparked by Charles Lucas’s outpouring of speeches and tracts.93 In this environment, Berkeley sought to provide a moderate voice and the forty-two statements describing patriotism within the Maxims generally avoided party spirit. Read separately each of these

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entries may be seen as linking a particular virtue with the notion of patriotism, again suggesting that for Berkeley a nation’s strength was founded upon its citizens’ morals. Although the style of the Maxims is a bit opaque at times, the vast majority of the entries describe actions or characteristics that are identified as being unpatriotic, with the reader left to determine the appropriate counter-trait. Throughout this piece Berkeley advanced a number of ideas that should be embraced and a few key themes do emerge from the rhetorical confusion. For instance, he repeatedly stressed the “patriotic” nature of those who sought the “common good.”94 Additionally, the classical virtues of frugality, loyalty, honesty, benevolence, humility, and generosity were well represented, as befitting Berkeley’s earlier work.95 Taken as a whole, this tract may be seen as further evidence of Berkeley’s concern for the virtue and well-being of Ireland, even as his career was coming to a close. As the bishop of Cloyne, Berkeley’s writings and actions aimed to ameliorate the difficult conditions facing Ireland as a whole. During this period, he repeatedly explained how virtue was an essential trait for patriots seeking both spiritual and material improvement. Unlike many of his contemporaries in the Church of Ireland, Berkeley showed a remarkable willingness to reach out to Irish Catholics in his letters and tracts. Although his attitudes may have been tarnished by the Protestant hostility of the time, he did not use religion as a means to diminish the importance of Catholics to the nation; rather, he contended that their economic participation was crucial if Ireland was to succeed. Underlying this approach was Berkeley’s belief in a broad form of sociability uniting humanity. What was needed, from his point of view, was a regeneration of habits among the Catholics; not necessarily a change of confession. If they could be taught to cast aside sloth in favor of industry, he argued that Ireland would benefit greatly. Given the contentious nature of religious differences in Ireland during the mid-eighteenth century, Berkeley’s efforts on behalf of the Catholics of Cloyne were remarkable. Not only did he devote considerable time and effort to tar-water, hoping to provide the succor absent from the medical establishment, but he also worked to moderate the social divisions within society. While these actions could also be viewed as merely perpetuating the unequal division of power in Ireland, the reaction of the Catholic clergy and the people of Cloyne suggest that his efforts were not entirely Machiavellian in nature. Thus, by the time he left Ireland in 1752, his reputation as a well-wisher of Ireland had been firmly established upon a solid foundation that continued beyond his death.


Chapter 9 Epilogue

In the summer of 1752 Berkeley and his family left Cloyne for Oxford. As Luce convincingly argues, Berkeley did not intend for this to be a “learned retirement” but rather an opportunity to supervise the education of his son George, who had just been admitted as a student at Christ Church. Before leaving Cloyne, Berkeley arranged for Bishop Jemmett Browne of Cork to perform his ecclesiastical duties and placed his affairs in order “until his return.”1 In August 1752 the Berkeley family left Ireland and traveled to Oxford, where they settled into rooms on Holywell Street. Between his departure from Ireland and death, Berkeley remained busy and in the public eye. From Oxford he supervised the publication of his Miscellany and an updated edition of The Alciphron, suggesting that he was seeking to shape his legacy by ensuring that his nonphilosophical works were easily available. Additionally, Berkeley’s name appeared twice in the pages of the Dublin Journal. On 31 October 1752 the Journal reported that he had recovered from an illness and successfully arrived in Oxford and a few weeks later he and Swift were praised as “great and glorious patriots” in the preface to an article on agricultural development.2 Soon thereafter, these accounts were supplemented by news of his death, the circumstances of which were seen as particularly appropriate for a man so associated with piety by his contemporaries. Berkeley died on Sunday, 14 January 1753, while surrounded by his family. His wife Anne was reading a passage from St. Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, while his son George and daughter Julia were seated nearby. As Anne approached the end of the reading and Julia brought him a cup of tea, the family suddenly realized that he had died silently while listening to one of his favorite verses. In accordance with his will, Berkeley’s body was kept above ground for five days before being buried on 20 January 1753.

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The reports of his death in the major periodicals of the day all stressed the peaceful nature of his passing. In the case of The London Evening Post, the “remarkable circumstances” that “attended the death of the good Bishop Berkeley” were explained in the notice of his death.3 Likewise, Berkeley’s obituary in The Gentleman’s Magazine barely mentioned his philosophical work; instead recounting his actions as bishop of Cloyne and pious reputation, noting that he was “a man illustrious for his learning, and more illustrious for his virtue.”4 After his body was interred in the chapel of Christ Church (Oxford), a memorial plaque was erected bearing an inscription composed by Dr. Markham: “If he be a Christian and a patriot, he may be glad that Berkeley lived.”5 Although the immediate responses to Berkeley’s death paid tribute to his personal character, his stalwart efforts to improve Ireland also cast him as a patriotic example to others. During the 1750s, his influence among those concerned with Irish issues was most commonly shown by references to his Querist, although the nature of this text meant that authors seeking to make a wide variety of points could cite his authority. For instance, Charles O’Conor of Belanagar explicitly modeled his Touchstone of Patriotism (1756) upon Berkeley’s earlier work and advanced an argument concerning the need to encourage industry that echoed his conclusions.6 In The Principles of the Roman-Catholics (1756) and The Danger of Popery (1761), O’Conor praised the “Virtue and superior Talents” of Berkeley and included a number of queries culled from The Querist designed to sway Protestant opinion against the penal laws.7 Still, Berkeley’s influence within Ireland was not limited to economic and religious affairs. In 1780 Berkeley’s reputation as an Irish patriot was used by the author of A Volunteer’s Queries, which opened with five lines from The Querist.8 As tension between Ireland and Britain mounted during the eighteenth century, the breadth of Berkeley’s work and his devotion to the cause of national improvement allowed his works to be cited by both Protestants and Catholics as a defender of Irish rights on par with Swift. After the Act of Union, Irish and British politicians found much to admire in Berkeley’s works.9 Isaac Butt cited Berkeley’s Querist in his Protection to Home Industry (1846) in order to encourage the growth of domestic industry.10 Arthur Balfour’s brief biography of Berkeley observed that he “treated his subject in the spirit of true patriotism and sound wisdom” and that while many Irish politicians are moved by “a desire to avenge the wrongs of their country, Berkeley belongs to the very small class whose first desire is to remedy her woes.”11 Almost 200 years after his death, Eamon de Valera told an audience in Cloyne that Berkeley had “posed several questions about Ireland’s economic development to which we in Fianna Fail since we first came to office in 1932 have endeavoured

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to provide concrete answers.”12 For these figures, Berkeley’s willingness to subsume religious divisions in order to promote the common good, particularly in the economic realm, was seen as providing a firm foundation for the revitalization of the nation. Just as politicians have valorized aspects of Berkeley’s reputation, so too have his biographers stressed his virtuous nature. Many of these studies share an appreciation for Berkeley’s idealism in line with Yeats’s eloquent tribute to “God-appointed Berkeley.”13 In his exhaustive study, Luce concludes that Berkeley “was clearly something of a saint,” while Johnston notes that “no one, of course, would dream of denying the real strain of deep piety in Berkeley’s character.”14 Tipton suggests that the more one reads about him, “the more we find ourselves sympathizing with Berkeley . . . [and] are impressed by his near saintliness.”15 This tendency to praise Berkeley’s virtues may well be grounded in an accurate assessment of his nature, but it also provides a convenient shortcut for the task of examining his actual thought within its historical context. This study has tried to avoid hagiography in favor of a more balanced appraisal of his career, illustrating how many of his staple themes reflected contemporary issues and debates. In the process of recovering the “good Bishop Berkeley” known to his contemporaries, I have tried to dispel this easy equation of his character with his intellectual contributions to early eighteenth-century Irish and British thought. Berkeley’s practical writings were not simply the result of his personal virtue, but were part of his larger project for improving Irish and British society and fit within emerging strands of Enlightenment thought. Since his theories lend themselves to the caricature vision of a philosopher completely disconnected from the world, one who believed “that this pragmatical, preposterous pig of a world . . . Must vanish on the instant if the mind but change its theme,” this stress on Berkeley’s almost otherworldly virtue downplays his engagement with a number of crucial issues facing Ireland during this period.16 Given his involvement with practical plans to ameliorate the conditions of the nation, it seems unlikely that Berkeley really believed that the world was in danger of disappearing. Yet by citing the common image of him as the “good bishop” as though this elucidates the nuances of his work from Passive Obedience to Siris, modern commentators have accepted a convenient justification for focusing solely upon his pre-1713 philosophy. Consideration of his work between 1713 and 1750 yields a different image of Berkeley. He certainly possessed great virtue, but there were blemishes as well. Berkeley’s plan for St. Paul’s in Bermuda may have been worthy of praise in many respects even if his cavalier attitude toward Native Americans is appalling by modern standards. Although his lack of respect

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for their culture can be explained by reference to the attitudes of the age, this does little to justify his suggestion that young children effectively be kidnapped and forced to undergo religious and cultural indoctrination (PR 347). Likewise throughout his life Berkeley displayed a great concern for the poor, but this was tempered by a moralistic approach that can appear rather callous. This tendency is perhaps best demonstrated by his suggestion in The Querist that “idleness” be cured by “temporary servitude,” yet may also be seen in his rather dismissive treatment of Irish Catholics before 1745 (Q 382 and 383). Still, even these examples illustrate the two major issues that acted as touchstones for his writings during this period, thereby placing him at the forefront of Enlightenment social thought: the nature and role of virtue within society and the plight of Ireland and the Irish. Berkeley’s concern for virtue took a number of different forms throughout his career. First and foremost was his conviction that the “maxims of antiquity” held important lessons for his contemporaries (RGB 82). On the level of personal behavior, Berkeley stressed that the virtues of moderation and restraint were essential for self-improvement. While rationality was an important component of ethical matters, Berkeley was convinced that since it was unlikely that “the multitude should be philosophers,” it was essential to make sure that these values were deeply embedded within the education of the young (DISC 205). According to Berkeley, society as a whole could only function if individuals were trained to eschew self-interested behavior in favor of pious devotion to the common good. Religiously this meant that moralists and religious figures alike needed to instill an appreciation for a “future state” beyond the material world, to counteract the tempting lures of this world. Grounding his analysis in the Stoic notion of oikeiosis, Berkeley’s approach highlighted the role of sociability in holding society together and a belief in self-improvement based on a blend of rationality and religion. Throughout his writings, Berkeley repeatedly returned to the belief that there was a close connection between the morality of a people and the health of the state. He argued that any nation whose people fell prey to the “torrent” of impiety associated with modern commercial society faced the possibility of its “final ruin” (DISC 222 and RGB 69). By measuring a nation by the virtue of its citizens, Berkeley was able to draw a number of conclusions of particular importance to his assessments of Ireland and Britain. In the case of Ireland, a nation whose economy was relatively underdeveloped and wracked by near-crippling trade restrictions, this approach held out hope for improvement. If Irish Protestants and Catholics both embraced virtue, the nation could eventually prosper. According to this critique Irish Protestant absentees needed to reject luxurious consumption and embrace domestic goods to create demand, while the Irish Catholics were asked to

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cast aside their “sloth” in favor of “industriousness” to enhance the supply of goods available for purchase (Q. 57 and WW 239). Since Ireland held a vast potential reservoir of labor, Berkeley thought that it was crucial for this resource to be utilized properly. At the same time, Berkeley’s analysis of British mores also raised some important issues. Unlike Ireland Britain was awash in material goods, but this consumption had followed an immoderate path and morphed into luxury. Rather than retaining the virtue of the nation’s founders, Berkeley claimed that Britain had entered into a period of decline that could only be stopped through a drastic moral retrenchment. Berkeley was clear that this would not be an easy task due to the proliferation of threats to virtue that accompanied the growth of commercial society. Berkeley was convinced that the gravest threats facing Ireland and Britain were moral in nature. On the most basic level, he argued that avarice accompanied the accumulation of wealth, eventually corrupting the attachment citizens held to the common good. As concern for others devolved into self-interest, pride could lead individuals to ignore their “moral duty” of obedience to their sovereign (PO 30). Even worse were the issues raised by freethinkers on both sides of the Irish Sea. Berkeley’s academic training took place in an environment where deists such as Toland sought to undermine the established church. Since this challenge was particularly dangerous to Irish Protestants, Toland’s tract elicited a number of responses that provided Berkeley with a model of how to harness rational and scientific thought to the defense of religion. Throughout his career, Berkeley saw freethinkers as the most significant threat facing his contemporaries. His emotive theory of language identified the appeal of using the term “free” in their title, so Berkeley dismissed them as “minute philosophers” and put their works into perspective by comparing them to flies.17 In nearly all of his texts freethinkers posed a moral hazard that threatened to lead the nation to ruin by undermining religious orthodoxy, which was seen by Berkeley as serving as an essential pillar of virtue. Thus, any form of national improvement needed a corresponding commitment to piety and virtue. Berkeley’s analysis of the problems facing Ireland, especially after assuming his post in Cloyne, illustrates these convictions. At the heart of his reputation as an Irish patriot was his devotion to inculcating virtue among his charges. He did not shy away from castigating Irish Protestants or Catholics from indulging in an assortment of vices that he believed diminished their respect for the common good. He argued that the Protestant gentry needed to embrace their duty to the nation by rejecting the temptations of luxury and self-interest if Ireland was to thrive. Likewise, Irish Catholics needed to cultivate the virtues of industry and

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obedience, which would allow them to contribute to the nation’s overall success. Although he suggested some ways by which Irish Catholics could be converted to Protestantism, he urged Irish men and women of all confessions to recognize their common Christianity when confronted with groups such as the Blasters. Only by overcoming the divisions that stood in the way of constructing a true national community, grounded in a form of natural sociability, could Ireland find a way to thrive. Berkeley’s efforts to encourage the growth of a strong nation were not limited to the airy realms of philosophy and religion. Throughout his career, especially as bishop of Cloyne, Berkeley advanced a number of concrete, practical plans aimed at the pragmatic amelioration of the country. Convinced that the material well-being of the people was essential Berkeley’s Querist outlined a sophisticated analysis of the nature of wealth and industry, as part of an effort to encourage domestic production. Rather than accept the prevailing class distinctions, Berkeley chided the gentry for failing to participate in the national economy and urged them to purchase goods produced in Ireland. Berkeley’s message for the Irish Catholics combined elements of criticism and sympathy. In his Querist and Word to the Wise Berkeley lambasted their supposed lack of industriousness, but his overall position was more nuanced. Perhaps most telling of his attitude was Siris and his indefatigable efforts to promote it as a panacea. During the 1740s, the vast bulk of the Irish population was mired in poverty and particularly susceptible to the epidemics that spread throughout the countryside. By popularizing the use of tar-water, Berkeley hoped to improve the health of the national population. This was not only part of his broad concern for Catholics as Irish citizens, but also due to the need to harness their labor for the good of the nation. If the nation were to advance Berkeley thought that a virtuous and healthy citizenry was needed, but political stability was also essential. Twice during his career, Berkeley responded to the potential chaos that he believed would result if the Jacobites were successful in their efforts. In each case he argued against rebellion on general principles, suggesting that the outcome of political revolution, no matter how well intended, can never be predicted.18 This was not only an extension of his argument in Passive Obedience, but remained a constant theme throughout his career. As an Irish Protestant Berkeley’s position within society could have been threatened by religious upheaval, but his commitment to stability and moderation suggests that these were more principled positions and not adopted merely out of self-interest. Since one of the touchstones of Berkeley’s approach to society was the conviction that all citizens needed to contribute to the common good, the possibility of rebellion was seen as anathema. From his perspective challenges to the rightful sovereign were

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the result of self-interested pride overcoming reason and virtue, which would assuredly lead to national ruin. The key was to ensure that the bulk of the citizens received a moral education that would allow them to reach this enlightened position and thus allow them to reject these pernicious doctrines. As a philosopher Berkeley has long been acknowledged as one of the key figures of the modern world, but his contributions to other strands of Enlightenment thought have traditionally been ignored. Berkeley’s decision to make education one of the foundations of his social thought is one of many ways in which he may be placed within the larger context of the Enlightenment, but in a manner shaped by distinctively Irish concerns. While his insights concerning virtue and society may not have placed him among the upper tier of Enlightenment thinkers who addressed these issues, tracing the development of his work illustrates that he was engaged with many of the concerns that his more illustrious contemporaries explored in more detail. If education was one of the hallmarks of Berkeley’s work, so too was his interest in the place of reason within modern society. Modern scholars have dispelled the myth of the Enlightenment as a purely rational movement that aimed to replace faith with reason, but the place of religion during this period still remains problematic. For a host of Enlightenment thinkers, such as Toland, revealed religion was a form of superstition that the established churches used to control their members. In Ireland, the relationship between religious thought and rationality was a central question. Many of the leading Irish intellectuals, such as William King and Peter Browne, were members of the clergy whose positions within society were founded upon religious privilege. Rationality was seen as providing support for religion, rather than existing in opposition to it. Within the Irish context of the early Enlightenment, scientific innovations were utilized to justify and explain the nature of religious mysteries. Perhaps the most influential of these developments stemmed from scientific research into the nature of perception. Drawing upon the Molyneux problem, Irish intellectuals used the analogy of a blind man to explain the relationship between humans and the divine. By applying scientific rationality to established doctrines, these thinkers provided a middle ground between traditional religious attitudes toward reason and more modern conceptions of its value. Berkeley’s analysis of the freethinkers drew upon this Irish Enlightenment trope frequently, but his borrowings from the new sciences were not limited to matters of perception nor were his contributions to Enlightenment social thought circumscribed by these issues. Intellectual historians have identified the French and Scottish Enlightenments as providing

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particularly fertile ground for ideas of an innate sociability, but Berkeley’s “Bond of Society” essay outlined this theory of social cohesion well before it became topic of conversation in the salons of Paris and academic halls of Edinburgh and Glasgow. Berkeley’s argument was particularly noteworthy due to his melding of the Newtonian idea of gravity with the Stoic notion of oikeiosis. At the core of this vision was a belief that through the rational elevation of consciousness, individuals could recognize their ties to the larger, almost cosmopolitan, community of the human race. Applied to the Irish case, Berkeley’s notion of sociability suggested that the confessional divides plaguing the nation could be minimized through education and enlightenment. This emphasis on issues of sociability entailed a corresponding shift away from the political realm, leading Berkeley to focus upon factors related to the development of civil society that also interested Enlightenment thinkers. Both the French Physiocrats and Scottish economists echoed his analysis of the role of wealth within the emerging commercial society and the dangers of luxury. Writing within the Irish context, Berkeley’s redefinition of wealth as “human industry” was particularly useful, since it suggested that the nation could advance and eventually thrive despite the paucity of specie within the island. Additionally, Berkeley’s contributions to this matter were not limited to his theoretical insights; rather, he was actively engaged with a number of practical plans aimed at the amelioration of the country. If Berkeley’s efforts to construct a missionary college and hopes for tarwater to act as a panacea are viewed from a broader perspective, his work can also be seen as embodying the common Enlightenment belief in historical progress. While he lamented the prevalence of vice and potential decline, his actions indicate that he did not accept that this was inevitable. In nearly all of his works, he held out the possibility of either spiritual or economic improvement. To his Irish audience, this vision of progress provided a sense of optimism that helped counter the serious problems facing the nation and thus helped construct his reputation as an Irish patriot. In the end, while Berkeley’s philosophical writings were certainly important, his contemporaries were more likely to associate his name with his tireless efforts to inculcate virtue and improve the state of the nation. In the course of doing so, Berkeley drew upon and contributed to a number of diverse strands of Enlightenment thought from an Irish vantage point. Viewing his works from this perspective provides an important avenue for better understanding of the nature of the Irish Enlightenment and hopefully his place within the pantheon of Irish patriots as well.

Notes

1 Introduction 1. The Post related, “[W]e hear from Oxford, that the following remarkable circumstances attended the death of the good Bishop Berkeley. His Lady was reading a Sermon to him on Sunday evening, & before it was finished, she looked up & saw him dead in his chair: he was perfectly well when the Sermon begun, & had made many observations upon it in the course of the reading.” The London Evening Post, 23–25 January 1753. 2. Alexander Pope, “Epilogue to the Satires: Dialogue II,” in Imitations of Horace with an Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot and the Epilogue to the Satires, ed. John Butt (London: Methuen, 1939), 317 and Jonathan Swift, “The Storm: Minerva’s Petition,” in The Poems of Jonathan Swift, ed. Harold Williams (Oxford, 1958), I, 304–05. 3. Moses Tyler, Three Men of Letters (New York: Knickerbocker Press, 1895), 18. 4. Immanuel Kant, Critique of Pure Reason, trans. Norman Kemp Smith (1787; reprint, New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1929), 89. 5. “Verses Proposed as an Inscription” (1749), reprinted in W. R. Wilde, The Closing Years of Dean Swift’s Life (Dublin: Hodges and Smith, 1849), 87. 6. David Berman, Introduction to Alciphron: In Focus, ed. David Berman (New York: Routledge, 1993), 2–3. 7. The only major nonphilosophical text omitted from this collection was his sermons on Passive Obedience. George Berkeley, A Miscellany, Containing Several Tracts on Various Subjects (London: R. Tonson & S. Draper, 1752). 8. James Boswell describes how Samuel Johnson “refuted” Berkeley’s philosophical stress on immaterialism by “striking his foot with a might force against a large stone, till he rebounded from it,—‘I refute it thus.’ ” James Boswell, Boswell’s Life of Johnson, 6 vols., ed. George Birbeck Hill and L. F. Foster (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1934–50), 1: 417. 9. John Robertson, The Case for the Enlightenment: Scotland and Naples, 1680–1760 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 29–30.

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NOTES

10. David Sorkin, The Religious Enlightenment: Protestants, Jews, and Catholics from London to Vienna (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2008), 3. 11. J. G. A. Pocock, Barbarism and Religion, Vol. 1: The Enlightenments of Edward Gibbon, 1737–1764 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 5 and 8. 12. Michael Brown, “Was There an Irish Enlightenment? The Case of the Anglicans,” Studies on Voltaire and the Eighteenth Century (2008), 50 and 62. 13. On the issue of “improvement,” see Toby Barnard, Improving Ireland? Projectors, Prophets and Profiteers, 1641–1786 (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2008). 14. Ian Tipton, Berkeley: The Philosophy of Immaterialism (1974; reprint, Bristol: Thoemmes Press, 1994), 10. 15. George Pappas, Berkeley’s Thought (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2000), 1. 16. John Russell Roberts, A Metaphysics for the Mob: The Philosophy of George Berkeley (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), xv. 17. Costica Bradatan, The Other Bishop Berkeley: An Exercise in Reenchantment (New York: Fordham University Press, 2006), 1 and 7. 18. Branka Arsic, The Passive Eye: Gaze and Subjectivity in Berkeley (via Beckett) (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2003). 19. Leonard Krieger, The Politics of Discretion: Pufendorf and the Acceptance of Natural Law (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1965), 1. 20. Ibid., 2. 21. Ibid., 3. 22. See Richard Kearney, Postnationalist Ireland: Politics, Culture, Philosophy (London: Routledge, 1997), 145–56. 23. Leslie Paul, The English Philosophers (London: Faber and Faber, 1953), 127. 24. George Dawes Hicks, Berkeley (1932; reprint, New York: Russell and Russell, 1968), 181. 25. Leslie Stephen, History of English Thought in the Eighteenth Century (1876; reprint, New York: Harcourt, Brace and World, 1962), 2: 72–73. 26. Joseph Kupfer, “Universalization in Berkeley’s Rule-Utilitarianism,” Revue Internationale de Philosophie 28 (1974), 511. 27. Paul Olscamp, The Moral Philosophy of George Berkeley (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1970), 4 and Paul Olscamp, “Some Suggestions about the Moral Philosophy of George Berkeley,” Journal of the History of Philosophy 6 (1968), 147–56. 28. David Leary, “Berkeley’s Social Theory: Context and Development,” Journal of the History of Ideas 38 (1977), 648. 29. David Berman, “The Jacobitism of Berkeley’s Passive Obedience,” Journal of the History of Ideas 47 (1986), 311. 30. David Berman, George Berkeley: Idealism and the Man (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1994), 85–97. 31. David Berman, “Enlightenment and Counter-Enlightenment in Irish Philosophy,” and “The Culmination and Causation of Irish Philosophy,” Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 64 (1982), 148–65 and 257–79 (respectively); and

NOTES

32.

33.

34.

35. 36. 37.

38. 39.

40. 41. 42. 43.

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“The Irish Counter-Enlightenment,” in The Irish Mind: Exploring Intellectual Traditions, ed. Richard Kearney (Dublin: Wolfhound Press, 1984). Thomas Duddy, A History of Irish Thought (New York: Routledge, 2002) and Thomas Duddy, “Thinking Ireland: Cultural Nationalism and the Problem of Irish Ideas,” New Hibernia Review 7 (2003), 14–23. Also, see Eriugena, Berkeley, and the Idealist Tradition, ed. Stephen Gersh and Dermot Moran (South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2006). Patrick Kelly, “ ‘Conclusions by No Means Calculated for the Circumstances and Condition of Ireland’: Swift, Berkeley, and the Solution to Ireland’s Economic Problems,” in Locating Swift: Essays from Dublin on the 250th Anniversary of the Death of Jonathan Swift, 1667–1745, ed. Aileen Douglas, Patrick Kelly, and Ian Campbell Ross (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1998), 47–59; “ ‘Industry and Virtue versus Luxury and Corruption’: Berkeley, Walpole, and the South Sea Bubble Crisis,” Eighteenth Century Ireland 7 (1992): 57–74; and “Ireland and the Critique of Mercantilism in Berkeley’s Querist,” in George Berkeley: Essays and Replies, ed. David Berman (Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 1985). Constantine George Caffentzis, Exciting the Industry of Mankind: George Berkeley’s Philosophy of Money (Boston, MA: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2000). Perhaps most notably, see D. George Boyce, Robert Eccleshall, and Vincent Geoghegan, eds., Political Discourse in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Ireland (New York: Palgrave, 2001); Jane Ohlmeyer, ed., Political Thought in Seventeenth Century Ireland: Kingdom or Colony (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000); and S. J. Connolly, ed., Political Ideas in EighteenthCentury Ireland (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2000). Luke Gibbons, Edmund Burke and Ireland: Aesthetics, Politics, and the Colonial Sublime (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003). W. B. Yeats, Introduction to J. M. Hone and H. M. Rossi’s Bishop Berkeley (New York: Faber & Faber, 1931), xv–xvi. Joseph Theodoor Leerssen, “Anglo-Irish Patriotism and Its European Context: Notes towards a Reassessment,” Eighteenth-Century Ireland 3 (1988), 7–24. This idea is more fully explained in Leerssen’s Mere Irish and Fíor-Ghael: Studies in the Idea of Irish Nationality, Its Development and Literary Expression prior to the Nineteenth Century (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1986). Leerssen, “Anglo-Irish Patriotism,” 8. Leerssen associates the concept of “patriotism” with “middle-class, enlightened, complacent in its economic security, joining the notion of individual liberty with that of social consensus and government accountability, aiming to ensure stability and to prevent or alleviate disaffection by reconciling the interests of the state and of the body of its citizens.” Ibid., 15. Ibid., 21–22. Ibid., 10. George Berkeley, Maxims Concerning Patriotism (1750) in Works, 6: 254. See Quentin Skinner, “Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas,” in Meaning and Context: Quentin Skinner and His Critics, ed. James Tully

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44. 45. 46. 47. 48.

49. 50.

NOTES (Cambridge: Polity, 1988), 26–67; John Dunn, “The Identity of the History of Ideas,” Philosophy 43 (1968), 85–104; and J. G. A. Pocock, “The History of Political Thought: A Methodological Enquiry,” in Philosophy, Politics, and Society, Series 2, ed. by Peter Laslett and W. G. Runciman (Oxford: Blackwell, 1962), 183–202. Skinner, “Meaning and Understanding,” 29–31. Quentin Skinner, Reason and Rhetoric in the Philosophy of Hobbes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 7. Quentin Skinner, “A Reply to My Critics,” in Tully, Meaning and Context, 271. Skinner, Reason and Rhetoric, 7–8. In his study of Hobbes, Skinner seeks to “treat Hobbes’s claims about scientia civilis not simply as propositions but as moves in an argument.” As such, he tries to “indicate what traditions he reacts against, what lines of argument he takes up, what changes he introduces into existing debates.” Skinner, Reason and Rhetoric, 8. Berman, “Enlightenment,” and “Culmination and Causation,” 148–65 and 257–79 (respectively). See Berman, “Enlightenment,” 761 and J. G. Simms, William Molyneux of Dublin, ed. Patrick Kelly (Blackrock: Irish Academic Press, 1982), 126–37.

2

Berkeley’s Sermons on Passive Obedience in the Irish Context

1. George Berkeley to Percival, 27 December 1709, in Works, 8: 28. Also cited in Benjamin Rand, Berkeley and Percival (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1914), 68. 2. On the question of Berkeley’s Jacobite leanings, see Ian Ross, “Was Berkeley a Jacobite? Passive Obedience Revisited,” Eighteenth-Century Ireland 20 (2005), 17–30; Berman, “Jacobitism,” 309–19; G. J. Warnock, “On Passive Obedience,” History of European Ideas 7 (1986), 555–62; and Graham P. Conroy, “George Berkeley and the Jacobite Heresy: Some Comments on Irish Augustan Politics,” Albion 3 (1971), 82–91. 3. Berman, “Jacobitism,” 318 and Berman, George Berkeley, 85–89. 4. George Berkeley, Advice to the Tories who have Taken the Oaths (1715), in Works, 6: 57. 5. Warnock, “Passive Obedience,” 556. 6. S. J. Connolly, “The Glorious Revolution in Irish Protestant Political Thinking,” in Connolly, Eighteenth-Century Ireland, 45. 7. Ross, “Passive Obedience Revisited,” 27. 8. John Hall (1659–1735) received his BA from Trinity in 1681, his MA in 1684, was elected fellow in 1685, and had been vice provost since 1697. George Dames Burtchaell and Thomas Ulick Sadleir, Alumni Dublinenses (Dublin: Alex Thom & Co., 1935), 357.

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9. John Wild, George Berkeley: A Study of His Life and Philosophy (New York: Russell & Russell, 1962), 7. See Berkeley’s Preface to his Arithmetica in Berkeley, Arithmetica, in Works, 4: 168. This text was published in 1707, but probably was written in 1705. 10. See Berkeley, Arithmetica, in Works, 4: 219. Translation in Hicks, Berkeley, 7. This sentiment was exhibited by Nicholas Malebranche, who argued that “Special Algebra is certainly the finest, I mean the most fruitful and most certain of all Sciences . . . it is an Universal Science, and as it were the Key of all other.” Nicholas Malebranche, Father Malebranche His Search after Truth, 2 vols., trans. T. Taylor (London: W. Bowyer, 1700 [1674]), 1: 160. 11. Burtchaell and Sadleir, Alumni Dublinenses, 23. Constantia Maxwell, A History of Trinity College Dublin, 1591–1892 (Dublin: University Press, 1946), 87. By this point, Ashe had also published The Elements or Principles of Geometrie (London: J.P., 1684). 12. Molyneux to Locke, 22 December 1692, in John Locke, The Correspondence of John Locke, ed. E. S. de Beer (Oxford: Clarendon, 1979), 4: 601–02. Also, see R. B. McDowell and D. A. Webb, Trinity College Dublin, 1592–1952: An Academic History (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 30 and W. H. S. Monck, “Philosophy at Dublin,” Mind 1 (1876), 383. 13. Cited in Irvin Ehrenpreis, Swift: The Man, His Works, and the Age. Volume 1: Mr. Swift and His Contemporaries (London: Methuen, 1962), 52. 14. St. George Ashe, A Sermon Preached in Trinity College Chappell, Before the University of Dublin, January the 9th, 1693/94. Being the First Secular Day since its Foundation by Queen Elizabeth (Dublin: Joseph Ray, 1694), 8–10. 15. St. George Ashe, A Sermon Preached to the Protestants of Ireland, now in London, October 23, 1712 (London: Sam. Buckley, 1712), 6 and A Sermon Preach’ d at Christ-Church in Dublin, January the 30th, 1715/16 (London: W. Taylor, 1715–16), 6. Also, see T. C. Barnard, “The Uses of 23 October 1641 and Irish Protestant Celebrations,” English Historical Review 106 (1991), 889–920. 16. Ashe, Sermon (1694), 3. 17. K. Theodore Hoppen, The Common Scientist in the Seventeenth Century: A Study of the Dublin Philosophical Society, 1683–1708 (Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia, 1970), 81–83. 18. Frederick Beiser, The Sovereignty of Reason: The Defense of Rationality in the Early English Enlightenment (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1996), 266–67. 19. Ibid., 271 and 275–77. Also, see Jerome Schneewind, “The Divine Corporation and the History of Ethics,” in Philosophy and History, ed. Richard Rorty, Jerome Schneewind, and Quentin Skinner (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 173–92. 20. Beiser, Sovereignty of Reason, 279. 21. See George Berkeley to Percival, 1 March 1709–10, Berkeley to Percival, 27 November 1710, and Berkeley to Percival, 19 January 1709–10, in Works, 8: 32, 40, 43. Clarke gave the Boyle lectures of 1704 and 1705.

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NOTES

22. See Graham P. Conroy, “George Berkeley on Moral Demonstration,” Journal of the History of Ideas 22 (1961), 205–09. In his Essay, Locke had argued that “[m]orality amongst the Sciences [is] capable of Demonstration: wherein I doubt not, but from self-evident Propositions, by necessary Consequences, as incontestable as those in Mathematicks, the measures of right and wrong might be made out, to any one that will apply himself with the same Indifferency and Attention to the one, as he does to the other of these Sciences.” John Locke, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, ed. by Peter H. Nidditch (1693; reprint, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1975), 4.3.18. 23. See Connolly, “Glorious Revolution,” 27–63; Patrick Kelly, “Ireland and the Glorious Revolution,” in The Revolutions of 1688: The Andrew Browning Lectures, 1988, ed. Robert Beddard (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1991), 163–90; D. W. Hayton, “The Williamite Revolution in Ireland, 1688–91,” in The Anglo-Dutch Moment, ed. Jonathan Israel (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 185–213; Robert Eccleshall, “Anglican Political Thought in the Century after the Revolution of 1688,” in Political Thought in Ireland since the Seventeenth Century, ed. D. George Boyce, Robert Eccleshall, and Vincent Geoghegan (London: Routledge, 1993), 36–72; and J. I. McGuire, “The Church of Ireland and the ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688,” in Studies in Irish History, Presented to R. Dudley Edwards, ed. Art Cosgrove and Donal McCartney (Dublin: University College, 1979), 137–49. 24. Robert Molesworth, An Account of Denmark as it was in the year 1692 (London, 1694), Preface. 25. McGuire, “Church of Ireland,” 136. 26. Connolly, “Glorious Revolution,” 35 and John Millar, “The Glorious Revolution: ‘Contract’ and ‘Abdication’ Reconsidered,” Historical Journal 25 (1982), 547–50. 27. M. P. Thompson, “The Idea of Conquest in Controversies over the 1688 Revolution,” Journal of the History of Ideas 38 (1977), 33–35 and Jacqueline Hill, “Ireland without Union: Molyneux and His Legacy,” in A Union for Empire: Political Thought and the British Union of 1707, ed. John Robertson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 278–87. 28. Hugo Grotius, The Rights of War and Peace, ed. Richard Tuck (Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund, 2005), 2.25.8. 29. Mark Goldie, “Edmund Bohun and Jus Gentium in the Revolution Debate, 1689–1693,” Historical Journal 20 (1977), 569–71. 30. Gerald Straka, “The Final Phase of Divine Right Theory in England, 1688–1702,” English Historical Review 77 (1962), 642. 31. See McGuire, “Church of Ireland,” 138–42 and Connolly, “Glorious Revolution,” 30–33. 32. Edward Wetenhall, Hexapla Jacobaea: A Specimen of Loyalty towards his Present Majesty James the II in Six Pieces by an Irish Protestant Bishop (Dublin, 1686), 16. 33. [Edward Wetenhall], The Case of the Irish Protestants in Relation to Recognizing or Swearing Allegiance to and Praying for King William and Queen Mary Stated

NOTES

34. 35. 36.

37.

38.

39. 40.

41.

42. 43.

44. 45.

46.

47. 48. 49.

173

and Resolved (London, 1691), 3. Also, see R. Gillespie, “The Irish Protestants and James II, 1688–90,” Irish Historical Studies 28 (1993), 124–33. Wetenhall, Case of the Irish Protestants, 5. Ibid., 22. For information on King’s life, see Philip O’Regan, Archbishop William King of Dublin (1650–1729) and the Constitution in Church and State (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2000) and C. S. King, A Great Archbishop of Dublin: William King, D.D., 1650–1729, Autobiography and Selected Correspondence (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1906). O’Regan, Archbishop William King, 38 and William King, A Sermon preach’ d at St. Patrick’s Church, Dublin, on 16 Nov. 1690 (Dublin, 1691), 2–3. On Protestant fears concerning the establishment of a universal monarchy in Europe under the control of Catholics, see Steven Pincus, “Popery, Trade, and Universal Monarchy,” English Historical Review 422 (1992), 1–28. King, Sermon (1691), 15. For information on origins of the Tory explanation of the “providential delivery” as a discursive strategy, see Straka, “Divine Right Theory in England,” 638–58. King, Sermon (1691), 24. King’s tract had reached its fourth edition within a year of its publication. Jane Ohlmeyer notes that by the early eighteenth century “virtually every country house library in Ireland held a copy” and by 1768 it had been reprinted twelve times. See Jane Ohlmeyer, “Introduction: For God, King, or Country: Political Thought and Culture in Seventeenth-Century Ireland,” in Political Thought in Seventeenth Century Ireland: Kingdom or Colony, 31. William King, State of the Protestants of Ireland under the late King James’s Government (London, 1691), 225. On King’s political “pragmatism,” see James McGuire, “A Remora to King James’ Affairs: William King’s Defence of Protestant Office-Holders, 1689–90,” in Archbishop William King and the Anglican Irish Context, 1688–1729, ed. Christopher Fauske (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2004), 36 and 39. King, State of the Protestants, 3 and 5. On the issue of protecting citizens’ property rights, compare King, State of Protestants, 12–13 and John Locke, Two Treatises of Government, ed. Peter Laslett (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 2: 240. Connolly, “Glorious Revolution,” 35 and King, State of the Protestants, 97. Vesey had earlier given a sermon in London strongly supporting the notion of passive obedience. See John Vesey, A Sermon Preach’ d to the Protestants of Ireland . . . on the 23d of October, 1641 (London: Robert Clavel, 1689), 25. John Vesey, A Sermon Preached before his Excellency the Lord Lieutenant and the Two Houses of Parliament . . . On Sunday, October 16, 1692 (London: Robert Cavel, 1692), 5–6 and 9 and 13–14. Ibid., 7 and 15. See Eccleshall, “Anglican Political Thought,” 50–51 and Connolly, “Glorious Revolution,” 39–40. Vesey, Sermon . . . October 16, 1692, 16.

174

NOTES

50. See Eccleshall, “Anglican Political Thought,” 54 and Connolly, “Glorious Revolution,” 42–47. 51. Ross, “Passive Obedience Revisited,” 21 and A Short Account of the Late Proceedings of the University of Dublin against Forbes (Dublin, 1708). 52. Arthur Winnett, Peter Browne: Provost, Bishop, Metaphysician (London: Camelot Press, 1974), 24. 53. Maxwell, History of Trinity College, 86 and Ross, “Passive Obedience Revisited,” 22–23. 54. Eccleshall, “Anglican Political Thought,” 53 and Connolly, “Glorious Revolution,” 42. 55. Samuel Synge, The Case of King Charles the First and King James the Second Stated and Compared (Dublin, 1707), 26. 56. Synge also justified the Revolution by recourse to Grotius’s concept of a just war. See ibid., 28 and Connolly, “Glorious Revolution,” 50. 57. J. P. Kenyon, Revolution Principles: The Politics of Party, 1689–1720 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1977), 32. Also, see J. C. D. Clark, English Society 1688–1832: Ideology, Social Structure and Political Practice during the Ancien Regime (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985), 123–25; Craig Rose, England in the 1690s: Revolution, Religion, and War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 154; and Steven Shapin, “Of Gods and Kings; Natural Philosophy and Politics in the Leibniz-Clarke Disputes,” Isis 72 (1981), 203. 58. Berkeley to Percival, 21 October 1709, in Works, 8: 22–23. See also Warnock, “Passive Obedience,” 556. 59. Geoffrey Holmes, “The Sacheverell Riots: The Crowd and the Church in Early Eighteenth-Century London,” Past and Present 72 (1976), 60 and Peter Miller, Defining the Common Good: Empire, Religion and Philosophy in Eighteenth-Century Britain (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 83–84. Holmes notes that Sacheverell’s sermon sold an estimated 100,000 copies in 6 editions. Geoffrey Holmes, The Trial of Doctor Sacheverell (London: Eyre Methuen, 1973), 75. 60. Henry Sacheverell, The Perils of False Brethren both in Church and State (London, 1709), 19. 61. Caroline Robbins, The Eighteenth-Century Commonwealthman: Studies in the Transmission, Development, and Circumstances of English Liberal Thought from the Restoration of Charles II until the War with the Thirteen Colonies (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1959), 82. 62. Miller, Common Good, 82 and 85. 63. In a letter to Percival, Berkeley noted that “All friends here are well. The other night Archdeacon Percival, Dan Dering and myself were drinking your and Dr. Sachervell’s healths at your brother’s.” Berkeley to Percival, 1 March 1709–10, in Works, 8: 32. 64. Leary, “Berkeley’s Social Theory,” 639. 65. Here Berkeley’s argument recalls one advanced by Samuel Clarke in his 1706 Boyle Lecture. Samuel Clarke, A Discourse Concerning the Unchangeable

NOTES

66.

67.

68.

69. 70.

71. 72.

73. 74. 75.

76.

77. 78. 79. 80.

81. 82. 83.

175

Obligations of Natural Religion, and the Truth and Certainty of the Christian Revelation (London, 1706), 55–56. This aspect of Berkeley’s argument is one of the factors that has led many commentators to link him to the notion of “theological utilitarianism.” Based on his understanding of this term, Hugh Orange has objected to its application to Berkeley’s system. He argues that for holders of this doctrine, the good is that which “will enable me to avoid the pit, and clutch the crown.” Since Berkeley’s argument is much more complex than this, Orange (rightly) concludes that this label should not be used with reference to him. Hugh W. Orange, “Berkeley as a Moral Philosopher,” Mind 15 (1890), 515. Berkeley’s stress on the “free” nature of both humans and God follows closely upon the arguments advanced by Clarke. See Clarke, Discourse, 92; Peter Miller, “ ‘Freethinking’ and ‘Freedom of Thought’ in Eighteenth-Century Britain,” Historical Journal 36 (1993), 604–05; and Richard Striner, “Political Newtonianism: The Cosmic Model of Politics in Europe and America,” William and Mary Quarterly 3rd Series (1995), 583–608. Compare this with William King’s position on God’s role in human affairs. William King, An Essay on the Origin of Evil, trans. Edmund Law (Cambridge, 1739), 494. Kupfer, “Universalization,” 526 and Warnock, “Passive Obedience,” 558. Berkeley contended that exercise of positive laws “admits of suspension, limitation, and diversity of degrees” (PO 32). Also, see C. D. Broad, “Berkeley’s Theory of Morals,” Revue Internationale de Philosophie 7 (1953), 79. Warnock, “Passive Obedience,” 558. Berkeley’s stress on the need for linguistic clarity recalls his admonishment to philosophers in The Principles of Human Knowledge and his earlier thoughts in the Commentaries. Berkeley, Principles, in Works, 2: 123 and PC 84. George Pitcher, Berkeley (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1977), 230. This section was added to the 1713 edition. Berkeley returns to this theme in Advice to the Tories, noting that “the ills of rebellion are certain, but the event doubtful.” Berkeley, Advice to the Tories, in Works, 6: 55. Berkeley’s appeal for subjects to await future improvement may be seen as a temporal variant of his providential argument concerning the rewards God has in store for the faithful in a future life (PO 40). Clarke, Discourse, 95–96. Berkeley to Percival, May 1716, in Works, 8: 98. Berkeley to Percival, 26 May 1716, in Works, 8: 99. Dering to Percival, in Rand, Berkeley and Percival, 159. Also, see Berman, George Berkeley, 82–83 and A. A. Luce, The Life of George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne (London: Thomas Nelson, 1949), 67. Joseph Stock, An Account of the Life of George Berkeley . . . With Notes, Containing Strictures upon his Works (London, 1776), 3–5. Reprinted in Berman, George Berkeley, 83–84. Ibid., 85 and Berman, “Jacobitism,” 309–19.

176

NOTES

84. Berkeley to Percival, 21 October 1709, in Works, 8: 22–23 and Luce, George Berkeley, 73–74. 85. Berkeley, Advice to the Tories, in Works, 6: 54. 86. Ibid., 6: 56–57.

3

Science and Sociability: Berkeley’s “Bond of Society”

1. Berkeley, Principles, in Works, 2: 1. 2. Alexander Campbell Fraser, “Life of George Berkeley,” in The Works of George Berkeley, 4 vols., ed. A. C. Fraser (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1901), xxxvi–xxxvii. 3. The length of Berkeley’s absence from Trinity posed a challenge to the resources of the College and he was forced to obtain a Queen’s Letter of exemption valid for two years. These royal letters continuing the leave of absence, each for two years, have been located by Luce in the library of Trinity College and are dated 9 September 1713 and 1715, 17 August 1717, 6 May 1719 and 1721. Each of these documents claimed the “improvement of learning” as the justification for Berkeley’s continued absence. Luce, George Berkeley, 56. 4. Berkeley had published his Arithmetica and Miscellanea Mathematica (London, 1707), An Essay towards a New Theory of Vision (Dublin, 1709), A Treatise concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge (Dublin, 1710), and his sermons on Passive Obedience (Dublin, 1712). Upon his arrival in London Berkeley was carrying the manuscript for Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous (which was published in London, 1713). 5. Berkeley tried to draw Samuel Clarke and William Whiston into a debate concerning the merits of his argument in the Principles. See Percival to Berkeley, 30 October 1710, in Benjamin Rand, Berkeley and Percival (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1913), 87 and William Whiston, Historical Memoirs of the Life of Dr. Samuel Clarke . . . 2nd Edition, corrected (London: Fletcher Gyles, 1730), 80–81. 6. Percival to Berkeley, 26 August 1710, in Berkeley and Percival, 80. 7. Although Berkeley does not specifically name the provost, Pratt had been appointed to the position on June 3, 1710 and appears to have spent much of his time in London due to conflicts between the government and the College stemming from the Forbes case. Luce, “Notes to the Letters,” in Berkeley, Works, 9: 1 and 20. 8. Berkeley to Percival, 26 January 1712–13, in Works, 8: 58. 9. Luce, George Berkeley, 65. 10. Also, see Berkeley to Percival, 7 March 1713, in Works, 8: 62. 11. Jonathan Swift, Journal to Stella (12 April 1713), in Jonathan Swift, The Works of Jonathan Swift, 19 vols., ed. W. Scott (London: Bickers & Son, 1883), 3: 147.

NOTES

177

12. See Berkeley to Percival 27 March 1712–13 and Berkeley to Pope, 1 May 1714, in Works, 8: 63 and 82. 13. Berkeley to Percival, 27 March 1712–13, in Works, 8: 63. Also, see Peter Smithers, The Life of Joseph Addison (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1968), 262–63. 14. Luce, George Berkeley, 59. Berkeley complained about this meeting that while Clarke was “unable to reply, [he] would not acknowledge himself convinced” by Berkeley’s philosophic system. See Henry R. Montgomery, Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Sir Richard Steele, 2 vols. (Edinburgh: William P. Nimmo, 1865), 1: 329. 15. Berkeley certainly knew of Addison before 1713, since he was listed as a subscriber to The Tatler while a fellow at Trinity and the catalogue of the Berkeley family library lists copies of both The Tatler and The Spectator among its holdings. See the “Subscription Lists” in Selections from the Tatler and the Spectator, ed. by Angus Ross (London: Penguin, 1988), 490; [Leigh and Sotheby], A Catalogue of the Valuable Library of the Late Right Rev. Dr. Berkeley . . . (London: Leigh and Sotheby, 1796), items 916 and 917; and R. I. Aaron, “A Catalogue of Berkeley’s Library,” Mind New Series 41 (1932), 465–75. 16. For information on Addison’s tenure in Ireland, see Smithers, Joseph Addison, 147–95. 17. Kathleen M. Lynch, “Congreve’s Irish Friend, Joseph Keally,” Publications Modern Language Association (December 1938), liii and 1076–87. Keally’s letters to Addison and Steele were first printed in George-Monck Berkeley (the bishop’s grandson), Literary Relics (London: C. Elliot and T. Kay, 1789). Also, see Eliza Berkeley’s “Preface” to George-Monck Berkeley’s collected poems. Eliza was the daughter-in-law of George Berkeley and her massive “Preface” to this work contains a number of personal anecdotes concerning the family’s history. Eliza Berkeley, Preface to George-Monck Berkeley, Poems by the Late George-Monck (London: J. Nichols, 1797), xix. 18. Berkeley to Percival, 26 January 1712–13, in Works, 8: 58. 19. Berkeley to Percival, 23 February 1712–13, and Berkeley to Percival, 27 March 1712–13, in Works, 8: 61 and 63. 20. [Richard Steele], The Guardian 1 (12 March 1713), reprinted in The Guardian, ed. John Calhoun Stephens (Lexington, KY: University of Kentucky Press, 1982), 43. For information concerning these important periodicals, see Edward Bloom and Lillian Bloom, Joseph Addison’s Sociable Animal: In the Market Place, on the Hustings, in the Pulpit (Providence, RI: Brown University Press, 1971) and Nicholas Phillipson, “Politics and Politeness in the Reigns of Anne and the Early Hanoverians,” in The Varieties of British Political Thought, 1500–1800, ed. J. G. A. Pocock (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). 21. Calhoun Winton, Captain Steele: The Early Career of Richard Steele (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins, 1964), 156. 22. See Luce’s “Introduction to Berkeley’s Essays in The Guardian,” in Works, 7: 173. Berkeley’s original essays in The Guardian were untitled. Luce has supplied the titles currently used in his edition of Berkeley’s Works. There has been some debate concerning the extent of Berkeley’s contributions to Steele’s

178

23.

24. 25. 26.

27. 28.

29.

30. 31.

NOTES periodical. Since almost all of the pieces published in The Guardian were anonymous or pseudonymous, the attribution of specific pieces to authors has been problematic. There have been at least six attempts to identify the extent of Berkeley’s authorship, with varying degrees of agreement. In the most recent summery of this issue, Berman concluded that Berkeley was mostly responsible for Guardian numbers 27, 35, 39, 69 and entirely wrote numbers 49, 55, 62, 70, 77, 83, 88, 89, 126. Note that the main texts examined in the current chapter (with the sole exception of no. 83) have been unanimously attributed to Berkeley by these studies. Berman, George Berkeley, 73–77. The Ladies Library, published in 1714, was composed almost entirely of extracts from leading religious writers (Archbishop John Tillotson, Jeremy Taylor, and Fénelon). See [George Berkeley,] The Ladies Library, written by A Lady (London, 1714); Stephen Parks, “George Berkeley, Sir Richard Steele and the Ladies Library,” The Scriblerian 12 (1980) 1–2; Greg Hollingshead, “Sources for the Ladies’ Library,” Berkeley Newsletter 11 (1989–90), 1–9; and E.J. Furlong and David Berman, “George Berkeley and the Ladies Library,” Berkeley Newsletter 4 (1980), 4–13. An Introduction to the History of Sociology, ed. Harry Elmer Barnes (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1948), 52. Leary, “Berkeley’s Social Theory,” 635–36. Laurence Dickey, “Doux-Commerce and Humanitarian Values: Free Trade, Sociability, and Universal Benevolence in Eighteenth-Century Thinking,” Grotiana 22 (2004), 284–85. Also see H. O. Mounce, Hume’s Naturalism (London: Routledge, 1999), 13; David Fate Norton, David Hume: CommonSense Moralist, Sceptical Metaphysician (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1982), 202; and Knud Haakonssen, Natural Law and Moral Philosophy: From Grotius to the Scottish Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 61. Arthur O. Lovejoy, Reflections on Human Nature (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins, 1961), 40. Norman S. Fiering, “Irresistible Compassion: An Aspect of EighteenthCentury Sympathy and Humanitarianism,” Journal of the History of Ideas 37 (1976), 195 and Evan Radcliffe, “Revolutionary Writing, Moral Philosophy, and Universal Benevolence in the Eighteenth Century,” Journal of the History of Ideas 54 (1993), 221. Lovejoy, Reflections, 4. Also, see Richard Tuck, The Rights of War and Peace: Political Thought and the International Order from Grotius to Kant (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999) and Richard Tuck, “The ‘Modern’ Theory of Natural Law,” in The Languages of Political Theory in Early-Modern Europe, ed. Anthony Pagden (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987), 99–119. Hugo Grotius, The Rights of War and Peace, ed. Jean Barbeyrac (1625; reprint, London, 1738), 24. Ibid., xx. Tuck, “Natural Law,” 113. Also, see Istvan Hont, “The Language of Sociability and Commerce: Samuel Pufendorf and the Theoretical Foundations of the ‘Four-Stages Theory,’ ” in Pagden, Languages of Political Theory, 262–66.

NOTES

179

32. Thomas Hobbes, Leviathan, ed. Richard Tuck (1651; reprint, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 117. Also, see Johann Sommerville, Thomas Hobbes: Ideas in Political Context (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992), 39–40. 33. Hont, “Language of Sociability,” 255–56. Also see James Moore and Michael Silverthorne, “Natural Sociability and Natural Rights in the Moral Philosophy of Gerschom Carmichael,” in Philosophers of the Scottish Enlightenment, ed. V. Hope (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1984), 2–8 and Haakonssen, Natural Law, 63–73. 34. Samuel Pufendorf, On the Duty of Man and Citizen according to Natural Law, ed. James Tully (1673; reprint, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 132. 35. Ibid., 61. 36. Hont, “Language of Sociability,” 268 and Tuck, “Natural Law,” 106–07. 37. Immanuel Kant, “Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan Intent,” in Perpetual Peace and Other Essays, trans. Ted Humphrey (1784; reprint, Indianapolis, IN: Hackett: 1983), 31–32. 38. Laurence Dickey, “Pride, Hypocrisy and Civility in Mandeville’s Social and Historical Theory,” Critical Review 4 (1990), 396. Also, see F. B. Kaye’s Introduction to Bernard Mandeville’s Fable of the Bees, 2 vols. (1924; reprint, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Press, 1988), 1: cix. 39. See Albert Hirschman, Rival Views of the Market Society and Other Recent Essays (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992), 44 and Albert Hirschman, The Passions and the Interests (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1977), 11–13. 40. Mandeville, “Preface” to The Fable of the Bees, 1: 4. Also, see Lovejoy, Reflections, 171 ff. 41. Mandeville, “An Enquiry into the Origin of Moral Virtue,” (1714) in Fable of the Bees, 1: 41. 42. Mandeville, “A Search into the Nature of Society,” in Fable of the Bees, 1: 347. 43. Ibid., 1: 344. 44. Mandeville, “Remark (R.)” and “Origin of Moral Virtue,” in Fable of the Bees, 1: 201–06 and 42. Also, see Lovejoy, Reflections, 172–73. 45. For information on the ideas of these French writers and their relationship to Mandeville’s thought, see Dickey, “Pride, Hypocrisy and Civility,” 296–97; Lovejoy, Reflections, 153–93; Kaye, “Introduction,” in Fable of the Bees, 1: lxxx–lxxxv; and E. G. Hundert, The Enlightenment’s Fable: Bernard Mandeville and the Discovery of Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 31 ff. 46. Mandeville, “Origin of Moral Virtue,” in Fable of the Bees, 1: 44. 47. Ibid., 1: 44–46. Also, see Timothy Dykstal, The Luxury of Skepticism (Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia, 2001), 109. 48. Mandeville, “Origin of Moral Virtue,” in Fable of the Bees, 1: 47. 49. Lovejoy, Reflections, 41. Also, see Hirschman, Passions and the Interests, 18–19.

180

NOTES

50. Mandeville, “Nature of Society,” in Fable of the Bees, 1: 369. 51. George Davie, “Berkeley, Hume, and the Central Problem of Scottish Philosophy,” in McGill Hume Studies, ed. David Fate Norton, Nicholas Capaldi, Wade L. Robison (San Diego, CA: Austin Hill Press, 1976), 45. 52. Radcliffe, “Universal Benevolence,” 225 and Fiering, “Irresistible Compassion,” 195. 53. R. S. Crane, “Suggestions toward a Genealogy of the ‘Man of Feeling,’ ” English Literary History 1 (1934), 208. 54. The term storgè appeared in the New Testament (Rom. 1: 31 and Tim 3: 3), in addition to appearing in works by Plutarch, Antoninus, and Athanasius. Fiering, “Irresistible Compassion,” 196–97. For information on the Christian vision of “benevolence,” particularly with regard to ideas of “love,” see Anders Nygren, Agape and Eros, trans. Philip Watson (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1982 [1953]), esp. Ch. 2. 55. Plato, The Republic, ed. Allan Bloom (New York: Basic Books, 1991), 141–42 (462d-e) and Radcliffe, “Universal Benevolence,” 221. 56. Aristotle, The Politics, trans. Stephen Everson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 1.2 (1253a2–3 and 1253a30–31). 57. Cicero, On Duties, ed. M. T. Griffin (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 6. 58. S. G. Pembroke, “Oikeiosis,” in Problems in Stoicism, ed. A. A. Long (London: Athlone Press, 1971), 114–16 and Gretchen Reydams-Schils, The Roman Stoics: Self, Responsibility, and Affection (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 55–59. 59. Ibid., 125–26. Also, see Cicero, Duties, 22–3. Dickey describes this argument as “an ‘out-and-up’ pattern of thought.” Dickey, “Doux-commerce and Humanitarian Values,” 284–85. 60. Cicero, Duties, 6. 61. Ibid., 61. Also see Pembroke, “Oikeiosis,” 129. 62. Cicero, Duties, 22–23. 63. Malebranche, Search After Truth, 1: 165. 64. Ibid., 1: 166. 65. [Henry More], An Account of Virtue: or, Dr. Henry More’s Abridgment of Morals, put into English (London: Benjamin Tooke, 1690), 30. 66. Ibid., 31. 67. Ibid., 32. 68. Jacob Viner, The Role of Providence in the Social Order: An Essay in Intellectual History (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1966), 66–68. On the influence of the Cambridge Platonists on Shaftesbury, see Stanley Grean, Shaftesbury’s Philosophy of Religion and Ethics: A Study in Enthusiasm (Columbus, OH: Ohio University Press, 1967), 174, 211–12. 69. Henry Sidgwick, Outlines of the History of Ethics for English Readers (London: Macmillan and Co., 1886), 181. 70. Shaftesbury, An Inquiry Concerning Virtue or Merit, in Characteristics of men, Manners, Opinions, Times, ed. Laurence Klein (1714; reprint, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 192.

NOTES

181

71. Laurence Klein, Shaftesbury and the Culture of Politeness (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 56. 72. Shaftesbury, Inquiry Concerning Virtue, 197–98. 73. Ibid., 215. 74. Ibid., 230. 75. See John Bernstein, “Shaftesbury’s Optimism and Eighteenth-Century Social Thought,” in Anticipations of the Enlightenment in England, France, and Germany, ed. Alan Kors and J. Korshin (Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1987), 88–90 and Schneewind, “Divine Corporation,” 173–92. 76. Norton, David Hume, 202. 77. Mounce, Hume’s Naturalism, 13. 78. Margaret Jacob, The Newtonians and the English Revolution, 1689–1720 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1976); James Jacob and Margaret Jacob, “The Anglican Origins of Modern Science: The Metaphysical Foundations of the Whig Constitution,” Isis 71 (1980), 251–67; Larry Stewart, “Samuel Clarke, Newtonianism, and the Factions of Post-Revolutionary England,” Journal of the History of Ideas 42 (1981), 53–72; Shapin, “Of Gods and Kings,” 187–215; and B. Bertoloni Meli, “Caroline, Leibniz, and Clarke,” Journal of the History of Ideas 60 (1999), 469–86. 79. Striner, “Political Newtonianism,” 587. It should also be remembered that in Berkeley’s 1712 sermons on Passive Obedience, he made repeated references to “providential design” and “God’s design” (PO 20–21). 80. This connection between the moral and physical worlds was to later be used to great effect by the Scottish philosopher George Turnbull, who cited Berkeley’s “Bond of Society” with approval in his Principles of Moral Philosophy. See George Turnbull, The Principles of Moral Philosophy (London, 1740), 1: 190 (fn. r). Also, see Earl Wasserman, “Nature Moralized: The Divine Analogy in the Eighteenth Century,” ELH 20 (1953), 39–76; George Davie, “Berkeley’s Impact on Scottish Philosophers,” Philosophy 153 (1965), 226; and Haakonssen, Natural Law, 90–93. 81. Berkeley, “The Bond of Society” (Guardian 126, 5 August 1713), in Works, 7: 225. 82. George Berkeley, “Of Infinities,” in Works, 4: 235 and George Cheyne, Philosophical Principles of Natural Religion (London, 1705), 104. Also, see Peter Walmsley, The Rhetoric of Berkeley’s Philosophy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 165 and G. Bowles, “Physical, Human and Divine Attraction in the Life and Thought of George Cheyne,” Annals of Science 31 (1974), 482. 83. Berkeley, “Bond of Society,” in Works, 7: 225. 84. Berkeley, Principles, in Works, 2: 86–87. Berkeley took issue with Newton’s idea of gravity in the Commentaries (PC 361, 486, and 618). A more detailed examination of Berkeley’s engagement with Newton’s conceptualization of gravity may be found in John Davis’s, “Berkeley, Newton, and Space,” in The Methodological Heritage of Newton, ed. Robert Butts and John Davis (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1970), 57–73.

182

NOTES

85. Berkeley, Principles, in Works, 2: 87. 86. Berkeley, “Bond of Society,” in Works, 7: 225 and B. J. T. Dobbs, “Stoic and Epicurean Doctrines in Newton,” in Atoms, Pneuma, and Tranquillity: Epicurean and Stoic Themes in European Thought, ed. Margaret Osler (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), 224–25. 87. Berkeley, “Bond of Society,” in Works, 7: 225–26. Francis Hutcheson later popularized this explanation of human sociability through the use of “gravity”. See Francis Hutcheson, An Inquiry into the Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, ed. Wolfgang Leidhold (1726; reprint, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund, 2004), 149 and 186. 88. Berkeley, “Bond of Society,” in Works, 7: 226. 89. Addison’s interpretation of Aristotle’s famous discussion in The Politics (1253a1–2) had recently been revived as the theme to one of his essays in The Spectator No. 9 (10 March 1711), in Bond, Spectator, 1: 39. 90. Berkeley, “Bond of Society,” in Works, 7: 226. Consider Malebranche’s contention that the social bonds constituted a “secret Chain-work . . . which can never be sufficiently admir’d, nor can ever be understood.” Note that Hutcheson also argued that there was a “secret Chain between each Person and Mankind.” Malebranche, Search after Truth, 1: 166 and Hutcheson, Inquiry, 91. 91. A. O. Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being: A Study in the History of an Idea (1936; reprint, New York: Harper and Row, 1965), 183. 92. Ibid., 200. Also, see Daniel Gordon, Citizens without Sovereignty: Equality and Sociability in French Thought (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), 13–15. 93. Berkeley, “Bond of Society,” in Works, 7: 227. 94. Also, see Shaftesbury, Inquiry Concerning Virtue, 230. 95. Note the similarity between this idea and the Stoic concept of oikeiosis. Berkeley, “Bond of Society,” in Works, 7: 227.

4

Piety, Perception, and the Freethinkers

1. The process of identifying the national strains of “Enlightenment” during the eighteenth century continues to the present day, but for an overview of the intellectual and religious character of the “English Enlightenment,” see Peter Harrison, “Religion” and the Religions in the English Enlightenment (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); John Redwood, Reason, Ridicule and Religion: The Age of Enlightenment in England 1660–1750 (London: Thames and Hudson, 1976); J. A. I. Champion, The Pillars of Priestcraft Shaken: The Church of England and Its Enemies, 1660–1730 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992); and J. G. A. Pocock, “Clergy and Commerce: The Conservative Enlightenment in England,” in L’Eta dei Lumi: Studi Storici sul Settecento Europeo in onore di Franco Venturi, ed. R. Ajello (Naples: Jovene, 1985), 523–62.

NOTES

183

2. The role of deism in English thought is explored in many works, including Paul Hazard, The European Mind [1680–1715] (New York: Meridian, 1963), 252–66; Roy Porter, The Creation of the Modern World: The Untold Story of the British Enlightenment (New York: W. W. Norton, 2000), 96–129; Beiser, Sovereignty of Reason, 221–65; A. O. Lovejoy’s “The Parallel of Deism and Classicism,” in Essays in the History of Ideas (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1948), 79–88; Rosalie Colie, “Spinoza and the Early English Deists,” Journal of the History of Ideas 20 (1959), 29–31; Miller, “ ‘Freethinking’ and ‘Freedom of Thought,’ ” 599–617; and Jonathan Israel, Radical Enlightenment: Philosophy and the Making of Modernity, 1650–1750 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 599–627. 3. David Berman, “The Irish Freethinker,” in John Toland’s Christianity not Mysterious: Text, Associated Works, and Critical Essays, ed. Philip McGuinness, Alan Harrison, and Richard Kearney (Dublin: Lilliput Press, 1997), 224. For information on Toland, see R. E. Sullivan, John Toland and the Deist Controversy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1982) and J. G. Simms, “John Toland (1670–1722), a Donegal Heretic,” Irish Historical Studies 16 (1969), 304–20; and Joel Weinsheimer, Eighteenth Century Hermeneutics: Philosophy of Interpretation in England from Locke to Burke (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993), 46–71. 4. Joel Weinsheimer forcefully argues that Toland was heavily influenced by Spinoza’s Tractatus Theologico-Politicus (1670) and that Toland may have been responding to Stillingfleet’s sermon “Christianity Mysterious, and the Wisdom of God in Making it So” (1694). Simms, “John Toland,” 308–09; Sullivan, John Toland, 6–8; and Weinsheimer, Eighteenth-Century Hermeneutics, 47. 5. Locke’s protégé Molyneux did demonstrate some support for Toland and objected to the fact that the religious condemnation was accompanied by legal action. See Simms, “John Toland,” 310–11. 6. John Toland, Christianity not Mysterious [1696], in Toland’s Christianity not Mysterious, 1 and 17. 7. See Desmond M. Clarke, “Toland on Faith and Reason,” in Toland’s Christianity not Mysterious, 297. 8. Toland, Christianity not Mysterious, 17 and 23–24. Compare with John Locke, Human Understanding, 4.17.2. 9. Toland, Christianity not Mysterious, 25–26, 28, and 81–82. 10. Berman, “Irish Freethinker,” 225. 11. Toland, Christianity not Mysterious, 34–35 and 40–41. 12. [William Stephens], An Account of the Growth of deism in England (London, 1696), 4. Stephens was himself often numbered among the deists, on evidence both circumstantial (he was an associate of Toland and Shaftesbury) and textual (he attacked the fact that each religious “Party alledge Scriptures and fathers on their side; and for ought I can see, they are all in the right” (ibid., 7). 13. John Norris, An Account of Reason and Faith: In Relation to the Mysteries of Christianity (London, 1697), 51–52.

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NOTES

14. As Beiser notes, Toland’s opponents were High Church (Thomas Becconsall, John Gailhard, Oliver Hill, Robert South, and Francis Atterbury) as well as Low Church (William Payne, Edward Stillingfleet, Richard Willis, Samuel Clarke, Richard Bentley, John Tillotson). While this indicates that Anglicans saw his tract as being particularly dangerous, in the Irish context his enemies were drawn from the highest and most prestigious ranks of Irish society, suggesting that the establishment believed he posed a severe threat. Beiser, Sovereignty of Reason, 221. 15. Molyneux to Locke, 2 March 1692, in Some Familiar Letters between Mr. Locke and several of his Friends (London, 1708), 37–38. 16. Locke, Human Understanding, 2.9.8. For a consideration of differences between Molyneux’s original formulation and that used by Locke in the Essay, see Désirée Park, “Locke and Berkeley on the Molyneux Problem,” Journal of the History of Ideas 30 (1969), 253–60. Also, see Coline Turbayne, “Berkeley and Molyneux on Retinal Images,” Journal of the History of Ideas 16 (1955), 339–55 and John Davis, “The Molyneux Problem,” Journal of the History of Ideas 21 (1960), 392–408. 17. For a survey of these texts, see Appendix A of J. G. Simms, William Molyneux of Dublin (Blackrock: Irish Academic Press, 1982), 125–34 and David Berman, “Francis Hutcheson on Berkeley and the Molyneux Problem,” Royal Academy of Ireland Proceedings 124, sec. C (1974), 259–65. 18. Berman, “Enlightenment and Counter-Enlightenment,” 154. 19. For instance, many high-ranking officials within the Irish Church were also members of the Dublin Philosophical Society. See Hoppen, Dublin Philosophical Society, 1683–1708, passim. 20. William King also attacked Toland using a similar argument. See William King, Divine Predestination and Foreknowledge, consistent with the Freedom of Man’s Will: A Sermon Preach’ d at Christ-Church, Dublin, May 15, 1709 (London, 1710), 5–6 and 10–14. 21. Berman, “Culmination and Causation,” 269. 22. Terry Eagleton, Crazy John and the Bishop, and other Essays on Irish Culture (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame Press, 1998), 62. Also, see Philip McGuinness, “Looking for a Mainland: John Toland and Irish Politics,” 266 and Richard Kearney, “John Toland: An Irish Philosopher?” in Toland’s Christianity not Mysterious, 217. 23. See R. F. Foster, Modern Ireland, 1600–1972 (London: Penguin, 1988), 156; S. J. Connolly, Religion, Law, and Power: The Making of Protestant Ireland, 1660–1760 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992), 172; and J. G. Simms, “Ireland in the Age of Swift,” in Jonathan Swift, 1667–1967: A Dublin Tercentenary Tribute, ed. Roger McHugh and Philip Edwards (Dublin: Dolmen Press, 1967), 157–75. 24. Winnett, Peter Browne, 22. 25. Peter Browne, A Letter in Answer to a Book entituled, Christianity not Mysterious, 3rd edition (1697; reprint, London: W. Sayes, 1703), 6. 26. Eagleton, Crazy John, 62 and Browne, A Letter, 29. 27. Browne clarified this position by noting that “Evidence is not the only ground of Perswasion, it is a direct and immediate Consequence from thence, that

NOTES

28. 29.

30. 31. 32.

33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40.

41. 42.

43. 44.

185

there is no necessity of having a clear and distinct Idea of what I give my Assent to.” Ibid., 27 and 28. Ibid., 30. Browne’s stress on the value of analogy as a tool for understanding God later formed a central component of his major works, The Procedure, Extent and Limits of the Human Understanding (1728) and Things Divine and Supernatural Conceived by Analogy (1732). William King made a similar point in his Essay on the Origin of Evil (1702), where he reasoned by analogy that just as a blind individual could be taught that light exists by those who have sight, so too can humans gain an approximation of God, even if knowledge of the thing “in itself ” remained elusive. See JeanPaul Pittion and David Berman, “A New Letter by Berkeley to Browne on Divine Analogy,” Mind 78 (1969), 375–92 and William King, An Essay on the Origin of Evil, 5th edition, trans. Edmund Law (London: R. Faulder, 1781), 34–35. Browne, A Letter, 31. Ibid., 38–39. Edward Synge to Dr. Quayl, 6 September 1695, in The Works of John Locke, 10 vols. (London: T. Davison, 1812), 9: 372. For Molyneux’s response, see Molyneux to Locke, 24 December 1695, in ibid., 9: 370. Synge returned to this metaphor in An Appendix to A Gentleman’s Religion: In which it is Proved, That nothing contrary to our Reason, can possibly be the Object of our Belief; But that it is no just Exception against some of the Doctrines of Christianity, that they are above our Reason (London: R. Sare, 1698), 9. Ibid., 5. Ibid., 21–22. Ibid., 6–9. Ibid., 8–10. William King took a similar position regarding the recognition of colors. King, Divine Predestination, 18 Ibid., 10–11. In the course of this explanation, Synge explicitly contrasted the blind man’s knowledge of light with Toland’s meaningless “Blictri.” Ibid., 14–15. On this point, Synge cited Chapter 28 of Kenelm Digby’s Of bodies and of mans soul (London: S.G. & B.G. for John Williams, 1669). [Thomas Emlyn], A True Narrative of the Proceedings of the Dissenting Ministers of Dublin against Mr. Thomas Emlyn (London, 1719), xiv. Also, see Phil Kilroy, Protestant Dissent and Controversy in Ireland, 1660–1714 (Cork: Cork University Press, 1994), 45–50. Thomas Emlyn, in An Humble Inquiry into the Scripture-Account of the Lord Jesus Christ (n.p., 1702), 2–3. Joseph Boyse, A Vindication of the True Deity of our Blessed Saviour, in Answer to a late Pamphlet Entituled, An Humble Enquiry into the Scripture-Account of Jesus Christ &c. (Dublin, 1703), 10. Ibid., 4. James O’Higgins, Anthony Collins: The Man and His Works (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1970), 80–81.

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NOTES

45. Beiser, Sovereignty of Reason, 258. On this point, Collins’s defense of liberty of thought, coupled with his attack on religious intolerance, echoed the popular position articulated earlier by Robert Molesworth. Molesworth, Account of Denmark, as it was in the Year 1692, Preface. 46. Anthony Collins, A Discourse of Free-Thinking, Occasion’ d by The Rise and Growth of a Sect call’ d Free-Thinkers (London, 1713), 5. Also see Olscamp, Moral Philosophy, 191. 47. Collins, Discourse, 4. 48. Ibid., 6–12. 49. Ibid., 30–31. 50. Ibid., 40. 51. Some of the “differences of opinion” that Collins pointed to included the analogical knowledge of God, the canon of Scripture, the Trinity, the obligation of the Athanasian creed, the question of predestination, the eternity of hell, the institution of episcopacy, original sin, and lay baptism. See ibid., 46 ff. and O’Higgins, Anthony Collins, 86–88. 52. Collins, Discourse, 98–99. 53. Ibid., 123. 54. Ibid., 105. 55. Beiser, Sovereignty of Reason, 259. 56. See Phileleutherus Lipsiensis [Richard Bentley], Remarks upon a Late Discourse of Freethinking in a Letter to F.H. (London: John Morphew, 1713), 5. 57. Philaretes [pseudo.], An Essay on Free-Thinking (London, 1713), 3 and William Whiston, Reflexions on an Anonymous Pamphlet, Entitled, a Discourse of Free Thinking (London: A. Baldwin, 1713), 5. 58. Jonathan Swift, Mr. C——‘s Discourse of Free-Thinking, Put into Plain English by way of Abstract, For the Use of the Poor, By a Friend of the Author (London, 1713), 3 and 6. 59. Texts cited in Berkeley’s PC include Molyneux’s Dioptrica Nova (1692), Malebranche’s Recherche de la Vérité (1674), Isaac Barrow’s Optical Lectures (1669), Isaac Newton’s Opticks (1704), and Descartes’s Dioptrique (1637; Latin ed. 1644). See Turbayne, “Berkeley and Molyneux,” 341. 60. Ernst Cassirer argues that issues of perception were central to Berkeley’s philosophy, especially questions associated with the Molyneux Problem. See Ernst Cassirer, Philosophy of the Enlightenment (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1950), 109. 61. George Berkeley, “The Future State” (Guardian 27, 11 April 1713), in Berkeley, Works, 7: 183. 62. George Berkeley, “Short-Sightedness” (Guardian 77, 9 June 1713), in Berkeley, Works, 7: 211. 63. George Berkeley, “The Pineal Gland” (Guardian 39, 25 April 1713), in Berkeley, Works, 7: 186. 64. Ibid., 7: 188. 65. Ibid., 7: 189. 66. Ibid., 7: 190. 67. George Berkeley, “Minute Philosophers” (Guardian 70, 1 June 1713), in Berkeley, Works, 7: 206.

NOTES

187

68. Ibid., 7: 206–07. 69. George Berkeley, “Happiness” (Guardian 83, 16 June 1713), in Berkeley, Works, 7: 215. 70. Ibid., 7: 215–16. 71. Ibid., 7: 216. 72. George Berkeley, “The Sanctions of Religion” (Guardian 55, 14 May 1713), in Berkeley, Works, 7: 198–99. 73. Ibid., 7: 199. 74. Berkeley, “Minute Philosophers,” in Works, 7: 208. 75. Ibid., 7: 209.

5

Luxury, Moderation, and the South Sea Bubble

1. Christopher Berry, The Idea of Luxury: A Conceptual and Historical Investigation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), 101–25. 2. Isaac Kramnick, Bolingbroke and His Circle: The Politics of Nostalgia in the Age of Walpole (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1968), 69. For an overview of the literature from the 1720s, see John Sperling, The South Sea Company: An Historical Essay and Bibliographical Finding List (Boston, MA: Harvard Graduate School of Business Administration, 1962). 3. Laurence Dickey, “Doux-Commerce and the ‘Mediocrity of Money,’ ” Appendix IV to Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, ed. Laurence Dickey (Indianapolis, IN: Hackett, 1993). 4. In a letter to Percival, Berkeley claimed that one reason why he began to dissociate himself from Steele was his increasing concern for political matters. See Berkeley to Percival, 2 October 1713, in Works, 8: 72. 5. Berman, George Berkeley, 80. 6. Berkeley, Advice to the Tories, in Works, 6: 53. 7. Ibid., 6: 54. 8. See Berkeley’s letters #49–61 in Berkeley, Works, 8: 85–99. Throughout these letters, predominantly addressed to Percival, Berkeley often notes that he is trying to provide him with “Tory” news, although he is careful to distance himself from any actions that could be perceived as rebellion. As a whole, he seems repulsed by the threat of revolution, from either side, suggesting that the Jacobites were “wicked” to contemplate both “rebellion and perjury.” 9. During his travels in Italy, Berkeley kept a journal of his thoughts. Although mostly concerned with his immediate thoughts while sightseeing these mundane entries are interspersed with a number of notes concerning classical writers, as well as his observations during the 1718 Messina earthquake. Continuing his interest in science, the latter was published in the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society (London, 1717), 30: 708–13. These journals are reprinted in Berkeley’s Works, 7: 229–334.

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10. John Sekora, Luxury: The Concept in Western Thought, Eden to Smollett (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1977), 26. 11. Joseph Johnston, Bishop Berkeley’s Querist in Historical Perspective (Dundalk: Dundalgan Press, 1970), 1. 12. Berry, Idea of Luxury, 63. 13. Livy, History of Rome, trans. B. O. Foster (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1919–59), Preface, 10. 14. Ibid., 39.6–7. 15. Polybius, The Histories, trans. W. R. Paton (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1922), 31.25. 16. Both Berry and Sekora point to Sallust’s treatment of this subject as a “model” for other Roman histories. See Berry, Idea of Luxury, 67–68 and Sekora, Luxury, 36–37. 17. “Hence the lust for money first, then for power, grew upon them: these were, I may say, the root of all evils.” Sallust, Bellum Catilina [BC], in Bellum Catilina and Bellum Jugurthinum, ed. and trans. J. C. Rolfe (Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library, 1921), 10: 4. See Berkeley, RGB 61. 18. Sallust, BC, 10: 4. 19. Sallust stresses the importance of martial power in contrast to the “effeminacy” associated with luxury. Ibid., 7: 4. This idea of the “fear of the enemy” [metus hostilis] reappears later in his discussion of Carthage. For information on the influence of this theme in Sallust’s work, see Neal Wood, “Sallust’s Theorem: A Comment on ‘Fear’ in Western Political Thought,” History of Political Thought 14 (1995), 174–89. 20. Sallust, BC, 9: 1–5. 21. D. C. Earl, The Political Thought of Sallust (Amsterdam: Adolf M. Hakkert, 1966), 41. Also, see Lidia Mazzolani, Empire without End (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1972), 45. 22. Sallust, BC, 10: 1–3. J. G. A. Pocock has argued that the notion of fortuna, expressed as “chance,” was often used to explain the insecurities of political life. J. G. A. Pocock, The Machiavellian Moment (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1975), 36–38. 23. Sallust, Bellum Jugurthinum [BJ ], in Bellum Catilina and Bellum Jugurthinum, ed. and trans. J. C. Rolfe (Cambridge: Loeb Classical Library, 1921), 1: 4. 24. Ibid., 1: 5. 25. Sallust, BC, 2: 5. 26. Ibid., 10: 4, 11: 5, and 12: 1–3. On commercial expansion in Sallust, see Wood, “Sallust’s Theorem,” 177 and Mazzolani, Empire without End, 66. 27. Peter Burke has meticulously traced the relative popularity of classical writers during the early modern period though an examination of the number of editions of their works produced throughout Europe. By this measure (which admittedly has flaws), the works of Sallust were by far the most common, with 282 editions of Catiline and 271 of Jugurtha being produced during this time (the next most popular author was Valerius’ Words and Deeds with 198 editions). See Peter Burke, “A Survey of the Popularity of Ancient Historians, 1450–1700,” History and Theory 5 (1966), 136–37.

NOTES

189

28. See E. A. J. Johnson, Predecessors of Adam Smith: The Growth of British Economic Thought (New York: Prentice-Hall, 1937), 57–69. 29. Hirschman, Passions and the Interests, 59. 30. Dickey, “Doux-Commerce,” 246. 31. Francis Bacon, “Of the True Greatness of the Kingdom of Britain,” in Francis Bacon, The Works of Francis Bacon, ed. B. Montagu (Philadelphia, 1850), 2: 225–27, quoted in Dickey, “Doux-Commerce,” 246–47. 32. Thomas Mun, A Discourse of Trade from England unto the East-Indies: Answering to diverse Objections which are usually made against the same (London, 1621), 2. Also, see Andrea Finkelstein, Harmony and the Balance: An Intellectual History of Seventeenth-Century English Economic Thought (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2000), 74–88 and Johnson, Predecessors of Adam Smith, 73–89. 33. Thomas Mun, England’s Treasure by Forraign Trade. Or, The Balance of our Forraign Trade is the Rule of our Treasure (London, 1664), 148. While this was only published in 1664, it was written sometime during the 1620s. See Berry, Idea of Luxury, 102 (fn. 1). 34. Mun, A Discourse of Trade, 56. 35. See Finkelstein, Harmony and the Balance, 80–81 and Berry, Idea of Luxury, 104–05. 36. Rice Vaughan, A Discourse of Coin and Coinage (London, 1675), 58. 37. Ibid., 58. 38. Berry, Idea of Luxury, 105–06. 39. Dickey, “Doux-Commerce,” 248–49. Also, see Jacob Viner, Studies in the Theory of International Trade (London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd., 1955), 45–51. 40. Nicholas Barbon, A Discourse of Trade (London: Tho. Milbourn, 1690), 6. 41. Daniel Defoe, Review, 19 April 1705. The notion that “money is the sinews of war” had been observed earlier by a host of thinkers including Giovanni Botero, Francis Bacon, and Walter Raleigh. Among Barbon’s contemporaries this idea not only appeared throughout Defoe’s writings, but also in Lewes Roberts, Henry Parker, William Temple, and Dalby Thomas. See Viner, Theory of International Trade, 22–24. 42. Barbon, Discourse of Trade, 11. 43. Ibid., 32. 44. Ibid., 21. Elsewhere, Barbon noted that the “[w]ants of the Mind are infinite . . . and his Wants increase with his Wishes, which is for every thing that is rare, can gratifie his Senses, adorn his Body, and promote the Ease, Pleasure, and Pomp of Life.” Ibid., 14. 45. Berry, Idea of Luxury, 116–18. 46. Barbon, Discourse of Trade, 33–34. 47. Sir George Mackenzie, The Moral History of Frugality, with its opposite Vices, Covetousness, Niggardliness, and Prodigality, Luxury (London, 1691), 66–67, 84, and 78–79. 48. Ibid., 91. 49. Among the more useful accounts of the Mississippi scheme and the South Sea bubble are John Carswell, The South Sea Bubble (London: Cresset Press,

190

50.

51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56.

57.

58. 59. 60. 61. 62.

63.

64.

65. 66. 67.

NOTES 1960); Larry Neal, The Rise of Financial Capitalism: International Capital in the Age of Reason (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990); P. G. M. Dickson, The Financial Revolution in England: A Study in the Development of Public Credit (London: MacMillan, 1967); Kelly, “ ‘Industry and Virtue,” 57–74; and Sperling, South Sea Company. The plight of women ensnared by the lure of speculation was encapsulated by Thomas Foxton’s Jesina: or, Delusive God. A Pastoral Lamenting the Misfortunes of a young Lady of Quality, Ruined by South Sea Stock (London: E. Curll, 1721). Also, see Catherine Ingrassia, “The Pleasure of Business and the Business of Pleasure: Gender, Credit, and the South Sea Bubble,” Studies in EighteenthCentury Culture 24 (1995), 191–210. Dickson, Financial Revolution, 92–93. Marie McMahon, The Radical Whigs, John Trenchard and Thomas Gordon (New York: University Press of America, 1990), 93. Kramnick, Bolingbroke, 65. Carswell, South Sea Bubble, 54. The Nation Preserved; or, the Plot Discovered (London, 1720), 6. Dickson, Financial Revolution, 97. Some of the problems with this system were outlined in James Milner’s Three Letters Relating to the South-Sea Company and the Bank (London: J. Roberts, 1720), 8–10. Among those strongly suspected of being influenced by bribes to accept the South Sea Company’s offer were the Earl of Sunderland, John Aislabie (chancellor of the exchequer), James Craggs (postmaster general), and Charles Stanhope (a junior secretary of the treasury). Dickson, Financial Revolution, 100–110. MacMahon, Radical Whigs, 94. Carswell, South Sea Bubble, 30–35 and Neal, Rise of Financial Capitalism, 106. Ibid., 90 and Dickson, Financial Revolution, 140–43. Ibid., 144. The sensational atmosphere of Exchange Alley was the subject of numerous pamphlets, most notably Daniel Defoe’s The Anatomy of Exchange-Alley: or, A System of Stock-Jobbing (London: E. Smith, 1719). Paul Chamberlen, News from Hell: or, A Match for the Directors (London: J. Roberts, 1721), iii–v. The author of A New-Year’s-Gift for the Directors also noted the “State of Lunacy” associated with speculation. New-Year’s-Gift, 11. Some of these companies were listed in the satirical Battle of the Bubbles, which described how these “monsters” worked for “Avaritia” to overcome the virtue of Britain. [A Stander-By], The Battle of the Bubbles (London: A. Moore, 1720), 18–26. Carswell, South Sea Bubble, 166–70. Viscount Erleigh, The South Sea Bubble (Manchester: Peter Davies Limited, 1933), 128 and Carswell, South Sea Bubble, 210. Salus Populi Suprema Lex; Shew’ d in the Behaviour of British Parliaments towards Parricides, &c., 2nd edition (London: J. Roberts, 1721), 46. Also, see Considerations on the Present State of the Nation, as to Publick Credit, Stocks, the Landed and Trading Interests (London: J. Roberts, 1720), 58.

NOTES

191

68. This author hoped that as Cambyse King of Persia ordered all the Chairs of Justice to be covered with the Skins of corrupt Judges; so theirs (with my Consent) should serve for the same tremendous Furniture at the South Sea House. But first I would have their Bodies expos’d upon the Backs of Asses, and led about in Triumph through our publick Streets, as an Emblem of the Burthens they have laid upon others. As for their Heads indeed (since their Brains have been always in their Pockets) I would have them fix’d upon Poles in Exchange Alley, that People may behold in Golgotha, Skulls of all Sizes. (New-Year’s-Gift, 28–29) 69. See Jonathan Swift’s famous poem, “The Bubble,” (1720), reprinted in Swift, Poems, 248–59 and J. B. Gent, A Poem Occasion’ d by the Rise and Fall of SouthSea Stock (London: Samuel Chapman, 1720). Also, see Pat Rogers, “Plunging in the Southern Waves: Swift’s Poem on the Bubble,” Yearbook of English Studies 18 (1988), 41–50. Sperling found at least 174 publications related to the bubble in 1720 and another 149 published in 1721. Sperling, South Sea Company, 57–76. 70. In 1721 Thomas Gordon published a new edition of Sallust’s Catiline conspiracy, see [Thomas Gordon], The Conspirators; or, The Case of Catiline, as collected from the best historians (London, 1721). 71. The implication that God was judging Britain for its sins evokes contemporary notions of providentialism. Although not taking a direct hand in human affairs, God’s system provided a type of early warning concerning immanent decline. Thus, if these signs could be properly read, it would be possible to forestall this doom. For a contemporary work centered on this theme, see Thomas Greene, The End and Design of God’s Judgments (London: John Wyat, 1721), 3–4. 72. Many of the more sensational pamphlets written in response to the bubble placed the blame for the event at the feet of the directors, calling for them to receive harsh punishments. A few others blamed members of Parliament and the “money’d-men” for betraying the public’s trust. On the former, see Salus Populi Suprema Lex, 46 and 59 and New-Year’s Gift, 5; for the latter, see The Snake in the Grass, Discover’ d; or Observations on a late Pamphlet (London: W. Boreham, 1720), 20. 73. Present State of the Nation, 69. 74. The Naked and Undisguis’ d Truth (London: J. Moore, 1721), 9. 75. These specific vices were references to the widespread practices associated with the South Sea Company and were the target of John Trenchard and Thomas Gordon’s extremely popular series of articles known as Cato’s Letters (published between 1720 and 1724). As the title of these works indicates, Trenchard and Gordon drew heavily from Roman writers to decry the political corruption of their age. For information on Cato’s Letters, see Trenchard and Gordon, Cato’s Letters, 2 vols., ed. Ronald Hamowy (1755; reprint, Indianapolis, IN: Liberty Fund, 1995); Pocock, Machiavellian Moment, 467–77; Kramnick, Bolingbroke, 243–51; Robbins, Commonwealthman, 118–25; and McMahon, Radical Whigs, passim.

192

NOTES

76. The phrase “wicked on principle” recalls Berkeley’s judgment of Britain first advanced in his pamphlet, Advice to the Tories (1715), in Works, 6: 53. This also echoes Charles Gildon’s charge that “never was Avarice in any Nation so general, and so spread thro’ almost all the People, as it is this Day in England.” Charles Gildon, All for the Better; or, The World turn’ d up-side down (London: John Applebee, 1720), 16. 77. Also, see Berkeley, “Future State” (Guardian 27, 11 April 1713), in Works, 7: 183. 78. During his travels in Italy Berkeley made a careful study of Roman monuments, which may have influenced his interpretation of their use in motivating individuals to public works. Berkeley returned to the theme of public monuments in the Alciphron. 79. In the popular mind, the directors of the South Sea Company had been “screened” from punishment due to their connections with the administration. For example, see The Skreen Removed; in a List of all the Names Mention’ d in the Report of the Committee of Secrecy (London: J. Lapworth, 1721) and Naked and Undisguis’ d Truth, 28. 80. This echoes Berkeley’s concern for the “common good” in both Passive Obedience and the “Bond of Society.” Berkeley, PO 21 and “Bond of Society,” in Works, 7: 227. 81. Also, see Greene, End and Design, 9–10. 82. Nation Preserved, 38. The plague is also mentioned in Battle of the Bubbles, 3. 83. John Withers’s sermon of 1720 also focused on this association of the plague with the deterioration of morals. See John Withers, The Pestilence Abroad, and the Perplexity of our Affairs at Home, consider’ d and improved . . . (London: John Clark, 1721) and Pat Rogers, “ ‘The Calamitous Year’: A Journal of the Plague Year and the South Sea Bubble,” in Pat Rogers, Eighteenth Century Encounters: Studies in Literature and Society in the Age of Walpole (Brighton: Harvester Press, 1985), 151–67. 84. The satirical Battle of the Bubbles personified avarice as “Avaritia,” the mother of the “bubbles” that destroyed Britain’s moral fiber. [Stander-By], Battle of the Bubbles, 8. Also, see John Midriff, Observations on the Spleen and Vapours (London: J. Roberts, 1721), 68. 85. The appeal to history was a central theme in other analyses of the bubble. See Salus Populi Suprema Lex, 50–52. 86. The anonymous author of The Snake in the Grass examined the amount of specie in circulation, using this as a measure of “national wealth.” Snake in the Grass, 10. 87. Berkeley later refined this explanation of national wealth in The Querist (1735–37). In this piece, he asked “whether there ever was, is, or will be, an industrious nation poor, or an idle rich?” Rejecting the mercantilist assumption that gold and silver were the yardsticks of a state’s economic well-being, Berkeley stressed the idea that “human labour” was the “true source of wealth” (Q 1 and 42).

NOTES

193

88. A similar analysis was presented by Erasmus Philips, in his Appeal to Common Sense: or, Some Considerations offer’ d to Restore Pubick Credit (London: T. Warner, 1720), 11–16. 89. The loss of public credit was identified as the primary cause of the financial disaster in the anonymously published Considerations on the Present State of the Nation, which was the target of The Snake in the Grass. Present State of the Nation, 3. 90. Ibid., 6: 71. Philips also defined the “riches of the nation” as the “numbers of Industrious Inhabitants.” Philips, Appeal to Common Sense, 18. 91. The Rise of Stocks the Ruin of The People, Plainly Demonstrated, in Three Letters to a Member of Parliament (London: W. Boreham, 1721), 30–31. 92. Greene also pointed to the dangers of “gaming” as leading to national ruin. See Greene, End and Design, 24–25. 93. This proposal was much more charitable than the one Berkeley advanced fifteen years later in The Querist. In this piece, after asking whether “the public hath not a right to employ those who cannot or who will not find employment for themselves,” Berkeley suggested that “temporary servitude” might be the “best cure of idleness and beggary.” More chillingly, he wondered whether “all sturdy beggars should not be seized and made slaves to the public for a certain term of years?” (Q 382–84). 94. Economists such as John Cary and John Bellers also addressed the problem of convincing the idle to engage in productive work. See Johnson, Predecessors of Adam Smith, 283–84. 95. Viner suggests that this proposal was the “most visionary” of the various schemes devised to force the least eligible sections of the population to contribute to the national economy. See Jacob Viner, “Man’s Economic Status,” in Jacob Viner, Essays on the Intellectual History of Economics, ed. Douglas Irwin (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1991), 296. 96. Increasing investment in domestic production, rather than “chimerical” stocks, was advocated by a number of other responses. See New-Year’sGift, 21. 97. In The Querist, Berkeley laid forth a number of plans designed to increase domestic production (Q 73 and 591–95). 98. On this point, Berkeley followed the Roman model of valorizing the superior morals of the “founders” of the nation. For a brief history of the use of sumptuary laws, see Johnson, Predecessors of Adam Smith, 290–92; Berry, Idea of Luxury, 78–83 and 115; and Sekora, Luxury, 51–62. 99. Berkeley identified the “luxurious reign of Charles II” as the moment when these forces first entered the kingdom. 100. Compare this view of the role of fashion with that advanced by Barbon. In The Querist Berkeley continued this attack on fashion, calling for the “legislature to interpose in the making of fashions; and not leave an affair of so great influence to the management of women and fops, tailors, and vinters” (Q 13, also see Q 17, 112, and 140). Also, see Berry, Idea of Luxury, 121–23.

194

6

NOTES

Planting Religion in the New World, 1722–32

1. George Berkeley to Percival, 4 March 1722–23, in Works, 8: 127. 2. Berkeley’s interest in missionary colleges in general may have been sparked by a sermon given by his patron, St. George Ashe (Bishop of Clogher), just prior to his European tour. See St. George Ashe, A Sermon Preach’ d before the Incorporated Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (London: J. Downing, 1715), 16–17. 3. This was the original title of the poem when it was sent to Percival as “wrote by a friend of mine with a view to the scheme.” When later published in Berkeley’s Miscellany (London, 1752), it was entitled “Verses by the Author on the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning in America.” Although quite similar, Berkeley’s second version is less emphatic about the colonies’ potential. See George Berkeley to Percival, 10 February 1725–26, in Works, 8: 151–53. 4. Edwin Gaustad suggests “neither his immaterialism nor his aestheticism, however, brought Berkeley to America. That feat was accomplished by his philosophy of history.” See Edwin Gaustad, George Berkeley in America (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1979), 73. Also, see Rexmond C. Cochrane, “Bishop Berkeley and the Progress of the Arts and Learning: Notes on a Literary Convention,” Huntington Library Quarterly 17 (1954), 229–49. 5. Luce, George Berkeley, 81. 6. The four future bishops were forever united in literary history by Pope’s famous lines: “Ev’n in a bishop I can spy desert, / Secker is decent, Rundel has a heart; Manners with candour are to Benson giv’n, / To Berkley ev’ry virtue under heav’n.” Pope, “Epilogue to the Satires,” 317. 7. Stock claimed that Grafton “took him over to Ireland as one of his chaplains.” Luce, on the strength of an article in the Gentleman’s Magazine (v. 46, p. 569), acknowledges that Berkeley was quite close to the duke, but denies that he held any official office under him. Luce, George Berkeley, 83. 8. George Berkeley to Percival, 12 October 1721, in Works, 8: 116. 9. George Berkeley to Percival, 10 February 1721–22, in Works, 8: 120. 10. See Patrick McNally, “ ‘Irish and English Interests’: National Conflict within the Church of Ireland Episcopate in the Reign of George I,” Irish Historical Studies 24 (1995), 299 and Parties, Patriots, and Undertakers: Parliamentary Politics in Early Hanoverian Ireland (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1997), 97 and 159–73; and David Dickson, New Foundations: Ireland 1660–1800, 2nd edition (Dublin: Irish Academic Press, 2000), 69–71. 11. Luce, George Berkeley, 86. For a brief overview of the role of patronage in the Irish Church during this time, see Connolly, Religion, Law and Power, 185–90. 12. George Berkeley to Percival, 5 May 1724, in Works, 8: 133. 13. The rivalry between Irish clergymen for these positions was quite fierce, as evidenced by Philip Percival’s account from 1724, reprinted in McNally, Parliamentary Politics, 117. 14. Luce, George Berkeley, 87.

NOTES

195

15. For more information on the tangled relationship between Swift and Mrs. Van Homrigh, see Luce, George Berkeley, 88–93. 16. George Berkeley to Percival, 4 June 1723, in Works, 8: 130. 17. George Berkeley to Percival, 4 March 1722–23, in Works, 8: 127–29. See Mircea Eliade, “Paradise and Utopia: Mythical Geography and Eschatology,” in Utopias and Utopian Thought, ed. Frank Manuel (Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 1966), 263. 18. Daniel Dering to Percival, 5 March 1722–23, in Rand, Berkeley and Percival, 206. A number of the younger fellows at Trinity had apparently joined the venture and three of them—William Thompson, Jonathan Rogers, and James King—were officially named in the Charter for the college (PR 360). 19. Percival repeated his advice to seek government support a year later, just as Berkeley was preparing his Proposal. Percival to Berkeley, 30 June 1723 and Percival to Berkeley, 26 May 1724, in Rand, Berkeley and Percival, 209 and 218–19. 20. Berkeley wrote that the truth is, my first purpose of going to Bermuda sets me above soliciting anything with earnestness in this part of the world, which can now be of no use to me, but as it may enable me the better to prosecute that design: and it must be owned that the present possession of something in the Church would make my application for an establishment in these Islands more considered. (George Berkeley to Percival, 19 September 1723, in Works, 8: 132) 21. Joseph Warton, An Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope (London: J. Dodsley, 1782), 2: 204. 22. The Humble Petition of a Beautiful Young Lady: To the Reverend Doctor B—rkl—y (Dublin, 1723). 23. Eliade, “Paradise and Utopia,” 263. 24. On Bray, see Rev. Thomas Bray: His Life and Selected Works, ed. Bernard C. Steiner (1901; reprint, New York: Arno Press, 1972) and Samuel C. McCulloch, “The Foundation and Early Work of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts,” Huntington Library Quarterly 8 (1944–45), 241–58. 25. Bray’s involvement with the debate over the establishment of the Anglican Church in Maryland is discussed in Samuel C. McCulloch, “Dr. Thomas Bray’s Trip to Maryland: A Study in Militant Anglican Humanitarianism,” William and Mary Quarterly Series 3: 2 (1945), 15–32. 26. Thomas Bray, Missionalia: Or, A Collection of Missionary Pieces Relating to the Conversion of the Heathen; Both the African Negroes and the American Indians (London, 1727), 64. For a detailed comparison between Berkeley’s plan and Bray’s thought, see Bernard C. Steiner, “Two Eighteenth Century Missionary Plans,” Sewanee Review 11 (1902), 289–305. 27. Bray, Missionalia, 105. 28. Ibid., 98. 29. Gaustad, Berkeley in America, 47. 30. According to Costica Bradatan, the choice of an island was central to Berkeley’s plan because he was moved by “a certain nostalgia for an earthly

196

31.

32.

33.

34.

35.

36.

37. 38.

39. 40. 41.

NOTES paradise,” whose “symbolic geography” could be placed within the context of “educational utopias.” Bradatan, Bishop Berkeley, 151–52. During the seventeenth century, “providence” was often cited to justify colonial projects; see Peter Harrison, “ ‘Fill the Earth and Subdue It:’ Biblical Warrants for Colonization in Seventeenth Century England,” Journal of Religious History 29 (2005), 5–7. The historical text was Purchas’s Pilgrims and is mentioned with regard to the use of royal charters to encourage the spread of the gospel in American colonies. George Stanhope, The early conversion of islanders a wise expedient for propagating Christianity. A sermon preached before the Incorporated Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts . . . 1713–14 (London: J. Downing, 1714), 7–8. Berkeley’s strategy bore a close resemblance to Bray’s earlier efforts, who had hoped to “obtain from the Publick such a Fund, as may maintain . . . such persons, as will learn their Language, live with them, and preach the Gospel amongst them.” Bray, Memorial, 7. Berkeley’s plan bears a close resemblance to those of the French colonists during the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. See James Axtell, The Invasion Within: The Contest of Cultures in Colonial North America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). Early in his career, Bray had suggested similar techniques when comparing English missionary efforts with those of the French, but repudiated this position in his response to Berkeley. Compare Bray, Memorial, 7 and Bray, Missionalia, 57– 65. Berkeley mentioned in passing that these students would take their orders in England “until such Time as Episcopacy be established in those Parts.” (PR 348) Berkeley’s daughter-in-law, Eliza Berkeley, claimed that Berkeley explicitly supported the introduction of American bishoprics. Eliza Berkeley, Introduction to George-Monck Berkeley, Poems, ccccxlix–ccccl. Also see, Gaustad, Berkeley in America, 194–95; Arthur Cross, The Anglican Episcopate and the American Colonies (1902; reprint, Hamden, CT: Archon Books, 1964), 52–87 and Carl Bridenbaugh, Mitre and Sceptre: Transatlantic Faiths, Ideas, Personalities, and Politics 1689–1775 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1962), 27–30. See Axtell, Invasion Within, 271–329. Bray, Missionalia, 96–97. Despite Bray’s complaints about Berkeley’s characterization of the work of the SPG, Laura Stevens has observed that among “British groups who attempted to convert Indians during the colonial period,” the SPG was “the least successful.” Laura Stevens, The Poor Indians: British Missionaries, Native Americans, and Colonial Sensibility (Philadelphia, PA: Penn University Press, 2004), 111. Compare with RGB 69–85. See W. Byrd to Percival, 10 June 1729, in Rand, Berkeley and Percival, 243. Also, see Berman, George Berkeley, 133. The Jewish-Indian hypothesis had been advanced as early as 1650 by figures such as John Eliot and Thomas Thorowgood, in an effort to reconcile the

NOTES

42. 43.

44.

45. 46.

47. 48.

49.

50.

51.

52. 53.

54. 55. 56. 57.

197

presence of people in the New World with the Bible. See Harry Bracken, “Bishop Berkeley’s Messianism,” in Millenarianism and Messianism in English Literature and Thought, ed. R. H. Popkin (Leiden: Brill, 1988), 73; J. F. Maclear, “New England and the Fifth Monarchy: The Quest for the Millennium in Early American Puritanism,” William and Mary Quarterly Series 3: 32 (1975), 243–48. Bradatan, Bishop Berkeley, 165. Within the British Atlantic, the translatio tradition was most commonly expressed in poetry. See David S. Shields, Oracles of Empire: Poetry, Politics, and Commerce in British America, 1690–1750 (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1990). For information concerning the sermons of the SPG within an imperial context, see Frank Klingberg, Anglican Humanitarianism in Colonial New York (New York: Books for Libraries Press, 1940), 11–27 and Rowan Strong, “A Vision of an Anglican Imperialism: The Annual Sermons of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts 1701–1714,” Journal of Religious History 30 (2006), 175–98. Bridenbaugh, Mitre and Sceptre, 57. Boyd Schlenther, “Religious Faith and Commercial Empire,” in The Oxford History of the British Empire; Volume II: The Eighteenth Century, ed. P. J. Marshall (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 131. Strong, “Anglican Imperialism,” 176. Of particular concern was the publication of Anthony Collins’s A Discourse of the Grounds and Reasons of the Christian Religion (London, 1724) and Matthew Tindal’s Christianity as Old as the Creation (London, 1730). On the notion of a translatio religionis, see Laurence Dickey, “Translatio Imperii and Translatio Religionis: The ‘Geography of Salvation’ in Russian and American Messianic Thinking,” in The Cultural Gradient: The Transmission of Ideas in Europe, 1789–1991, ed. Catherine Evtuhov and Stephen Kotkin (New York: Rowman and Littlefield, 2003), 19–23. Marie-Dominique Chenu, “Theology and the New Awareness of History,” in Nature, Man, and Society in the Twelfth Century: Essays on New Theological Perspectives in the Latin West, trans. and ed. Jerome Taylor and Lester K. Little (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1968), 185. Richard Reynolds, A Sermon preached before the Incorporated Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts . . . 1727 (London, 1728), 9 and 14. Also, see Psalm 19. Reynolds, Sermon, 19. Zachary Pearce, A Sermon preached before the Incorporated Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts . . . 1729 (London, 1730), 16. Also, see Pincus, “Universal Monarchy,” 1–28. Pearce, Sermon, 23. Ibid., 26. Ibid., 29. Attacks on deism were the focus of a number of early SPG sermons, including those of Richard Willis (1702), Dr. Williams (1706), and Thomas Sherlock

198

58.

59. 60. 61.

62. 63. 64.

65. 66. 67.

68. 69. 70. 71.

72.

73. 74. 75.

NOTES (1716). See Klingberg, Anglican Humanitarianism, 14–15 and Stevens, Poor Indians, 115–19. John Denne, A Sermon preached before the Incorporated Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts . . . 1730 (London, 1730), 61. Denne identified a number of texts as being part of this movement, including Mandeville’s Fable of the Bees and Woolston’s Discourses. Ibid., 61 (fn. a). Ibid., 70–71. Ibid., 62. This is not to say that Berkeley’s poem caused this line of thought in America, but rather that it may be seen as the “most graceful expression” of this belief. See Joseph J. Ellis, After the Revolution (New York: Norton, 1979), 7. Berkeley, “America” and “Verses” in Works, 8: 152 and 7: 373 (ln. 1–2). Ibid., ll. 1–2, 17–18, and ll. 13–14. Berkeley, “America,” ll. 5–8, 17–20. For more information on the notion of primitivism during the eighteenth century, see Lois Whitney’s Primitivism and the Idea of Progress in English Popular Literature of the Eighteenth Century (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins Press, 1934) and Anthony Pagden, European Encounters with the New World (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1993). Berkeley, “America,” in Works, 7: 373 (ln. 1–3). Ibid., 7: 373 (ln. 13–14, 17). “Westward the Course of Empire takes its Way; / The four first Acts already past, / A fifth shall close the Drama with the Day; / Time’s noblest Offspring is the last.” Ibid., 7: 373 (ln. 21–24). Berman, George Berkeley, 118. Ernest Lee Tuveson, Redeemer Nation: The Idea of America’s Millennial Role (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1968), 94. Pocock, Machiavellian Moment, 511. Cochrane also claims that Berkeley’s “reference to the westward course of empire (in the sense of political dominion) . . . [was] seldom if even encountered in the convention, except by implication, before his Verses.” Cochrane does note that the idea of a translatio imperii existed prior to the eighteenth century, but claims that the significance of this idea had failed to reach Britain until after Berkeley’s poem. As argued earlier, these contentions underestimate the strength and prevalence of the translatio process in Britain following the discovery of the New World. Cochrane, “Bishop Berkeley,” 230 and 232–33 (fn. 9). Berkeley argued that his proposal would attempt to fulfil Riche’s bequest. Riche was the late governor of Bermuda. George Berkeley, Berkeley’s Petition, in Works, 7: 363 and Luce, George Berkeley, 104. P. Yorke and C. Wearg, Report of the Law Officers, reprinted in Berkeley, Works, 7: 365. Ibid., 7: 365. In a letter to Thomas Prior, Berkeley noted that he had “obtained reports from the Bishop of London [Berkeley’s friend Edmund Gibson], the Board of Trade and Plantations, and the Attorney and Solicitor General in favour of the Bermuda scheme.” George Berkeley to Prior, 20 April 1725, in Works, 8: 137.

NOTES 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81.

82.

83. 84. 85.

86.

87.

88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102.

199

George Berkeley to Prior, 3 June 1725, in Works, 8: 137. George Berkeley to Prior, 12 June 1725, in Works, 8: 138. George Berkeley to Percival, 28 December 1725, in Works, 8: 144. George Berkeley to Prior, 3 September 1725, in Works, 8: 141. George Berkeley to Prior, 6 February 1725–26, in Works, 8: 151. Luce notes that a Venetian friend of Berkeley, the Abbé Gualteri, had carried this proposal directly to King George I, who instructed Sir Robert Walpole to “introduce and conduct it through the House of Commons.” Luce, George Berkeley, 108. Berkeley to Percival, 10 February 1725–26, in Works, 8: 151. In this same letter, written at the height of Berkeley’s hopes of St. Paul’s (but also while irritated at the delays in the Commons), Berkeley first transcribed his poem “America, or the Muse’s Refuge.” George Berkeley to Percival, 17 May 1726, in Works, 8: 156. George Berkeley to Prior, 1 December 1726, in Works, 8: 175. One of whom was his new wife, Anne Forster, the eldest daughter of John Forster (former recorder of Dublin, speaker of the Irish House of Commons [1707–9] and chief justice). They were married on 1 August 1728. Luce, George Berkeley, 111. George Berkeley to Newman, 29 March 1730, in Works, 8: 206–7. Newman had written that “some good Men are apprehensive that the time is coming when the Gospel that has left the Eastern parts of the world to reside in the Western parts of it for some Centuries past is now, by the just judgment of God, taking leave of us to be receiv’d in America.” Henry Newman to Berkeley, 17 September 1729, quoted in Gaustad, Berkeley in America, 77. Berkeley confided that “Now, as to my own affair, I must tell you that I have no intention of continuing in these parts but in order to settle the College his Majesty hath been pleased to found at Bermuda.” George Berkeley to Prior, 7 May 1730, in Works, 8: 209. Berkeley’s notes for these sermons are reprinted in Berkeley, Works, 7: 53–84. George Berkeley to Newman, 27 June 1729, in Works, 8: 200. George Berkeley to Percival, 20 July 1730, in Works, 8: 210. Quoted in Gaustad, Berkeley in America, 131. Quoted in Luce, George Berkeley, 142. George Berkeley to Percival, 2 March 1731–32, in Works, 8: 212. Berkeley, “On the Mystery of Godliness,” in Works, 7: 85–104. George Berkeley, A Sermon preached before the Incorporated Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts . . . 1731, in Works, 7: 117. Ibid., 7: 118. Ibid., 7: 121. Ibid., 7: 123. Ibid., 7: 124. Luce, George Berkeley, 154. Percival’s Journal [22 February 1732], in Rand, Berkeley and Percival, 281. Ibid., 282.

200

NOTES

103. Ibid., 284. 104. George Berkeley to Prior, 27 March 1733, in Works, 8: 215. Berkeley specifically was hoping to obtain a draft of a survey of hearthmoney undertaken in Ireland in 1732 and 1733 and later published as An Abstract of the Number of Protestant and Popish Families in the Several Counties and Provinces of Ireland (Dublin: M. Rhames, 1736). 105. Percival’s Journal [17 January 1733–34], in Rand, Berkeley and Percival, 291 and George Berkeley to Prior, 22 January 1733–34, in Works, 8: 226–27.

7 Improving Ireland: Luxury, Virtue, and Economic Development 1. 2. 3. 4.

5.

6. 7.

8. 9. 10. 11.

12.

Mandeville, “The Grumbling Hive,” in Fable of the Bees, 17. Ibid., 25. Ibid., 34–37. Compare with Berkeley’s approach in his sermon “On Eternal Life” and essays in the Guardian. Berkeley, “On Eternal Life,” “The Sanctions of Religion,” and “Minute Philosophers,” in Works, 7: 113, 198–99, and 208. See James Livesey, “The Dublin Society in Eighteenth-Century Irish Political Thought,” The Historical Journal 47 (2004), 615–40; Salim Rashid, “The Irish School of Economic Development: 1720–1750,” Manchester School of Economic and Social Studies 56 (1988), 345–69; and Kelly, “Berkeley’s Querist,” 101–16. Foster, Modern Ireland, 197. L. M. Cullen, “The Value of Contemporary Printed Sources for Irish Economic History in the Eighteenth Century,” Irish Historical Studies 14 (1964), 147. L. M. Cullen, Anglo-Irish Trade, 1660–1800 (Manchester: A. M. Kelley, 1968), 229. See Johnston, Berkeley’s Querist, 15 and L. M. Cullen, An Economic History of Ireland since 1660 (London: B. T. Batsford, 1972), 34 ff. James Kelly, “Jonathan Swift and the Irish Economy in the 1720s,” Eighteenth Century Ireland 6 (1991), 8–9. The roots of the former existed as early as 1719, when the merchant bank of La Touche and Kane began operations and soon offered banker’s notes for its customers. See L. M. Cullen, “Landlords, Bankers, and Merchants: The Early Irish Banking World, 1700–1820,” in Economists and the Irish Economy from the Eighteenth Century to the Present Day, ed. A. E. Murphy (Dublin: Irish Academic press, 1984), 26–30. Also, see C. George Caffentzis, “Why Did Berkeley’s Bank Fail? Money and Libertinism in Eighteenth-Century Ireland,” Eighteenth Century Ireland 12 (1997), 100–15. Johnston, Berkeley’s Querist, 45 ff. Caffentzis, “Berkeley’s Bank,” 102–05.

NOTES

201

13. Francis Hutcheson, Letter to the Gentlemen of the Landed Interest and John Irwin, To the nobility, gentry and commonalty of this kingdom of Ireland, cited in Michael Ryder, “The Bank of Ireland, 1721: Land, Credit and Dependency,” The Historical Journal 25 (1982), 574 and 560. 14. Henry Maxwell, Reasons offer’ d for erecting a bank in Ireland; in a letter to Hercules Rowley (Dublin, 1721), 10–11. 15. One of the leaders of the opposition to the bank, Hercules Rowley, suggested that if the intended Bank prove advantageous to us by increasing our trade and encouraging our manufactures—and should in the least interfere with or hinder the trade of England, then we may expect they will procure a Repeal of Charter, and so cramp our trade and discourage our manufactures as to render them impracticable. If it happens to impoverish us, and drain our little substance into Great Britain, then indeed we may be sure of a continuation. (Hercules Rowley, An Answer to a Book entitled “Reasons offered for erecting a bank in Ireland ” [Dublin, 1721], 5) 16. A Letter to a Member of Parliament touching the Late Intended Bank (Dublin, 1721), 11 and Rowley, An Answer to a Book, 25–26. 17. Ryder, “Bank of Ireland,” 569. 18. Kelly, “Critique of Mercantilism,” 107. 19. C. R. Josset, Money in Great Britain and Ireland (Rutland: Charles E. Tuttle, 1971), 154. 20. Dickson, New Foundations, 72. Also see Caffentzis, Industry of Mankind, 66 ff. 21. Ibid., 68. 22. On these objections see ibid., 66 ff. 23. Due to the prevailing rates of exchange, it was more profitable for Irish merchants to pay for imports with silver rather than gold, which increasingly took these lower-denomination coins out of circulation and made everyday transactions more difficult. Kelly, “Jonathan Swift,” 13. 24. Cullen, Economic History, 45–46. Also, see James Kelly, “Harvests and Hardship: Famine and Scarcity in Ireland in the Later 1720s,” Studia Hibernica 26 (1992), 65–105. 25. Cullen, Economic History, 44–45. 26. William Freeman, The Countryman’s Letter (Dublin: George Faulkner, 1731), 3 and George Rye, Considerations on Agriculture (Dublin: George Grierson, 1730). 27. Robert Wilson, The Interest and Trade of Ireland Consider’ d (Dublin: G. Faulkner, 1733 [1731]), 5; John Browne, Reflections upon the Present unhappy Circumstances of Ireland; in a Letter to his Grace the Lord Archbishop of Cashel (Dublin: George Faulkner, 1731), 6; Richard Cox, Some Observations on the Present State of Ireland, Particularly with Relation to the Woollen Manufacture (London: J. Roberts, 1731), 8; Edward Lloyd, A Description of the City of Dublin (London, 1732), 20; and A Letter to a Member of Parliament from a Country Gentleman (London, 1732), 3.

202

NOTES

28. The full title of the organization was the Dublin Society for the Improvement of Husbandry and other Useful Arts. For information on the origins of the Dublin Society and its history, see Henry Berry, A History of the Royal Dublin Society (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1915) and Terence de Vere White, The Story of the Royal Dublin Society (Tralee : Kerryman, 1955). 29. Samuel Madden also published a number of tracts during the late 1730s that encouraged the growth of Irish domestic industry, especially through the use of “experimental farms.” Samuel Madden, A Letter to the Dublin-Society on the Improving Their Fund; and the Manufactures, Tillage, &c in Ireland (Dublin: R. Reilly, 1739), 8 and 35. 30. James Arbuckle, A Poem Inscribed to the Dublin Society (Dublin: R. Reilly, 1737), 5–6 and 11. 31. Marian Bowley, Studies in the History of Economic Theory before 1870 (London: MacMillan, 1973), 19–27. 32. Thomas Prior, A List of the Absentees of Ireland, and the Yearly Value of their Estates and Incomes Spent Abroad (Dublin: R. Gunne, 1729), 23. 33. Ibid., 18–19. 34. Ibid., 22. 35. The Present State of Ireland Consider’ d (Dublin, 1730), 20. 36. A Citizen’s Memorial to the P—; Or, Ireland truly Jockied by the Absentees (n.p., 1737). 37. Thomas Prior, Observations on Coin in General, with some Proposals for Regulating the Value of Coin in Ireland (Dublin, 1730), 1–2. 38. Ibid., 2 and 7. 39. Ibid., 42. 40. Isaac Broadloom [pseudo.], The Hue and Cry of the Poor of Ireland for Small Change (Dublin, 1731), 4. 41. David Bindon, A Scheme for Supplying Industrious Men with Money to Carry on their Trades, and for better Providing for the Poor of Ireland (Dublin: Thomas Hume, 1729), 9. 42. Bindon, Scheme for Supplying, 6–7. 43. Prior, List of Absentees, 26, 27, 31. 44. Ibid., 25. 45. Arthur Dobbs, An Essay on the Trade and Improvement of Ireland, 2 vols. (Dublin, J. Smith, 1729), 2: 41. 46. Ibid., 1: 52. 47. Present State of Ireland, 22. 48. An Inquiry into Some of the Causes of the Ill Situation of the Affairs of Ireland (1731; reprint, London: Weaver Bickerton, 1732), 2, 27–28, and 52. 49. Sir John Browne, Seasonable Remarks on Trade; With some Reflections on the Advantages that might accrue to Great Britain, by a proper Regulation of the Trade of Ireland, in A Collection of Tracts Concerning the Present State of Ireland, with Respect to its Riches, Revenue, Trade, and Manufactures (1728; reprint, London: T. Woodward, 1729), 15. 50. John Brown, An Essay on Trade in General (1728), in A Collection of Tracts, 52.

NOTES 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59. 60. 61. 62.

63.

64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69.

70. 71. 72.

73. 74.

203

Prior, List of Absentees, 33. Prior, Observations on Coin, 59. Bindon, Scheme for Supplying Money, 14 ff. Ibid., 18. David Bindon, “Preface” to Jean Melon, Political Essay upon Commerce (Dublin: Philip Crampton, 1738), xxiv–xxv. Ibid., viii–xi. Dobbs, Essay on Trade, 2: 31 and 1: 95. Browne, Essay on Trade, in A Collection of Tracts, 67 and 52. Dobbs, Essay on Trade, 2: 61, 74, 102, and 105. In addition to their theoretical analyses, the Dublin Society also published a number of concrete proposals for improving Irish agriculture. Berkeley’s close friend Sir John Percival was responsible for a near-simultaneous London edition. Johnston, Berkeley’s Querist, 6. While Berkeley’s text covered a number of important economic topics, such as the nature of specie, the value of credit, the advisability of a national bank, and an insightful analysis of the circulation of money, this chapter focuses on issues that most directly related to what Berkeley argued were unique to the Irish case. For an analysis of Berkeley’s contributions to economic theory, see Kelly, “Berkeley’s Querist,” 106–14. T. W. Hutchison, “Berkeley’s Querist and Its Place in the Economic Thought of the Eighteenth Century,” British Journal of the Philosophy of Science 4 (1953–54), 52. J. M. Hone, “Berkeley and Swift as National Economists,” Studies 23 (1934), 421–32. Hutchison, “Berkeley’s Querist,” 53. Douglas Vickers, Studies in the Theory of Money, 1690–1776 (London: Peter Owen Ltd., 1960), 145. Kelly, “Ireland’s Economic Problems,” in Locating Swift, 47–59. Also, see Berkeley’s Word to the Wise (WW 235–36). Berkeley also asked “[w]hether there be any other nation possessed of so much good land, and so many able hands to work it, which yet is beholden for bread to foreign countries” (Q 138) and “[w]hether a foreigner could imagine that one half of the people were starving, in a country which sent out such plenty of provisions?” (Q 143). See I. D. Ward, “George Berkeley: Precursor of Keynes or Moral Economist on Underdevelopment,” Journal of Political Economy 67 (1959), 34. See Hutchison, “Berkeley’s Querist,” 59 and Joseph Johnston, “A Synopsis of Berkeley’s Monetary Policy,” Hermathena 55 (1940), 74. This echoes Berkeley’s earlier contention that “[i]ndustry is the natural sure way to wealth. This is so true, that it is impossible an industrious free People should want the Necessaries and Comforts of Life, or an idle enjoy them under any form of government” (RGB 71). See Hutchison, “Berkeley’s Querist,” 65–66 and Vickers, Theory of Money, 146. In his 1721 Essay, Berkeley had observed that “[m]en are apt to measure national prosperity by Riches: it would be righter to measure it by the Use that

204

75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81.

82. 83. 84. 85.

NOTES is made of them” (RGB 74). This connection between the “labor of the poor” and national wealth had been made by John Bellers in 1699. John Bellers, Essays about the Poor, Manufacturers, Trade, Plantations, and Immorality, and the Excellency and Divinity of Inward Light (London: T. Sowle, 1699), 10. Also, see Frank Petrella, “George Berkeley’s Theory of Economic Policy and Classical Economic Liberalism,” Southern Economic Journal 32 (1965–66), 275. See Hutchison, “Berkeley’s Querist,” 56–57 and Vickers, Theory of Money, 148. Compare this with his later contention that “our poor Irish are wedded to dirt upon principle” (WW 242). Ward, “George Berkeley,” 35. Hutchison, “Berkeley’s Querist,” 62. Also, see Inquiry into Some of the Causes, 59. Vickers, Theory of Money, 153–54. See Johnston, “Berkeley’s Monetary Theory,” 78. Barbon argued that fashion “is the great Promoter of Trade, because it occasions the Expence of Cloaths before the Old ones are worn out: It is the Spirit and Life of Trade; It makes a Circulation, and gives a Value by Turns, to all sorts of Commodities; it keeps the great Body of Trade in Motion.” Still, while Berkeley may have been willing to accept this aspect of Barbon’s argument, he objected to the valorization of luxury that formed the core of his analysis. Barbon, Discourse of Trade, 34. See Inquiry into Some of the Causes, 57. See Vickers, Theory of Money, 162. Hutchison, “Berkeley’s Querist,” 63 and Ward, “George Berkeley,” 39. This concern about the racial heritage of the “native Irish” was mentioned earlier in The Alciphron (ALC 262) and later appeared in his Word to the Wise (WW 236).

8 Bishop of Cloyne: Protestantism, Patriotism, and a National Panacea 1. Even at the height of the Bermuda venture Berkeley took care to keep his movements shielded from public knowledge, going so far as to ask his friend Thomas Prior to procure lodgings for him in Ireland secretly. In a similar vein, he kept his courtship of Anne Forster secret from all his friends until after they were married. Berkeley to Prior, 6 April 1728; Berkeley to Percival, 3 September 1728; and Berkeley to Prior, 5 September 1728, in Works, 7: 186, 188, and 189. Also, see Luce, George Berkeley, 106–08. 2. Berkeley further noted that while Irish Catholics “are not so properly and immediately part of our flock as those of our own communion; They are nevertheless to be considered as members of the Catholic Church very corrupt indeed and unsound, yet professing faith in the same Saviour. And this gives them some relation to us more than mere infidels and Heathen.” George Berkeley, Primary Visitation Charge, in Works, 7: 161.

NOTES 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

10. 11. 12.

13. 14. 15.

16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23.

24. 25. 26. 27. 28.

205

Ibid., 7: 162. Ibid., 7: 163–67. See the editor’s “Introduction,” to the letter, in Works, 7: 141–42. Berkeley to Sir John James, 7 June 1741, in Works, 7: 143. Ibid., 7: 144–46. Ibid., 7: 153. In The Querist, Berkeley asked, “Whether, if penal laws should be thought oppressive, we may not at least be allowed to give premiums? And whether it would be wrong, if the public encouraged Popish families to become hearers, by paying their hearth-money for them?” (Omitted Q 296). Johnston, Berkeley’s Philosophy, 324. Report to the Irish House of Lords, reprinted in Berkeley, Works, 6: 197. William Lecky, A History of Ireland in the Eighteenth Century (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1913), 1: 323. Also, see Luce, George Berkeley, 176 and Caffentzis, Industry of Mankind, 388. Report to the Irish House of Lords, in Berkeley, Works, 6: 198. Stock, George Berkeley, 31, fn. 11. Berkeley’s text was not the only one to condemn the Blasters. An anonymous pamphlet, The Irish Blasters, was also published in 1738. On the basis of textual similarities, William McGowan argues that Berkeley may have been the author of this text. See The Irish Blasters; or, the Votaries of Bacchus (Dublin, 1738) and William McGowan, “Did Berkeley Write The Irish Blasters?” Berkeley Newsletter 6 (1982–83), 1–4. Compare with Berkeley’s account here with Mandeville, “Origin of Moral Virtue,” in Fable of the Bees, 44–47. Also see Berkeley, “Bond of Society,” in Works, 7: 227. On this point, Berkeley’s analysis recalls his “Future State” essay in The Guardian, in Works, 7: 183. On contemporary notions of “Satanism,” see Caffentzis, Industry of Mankind, 389. This image of a “torrent” of impiety recalls Berkeley’s 1732 SPG sermon and looks forward to the water imagery so prevalent in Siris. Berkeley to Percival (fils), 1742, in Works, 8: 266. Luce, George Berkeley, 192. W. R. C., Tour through Ireland in Several Entertaining Letters (Dublin, 1746), 1: 63 and Carole Fabricant, “George Berkeley the Islander,” in The Global Eighteenth Century, ed. Felicity Nussbaaum (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins, 2003), 275. The Distress’ d State of Ireland Considered; More Particularly with Respect to the North, in a Letter to a Friend (Dublin, 1741), 4. Luce, George Berkeley, 199. A Proposal for Lessening the Excessive Price of Bread Corn in Ireland (Dublin: R. Reilly, 1741), 4. Fabricant, “Berkeley the Islander,” 275 and George Berkeley to Thomas Prior, 8 February 1740–41, in Works, 8: 248. Berkeley to Prior, 19 May 1741, in Works, 8: 251–52.

206

NOTES

29. The Groans of Ireland in a Letter to a Member of Parliament (Dublin: George Faulkner, 1741), 3. 30. Luce, George Berkeley, 198. 31. Marina Benjamin, “Medicine, Morality and the Politics of Berkeley’s TarWater,” in The Medical Enlightenment of the Eighteenth Century, ed. Andrew Cunningham and Roger French (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), 165–93; Marjorie Nicolson, “Joshua War’s ‘Pill and Drop,’ and Men of Letters,” Journal of the History of Ideas 29 (1968), 177–96 and Roy Porter, “Lay Medical Knowledge in the Eighteenth Century: The Evidence of the Gentleman’s Magazine,” Medical History 29 (1985), 138–68. 32. Berkeley, First Letter to Thomas Prior, in Works, 5: 173. 33. Ian Tipton, “Two Questions on Bishop Berkeley’s Panacea,” Journal of the History of Ideas 30 (1969), 217. 34. E. J. Furlong and W. V. Denard, “The Dating of the Editions of Berkeley’s Siris and of His First Letter to Thomas Prior,” Hermathena 86 (1955), 66–76. 35. Walmsley, Berkeley’s Philosophy, 144. 36. Berkeley, Second Letter to Thomas Prior, in Works, 5: 185. 37. For an overview of the debate, see Tipton, “Two Questions,” 205–07. Berkeley’s recipe is as follows: Pour a gallon of cold water on a quart of tar, and stir and mix them thoroughly with a ladle or flat stick for the space of three or four minutes, after which the vessel must stand eight and forty hours that the tar may have time to subside, when the clear water is to be poured off and kept for use, no more being made from the same tar, which may still serve for common purposes. (S 1) 38. Walmsley, Berkeley’s Philosophy, 150. 39. Berkeley, First Letter, in Works, 5: 175. For information on Siris and alcohol, see David Berman, “Berkeley’s Siris and the ‘Whisky Patriots,’ ” Eighteenth Century Ireland 1 (1986), 200–03. 40. Berkeley, First Letter, in Works, 5: 180. 41. Both Fabricant and Bradatan note the utopian element of Siris. Fabricant, “Berkeley the Islander,” 277–78 and Costica Bradatan, “One Is All, and All Is One: The Great Chain of Being in Berkeley’s Siris,” in Ordering the World in the Eighteenth Century, ed. Frank O’Gorman and Diana Donald (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 63–82. 42. Luce, George Berkeley, 201. 43. Horace Walpole’s Correspondence with Sir Horace Mann, ed. W. S. Lewis (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1955), 2: 451. 44. The Medicinal Virtues of Tar Water Fully Explained (Dublin, 1744). 45. Tar Water, A Ballad, Inscribed to the Right Honourable Philip Earl of Chesterfield (London: W. Webb, 1747), 4. 46. Marjorie Nicolson and G. S. Rousseau, “Bishop Berkeley and Tar-Water,” in The Augustan Milieu, ed. Henry Miller (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970), 126.

NOTES

207

47. Siris in the Shades: A Dialogue concerning Tar Water; Between Mr. Benjamin Smith, lately deceased, Dr. Hancock, and Dr. Garth, at their meeting upon the banks of the River Styx (London: C. B., 1744), 9. 48. Ibid., 11–12. 49. Ibid., 33–34. 50. Thomas Reeve, A Cure for the Epidemical Madness of Drinking Tar Water, Lately imported from ireland (London: John and Paul Knapton, 1744), 2. 51. Ibid., 3–4. 52. Ibid., 59. 53. Nicolson and Rousseau, “Bishop Berkeley and Tar-Water,” 118. 54. James Jurin, A Letter to the Right Reverend the Bishop of Cloyne, Occasion’ d by His Lordship’s Treatise on the Virtues of Tar-Water (London: Jacob Robinson, 1744), 8. 55. Ibid., 11. 56. Ibid., 39. 57. Anti-Siris: Or, English Wisdom Exemplify’ d by various Examples, but Particularly the present general Demand for Tar Water (London: M. Cooper, 1744), 34. 58. Ibid., 35–36. 59. Ibid., 56 and 57. 60. Ibid., 50. 61. Philanthropos, The Bishop of Cloyne Defended; or Tar-Water Proved Useful (London: J. Rivington, 1744), 18. 62. Risorius, Remarks on the Bishop of Cloyne’s Book, Entitled Siris (London: J. Roberts, 1744), 7. 63. A. A. Luce, “Berkeley’s Search for Truth,” Hermathena 81 (1953), 22. 64. Gabriel Moked, Particles and Ideas: Bishop Berkeley’s Corpuscularian Philosophy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1988), 1. 65. Benjamin, “Politics of Berkeley’s Tar-Water,” 169. 66. Berman, George Berkeley, 173. 67. A. D. Richie, “George Berkeley’s Siris: The Philosophy of the Great Chain of Being and the Alchemical Theory,” Proceedings of the British Academy 40 (1954), 41–55. 68. Bradatan, “Berkeley’s Siris,” 72. 69. Timo Airakinen, “The Chain and the Animal: Idealism in Berkeley’s Siris,” in Eriugena, Berkeley, and the Idealist Tradition, ed. Stephen Gersh and Dermot Moran (Notre Dame, IN: University Press of Notre Dame, 2006), 226–27. 70. Airakinen, “Chain and the Animal,” 236. 71. For an analysis of the influence of Stoicism on Berkelely’s philosophical thought, see Stephen Daniel, “Berkeley’s Stoic Notion of Spiritual Substance,” in New Interpretations of Berkeley’s Thought, ed. Stephen Daniel (Amherst, MA: Humanity Books, 2008). 72. Walmsley, Berkeley’s Philosophy, 144–45. 73. Dobbs, “Stoic and Epicurean Doctrines,” 224. 74. Luce, George Berkeley, 177. 75. Berkeley to Gervais, 24 November 1745, in Works, 8: 377.

208

NOTES

76. Berkeley’s letters were published on 21 December 1745, 7 January 1746, and 8 February 1746 and are reprinted in Works, 8: 279–80. A number of tracts published in Ireland during the Jacobite uprising focused on the need for local militias. See The Necessity of a Well Disciplined Militia in Ireland (Dublin, 1745), 4 and Hints Concerning the Present State of Ireland (Dublin: George Faulkner, 1745), 7. 77. Berkeley to Gervais, 6 January 1746 and Berkeley to Prior [n.d.], in Works, 8: 281 and 285. 78. This stress on the particular loyalty of Irish Protestants was echoed in Honest Advice to the People of Ireland (Dublin: George Faulkner, 1745), 3. 79. Berkeley, A Letter to his Clergy (1745), in Works, 8: 227–28. 80. Compare with An Answer to the Pretender’s Declaration: or, A Calm Address to All Parties in Religion (Dublin: E. Rider, 1745), 8 and Honest Advice, 18. 81. Berkeley, Advice to the Tories, in Works, 6: 55. 82. Berkeley, A Letter to the Roman Catholics of the Diocese of Cloyne (1745), in Works, 6: 229–30. 83. Leerssen, Mere Irish, 311. 84. Ellen Leyburn, “Bishop Berkeley: The Querist,” Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy 44, sec. C (1937–38), 93–94. 85. Hone and Rossi, Bishop Berkeley, 240. 86. On issues of race in Word to the Wise, see Carole Fabricant, “Speaking for the Irish Nation: The Drapier, the Bishop, and the Problems of Colonial Representation,” ELH 66 (1999), 345–47. 87. Compare with Q 512 and 357, as well as ALC 262. 88. In The Querist, Berkeley had questioned whether the native Irish were “civilized” (Q 358). 89. Letter from the Roman Catholic Clergy of the Diocese of Dublin, reprinted in Berkeley, Works, 6: 248. 90. Berman notes that not all Catholic clergy were won over by Berkeley’s tract, citing a 24 March 1749 letter written to Charles O’Conor. Berman, George Berkeley, 193. 91. Berkeley to Prior, 12 September 1746, Berkeley to Prior, 9 February 1746–47, Berkeley to Prior, 10 February 1746–47, and Berkeley to Prior, 22 March 1746–47, in Works, 8: 287, 292–93, 297. Also, see Luce, George Berkeley, 214 and Hone and Rossi, Bishop Berkeley, 242. 92. Berkeley to Prior, 12 September 1746, in Works, 8: 287. 93. See Sean Murphy, “Charles Lucas and the Dublin Election of 1748–49,” Parliamentary History 2 (1983), 93–111; Robert Mahony, Jonathan Swift: The Irish Identity (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1995), 13–16; S. J. Connolly, “Precedent and Principle: The Patriots and Their Critics,” in Political Ideas in Eighteenth-Century Ireland, ed. S. J. Connolly (Dublin: Four Courts, 2000), 141–43; and Jim Smyth, “Republicanism before the United Irishmen: The Case of Dr. Charles Lucas,” in Political Discourse in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Ireland, 240–56. 94. See entries number 15, 24, 26, 27, 30, 37, 41, and 42. Berkeley, Maxims Concerning Patriotism (1750), in Works, 6: 253–56. 95. See entries number 3, 7, 8, 12, 13, 17, 19, 22, 29, 31, 34. Ibid., 6: 253–56.

NOTES

9

209

Epilogue

1. Luce, George Berkeley, 217–18. 2. Reprinted in ibid., 220. 3. The London Evening-Post, 23–25 January 1753, reprinted in Berman, George Berkeley, 198. 4. The Gentleman’s Magazine, 1753, 52. 5. John Norton, The Life of Bishop Berkeley (New York, 1861), 292. 6. [Charles O’Conor], The Touchstone of Patriotism, in a Series of Interesting Queries to the Publick (Dublin: G. and A. Ewing, 1756), 12–14. 7. [Charles O’Conor], Principles of the Roman-Catholics Exhibited in some useful Observations (Dublin: P. Lord, 1756), 8 and The Danger of Popery to the Present Government, Examined (Dublin: George Faulkner, 1761), 33–39. Also, see Leerssen, Mere Irish, 332–34. 8. This text cited queries 100, 137, 181, 274, and 311. A Volunteer’s Queries, in Spring 1780: Humbly offered to the Consideration of all Descriptions of men in Ireland (Dublin: Pat Byrne, 1780). 9. Berkeley’s name was also evoked during the debate over the Union. See Nicholas Gay, Strictures on the Proposed Union between Great Britain and Ireland (London: John Stockdale, 1799), 9–10 and 17–18. 10. Isaac Butt, Protection to Home Industry, Some Cases of Its Advantages Considered (1840; reprint, Dublin: Hodges and Smith, 1846), 108. 11. Arthur Balfour, “Biographical Introduction,” in The Works of George Berkeley, D.D., Bishop of Cloyne, ed. George Sampson (London: George Bell and Sons, 1897), liii and lv. 12. Eamon de Valera, Speeches and Statements, 1917–73, ed. Maurice Moynihan (New York: Palgrave, 1980), 565. 13. W. B. Yeats, “Blood and the Moon” (1933), in The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats, ed. Richard Finneran (New York: Scribner, 1996), 237. 14. Luce, George Berkeley, 225 and Johnston, Berkeley’s Philosophy, 337. 15. Tipton, Berkeley, 7. 16. Yeats, “Blood and the Moon,” 237. 17. Berkeley, “Minute Philosophers,” in Works, 7: 206. 18. Berkeley, Advice to the Tories, in Works, 6: 54.


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Works of Berkeley Cited (from Works) Philosophical Commentaries (1706–09) Arithmetica (1707) Miscellanea Mathematica (1707) An Essay towards a New Theory of Vision (1709) A Treatise concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge (1710) Passive Obedience (1712) Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous (1713) Advice to the Tories who have taken the Oaths (1715) An Essay towards Preventing the Ruin of Great Britain (1721) A Proposal for the Better Supplying of the Churches in our Foreign Plantations, and for converting the Savage Americans to Christianity (1724) The Alciphron; or The Minute Philosopher (1732) A Sermon preached before the Incorporated Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts (1732) The Querist (1735–37) Primary Visitation Charge (1735) Siris: A Chain of Philosophical Reflexions and Inquiries concerning the Virtues of Tar Water (1744) First Letter to Thomas Prior on the Virtues of Tar-Water (1744) A Letter to his Clergy (1745) A Letter to the Roman Catholics of the Diocese of Cloyne (1745) Second Letter to Thomas Prior on the Virtues of Tar-Water (1746) A Word to the Wise (1749) Maxims concerning Patriotism (1750)

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Index

Abbadie, Jacques, 43 absentees, Irish, 123–27, 134, 162 Addison, Joseph, 36, 38, 49, 51 afterlife, 11, 147 Airaksinen, Timo, 150 algebra, 17, 171n10 ambition, 23, 75, 87, 131, 143, 154 America, 13, 92, 96, 99–105, 107–11 see also New World amour-propre, 43, 45 see also self-love Anglo-Irish, 1, 3, 7–9, 26, 139 Anne, Queen, 16, 25, 72, 97 Annesley v. Sherlock, 97 apocalyptic, 86, 109 appetite, 41, 50 Arbuckle, James, 123 Aristotle, 44, 49, 64 Ashe, St. George, 11, 17–18, 25, 28, 31, 33, 38, 72 atheism (atheists), 11, 35, 64, 85, 114, 141 Atterbury, Francis, 1, 184 attraction, 39–40, 48–52, 151 see also gravity avarice, 75, 87, 118, 143, 163, 192n76, 192n84 Bacon, Francis, 77–78 Balfour, Arthur, 160 Bank Controversy, 121 Bank of England, 71, 81, 121

Bank of Ireland, 121–22, 201n15, 203n62 Banque Royale, 80 Barbados, 101 Barbon, Nicholas, 78–79, 189n44, 193n100 Discourse of Trade, 78–79 Barnes, Harry, 40 Bathurst, Lord, 99 beggars, 90, 124–25, 131, 133, 155, 193n93 Beiser, Frederick, 64 benevolence, 11, 29, 32, 40–42, 44–47, 50, 145, 157, 180n54 see also compassion; sympathy Benjamin, Marina, 150 Benson, Bishop Martin, 97, 194n6 Bentley, Richard, 64, 184n14 Berkeley, Anne, 159, 199n85 Berkeley, George (son), 2 Berkeley, George accusations of Jacobitism, 15–16, 27, 32–33, 72–73 attitude toward Native Americans, 102–104 Augustian society, 35–39, 72–73 on British corruption, 84 on colonial clergy, 100–101 contributions to the Enlightenment, 3–4, 8, 53–54, 165–66 critique of fashion, 92, 119, 128–29, 132–34

236

INDEX

Berkeley, George—Continued on dangers of rebellion, 33, 72–73, 154 death, 159–60 defense of religion, 66–69, 85, 144 defense of tar-water, 145–46 definition of wealth, 130 divine judgment, 86 early education, 17, 19, 36–37 on freethinkers, 65–69, 141–44 on gaming, 86, 90, 119, 141 on gravity, 48–50 historical reputation, 1–3, 157, 159–61 human nature, 67 innate sociability, 47–51, 150–51 on Irish Catholics, 128–31, 139–41, 153–57 on Irish gentry, 132–34 laws of nature, 27–31 lost draft of Principles, 73 luxury, 84–92, 118–20, 128–34 on Mandeville, 44, 51–52 , 118–20, 142–43 missionary plan, 95–102, 110–13 Molyneux problem, 65 national decline, 86–87, 106, 112, 120 Newtonianism, 40, 47–51 oikeiosis, 40, 48–49, 119, 150–52 patriotism, 7–10, , 128, 156–57, 160–61 philosophical reputation, 4–7 political views, 16, 27–28, 32–34, 72–73, 153–54 promoting industry, 88–92, 128, 130–34, 138, 155, 157 publication of Querist, 127–28 religious beliefs, 138–44 on the right to resist, 30–31 on the role of the philosopher, 15 and St. George Ashe, 18, 28 sermon for the SPG, 113–14 on sovereignty, 26

struggles for preferment, 32–33, 73, 96–99, 114–15, 156 sumptuary laws, 91–92, 134 supporting domestic production, 133–34 use of mathematics, 16–19, 28, 31 vision of empire, 87–88, 108–10 on wickedness of contemporaries, 72, 85, 93 and William King, 29 Berkeley, George, Works Cited Advice to the Tories, 16, 33, 72, 153–54 Alciphron, 2, 51, 92–93, 113, 115–19, 137, 142, 159 Arithmetica, 17, 171n9 Essay towards a New Theory of Vision, 9, 65 Essay towards Preventing the Ruin of Great Britain, 72–73, 84–93, 134, 162 Ladies Library, 39, 178n23 Philosophical Commentaries, 8, 19, 62, 65 Primary Visitation Charge, 137, 139–40 Principles of Human Knowledge, 73, 175n72 Proposal for the Better Supplying of the Churches, 99–103 Querist, 90, 92–93, 115, 118, 120, 127–35, 154, 160 Siris, 138, 145–52, 161, 164 Word to the Wise, 155–56 Berkeley, Julia, 159, 159 Berman, David, 7–8, 11, 16, 33, 57, 109, 150 Bermuda, 11–12, 93, 95–96, 98–99, 101–105, 110–14, 117, 146, 161, 195n20 Bindon, David, 123, 125–27 Blasters, 137–38, 141–44, 164, 205n15

INDEX blindness, 57, 59–60, 63–65, 153, 165, 185n29 Blunt, John, 81 Bohun, Edward, 21 Book of Daniel, 109 Book of Revelation, 109 Boyle lectures, 19, 171n21 Boyle, Robert, 47 Boyse, Joseph, 61 Vindication of the True Deity, 61 Bracken, Harry, 103–104 Bradatan, Costica, 5, 104 Bray, Thomas, 100–101, 103, 105, 196n35 on Berkeley’s plan, 100–101 Missionalia, 100 Broadloom, Isaac, 124 Brown, Michael, 3 Browne, Jemmett, 159 Browne, Peter, 11, 24–25, 53–54, 57–59, 61–62, 69, 165, 184n27, 185n29 attack on Toland, 54, 57–59, 61 Letter in Answer, 58–59 Limits of Human Understanding, 185n29 Browne, Sir John, 123, 125–27 bubble, see South Sea Bubble bubble companies, 83 Butt, Isaac, 160 Caesar, Julius, 74 Caffentzis, C. George, 8 Cambridge Platonists, 18, 45 Caroline, Princess, 38 Carthage, 75, 188n19 Catholic Church, 140 Chamberlen, Paul, 82 charity, 90, 110, 140, 142 charity schools, 103, 140 Chesterfield, Earl of, 153, 156 Cheyne, George, 48 Philosophical Principles of Natural Religion, 48

237

Church of England, 3, 20, 26, 33, 63, 66, 73, 97, 105 Church of Ireland, 8, 20, 22, 29–30, 53, 55–58, 61–62, 97, 137, 139, 153–54, 157, 184n19 Cicero, 44–45, 49, 64 De Officiis, 44–45 civilizing process, 3, 43, 76–77, 102, 208n88 Clarke, Samuel, 18–19, 32, 38, 47, 62 Cloyne, 115, 117, 134, 137–39, 143–45, 148–49, 153–57 Cochrane, Rexmond, 110 coin, 122–26, 128, 130 see also currency; money; specie coinage, 117, 123, 130 scarcity of, 122, 124–25, 130 see also currency colonists, 98–100, 103–106, 108–10, 112–15 Collins, Anthony, 48, 52–54, 62–66, 69, 106, 186n45 defense of freethinking, 62–65 Discourse of Free-Thinking, 53, 62–66 commerce, 11, 46, 71, 76–79, 89–92, 102, 106, 124, 126, 140 see also trade commercial society, 6–7, 11–12, 34, 71, 79–80 common good, see good, common Compagnie des Indes, 80–81 compassion, 41, 43, 45 see also benevolence; sympathy Connolly, S. J., 16, 23 consumption, 77–78, 118, 120, 123, 125–28, 130, 134, 162–63 see also luxury conversion, 96, 103–105, 140 convert, 82, 114, 122, 134, 196n38 corruption, 74–75, 77, 84, 87–88, 92–93, 105, 110 cosmopolitanism, 32, 45, 51, 54, 69, 152

238

INDEX

credit, 71, 82, 89, 121, 126 Cullen, L.M., 121 currency, 71, 122, 130 see also coin; coinage; money; specie de facto/de jure, 25–26 De Valera, Eamon, 160 debt, 73–74, 80–82, 91 Declaratory Act, 97, 121 decline, 12, 74–76, 78, 85, 87–90, 104, 106, 109, 112, 120, 163, 166 Defoe, Daniel, 78 deism, 48, 52–54, 56, 61–62, 64, 69, 106–107, 148, 150, 163 deists, see deism Denne, John, 107–108 Dering, Charles, 33 Dering, Daniel, 99 Derry, 22, 98–100, 112, 114 design argument, 18, 48 divine right, 20, 25–26 Dobbs, Arthur, 125, 127–28 domestic production, see production, domestic Dorset, Duke of, 114–15 doux-commerce, 76 Dromore, 97–98 drunkenness, 113, 119–20 Dublin Philosophical Society, 17–18, 48 Dublin Society, 115, 118, 120, 123, 126–28, 130, 144 Duddy, Thomas, 8 Duncombe, William, 146 Dunn, John, 10 economic cycles, 78, 88–89 Emlyn, Thomas, 61 Humble Inquiry, 61 empire, 6–7, 12, 75, 88, 96, 104–10, 114 Enlightenment, 3, 4, 6–8, 11–12, 39, 40, 51, 53–54, 57, 69, 151, 161–62, 165–66

British, 11, 183n2 Irish, 3–4, 6, 8, 57, 165–66 epidemic, 12, 137, 145, 152, 164 epistemology, 3, 6, 15, 35, 53, 57–58, 60–61, 69 eschatology, 109 ethical rationalism, 18–19, 28 Exchange Alley, 82, 190n62 export, 78, 121, 123 factionalism, 75–76 famine, 12, 29, 87, 122, 144–45 fashion, 45, 79, 92, 119, 128–29, 132–34, 142–43 fate, 75, 106, 151 fellowship, 44–45 see also sociability Fiering, Norman, 44 Forbes Case, 24–25 Forbes, Edward, 24–25 fortune, 75, 111 freedom, 18, 54, 62, 64, 67, 139 see also liberty freethinkers, 2, 11, 35, 48, 51–54, 62–69, 107, 113, 117, 137, 141, 143, 150, 163 see also minute philosophers freethinking, 52, 54, 62–66, 68 frugality, 72, 77, 79, 85, 87, 90, 119, 127, 157 future life, 68, 175n76 gaming, 83, 86, 90, 119, 141, 193n92 gentry, 86, 92, 118, 125–26, 129, 130, 132–35, 145, 163–64 see also absentees, Irish Gervais, Isaac, 153 Gibbons, Luke, 8 Gibson, Edmund, 113 Glorious Revolution, 9, 20, 29, 53 God, 11, 15, 18–22, 24, 28–32, 35, 45, 47–50, 56–57, 59, 63, 84, 86, 106–107, 113, 140, 143–44, 150, 152, 154

INDEX good common, 1, 9, 11, 15, 19, 27–28, 32, 34, 40–41, 45, 50–52, 118, 141, 154–57, 161–64 public, 86, 89, 90, 156 Grafton, Duke of, 32, 97–98 gravity, 29, 39, 47–52, 166 see also attraction great chain of being, 49–50, 138, 150, 152 Grotius, Hugo, 21, 25, 41–42 De Jure Belli ac Pacis, 21 Hall, John, 17 happiness, 11, 19, 67–69, 85, 89, 119, 128 Harley, Robert, 81 harmony, 41, 75, 150–52 Herring, Archbishop, 146 Hicks, George Dawes, 6 Higden, William, 26 View of the English Constitution, 26 High Church, 63, 184n14 Hoadly, Benjamin, 114 Hoadly, John, 114 Hobbes, Thomas, 40–42, 46, 64 Leviathan, 41–42 Honeyman, Rev. James, 112 Hont, Istvan, 42 House of Lords British, 97 Irish, 97, 141 human nature, 3, 4, 40–45, 67, 120, 152 Hutcheson, Francis (Bishop of Down), 121 Hutcheson, Francis (philospher), 182n87 ideas, 5–6, 13, 16, 18, 55–56, 58–60 idle, 89, 90, 125, 130, 192n87, 193n94, 203n72 idleness, 76, 125, 131–33, 141, 162 immorality, 91, 108, 110, 114

239

imports, 77, 132, 135, 201n23 improvement, 3, 7, 9, 10, 36, 91, 130, 134, 138, 150–53, 155, 157, 160, 162–63, 166 industry, 72, 76–78, 85, 88–92, 117, 123–28, 130–34, 138, 155, 157, 160, 163–64 inflation, 80 interest private, 42, 46, 51, 73, 84–85, 87, 118 public, 76, 86 self, 40, 42, 46, 52, 86, 119–22, 163–65 Irish Catholic(s), 18, 128–29, 131, 134, 137–40, 154–57, 162–64, 204n2 natives, 131, 134 Protestants, 9, 20–29, 134, 153–55, 162–64 Irwin, John, 121 Jacob, Margaret, 47 Jacobites, 33, 153, 164, 187n8 Jacobitism, 15–16, 27, 28, 33, 73, 164 Jacobite Rebellion, 138, 153–54 Jacobites, 33, 153, 164, 187n8 James II, King, 20–25, 122 James Francis Stuart (Jacobite James III), 72, 153 James, Sir John, 137, 140 Johnson, Samuel, 2, 167n8 joint-stock company, 66, 71, 73, 82 Jurin, James, 147–48 jus gentium, 21 Kant, Immanuel, 1, 42 Keally, Joseph, 38 Kelly, James, 121 Kelly, Patrick, 8, 123 Kenyon, J.P., 25 Kilkenny, 17, 36–38, 153

240

INDEX

King, William, 11, 16, 20–25, 27, 29, 38, 55 defense of the Glorious Revolution, 22–23 Origin of Evil, 185n29 State of the Protestants, 22–23, 173n40 Thanksgiving Sermon, 22 Krieger, Leonard, 5 Kupfer, Joseph, 6, 29 La Rochefoucauld, Francois de, 43 labor, 89, 91, 123, 127, 129, 131, 163–64, 203n74 landlords, 120, 122–24, 126–27 see also absentees, Irish Law, John, 73, 80 laws of nature, 15, 18–19, 26–31, 40, 47 negative, 29–31 penal, 23, 58, 141, 154–55, 160, 205n9 physical, 29 positive, 29–30 sumptuary, 79, 91–92, 127, 134 Leary, David, 7, 40 Lecky, William, 141 Leerssen, Joep Theodoor, 9–10, 134 Lens, Peter, 141 libertinism, 64, 86, 137 liberty, 9, 23, 33, 54, 62, 64, 67, 86–87, 156, 169 Livy, 74 Locke, John, 2, 8, 17, 19–21, 23, 25, 27, 37, 54–57, 62, 64 contract theory, 23, 25, 27 empiricism, 55, 57 epistemology, 55 Essay Concerning Human Understanding, 37, 172n22 Reasonableness of Christianity, 54–55 Two Treatises of Government, 173n43

Lost Tribe, 104 Lucas, Charles, 156 Luce, A. A., 39, 149, 159, 161 luxury, 12, 71–80, 84–101, 103, 105, 115, 117–21, 125–34, 141, 143, 163, 166 see also consumption Mackenzie, George, 79 Moral History of Frugality, 79 Madden, Samuel, 118, 127, 202n29 Malebranche, Nicholas, 45, 72, 171n10, 182n90 Search After Truth, 45, 182n90 Mandeville, Bernard, 41–44, 51–52, 79, 117–20, 143 defense of luxury, 79, 117–20 Fable of the Bees, 42–44, 118–20 on human nature, 41–44 self-interest, 42–44, 51, 79 view of sociability, 41–44 manufactures, 90–92, 122, 126, 129–30, 133, 201n15 markets, 71–72, 80, 82–83, 118, 133 Mary, Queen, 20–25 mathematics, 5, 16–19, 34, 172n22 mediocrity of money, 50, 72, 74, 77–79, 84, 88–90 Melon, Jean-François, 126 mercantilism, 76, 89, 132, 192n87 millennialism, 104, 109 minute philosophers, 52, 54, 65, 119, 163 see also freethinkers missionary, 11–12, 93, 95–96, 98–102, 105–107, 113, 115, 134, 166 Mississippi Plan, 73, 80, 82, 87 moderation, 119, 120, 162, 164 Moked, Gabriel, 150 Molesworth, Robert, 17, 20, 33, 83 Account of Denmark, 20, 186n45 Molyneux, Samuel, 33, 37

INDEX Molyneux, William, 11, 17, 55, 57, 60 Molyneux Problem, 57, 59–61, 65, 165 money, 74–79, 88–91, 119–26, 130, 132 circulation of, 78, 88, 119–20, 122, 124, 126–27, 192n86, 201n23 see also coin; coinage; currency More, Henry, 45 Enchiridion Ethicum, 45 Mun, Thomas, 77 Discourse of Trade, 77 mysteries, religious, 56, 58–59, 165 Native Americans, 95–96, 102–105 New Science, 17, 39, 165 New World, 95, 100–101, 105–107, 109–10, 113–15, 117, 124 see also America Newman, Henry, 112–13, 199n86 Newport, Rhode Island, 112 Newtonian gravity, 39–40, 166 language, 47 social Newtonians, 47 Newton, Isaac, 8, 49 Nicole, Pierre, 43 Norris, John, 56 O’Conor, Charles, 160 Oglethorpe, James, 114 oikeiosis, 39–40, 44–47, 49–50, 119, 150–52, 162, 166 Olscamp, Paul, 6 Oxford, 1–2, 156, 159–60 panacea, 137–38, 146–50, 164, 166 Pappas, George, 5 Pascal, Blaise, 43 passions, 23, 43, 46, 67, 138–39, 142 passive obedience, doctrine of, 15–17, 19–29, 32–35 patriotism, 1, 7–10, 12, 85, 115, 117–18, 120–21, 123, 127, 134,

241

137, 142, 144, 152–53, 156–57, 159–60, 163, 166, 169 Paul, Leslie, 6 Pearce, Zachary, 106–108 Pembroke, Lord, 37 penal laws, see laws, penal perception, 5, 11, 53–54, 56–57, 59, 61, 65–66, 69, 165 Percival, Sir John, 15, 26, 32–33, 37–38, 96–99, 101, 112–14 plague, 29, 87, 192n82 Plato, 2, 31, 44, 64, 150 Republic, 44 pleasures, 119–20 pneuma, 151 Pocock, J.G.A., 3, 10, 109 Polybius, 74 poor, 90, 118, 120–25, 127, 129–34, 144–45, 149, 153, 155–56 Pope, 21, 139–40, 155 Pope, Alexander, 1, 97, 148 poverty, 71, 79, 84, 117, 126, 129, 131, 133, 144 Pretender, see James Francis Stuart pride, 43, 106, 118–19, 143, 153, 155, 163, 165 Prior, Thomas, 111, 115, 118, 123–28, 145–46, 153, 156 List of Absentees of Ireland, 124–25 Observations on Coin in General, 124 production, 71, 77–78, 90–91, 119, 126–27, 133, 164 domestic, 77–78, 91, 119, 126, 133, 164, 193n96 prosperity, 10, 78, 85, 89, 91–92, 106, 120, 129, 131, 144 Protestant Ascendancy, 8–9, 26, 28, 154 providence, 18, 22–25, 29, 47, 51, 67–68, 87, 95–96, 98–99, 101–106, 114, 143

242

INDEX

providential delivery, 21, 29 naturalism, 47, 50 order, 18 public good, see good, public interest, 76, 86 spirit, 75, 85–86, 125 works, 126, 192n78 Pufendorf, Samuel, 5–6, 42 Rashid, Salim, 123 rationality, 17–19, 27–28, 40–42, 48, 53–64, 119, 137, 142, 162–65 see also ethical rationalism reason, 15–19, 26, 28–31, 34, 37, 44–45, 53–64, 68–69, 85, 140–42, 147, 151, 165 rebellion, 16, 20, 29–33, 138, 153–54, 164 see also Jacobite Rebellion Reeve, Thomas, 147 rents, 122–23 revelation, 18, 55–56, 60, 63, 109 Reynolds, Richard, 106, 108 Rhode Island, 12, 112–13, 117, 119 Riche, Sir Nathaniel, 111 right of conquest, 25 to resist, 26, 34 Roberts, John, 5 Robertson, John, 3 Rome, 73–76, 139 Rowley, Hercules, 121, 201n15 Rundle, Bishop Thomas, 97 Sacheverell Affair, 26–27 Sacheverell, Henry, 26–27 Perils of False Brethren, 26 Sallust, 73–76, 79, 84, 86–87, 89 Bellum Catilina, 75–76 Bellum Jugurthinum, 75–76 Scriblerus Club, 99 Secker, Thomas, 97

self-love, 32, 40, 43–44, 118 see also amour-propre self-preservation, 32, 40–42, 45, 47, 127 sentiment, 18, 45–46, 119 Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of, 46–47, 143 Inquiry Concerning Virtue, 46 Sherlock, William, 61 Vindication of the Trinity, 61 simplicity, 87–88 skepticism, 35, 56–57, 60, 72, 106 Skinner, Quentin, 10–11 slavery, 18, 51, 67, 79, 84, 87, 105, 133, 139, 193n93 sociability, 3–4, 6–7, 11, 31–36, 39–52, 138, 146, 149, 152, 157, 162, 164, 166 social contract, 15, 18, 23, 25, 27 Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 99 Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, 100– 107, 113 Sorkin, David, 3 South Sea Bubble, 11–12, 71, 73, 80–84, 90, 92–93, 121 South Sea Company, 73, 80–84, 90 specie, 89–90, 123–27, 130–31, 166 see also coin; currency; money speculation, 71, 80, 82–83, 190n50 St. Christopher, 111–12 St. Paul’s Church Bermuda, 95–96, 102, 110–12, 115 Dublin, 32–33, 73, 115 London, 66 Stanhope, George, 102 state of nature, 41–43 Steele, Richard, 36, 38–39, 51 Stephen, Leslie, 6 Stephens, William, 56 Stock, Joseph, 33 stock market, 71–72, 80 stoic, 39–40, 44–47, 49–51, 69, 119, 150–52, 162, 166

INDEX storgè, 44, 180n54 Swift, Jonathan, 1, 37–38, 128, 159 Sword Blade Company, 82 sympathy, 50, 141, 151, 153–54 see also benevolence; compassion Synge, Edward, 53–54, 59–62, 64, 69, 185n32 Gentleman’s religion, 59–61 Synge, Samuel, 25, 174n56 tar water, 138, 145–46 tax, 90–91, 119, 124, 126–27 Tindal, Matthew, 106–107 Christianity as Old as the Creation, 107 Tipton, Ian, 5, 161 Toland, John, 11, 48, 53–64, 163 Christianity not Mysterious, 53–56 toleration, 26, 64 trade, 76–79, 81, 84, 89, 91–92, 101, 105, 117, 119, 121–27, 129, 131–33, 162 balance of, 76, 131 discourse of, 71, 73 woolen, 121, 123, 129, 133, 135 see also commerce translatio imperii, 96, 104, 109, 198n71 religionis, 104, 106 studii, 96, 104 Trinity College (Dublin), 2, 8, 16–19, 24, 28, 35–37, 48, 58, 65, 97–98, 110, 115 Tuveson, Ernest, 109 Tyrell, Duke, 27

243

unsociable, 42, 46 utopia, 109, 114, 119, 146 Van Homrigh, Hester, 98 vanity, 92, 113, 118, 125, 132 Vaughan, Rice, 77–78 Vesey, John, 23–25, 173n45 vice, 15, 19, 29, 41, 43–44, 51–52, 67–68, 72, 75, 77, 79, 84–85, 87–88, 103, 113, 117–19, 143, 163 Vickers, Douglas, 128 virtue, 1, 3, 6–7, 9, 19, 31, 38, 43–46, 48, 63, 65, 67–69, 71, 74–75, 77, 79, 85–89, 93, 95, 101, 103, 108, 109–10, 117–19, 142–43, 145–46, 157, 160–66 civic, 9 public, 63, 79, 87 Walpole, Horace, 146 Walpole, Robert, 112–13, 122 Warnock, Geoffrey, 16, 30 Wetenhall, Edward, 16, 21–22 Case of the Irish Protestants, 21–22 Whiston, William, 47, 176n5 William, King, 15–17, 20–27 Wood Halfpence Affair, 121–22, 124 Wood, William, 121–22, 124 Woollen Act, 121 workers, 127 workhouses, 90, 144 Yeats, William Butler, 8, 161

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