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"
THE WORKS
BISHOP OF CLOYNE.
INCLUDING
HIS LETTERS TO THOMAS PRIOR, ESQ., DEAN GERVAIS,
MR. POPE, &c. &c.
TO WHICH IS PREFIXED
AN ACCOUNT OF HIS LIFE.
IN THIS KDITrON THE LATIN ESSAYS ARE RENDERED INTO ENGLISH, AND THB " INTRODUCTION TO
HUMAN KNOWLEDGE" ANNOTATED,
REV. G. N. WRIGHT, M.A.
EDITOR OP THE WORKS OF REID AND STEWART.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR THOMAS TEGG, CHEAPSIDE;
R. GRIFFIN AND CO., GLASGOW ; T. I,E MESSURIER, Dlini.TN ;
J. AND S. A. TEGG, SYDNEY AND HOBART TOWN.
MDCCCXLIII.
LONDON :
j. HAPDON, PRINTER, CASTLE STREET, FINSBURV.
StarcK
Annex
JT
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
0 S 1
V, jt
ALTHOUGH the several treatises of the author in de-
fence of Christianity, — in support of the diffusion of
knowledge, — on discovering new means for the allevia-
tion of human suffering, — and on promoting the study
of metaphysics and mathematics, have obtained the
applause of the learned, yet their association with his
new and difficult theory in pneumatology militated so
far against their reception with the public in general,
that one perfect edition only of his works has hitherto
ever appeared. This was a circumstance much to be
regretted, since no other writer, of the literary age in
which he flourished, has left more able, original, or
useful advice, in religion, philosophy, and politics.
His tracts, his treatises and essays, are brought together
in this edition, in which the author's letters are also
included, having first been carefully collated with those
published by George Monck Berkeley in his " Literary
Relics:" and the treatises, Arithmetica absque Algebra aut
Euclide Demonstrata ; Miscellanea Mathematica ; and
J)e Motu, written originally in Latin, are here presented
iu literal English versions. " The Principles of Human
Knowledge," however, seemed to require a greater de-
gree of editorial attention than the other learned labours
of the author, from their novelty, their difficulty, and
the misrepresentations that have been circulated with
respect to them by the ignorant or the envious. The
editor of the quarto edition of Berkeley's works, ap-
pears to have taken unauthorized liberties with the text
of this particular treatise, as printed in the original
edition, which had the benefit of the philosopher's own
2033605
EDITORS PREFACE.
revision, by omitting very many passages, some of which
materially affect the meaning. These passages have
been restored, either in the text itself, or in the form of
notes, — sectional heads have been prefixed, and the lead-
ing terms, or sentences, or paragraphs in each section,
either printed in italics or included within brackets : —
indices are placed before the illustrations or examples,
and notes, referring to attempted refutations of the
author's arguments by Reid and others, added, with a
caution not likely to disturb the reader's train of thought
in penetrating the intricacies of this ingenious system.
These prefatory notices, intended solely to establish
the superior care that has been bestowed upon this
complete edition of the author's writings, afford no
opportunity for entering upon a defence of his theory.
It will not, however, be misplaced to observe, that Dr.
Reid, the only adversary who has assailed " The Prin-
ciples of Human Knowledge" with any degree of
plausibility, has not gone deep enough in the investi-
gation ; he imagined that when he should have over-
thrown the philosophic scheme of Ideas, Berkeley's the-
ory would necessarily become involved in the general
ruin ; but Berkeley's theory does not depend on the
truth or falsehood of that ancient hypothesis, but on this
fact, that "there is no necessary connexion in reason
and language between our perceptions and the existence
of external objects ; since we know it not unfrequently
happens, that objects appear to be present to the senses
when disordered, although we know they are not pre-
sent" Reid has not refuted Berkeley, nor even struck
at the leading root of his system ; no other antagonist
has assailed his doctrines with equal ability or success ;
Berkeley, therefore, remains unanswered.
G. N. W.
Coed Celyn, Llanrwst, Denbighshire, 1843.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
PAGE
Life of Bishop Berkeley
Letters, &c. 16
Of the Principles of Human Knowledge . . 69
Synoptical Table of Contents . . vii
Introduction ...... .73
Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous 149
An Essay towards a New Theory of Vision . 229
Alciphron : or the Minute Philosopher, in Seven Dialogues . 293
SYNOPTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS
THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE.
INTRODUCTION.
Sect. Page
1 . Philosophy the study of wisdom and truth 73
3. It is a hard thing to suppose, that right
deductions should ever end in conse-
quences which cannot be maintained . ib.
G. A chief source of error in all parts of
knowledge 74
7. Proper acceptation of abstraction ... 75
8. Of generalizing ib.
9. Of compounding ib.
10. Two objections to the existence of ab-
stract ideas 76
11. Defence of the doctrine of abstraction . 77
12. Existence of general ideas admitted . . 78
13. Abstract general ideas necessary, acording
to Locke 79
14. But they are not necessary for communi-
cation 80
15. Nor for the enlargement of knowledge . ib.
16. Objection. Answer 81
17. Advantage of investigating the doctrine
of abstract general ideas ib.
18. Source of this prevailing notion — language 82
19. Words produce the doctrine of abstract
ideas 83
20. Some of the ends of language . . . . ib.
21. Caution in the use of language necessary 84
22. In all controversies purely verbal ... 85
23. These advantages presuppose an entire de-
liverance from the deception of words ib.
24. But being known to be mistakes, a man
may prevent his being imposed on by
words 86
25. We should take care to clear the first
principles of knowledge from the delu-
sion of words ib.
PART. I.
1. Objects of knowledge 87
2. Mind— Spirit— Soul ib.
Sect. Page
3. How far tho assent of the vulgar conceded 88
4. The vulgar opinion involves a contradic-
tion 88
5. Cause of this prevalent error . . . . ib.
G. Some truths obvious to the mind ... 89
7. Second argumenttn support of the author's
theory : — Not any other substance than
spirit ib.
8. Objection. Answer ib.
9. The philosophical notion of matter in-
volves a contradiction 90
10. Augmentum ad hominem ib.
11. A second argumentum ad hominem . . 91
12. Number the creature of the mind . . . ib.
13. Unity, a simple or uncompounded idea . ib
14. A third argumentum ad hominem ... 92
15. Not conclusive as to extension .... ib.
16. Extension a mode of matter, which is its
substratum ib.
17. Philosophical meaning of " Material sub-
stance" divisible into two parts ... 93
18. The existence of external bodies wants
proof ib.
19. And affords no explication of tho manner
in which our ideas are produced . . . ib.
20. Dilemma .94
21. Further proof against the existence of
matter . . . , ib.
24. The absolute existence of unthinking
things are words without a meaning . 95
25. Third argument. — Refutation of Locke . 96
26. Cause of ideas ib.
27. No idea of spirit ib.
29. Ideas of sensation differ from those of re-
flection or memory 97
30. Laws of nature ib.
31. Knowledge of them necessary for the con-
duct of worldly affairs ... . . ib.
32. This uniform working sends them a wan-
dering after second causes 98
SYNOPTICAL TABLE OP CONTENTS.
Sect. Page
33. Of real things and ideas or chimeras . . 98
34. First general objection. — Answer . . . ib.
35. The existence of matter, as understood by
philosophers, denied 99
36. Reality explained ib.
37. The philosophic, not the vulgar substance,
taken away 100
39. The term idea preferable to thing . . . ib.
40. The evidence of the senses not discredited 101
41. Second objection. — Answer ib.
42. Third objection. — Answer ib.
45. Fourth objection, from perpetual annihi-
lation and creation. — Answer .... 102
46. Argumentum ad hominem 103
49. Fifth objection.— Answer 104
50. Sixth objection, from natural philosophy.
— Answer 105
51. Seventh objection. — Answer . . . . . ib.
52. In the ordinary affairs of life, any phrases
may be retained ib.
54. Eighth objection. — Twofold answer . . 106
56. Ninth objection. — Answer 107
57. Why should ideas of sense be supposed to
be excited in us by things in their like-
ness? ... ib.
58. Tenth objection.— Answer 108
60. Eleventh objection ib.
61. Answer 109
66. Proper employment of the natural philo-
sopher Ill
67. Twelfth objection.— Answer ib.
68. Matter supports nothing, an argument
against its existence 112
72. The order of our perceptions shows the
goodness of God, but affords no proof of
the existence of matter 113
73. Motives to suppose the existence of mate-
rial substance 114
75. Absurdity of contending for the existence
of matter as the occasion of ideas . . ib.
77. That a substratum not perceived, may
exist, unimportant 115
78. A new sense could only furnish us with
new ideas or sensations ib.
82. Objections derived from the scriptures an-
swered 117
83. No objection as to language tenable . . ib.
84. Objection. — Miracles lose much of their
import by these principles ib.
85. Consequences of the preceding tenets . .118
86. The removal of matter gives certainty to
knowledge ib.
88. If there be external matter, neither the
nature nor existence of things can bo
known 119
89. Of thing or being 120
90. External things either imprinted by, or
perceived by some other mind . . . ib.
91. Sensible qualities real 120
92. Objections of atheists overturned . . . 121
Sect. Page
93. And of fatalists also 121
94 O? idolaters 122
95. And Socinians ib.
96. Summary of the consequences of expel-
ling matter . . ib.
98. Dilemma 123
101. Of natural philosophy and mathematics 124
103. Attraction signifies the effect, not the
manner or cause 125
105. Difference betwixt natural philosophers
and other men 126
106. Caution as to the use of analogies . . . ib.
108. Three analogies 127
112. Motion, whether real or apparent, rela-
tive 129
113. Apparent motion denied ib.
116. Any idea of pure space relative . . . .131
118. The errors arising from the doctrines of
abstraction and external material ex-
istences, influence mathematical rea-
sonings 132
120. No such idea as unity in abstract . . . 133
128. Lines which are infinitely divisible . . 136
129. Absurdities of this false principle . . . 137
130. Speculations about infinites ib.
131. Objection of mathematicians ib.
132. Second objection of mathematicians. —
Answer 138
133. If the doctrine were only an hypothesis
it should be respected for its conse-
quences ib.
135. Of spirits 139
136. Objection.— Answer ib.
137. Assertion, that spirits are to be known
after the manner of an idea .... 140
138. Answer ib.
140. Our idea of spirit ib.
141 The natural immortality of the soul is a
necessary consequence of the foregoing
doctrine 141
142. Our souls not to be known in the same
manner as senseless objects, or by way
of idea . . . . ib.
143. Abstract ideas render those sciences intri-
cate which are conversant about spiri-
tual things *142
145. Knowledge of spirits not immediate . . ib.
147 The existence of God more evident than
that of man 143
148. General pretence of the unthinking herd,
that they cannot see God ib.
149. Nothing can be more evident than the
existence of God . . 144
150. Objection on behalf of nature . . . . ib.
151. Objection to the hand of God being
the immediate cause, threefold. — An-
swer 145
154. Atheism and Manicheism would have
few supporters if mankind were in
general attentive ... - . 14"
THE
LIFE OF BISHOP BERKELEY.*
DR. GEORGE BERKELEY, the learned and ingenious bishop
of Cloyne, in Ireland, was a native of that kingdom, and the son
of WILLIAM BERKELEY, of Thomastown, in the county of
Killkenny, whose father went over to Ireland f after the resto-
ration (the family having suffered greatly for their loyalty to
Charles L), and there obtained the collectorship of Belfast.
Our author was born on the 12th of March, 1684, at Killcrin,
near Thomastown, received the first part of his education at
Killkenny school, under Dr. Hinton, and was admitted a pen-
sioner of Trinity College, Dublin, at the age of fifteen, under
the tuition of Dr. Hall. He was admitted fellow of that college
on the 9th of June, 1707, having previously sustained with
honour the very trying examination which the candidates for
that preferment are by the statutes required to undergo.
The first proof he gave of his literary abilities was Arithmetica
absque Algebra aut Euclide Demonstrata, which, from the preface,
he appears to have written before he was twenty years old,
though he did not publish it till 1707. It is dedicated to Mr.
Palliser, son to the Archbishop of Cashel, and is followed by a
Mathematical Miscellany, containing some very ingenious ob-
servations and theorems, inscribed to his pupil, Mr. Samuel
Molyneaux, a gentleman of whom we shall have occasion to
make further mention presently, and whose father was the cele-
brated friend and correspondent of Mr. Locke.
His Theory of Vision was published in 1709, and the Prin-
* To authenticate the following account of Bishop Berkeley, it is thought proper to
inform the reader, that the particulars were, for the most part, communicated by the
Rev. Robert Berkeley, D.D., rector of Middleton, in the diocese of Cloyne, brother to
the Bishop ; and the whole was drawn up by the-Rcv. Joseph Stock, D.D., F.T.C.D. ;
and afterwards bishop of Killala.
The Editor takes this opportunity of returning his sincere thanks to the Rev. Dr.
Stock, rector of Conwell, Kaphoe, for his trouble in compiling and revising this
edition ; and to the Rev. Mervyn Archdall, rector of Attannah, Ossory ; and the Rev.
Henry Gervais, LL.D., archdeacon of Cashel, for their obliging communication of the
letters to Thomas Prior, Ksq., and Dean Gervais, which have added so much to the
value of this edition.
t In the suite of his reputed father, Lord Berkeley of Stratton, who had been ap-
pointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland.
VOL. I. B
2 LIFE OF BISHOP BERKELEY.
ciples of Human Knowledge appeared the year after.* The airy
visions of romances," to the reading of which he was much
addicted, disgust at the books of metaphysics then received in
the university, and that inquisitive attention to the operations of
the mind, which about this time was excited by the writings of
Mr. Locke and Father Malebranche, probably gave birth to his
disbelief of the existence of matter.f
In 1712, the principles inculcated in Mr. Locke's Two Trea-
tises of Government seem to have turned his attention to the doc-
trine of passive obedience ; in support of which he printed the
substance of three Common-places, delivered by him that year
in the college chapel, a work which afterwards had nearly done
him some injury in his fortune. For, being presented by Mr.
Molyneaux above-mentioned to their late majesties, then Prince
and Princess of Wales (whose secretary Mr. Molyneaux had
been at Hanover), he was by them recommended to Lord Gal-
way for some preferment in the church of Ireland. But Lord
Galway, having heard of those sermons, represented him as a
Jacobite; an impression which Mr. Molyneaux, as soon as he
* The first edition?(8vo), the only one published in the Author's life-time, was printed
in 1710, hy Aaron Rhames, for Jeremy Pepyat, Bookseller, in Skinner Row, Dublin.
*f- When the Principles of Human Knowledge were first published, the ingenious
author sent copies of the work to Dr. Clarke and Mr. Whiston. What effect it pro-
duced upon the latter, the reader may possibly be entertained with learning from his
own words : Memoirs of Dr. Clarke, page 79 — 81.
" And perhaps it will not he here improper, by way of caution, to take notice of the
pernicious consequence such metaphysical subtilties have sometimes had, even against
common sense and common experience, as in the cases of those three famous men,
Mons. Leibnitz, Mr. Locke, and Mr. Berkeley. — [The first in his Pre-established Har-
mony : the second in the dispute with Limborch about human liberty.] — And as to
the third named, Mr. Berkeley, he published, A. D. 1710, at Dublin, this metaphysic
notion, that matter was not a real thing ; nay, that the common opinion of its reality
was groundless, if not ridiculous. He was pleased to send Dr. Clarke and myself,
each of us, a book. After we had both perused it, I went to Dr. Clarke, and dis-
coursed with him about it to this effect ; that I, being not a metaphysician, was not
able to answer Mr. Berkeley's subtile premises, though I did not at all believe his
absurd conclusion. I therefore desired that he, who was deep in such subtilties, but
did not appear to believe Mr. Berkeley's conclusions, would answer him : which task
he declined. I speak not these things with intention to reproach either Mr. Locke or
Dean Berkeley. I own the latter's great abilities in other parts of learning ; and to
his noble design of settling a college in or near the West Indies, for the instruction of
the natives in civil arts and in the principles of Christianity, I heartily wish all pos-
sible success. It is the pretended metaphysic science itself, derived from the sceptical
disputes of the Greek philosophers, not those particular great men who have been
unhappily imposed on by it, that I complain of. Accordingly when the famous Milton
had a mind to represent the vain reasonings of wicked spirits in Hades, he described it
by their endless train of metaphysics, thus : —
' Others apart sat on a hill retired,' &c. Par. Lost, ii. 557 — 561."
Many years after this, at Mr. Addison's instance, there was a meeting of Drs.
Clarke and Berkeley to discuss this speculative point ; and great hopes were entertained
from the conference. The parties, however, separated without being able to come to
any agreement. Dr. B. declared himself not well satisfied with the conduct of his
antagonist on the occasion, who, though he could not answer, had not candour enough
to own himself convinced. But the complaints of disputants against each other,
especially on subjects of this abstruse nature, should be heard with suspicion.
LIFE OF BISHOP BERKELEY.
was apprised of it, took care to remove from the minds of their
highnesses by producing the work in question, and showing that
it contained nothing but principles of loyalty to the present
happy establishment. This was the first occasion of our author's
being known to Queen Caroline.
In February, 1713, he crossed the water, and published in
London a further defence of his celebrated system of immateri-
alism, in Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous. Acute-
ness of parts and a beautiful imagination were so conspicuous in
his writings, that his reputation was now established, and his
company was courted, even where his opinions did not find ad-
mission. Two gentlemen of opposite principles concurred in
introducing him to the acquaintance of the learned and the
great ; Sir Richard Steele and Dr. Swift. He wrote several
papers in the Guardian* for the former, and at his house became
acquainted with Mr. Pope, with whom he continued to live in
strict friendship during his life. Dean Swift, besides Lord
Berkeley of Stratton (to whom our author dedicated his last
published dialogues between Hylas and Philonous), and other
valuable acquaintance, recommended him to the celebrated earl
of Peterborough, who being appointed ambassador to the king
of Sicily and to the other Italian states, took Mr. Berkeley with
him in quality of chaplain and secretary, in November, 1713.
At Leghorn, his lordship's well-known activity induced him to
disencumber himself of his chaplain and the greatest part of his
retinue, whom he left in that town for upwards of three months,
while he discharged the business of his embassy in Sicily, as our
author informs his friend Pope in the conclusion of a complimen-
tary letter addressed to that poet on the Rape of the Lock,
dated Leghorn, 1st of May, 1714. It may not -be amiss to re-
cord a, little incident that befell Mr. Berkeley in this city, with
the relation of which he used sometimes to make himself merry
among his friends. Basil Kennett, the author of the Roman
Antiquities, was then chaplain to the English factory at Leg-
horn, the only place in Italy where the English service is tole-
rated by the government, which favour had lately been obtained
from the Grand Duke at the particular instance of Queen Anne.
This gentleman requested Mr, Berkeley to preach for him one
Sunday. The day following, as Berkeley was sitting in his
chamber, a procession of priests in surplices, and with all other
formalities, entered the room, and without taking the least no-
tice of the wondering inhabitant, marched quite round it, mutter-
ing certain prayers. His fears immediately suggested to him,
that this could be no other than a visit from the Inquisition, who
had heard of his officiating before heretics without license, the
* No. 69 is known to have been his contribution, the rest were never identified by
his family or friends.
B 2
4 LIFE OP BISHOP BERKELEY.
day before. As soon as they were gone, he ventured with much
caution to inquire into the cause of this extraordinary appear-
ance, and was happy to be informed, that this was the season ap-
pointed by the Romish calendar for solemnly blessing the houses
of all good catholics from rats and other vermin ; a piece of in-
telligence which changed his terror into mirth.
He returned to England with Lord Peterborough in August,
1714;* and his hopes of preferment through this channel expir-
ing with the fall of Queen Anne's ministry, he some time after
embraced an advantageous offer made him by Dr. St. George
Ashe, bishop of Clogher, and previously Provost of Trinity
College, Dublin, of accompanying his son, Mr. Ashe (who was
heir to a very considerable property), on a tour through Europe.
At Paris, having now more leisure than when he first passed
through that city, Mr. Berkeley took care to pay his respects to
his rival in metaphysical sagacity, the illustrious Pere Male-
branche. He found this ingenious father in his cell, cooking in
a small pipkin a medicine for a disorder with which he was then
troubled, an inflammation on the lungs. The conversation natu-
rally turned on our author's system, of which the other had re-
ceived some knowledge from a translation just published. But
the issue of this debate proved tragical to poor Malebranche.
In the heat of disputation he raised his voice so high, and gave
way so freely to the natural impetuosity of a man of parts and
a Frenchman, that he brought on himself a violent increase of
his disorder, which carried him off a few days after, f
In this second excursion abroad Mr. Berkeley employed up-
wards of four years ; and besides all those places which are
usually visited by travellers in what is called the grand tour, his
curiosity carried him to some that are less frequented. In par-
ticular he travelled over Apulia (from which he wrote an accu-
rate and entertaining account of the tarantula to Dr. Freind),
Calabria, and the whole island of Sicily. This last country en-r
gaged his attention so strongly, that he had with great industry
compiled very considerable materials for a natural history of the
island ; but, by an unfortunate accident, these, together with a
journal of his transactions there, were lost in the passage to
Naples ; nor could he be prevailed upon afterwards to recollect
and commit those curious particulars again to paper. What an
injury the literary world has sustained by this mischance, may in
* Towards the close of this year he had a fever, in describing the event of which
to his friend Swift, Dr. Arhuthnot cannot forbear indulging a little of that pleasantry on
Berkeley's system, with which it has frequently since been treated by such as could not,
or would not, be at the pains to acquire a thorough knowledge of it. " 19th of October,
1714. Poor philosopher Berkeley has now the idea of health, which was very hard to
produce in him ; for he had an idea of a strange fever on him so strong, that it was very
hard to destroy it by introducing a contrary one."
t He died the 13th of October, 1715. Diet. Hist. Portatif d'Advocat
LIFE OP BISHOP BERKELEY.
part be collected from the specimen he has left of his talent for
lively description, in his letter to Mr. Pope concerning the island
of Inarime (now Ischia, in the bay of Naples), dated Naples,
22nd of October, 1717 ; and in another from the same city to Dr.
Arbuthnot, giving an account of an eruption of mount Vesuvius,
which he had the good fortune to have more than one opportunity
of examining very minutely.
On his way homeward, he drew up at Lyons a curious tract
De Motu, which he sent to the royal academy of sciences at Paris,
the subject being proposed by that assembly, and committed it to
the press shortly after his arrival in London in 1721. But from
these abstruse speculations he was drawn away for a while by the
humanity of his temper and concern for the public welfare. It
is well known what miseries the nation was plunged into by the
fatal South Sea scheme in 1720. Mr. Berkeley felt for his
country and British neighbours groaning under these calamitous
distresses, and in that spirit employed his talents in writing An
Essay towards preventing the Ruin of Great Britain, printed at
London in 1721.
His travels had now so far improved his natural politeness, and
added such charms to his conversation, that he found a ready ad-
mission into the best company in London. Among the rest, Mr.
Pope introduced him to Lord Burlington, who conceived a high
esteem for him on account of his great taste and skill in archi-
tecture, an art of which his lordship was an excellent judge and
patron, and which Mr. Berkeley had made his particular study
while in Italy. By this nobleman he was recommended to the
duke of Grafton, lord lieutenant of Ireland, who took him over
to Ireland as one of his chaplains in 1721, after he had been ab-
sent from his native country more than six years. He had been
elected a senior fellow of his college in July, 1717, and took the
degrees of bachelor and doctor in divinity, on the 14th of No-
vember, 1721.
The year following, his fortune received a considerable increase
from a very unexpected event. On his first going to London in the
year 1713, Dean Swift introduced him to the family of Mrs. Esther
Vanhomrigh (the celebrated Vanessa), and took him often to dine
at her house. Some years before her death, this lady removed to
Ireland, and fixed her residence at Cell-bridge, a pleasant village
in the neighbourhood of Dublin, most probably with a view of
often enjoying the company of a man, for whom she seems to
have entertained a very singular attachment. But finding herself
totally disappointed in this expectation, and discovering the dean's
connexion with Stella, she was so enraged at his infidelity, that
she altered her intention of making him her heir, and left the
whole of her fortune, amounting to near 8000/., to be divided
equally between two gentlemen whom she named her executors,
LIFE OF BISHOP BERKELEY.
Mr. Marshal, a lawyer, afterwards Mr. Justice Marshal, and Dr.
Berkeley, S.F.T.C.D. The doctor received the news of this be-
quest from Mr. Marshal with great surprise, as he had never once
seen the lady who had honoured him with such a proof of her
esteem, from the time of his return to Ireland to her death.
In the discharge however of his trust as executor, he had an
opportunity of showing he by no means adopted the sentiments
of his benefactress with regard to Swift. Several letters, that
had passed between Cadenus and Vanessa, falling into his hands,
he committed them immediately to the flames : not because there
was any thing criminal in them ; for he frequently assured Dr.
Delany * and others of the contrary ; but he observed a warmth
in the lady's style, which delicacy required him to conceal from
the public. Dr. Berkeley, it seems, was not apprised of a strong
proof this exasperated female had just given, how little regard
she herself retained for the virtue of delicacy. On her death-bed
she delivered to Mr. Marshal a copy, in her own hand-writing, of
the entire correspondence between herself and the dean, with a
strict injunction to publish it immediately after her decease.
What prevented the execution of this request, cannot now be af-
firmed with certainty ; possibly the executor did not care to draw
on himself the lash of that pen, from which a particular friend of
his f had lately smarted so severely. Some years after the dean's
death, Mr. Marshal had serious thoughts of fulfilling the inten-
tion of Vanessa. With this view, he showed the letters to seve-
ral persons of his acquaintance, without any injunction of secresy :
which may account for the extracts of them that have lately got
into print. The affair however was protracted, till the death of
Judge Marshal put a stop to it entirely. The letters are still in
being ; and whenever curiosity or avarice shall draw them into
public light, it is probable they will be found after all to be as
trifling and as innocent as those which our author saw and sup-
pressed.
On the 18th of May, 1724, Dr. Berkeley resigned his fellow-
ship, being promoted by his patron, the duke of Grafton, to the
deanery of Derry, worth 1100Z. per annum. In the interval
between this removal and his return from abroad, his mind had
been employed in conceiving that benevolent project, which
alone entitles him to as much honour as all his learned labours
have procured him, the Scheme for converting the savage Americans
to Christianity, by a College to be erected in the Summer Islands,
otherwise called the Isles of Bermuda. He published a proposal^
for this purpose, London, 1725, and offered to resign his own
* See Delany's Observations on Orrery's Remarks. t Mr. Bettesworth.
f With this proposal he carried a letter of recommendation from Dean Swift
to Lord Carteret, lieutenant of Ireland, which deserves a place here, both because
LIFE OP BISHOP BERKELEY. 7
opulent preferment, and. to dedicate the remainder of his life to
the instructing the youth in America, on the moderate subsist-
ence of 100/. yearly. Such was the force of this disinterested
example, supported by the eloquence of an enthusiast for the
good of mankind, that three junior fellows of Trinity College,
Dublin, the Reverend William Thompson, Jonathan Rogers,
and James King, masters of arts, consented to take their fortunes
with the author of the project, and to exchange for a settlement
in the Atlantic ocean, at 40/. per annum, all their prospects at
home ; and that, too, at a time when a fellowship of Dublin
College was supposed to place the possessor in a very fair point
of view for attracting the notice of his superiors both in the
church and state.
Dr. Berkeley, however, was not so ill acquainted with the
world, as to rest the success of his application to the ministry
entirely on the hope his scheme afforded of promoting national
honour and the cause of Christianity: his arguments were drawn
from the more alluring topic of present advantage to the govern-
ment. Having with much industry acquired an. accurate know-
it contains a number of particulars of our author's life, and is besides a proof, as well
of the friendly temper of the writer, as of his politeness and address.
" 3rd of September, 1724. — There is a gentleman of this kingdom just gone for
England : it is Dr. George Berkeley, dean of Derry, the best preferment among us,
being worth about 1100/. a year. He takes the Bath in his way to London, and will
of course attend your Excellency, and be presented, I suppose, by his friend, my Lord
Burl'ngton : and because I believe you will choose out some very idle minutes to read
this letter, perhaps you may not be ill entertained with some account of the man and
his errand. He was a fellow in the university here ; and going to England very young,
about thirteen years ago, he became the founder of a sect there, called the Immate-
rialists, by the force of a very curious book on that subject : Dr. Smalridge and many
other eminent persons were his proselytes. I sent him secretary and chaplain to Sicily
with my lord 1'eterborough ; and upon his lordship's return, Dr. Berkeley spent above
seven years in travelling over most parts of Europe, but chiefly through every corner
of Italy, Sicily, and other islands. When he came back to England, he found so many
friends, that he was effectually recommended to the duke of Grafton, by whom he was
lately made dean of Derry. Your Excellency will be frighted when I tell you, all
this is but an introduction ; for I am now to mention his errand. He is an abso-
lute philosopher with regard to money, titles, and power ; and for three years past hath
been struck with a notion of founding a university at Bermuda, by a charter from the
crown. He hath seduced several of the hopefulest young clergymen and others here ,
many of them well provided for, and all of them in the fairest way of preferment : but
in England his conquests are greater, and I doubt will spread very far this winter. He
showed me a little tract which he designs to publish, and there your Excellency will see
his whole scheme of a life academico-philosophical (I shall make you remember what
you were) of a college founded for Indian scholars and missionaries, where he most
exorbitantly proposeth a whole hundred pounds a year for himself, forty pounds for a
fellow, and ten for a student. His heart will break, if his deanery be not taken from
him, and left to your Excellency's disposal. I discourage him by the coldness of courts
and ministers, who will interpret all this as impossible and a vision ; but nothing will
do. And therefore I do humbly entreat your Excellency either to use such persuasions
as will keep one of the first men in this kingdom for learning and virtue quite at home,
or assist him by your credit to compass his romantic design, which however is very
noble and generous, and directly proper for a great person of your excellent education
to encourage."
8 LIFE OF BISHOP BERKELEY.
ledge of the value of certain lands* in the island of St. Christo-
pher's, yielded by France to Great Britain at the treaty of
Utrecht, which were then to be sold for the public use, he un-
dertook to raise from them a much greater sum than was
expected, and proposed that a part of the purchase money should
be applied to the erecting of his college. He found means, by
the assistance of a Venetian of distinction, the Abbe Gualteri (or
Altieri) with whom he had formed an acquaintance in Italy, to
carry this proposal directly to King George I.,f who laid his
commands on Sir Robert Walpole to introduce and conduct it
through the House of Commons. His Majesty was further
pleased to grant a charter for erecting a college, by the name of
St. Paul's College, in Bermuda, to consist of a president and
nine fellows, who were obliged to maintain and educate Indian
scholars at the rate of 10?. per annum for each. The first presi-
dent, Dr. George Berkeley, and first three fellows named in the
charter (being the gentlemen above-mentioned) were licensed to
hold their preferments in these kingdoms till the expiration of
one year and a half after their arrival in Bermuda. The Com-
mons, on the llth of May, 1726, voted, "That an humble
address be presented to his Majesty, that out of the lands in St.
Christopher's, yielded by France to Great Britain by the treaty
of Utrecht, his Majesty would be graciously pleased to make
such grant for the use of the president and fellows of the College
of St. Paul, in Bermuda, as his Majesty shall think proper."
The sum of 20,000£ was accordingly promised by the minister,
and several private subscriptions were immediately raised for
promoting " so pious an undertaking," as it is styled in the king's
answer^ to this address. Such a prospect of success in the
favourite object of his heart drew from our author a beautiful
* " The island of St. Christopher's," saith Anderson, History of Commerce
vol. i'u, " having been settled on the very same day and year by both England and
France, A. D. 1625, was divided equally between the two nations. The English
were twice driven out from thence by the French, and as often re-possessed them-
selves of it. But at length, in the year 1702, General Coddrington, Governor of
the Leeward Islands, upon advice received that war was declared by England against
France, attacked the French part of the island, and mastered it with very little
trouble. Ever since which time, that fine island has been solely possessed by Great
Britain, having been formally conceded to us by the treaty of Utrecht." The lands,
therefore, which had belonged to the French planters, by this cession became the pro-
perty of his Britannic Majesty. The first proposals for purchasing these lands were
made to the Lords of Trade in 1717 : see Journal of the British Commons
After which, the affair seems to have been forgotten, till it was mentioned by Berkeley
to Sir Robert Walpole in 1726.
t It was the custom of this prince to unbend his mind in the evening by col-
lecting together a company of philosophical foreigners, who discoursed in an easy and
familiar manner with each other, entirely unrestrained by the presence of his Majesty,
who generally walked about, or sat in a retired'part of the chamber. One of this select
company was Altieri , and this gave him an opportunity of laying his friend's pro-
posal before the king.
$ Commons' Journal, 16th of May, 1726.
LIFE OP BISHOP BERKELEY. 9
copy of verses,* in which another age will acknowledge the old
conjunction of the prophetic character with that of the poet to
have again taken place.
In the mean time, the dean entered into a marriage, on the 1st
of August, 1728, with Anne, the eldest daughter of the right
honourable John Forster, speaker of the Irish House of Com-
mons. This engagement, however, was so far from being any
obstruction to his grand undertaking, that he actually set sail in
the execution of it for Rhode Island, about the middle of Sep-
tember following. He carried with him his lady, a Miss Handcock,
Mr. Smilert (Smibert),an ingenious painter, two gentlemen of for-
tune, Messrs. Jamesf and Dalton, a pretty large sum of money of
his own property, and a collection of books for the use of his
intended library. He directed his course to Rhode Island,
which lay nearest to Bermuda, with a view of purchasing lands
on the adjoining continent as estates for the support of his col-
lege ; having a positive promise from those in power, that the
parliamentary grant should be paid him as soon as ever such
lands should be pitched upon and agreed for. The dean took up
his residence at Newport in Rhode Island, where his presence
was a great relief to a clergyman of the church of England
established in those parts, as he preached every Sunday, and was
indefatigable in pastoral labours during the whole time of his
stay there, which was near two years.
When estates had been agreed for, it was fully expected that
the public money would, according to grant, be immediately
paid as the purchase of them. But the minister had never
heartily embraced the project, and parliamentary influence had
by this time interposed, in order to divert the grant into another
channel. The sale of the lands in St. Christopher's, it was
found, would produce 90,OOOZ. Of this sum 80,000/4 was des-
tined to pay the marriage portion of the princess royal, on her
nuptials with the Prince of Orange : the remainder, General
Oglethorpe§ had interest enough in parliament to obtain for the
purpose of carrying over and settling foreign and other protest-
ants in his new colony of Georgia, in America. The project,
indeed, of the trustees for establishing this colony appears to
have been equally humane and disinterested ; but it is much to
be lamented, that it should interfere with another of more
extensive and lasting utility ; which, if it had taken effect by
the education of the youth of New England and other colonies,
we may venture with great appearance of reason to affirm,
would have planted such principles of religion and loyalty
* See verses subjoined to proposal for planting churches, &c.
t Afterwards Sir John James, Bart. $ Commons' Journal, May 10, 1773.
j Ibid. The general paid Dean B. the compliment of asking his consent to this
application of the money before he moved for it in parliament.
10 LIFE OP BISHOP BERKELEY.
among them as might have gone a good way towards preventing
the subsequent unhappy troubles in that part of the world.
But to proceed :
After having received various excuses, Bishop Gibson, at that
time bishop of London (in whose diocese all the West Indies
were included) applying to Sir Robert Walpole, then at the head
of the treasury, was favoured at length with the following very
honest answer: "If you put this question to me," says Sir
Robert, "as a minister, I must and can assure you, that the
money shall most undoubtedly be paid as soon as suits with
public convenience: but if you ask me as a friend, whether
Dean Berkeley should continue in America, expecting the pay-
ment of 20,000£, I advise him by all means to return home to
Europe, and to give up his present expectations." The dean
being informed of this conference by his good friend the bishop,
and thereby fully convinced that the bad policy of one great
roan had rendered abortive a scheme, whereon he had expended
much of his private fortune, and more than seven years of the
prime of his life, returned to Europe, Before he left Rhode
Island, he distributed what books he had brought with him
among the clergy of that province; and immediately after his
arrival in London, he returned all the private subscriptions that
had been advanced for the support of his undertaking.
In February, 1732, he preached, before the Society for the
Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts, a sermon, since
printed at their desire ; wherein, from his own knowledge of the
state of religion in America, he offers many useful hints towards
promoting the noble purposes for which that society was founded.
The same year, he gave a more conspicuous proof that he had
not mispent the time he had been confined on the other side of
the Atlantic, by producing to the 'world The Minute Philosopher,
a masterly performance, wherein he pursues the freethinker
through the various characters of atheist, libertine, enthusiast,
scorner, critic, metaphysician, fatalist, and sceptic ; and very
happily employs against him several new weapons, drawn from
the store-house of his own ingenious system of philosophy. It
is written in a series of dialogues on the model of Plato, a phi-
losopher whom he studied particularly, and whose manner he is
thought to have copied with more success than any other that
ever attempted to imitate him.
We have already related by what means, and upon what occa-
sion, Dr. Berkeley had first the honour of being known to Queen
Caroline. This princess delighted much in attending to philo-
sophical conversations between learned and ingenious men ; for
which purpose1 she had, when Princess of Wales, appointed a
particular day in the week, when the most eminent for literary
abilities at that time in England were invited to attend her
LIFE OP BISHOP BERKELEY. 11
royal highness in the evening : a practice which she continued
after her accession to the throne. Of this company were Drs.
Clarke, Hoadley, Berkeley, and Sherlock. Clarke and Berkeley
were generally considered as principals in the debates that arose
upon those occasions; and Hoadley adhered to the former, as
Sherlock did to the latter. Hoadley was no friend to our author:
he affected to consider his philosophy and his Bermuda project
as the reveries of a visionary. Sherlock (who was afterwards
bishop of London), on the other hand, warmly espoused his
cause ; and particularly, when the Minute Philosopher came
out, he carried a copy of it to the queen, and left it to her
majesty to determine whether such a work could be the produc-
tion of a disordered understanding.
After Dean Berkeley's return from Rhode Island, the queen
often commanded his attendance to discourse with him on what
he had observed worthy of notice in America. His agreeable
and instructive conversation engaged that discerning princess so
much in his favour, that the rich deanery of Down in Ireland
falling vacant, he was at her desire named to it, and the king's
letter actually came over for his appointment. But his friend
Lord Burlington having neglected to notify the royal intentions
in proper time to the duke of Dorset, then lord lieutenant of
Ireland, his excellency was so offended at this disposal of the
richest deanery in Ireland without his concurrence, that it was
thought proper not to press the matter any further. Her ma-
jesty upon this declared, that since they would not suffer Dr.
Berkeley to be a dean in Ireland, he should be a bishop : and ac-
cordingly, in 1734, the bishopric of Cloyne becoming vacant, he
was by letters patent, dated 17th of March, promoted to that see,
and was consecrated at St. Paul's church in Dublin, on the 1 9th of
May following, by Theophilus archbishop of Cashel, assisted by
the bishops of Raphoe and Killaloe.
His lordship repaired immediately to his manse-house at
Cloyne, where he constantly resided (except one winter that he
attended the business of parliament in Dublin), and applied him-
self with vigour to the faithful discharge of all episcopal duties.
He revived in his diocese the useful office of rural dean, which
had gone into disuse ; visited frequently parochially ; and con-
firmed in the several parts of his see.
He continued his studies however with unabated attention,
and about this time engaged in a controversy with the mathema-
ticians of Great Britain and Ireland, which made a good deal of
noise in the literary world. The occasion was this : Mr. Addison
had given the bishop an account of their common friend Dr.
Garth's behaviour in his last illness, which was equally unpleas-
ing to both those excellent advocates for revealed religion. For
when Mr. Addison went to seetbe doctor, and began to discourse
12 LIFE OP BISHOP BERKELEY.
with him seriously about preparing for his approaching dissolu-
tion, the other made answer, " Surely, Addison, I have good
reason not to believe those trifles, since my friend Dr. Halley,
who has dealt so much in demonstration, has assured me, that
the doctrines of Christianity are incomprehensible, and the
religion itself an imposture." The bishop therefore took arms
against this redoubtable dealer in demonstration, and addressed
The Analyst to him, with a view of showing, that mysteries in
faith were unjustly objected to by mathematicians, who admitted
much greater mysteries, and even falsehoods, in science, of which
he endeavoured to prove that the doctrine of fluxions furnished
an eminent example. Such an attack upon what had hitherto
been looked upon as impregnable produced a number of warm
answers, to which the bishop replied once or twice.
From this controversy he turned his thoughts to subjects of
more apparent utility ; and his Queries proposed for the good of
Ireland, first printed in 1735, his Discourse addressed to Magis-
trates* which came out the year following, and his Maxims con-
cerning Patriotism, published in 1750, are equally monuments of
his knowledge of mankind, and of his zeal for the service of true
religion and his country.
In 1745, during the Scots' rebellion, his lordship addressed
A Letter to the Roman Catholics of his diocese; and in 1749, another
to the clergy of that persuasion in Ireland, under the title of
A Word to the Wise, written with so much candour and moderation
as well as good sense, that those gentlemen, highly to their own
honour, in the Dublin Journal of the 18th of November, 1749,
thought fit to return " their sincere and hearty thanks to the
worthy author ; assuring him, that they are determined to com-
ply with every particular recommended in his address, to the ut-
most of their power." They add, that, "in every page it
contains a proof of the author's extensive charity ; his views are
only towards the public good ; the means he prescribeth are
easily complied with ; and his manner of treating persons in
their circumstances so very singular, that they plainly show the
good man, the polite gentleman, and the true patriot." A
character this, which was so entirely his lordship's due, that in
the year 1745 that excellent judge of merit, and real friend to
Ireland, Lord Chesterfield, as soon as he was advanced to the
government, of his own motion wrote to inform him, that the see
of Clogher, then vacant, the value of which was double that of
Cloyne, was at his service. This offer our bishop, with many
expressions of thankfulness, declined. He had enough already
to satisfy all his wishes ; and agreeably to the natural warmth of
* Occasioned by an impious society called Blasters, which this pamphlet put a stop
to. He expressed his sentiments on the same occasion in the house of lords, the only
time he ever spoke there. The speech was received with mucli applause.
LIFE OF BISHOP BERKELEY. 13
his temper, he had conceived so high an idea of the beauties of
Cloyne, that Mr. Pope had once almost determined to make a visit
to Ireland on purpose to see a place, which his friend had painted
out to him with all the brilliancy of colouring, and which yet to
common eyes presents nothing that is very worthy of attention.
The close of a life thus devoted to the good of mankind was
answerable to the beginning of it ; the bishop's last years being
employed in inquiring into the virtues of a medicine, whereof
he had himself experienced the good effects in the relief of a
nervous cholic, brought on him by his sedentary course of living,
and grown to that height, that, in his own words, " it rendered
life a burden to him, the more so, as his pains were exasperated
by exercise." This medicine was no other than the celebrated
tar-water ; his thoughts upon which subject he first communi-
cated to the world in the year 1744, in a treatise entitled Siris, a
Chain of Philosophical Reflections and Inquiries concerning the
Virtues of Tar-water. The author has been heard to declare,
that this work cost him more time and pains than any other he
had ever been engaged in ; a circumstance that will not appear
surprising to such as shall give themselves the trouble of examin-
ing into the extent of erudition that is there displayed. It is
indeed a chain, which, like that of the poet, reaches from earth
to heaven, conducting the reader by an almost imperceptible gra-
dation from the phenomena of tar-water, through the depths of
the ancient philosophy, to the sublimest mystery of the Christian
religion. It underwent a second impression in 1747, and was
followed by Further Thoughts on Tar-water, published in 1752.
This was his last performance for the press, and he survived it
but a short time.
In July, 1752, he removed, though in a bad state of health,*
with his lady and family to Oxford, in order to superintend the
education of one of his sons,f then newly admitted a student at
Christ-church. He had taken a fixed resolution to spend the re-
mainder of his days in this city, with a view of indulging the
passion for a learned retirement, which had ever strongly possessed
his mind, and was one of the motives that led him to form his
Bermuda project. But as nobody could be more sensible than
* He was carried from his landing on the English shore in a horse-litter to Oxford.
•(•This gentleman, George Berkeley, second sou of the bishop, proceeded A. M. the
26th of January, 1 759, took holy orders, and in August following was presented to the
vicarage of Bray in Berkshire. Archbishop Seeker, who had a high respect for the
father's character, honoured the son with his patronage and friendship, both at the uni-
versity and afterwards. By his favour Dr. Berkeley became possessed of a canonry of
Canterbury, the chancellorship of the collegiate church of Brecknock, and (by ex-
change for the vicarage of Bray) of the vicarage of Cookham, Berks : to which was
added, by the dean and chapter of Canterbury, the vicarage of East Peckham, Kent.
He took the degree of LL.D. the 12th of February, 1768. In the year 1760, he married
the daughter of the Rev. Mr. Frinsham, rector of White- Waltharn, Berks, by which
lady he had issue two sons : he died in 1795, and was laid in the same vault with his
father.
14 LIFE OP BISHOP BERKELEY.
his lordship of the impropriety of a bishop's non-residence, he
previously endeavoured to exchange his high preferment for
some canonry or headship at Oxford. Failing of success in this,
he actually wrote over to the secretary of state, to request that
he might have permission to resign his bishopric, worth at that
time at least 1400/. per annum. So uncommon a petition excited
his majesty's curiosity to inquire who was the extraordinary man
that preferred it : being told that it was his old acquaintance Dr.
Berkeley, he declared that he should die a bishop in spite of
himself, but gave him full liberty to reside where he pleased.
The bishop's last act before he left Cloyne was to sign a lease
of the demesne lands in that neighbourhood, to be renewed
yearly at the rent of 200/., which sum he directed to be dis-
tributed every year, until his return, among poor house-keepers
of Cloyne, Youghal, and Aghadda.
At Oxford he lived highly respected by the learned members
of that great university, till the hand of Providence unexpectedly
deprived them of the pleasure and advantage derived from his
residence among them. On Sunday evening the 14th of January
1753, as he was sitting in the midst of his family, listening to a
sermon of Dr. Sherlock's, which his lady was reading to him, he
was seized with what the physicians termed a palsy in the heart,
and instantly expired. The accident was so sudden, that his
body was quite cold and his joints stiff, before it was discovered ;
as the bishop lay on a couch, and seemed to be asleep, till his
daughter, on presenting him with a dish of tea, first perceived
his insensibility. His remains were interred at Christ-church,
Oxford, where there is an elegant marble monument erected to
his memory by his lady, who survived him, and had during her
marriage brought him three sons and one daughter.
As to his person, he was a handsome man, with a countenance
full of meaning and benignity, remarkable for great strength of
limbs, and, till his sedentary life impaired it, of a very robust
constitution. He was however often troubled with the hypo-
chondria, and latterly with that nervous cholic mentioned above.
At Cloyne he constantly rose between three and four o'clock
in the morning, and summoned his family to a lesson on the bass-
viol from an Italian master he kept in the house for the instruc-
tion of his children ; though the bishop himself had no ear for
music. He spent the rest of the morning, and often a great
part of the day in study : his favourite author, from whom many
of his notions were borrowed, was Plato. He had a large and
valuable collection of books and pictures, which became the pro-
perty of his son, the Rev. George Berkeley, LL.D.
The excellence of his moral character, if it were not so con-
spicuous in his writings, might have been learned from the bless-
ings with which his memory was followed by the numerous
LIFE OF BISHOP BERKELEY. 15
poor* of his neighbourhood, as well as from the testimony of his
surviving acquaintance, who could not speak of him without a
degree of enthusiasm, that removes the air of hyperbole from
the well-known line of his friend Mr. Pope :
To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.
The inscription on his monument was drawn up by Dr. Mark-
ham, archbishop of York, then head master of Westminster
school, and is in these terms :
Gravissimo praesuli,
Georgio, Episcopo Clonensi :
Viro,
Seu ingenii et eruditionis laudem,
Seu probitatis et beneficentiae spectemus,
Inter primes omnium aetatum numerando.
Si Christianus fueris,
Si amans patriae,
Utroque nomine gloriari poles
BERKLEIUM vixisse.
Obiit annum agens septuagesimum tertium : t
Natus Anno Christi M.DC.LXXIX.
Anna Conjux
L.M.P.
* One instance of his attention to his poor neighbours may deserve relating.
Cloyne,' though it gave name to the see, is in fact no better than a village : it was not rea-
sonable therefore to expect much industry or ingenuity in the inhabitants. Yet
whatever article of clothing they could possibly manufacture there, the bishop would
have from no other place ; and chose to wear ill clothes, and worse wigs, rather than
suffer the poor of the town to remain unemployed.
f A mistake, vide pp. 1,14.
LETTERS,
&c. &c.
LETTER I.
TO MR. THOMAS PRIOR,* PALL-MALL COFFEE HOUSE, LONDON.
Paris, 25/fc, of Nov., 1713, N.S.
DEAR TOM, — From London to Calais I came in the company
of a Flamand, a Spaniard, a Frenchman, and three English
servants of my lord. The three gentlemen being of those dif-
ferent nations obliged me to speak the French language (which is
now familiar), and gave me the opportunity of seeing much of
the world in a little compass. After a very remarkable escape
from rocks and banks of sand, and darkness and storm, and the
hazards that attend rash and ignorant seamen, we arrived at
Calais in a vessel, which, returning the next day, was cast away
in the harbour in open day-light, as I think I already told you.
From Calais Col. Du Hamel left it to my choice either to go
with him by post to Paris, or come after in the stage-coach. I
* Thomas Prior, Esq., the gentleman to whom the public is indebted for preserving; the
greatest part of the following correspondence, was born about the year 1679, at Rath-
downey in Queen's County, the estate of his family since the middle of that century.
He was educated in the university of Dublin, where he took the degree of A.M., and
was fellow student with our author. Being of a weak habit of body, he declined enter-
ing into any of the learned professions, though otherwise well qualified to have appeared
with advantage in them : the great object of his thoughts and studies was to promote
the real happiness of his country. In 1729 he published his well-known tract, a List
of the absentees of Ireland, in the close of which he strongly recommended the use of
linen scarfs at funerals. The hint was adopted by the executors of Mr. Conolly,
speaker of the house of commons, at his public funeral in the month of October of this
year ; and that mode of burying has been effectually established ever since, to the
great emolument of that most capital branch of trade. He published also several
tracts relative to Irish coin, linen manufacture, &c. But the glory of his life, and
object of his unremitting labours, was the founding and promoting of that most useful
institution the Dublin Society, of which for a series of years he discharged the duty of
secretary. Every good and great man, his contemporary, honoured him with his esteem
and friendship, particularly Philip earl of Chesterfield ; of whose interest however
his moderation led him to make no other use than to procure, by his lordship's recom-
mendation, from the late king a charter of incorporation for his darling child the Dub-
lin Society, with a grant of 500/. per annum for its better support. Having spent his
life in the practice of every virtue that distinguishes the patriot and the true Christian,
he died of a gradual decline in Dublin on the 21st of October, 1751, and was interred
in the church of Rathdowney. Over his remains is a neat monument of Killkenny
marble, with an English epitaph : his friends erected a more magnificent memorial of
this useful member of society in the nave of Christ-church, Dublin, the inscription on
which came from the elegant pen of our bishop, vide Ext. 70, infra, 22nd Dec. 1751.
See Views and Descriptions of Dublin by Pool and Cash, 4to, p. 102 : also Wright's
Ancient and Modern Dublin, p. 115.
LETTERS. 1 7
chose the latter, and on 1st Nov., O. S., embarked in the stage
coach with a company that were all perfect strangers to me.
There were two Scotch, and one English gentleman. One of
the former happened to be the author of the voyage to St. -Kilda
and the account of the Western Isles. We were good company
on the road, and that day sennight came to Paris. I have been
since taken up in viewing churches, convents, palaces, colleges,
&c., which are very numerous and magnificent in this town.
The splendour and riches of these things surpasses belief ; but it
were endless to descend to particulars. I was present at a dis-
putation in the Sorbonne, which indeed had much of the French
fire in it. I saw the Irish and the English colleges. In the
latter I saw, enclosed in a coffin, the body of the late king James.
Bits of the coffin and of the cloth that hangs the room have
been cut away for relics, he being esteemed a great saint by the
people. The day after I came to town I dined at the ambassador
of Sicily's, and this day with Mr. Prior. I snatched an opportu-
nity to mention you to him, and do your character justice.
To-morrow I intend to visit Father Malebranche, and discourse
him on certain points. I have some reasons to decline speaking
of the country or villages that I saw as I came along.
My lord is just now arrived, and tells me he has an opportu-
nity of sending my letters to my friends to-morrow morning,
which occasions my writing this. My humble service to Sir
John Eawdon,* Mrs. Rawdon, Mrs. Kempsey, and all other
friends. My lord thinks he shall stay a fortnight here. I am,
dear Tom, Your affectionate humble servant, Or. B.
LETTER II.
Turin, 6th of Jan. 1714, N. S.
DEAR TOM, — At Lyons, where I was about eight days, it was
left to my choice whether I would go from thence to Toulon, and
there embark for Genoa ; or else pass through Savoy, cross the
Alps, and so through Italy. I chose the latter route, though I
was obliged to ride post in company of Col. Du Hamel and Mr.
Oglethorpe, adjutant-general of the queen's forces, who were sent
with a letter from my lord to the king's mother at Turin. The
first day we rode from Lyons to Chambery the capital of Savoy,
which is reckoned sixty miles. The Lyonnois and Dauphine
were very well ; but Savoy was a perpetual chain of rocks and
mountains, almost impassable for ice and snow. And yet I rode
post through it, and came off with only four falls, from which I
received no other damage, than the breaking my sword, my watch,
and my snuff-box. On new year's day we passed mount Cenis,
* Father of the first Earl of Moira, and ancestor of the Marquises of Hastings.
VOL. I. C
J 8 LETTERS.
one of the most difficult and formidable parts of the Alps which
is ever passed over by mortal men. We were carried in open
chairs by men used to scale these rocks and precipices, which at
this season are more slippery and dangerous than at other times,
and at the best are high, craggy, and steep enough to cause the
heart of the most valiant man to melt within him. My life often
depended on a single step. No one will think that I exaggerate,
who considers what it is to pass the Alps on new year's day. But
I shall leave particulars to be recited by the fire's side.
We have been now five days here, and in two or three more
design to set forward towards Genoa, where we are to join my
lord, who embarked at Toulon. I am now hardened against
wind and weather, earth and sea, frost and snow ; can gallop all
day long, and sleep but three or four hours at night.
The court here is polite and splendid, the city beautiful, the
churches and colleges magnificent, but not much learning stirring
among them. However all orders of people, clergy and laity,
are wonderfully civil ; and every where a man finds his account
in being an Englishman, that character alone being sufficient to
gain respect. My service to all friends, particularly to Sir John
and Mrs. Rawdon, and Mrs. Kernpsy. It is my advice that they
do not pass the Alps in their way to Sicily.
I am, dear Tom, yours, &c., G. B. »
LETTER III.
Leghorn, 26ffc of Feb. 1714, N. S.
DEAR TOM, — Mrs. Rawdon is too thin, and Sir John too fat,
to agree with the English climate ; I advise them to make haste,
and transport themselves into this warm, clear air. Your best
way is to come through France ; but make no long stay there, for
the air is too cold, and there are instances enough of poverty and
distress to spoil the mirth of any one who feels the sufferings of
his fellow creatures. I would prescribe you two or three operas
at Paris, and as many days' amusement at Versailles. My next
recipe shall be to ride post from Paris to Toulon, and there to
embark for Genoa. For I would by no means have you shaken
to pieces, as I was, riding post over the rocks of Savoy, or put
out of humour by the most horrible precipices of mount Cenis,
that part of the Alps which divides Piedmont from Savoy. I
shall not anticipate your pleasure by any description of Italy or
France. Only, with regard to the latter, I cannot help observ-
ing, that the Jacobites have little to hope, and others little to
fear, from that reduced nation. The king indeed looks as though
he wanted neither meat nor drink, and his palaces are in good
repair ; but throughout the land there is a different face of things.
LETTERS. 19
I stayed about a month at Paris, eight days at Lyons, eleven at
Turin, three weeks at Genoa, and am now here about a fortnight,
with my lord's secretary (an Italian), and some others of his re-
tinue ; my lord having gone aboard a Maltese vessel from hence
to Sicily with a couple of servants. He designs to stay there in-
cognito a few days, and then return hither ; having put off his
public entry till the yacht with his equipage arrives.
I have writ to you several times before by post ; in answer to
all my letters I desire you to send me one great one, close writ
and filled on all sides, containing a particular account of all trans-
actions in London and Dublin. Enclose it in a cover to my lord
ambassador, and that again in another cover to Mr. Hare at my
lord Bolingbroke's office. If you have a mind to travel only in
the map, here is the list of all the places where I lodged since
my leaving England, in their natural order; Calais, Boulogne,
Montreuil, Abbeville, Pois, Beauvais, Paris, Moret, Villeneuve-
le-roi, Vermanton, Saulieu, Chany, Macon, Lyons, Chambery,
St. Jean de Maurienne, Lanebourg, Susa, Turin, Alexandria,
Campo-Marone, Genoa, Sestri di Levante, Lerici, Leghorn.
My humble service to Sir John, Mrs. Rawdon, and Mrs. Kempsy,
Mr. Dig-by, Mr. French, &c.
I am, dear Tom, Your affectionate humble servant, G. B.
LETTER IV.
TO MR. POPE.
Leghm-n, 1st of May, 1714.
As I take ingratitude to be a greater crime than impertinence,
I choose rather to run the risk of being thought guilty of the
latter, than not to return you my thanks for a very agreeable en-
tertainment you just now gave me. I have accidentally met
with your Rape of the Lock here, having never seen it before.
Style, painting, judgment, spirit, I had already admired in other
of your writings ; but in this I am charmed with the magic of
your invention, with all those images, allusions, and inexplicable
beauties, which you raise so surprisingly, and at the same time so
naturally, out of a trifle. And yet I cannot say that I was more
pleased with the reading of it, than I am with the pretext it
grves me to renew in your thoughts the remembrance of one who
values no happiness beyond the friendship of men of wit, learn-
ing, and good-nature.
I remember to have heard you mention some half-formed de-
sign of coming to Italy. What might we not expect from a
muse that sings so well in the bleak climate of England, if she
felt the same warm sun, and breathed the same air. with Virgil
and Horace !
c 2
20 LETTERS.
There are here an incredible number of poets that have all the
inclination, but want the genius, or perhaps the art of the an-
cients. Some among them, who understand English, begin to
relish our authors ; and I am informed that at Florence they
have translated Milton into Italian verse. If one who knows so
well how to write like the old Latin poets came among them, it
would probably be a means to retrieve them from their cold tri-
vial conceits, to an imitation of their predecessors.
As merchants, antiquaries, men of pleasure, &c., have all dif-
ferent views in travelling, I know not whether it might not be
worth a poet's while to travel, in order to store his mind with
strong images of nature.
Green fields and groves, flowery meadows and purling streams,
are no where in such perfection as in England ; but if you would
know lightsome days, warm suns, and blue skies, you must come
to Italy ; and to enable a man to describe rocks and precipices, it
is absolutely necessary that he pass the Alps.
You will easily perceive that it is self-interest makes me so
fond of giving advice to one who has no need of it. If you
came into the parts, I should fly to see you. I am here (by the
favour of my good friend the dean of St. Patrick's) * in quality
of chaplain to the earl of Peterborough, who about three months
since left the greatest part of his family in this town. God
knows how long we shall stay here. I am, your, &c.
LETTER Y.
Naples, 22nd of Oct., 1717, N.S.
I HA YE long had it in my thoughts to trouble you with a letter,
but was discouraged for want of something that I could think
worth sending fifteen hundred miles. Italy is such an exhausted
subject, that I dare say you would easily forgive my saying
nothing of it ; and the imagination of a poet is a thing so nice
and delicate, that it is no easy matter to find out images capable
of giving pleasure to one of the few who (in any age) have come
up to that character. I am nevertheless lately returned from an
island, where I passed three or four months ; which, were it set
out in its true colours, might, methinks, amuse you agreeably
enough for a minute or two. The island Inarime is an epitome
of the whole earth, containing within the compass of eighteen
miles a wonderful variety of hills, vales, ragged rocks, fruitful
plains, and barren mountains, all thrown together in a most
romantic confusion. The air is in the hottest season constantly
refreshed by cool breezes from the sea. The vales produce
excellent wheat and Indian corn, but are mostly covered with
* Dr. Jonathan Swift,
LETTERS. 21
vineyards, intermixed with fruit-trees : besides the common
kinds, as cherries, apricots, peaches, &c., they produce oranges,
limes, almonds, pomegranates, figs, water-melons, and many
other fruits unknown to our climates, which lie every where
open to the passenger. The hills are the greater part covered
to the top with vines, some with chestnut groves, and others with
thickets of myrtle and lentiscus. The fields in the northern
side are divided by hedge-rows of myrtle. Several fountains
and rivulets add to the beauty of this landscape, which is like-
wise set off by the variety of some barren spots and naked rocks.
But that which crowns the scene is a large mountain, rising out
of the middle of the island (once a terrible volcano, by the
ancients called Mons Epomeus) : its lower parts are adorned
with vines and other fruits ; the middle affords pasture to flocks
of goats and sheep ; and the top is a sandy pointed rock, from
Avhich you have the finest prospect in the world, surveying at
one view, besides several pleasant islands lying at your feet, a
tract of Italy about three hundred miles in length, from the
promontory of Antium to the cape of Palinurus: the greater
part of which hath been sung by Homer and Virgil, as making a
considerable part of the travels and adventures of their two
heroes. The islands Caprea, Prochyta, and Parthenope, together
with Cajeta, Cumas, Monte Miseno, the habitations of Circe, the
Syrens, and the La3strigones, the bay of Naples, the promontory
of Minerva, and the whole Campagna Felice, make but a part of
this noble landscape ; which would demand an imagination as
warm, and numbers as flowing as your own, to describe it, The
inhabitants of this delicious isle, as they are without riches and
honours, so they are without the vices and follies that attend
them ; an-1 were they but as much strangers to revenge, as they
are to avarice and ambition, they might in fact answer the
poetical notions of the golden age. But they have got, as an
alloy to their happiness, an ill habit of murdering one another on
slight offences. We had an instance of this the second night
after our arrival, a youth of eighteen being shot dead by our
door : and yet, by the sole secret of minding our own business,
we found a means of living securely among these dangerous people.
Would you know how we pass the time at Naples? Our
chief entertainment is the devotion of our neighbours : besides
the gaiety of their churches (where folks go to see what they
call una bella devotione, i. e., a sort of religious opera), they make
fire-works almost every week out of devotion ; the streets are
often hung with arras out of devotion ; and (what is still
more strange) the ladies invite gentlemen to their houses, and
treat them with music and sweetmeats, out of devotion : in a
word, were it not for this devotion of its inhabitants, Naples
would have little else to recommend it besides the air and situa-
22 LETTERS.
tion. Learning is in no very thriving state here, as indeed no
where else in Italy : however, among many pretenders some
men of taste are to be met with. A friend of mine told me not
long since, that being to visit Salvini at Florence, he found him
reading your Homer: he liked the notes extremely, and could
find no other fault with the version, but that he thought it ap-
proached too near a paraphrase ; which shows him not to be
sufficiently acquainted with our language. I wish you health to
go on with that noble work ; and when you have that I need
not wish you success. You will do me the justice to believe,
that whatever relates to your welfare is sincerely wished by
Your, &c.
LETTER VI.
TO DR. ARBUTHNOT.
llth of April, 1717.
WITH much difficulty I reached the top of mount Vesuvius,
in which I saw a vast aperture full of smoke, which hindered
the seeing its depth and figure. I heard within that horrid gulf
certain odd sounds, which seemed to proceed from the belly of
the mountain ; a sort of murmuring, sighing, throbbing, churn-
ing, dashing, as it were, of waves, and between whiles a noise
like that of thunder or cannon, which was constantly attended
with a clattering like that of tiles falling from the tops of houses
on the streets. Sometimes as the wind changed, the smoke grew
thinner, discovering a very ruddy flame, and the jaws of the pan
or crater streaked with red and several shades of yellow. After
an hour's stay the smoke, being moved by the wind, gave us short
and partial prospects of the great hollow, in the flat bottom of
which I could discern two furnaces almost contiguous : that on
the left, seeming about three yards in diameter, glowed with red
flame, and threw up red-hot stones with a hideous noise, which,
as they fell back, caused the forementioned clattering. 8th of
May, in the morning, I ascended to the top of Vesuvius a second
time, and found a different face of things. The smoke ascending
upright gave a full prospect of the crater, which, as I could
judge, is about a mile in circumference, and a hundred yards
deep. A conical mount had been formed since my last visit, in
the middle of the bottom : this mount, I could see, was made of
the stones thrown up and fallen back again into the crater. In
this new hill remained the two mounts or furnaces already men-
tioned : that on our left was in the vertex of the hill which it
had formed round it, and raged more violently than before,
throwing up every three or four minutes, with a dreadful bellow-
ing, a vast number of red-hot stones, sometimes in appearance
LETTERS.
above a thousand, and at least three thousand feet higher than
ray head as I stood upon the brink : but there being little or no
wind, they fell back perpendicularly into the crater, increasing
the conical hill. The other mouth to the right was lower in
the side of the same new formed hill : I could discern it to be
filled with red-hot liquid matter, like that in the furnace of a
glass-house, which raged and wrought as the waves of the eea,
causing a short, abrupt noise like what may be imagined to pro-
ceed from a sea of quicksilver dashing among uneven rocks.
This stuff would sometimes spew over and run down the convex
side of the conical hill ; and appearing at first red-hot it changed
colour, and hardened as it cooled, showing the first rudiments of
an eruption, or, if I may say so, an eruption in miniature. Had
the wind driven in our faces, we had been in no small danger of
stifling by the sulphureous smoke, or being knocked on the head
by lumps of molten minerals, which we saw had sometimes fallen
on the brink of the crater, upon those shots from the gulf at
bottom. But as the wind was favourable, I had an opportu-
nity to survey this odd scene for above an hour and a half to-
gether ; during which it was very observable, that all the volleys
of smoke, flame, and burning stones, come only out of the hole
to our left, while the liquid stuff in the other mouth wrought
and overflowed, as hath been already described. 5th of June,
after a horrid noise, the mountain was seen at Naples to spew a
little out of the crater. The same continued the 6th. The 7th,
nothing was observed till within two hours of night, when it
began a hideous bellowing, which continued all that night and
the next day till noon, causing the windows, and, as some affirm,
the very houses in Naples to shake. From that time it spewed
vast quantities of molten stuff to the south, which streamed
down the side of the mountain like a great pot boiling over.
This evening I returned from a voyage through Apulia, and was
surprised, passing by the north side of the mountain, to see a
great quantity of ruddy smoke lie along a huge tract of sky over
the river of molten stuff, which was itself out of sight. The
9th, Vesuvius raged less violently: that night we saw from
Naples a column of fire shoot between whiles out of its summit.
The 10th, when we thought all would have been over, the moun-
tain grew very outrageous again, roaring and groaning most
dreadfully. You cannot form a juster idea of this noise in the
most violent fits of it, than by imagining a mixed sound made
up of the raging of a tempest, the murmur of a troubled sea,
and the roaring of thunder and artillery, confused all together.
It was very terrible as we heard it in the further end of Naples,
at the distance of above twelve miles : this moved my curiosity
to approach the mountain. Three or four of us got into a boat,
and were set ashore at Torre del Greco, a town situate at the
24. LETTERS,
foot of Vesuvius to the south-west, whence we rode four or five
miles before we came to the burning river, which was about mid-
night. The roaring of the volcano grew exceeding loud and
horrible as we approached. I observed a mixture of colours in
the cloud over the crater, green, yellow, red, and blue ; there was
likewise a ruddy, dismal light in the air over that tract of land
where the burning river flowed ; ashes continually showered on us
all the way from the sea-coast : all which circumstances, set off and
augmented by the horror and silence of the night, made a scene
the most uncommon and astonishing I ever saw, which grew still
more extraordinary as we came nearer the stream. Imagine a
vast torrent of liquid fire rolling from the top down the side of
the mountain, and with irresistible fury bearing down and con-
suming vines, olives, fig-trees, houses; in a word every thing
that stood in its way. This mighty flood divided into different
channels, according to the inequalities of the mountain: the
largest stream seemed half a mile broad at least, and five miles
long. The nature and consistence of these burning torrents
hath been described with so much exactness and truth by Borel-
lus, in his Latin treatise of mount ^Etna, that I need say
nothing of it. I walked so far before my companions up the
mountain, along the side of the river of fire, that I was obliged
to retire in great haste, the sulphureous steam having surprised
me, and almost taken away my breath. During our return,
which was about three o'clock in the morning, we constantly
heard the murmur and groaning of the mountain, which between
whiles would burst out into louder peals, throwing up huge
spouts of fire and burning stones, which falling down again, re-
sembled the stars in our rockets. Sometimes I observed two, at
others three distinct columes of flames ; and sometimes one vast
one that seemed to fill the whole crater. These burning columns
and the fiery stones seemed to be shot a thousand feet perpen-
dicular above the summit of the volcano. The llth, at night, I
observed it, from a terrace in Naples, to throw up incessantly a
vast body of fire, and great stones to a surprising height. The
12th, in the morning, it darkened the sun with ashes and smoke,
causing a sort of eclipse. Horrid bellowings, this and the fore-
going day, were heard at Naples, whither part of the ashes also
reached: at night I observed it throwing up flame, as on the
llth. On the 13th, the wind changing, we saw a pillar of black
smoke shot upright to a prodigious height : at night I observed
the mount cast up fire as before, though not so distinctly because
of the smoke. The 14th, a thick black cloud hid the mountain
.from Naples. The 15th, in the morning, the court and walls of
our house were covered with ashes. The 16th, the smoke was
driven by a westerly wind from the town to the opposite side of
the mountain. The 17th, the smoke appeared much diminished,
EXTRACTS, ETC. 25
fat and greasy. The 18th, the whole appearance ended ; the
mountain remaining perfectly quiet without any visible smoke or
flame. A gentleman of my acquaintance, whose window looked
towards Vesuvius, assured me that he observed several flashes,
as it were of lightning, issue out of the mouth of the volcano.
It is not worth while to trouble you with the conjectures* I have
formed concerning the cause of these phenomena, from what I
observed in the Lacus Amsancti, the Solfatara, &c., as well
as in mount Vesuvius. One thing I may venture to say, that
I saw the fluid matter rise out of the centre of the bottom of
the crater, out of the very middle of the mountain, contrary to
what Borellus imagines, whose method of explaining the eruption
of a volcano by an inflexed syphon and the rules of hydrostatics,
is likewise inconsistent with the torrent's flowing down from the
very vertex of the mountain. I have not seen the crater since
the eruption, but design to visit it again before I leave Naples.
I doubt there is nothing in this worth showing the Society : as to
that, you will use your discretion. E. (it should be G.)
BERKELEY.
The following extracts from letters to Mr. Thomas Prior, of
Dublin, it is hoped, will not be unacceptable to the reader, as
they serve to mark the progress of the Bermuda project, and
of the author's hopes and fears on that interesting occasion.
Ex. 1. London, 8th of Dec. 1724. Dear Tom, — You wrote
to me something or other which I received a fortnight ago, about
temporal affairs, which I have no leisure to think of at present.
The lord chancellor is not a busier man than myself; and I
thank God my pains are not without success, which hitherto hath
answered beyond expectation. Doubtless the English are a
nation tres eclairee. Let me know whether you have wrote to
Mr. Newman whatever you judged might give him a good
opinion of our project. Let me also know where Bermuda
Jones lives, or where he is to be met with.
Ex. 2. 20th of April, 1725. Pray give my service to Cald-
well, and let him know that in case he goes abroad with Mr.
Stewart, Jaques, who lived with Mr. Ashe, is desirous to attend
upon him. I have obtained reports from the bishop of London,
the board of trade and plantations, and the attorney and solicitor-
general, in favour of the Bermuda scheme, and hope to have the
warrant signed by his majesty this week.
* Our author's conjectures on the cause of the phenomena ahove mentioned do not
appear in any of his writings ; but he has often communicated them in conversation to
his friends. He observed, that all the remarkable volcanos in the world were near the
sea. It was his opinion, therefore, that a vacuum being made in the bowels of the
earth by a vast body of inflammable matter taking fire, the water rushed in, and was
converted into steam : which simple cause was sufficient to produce all the wonderful
effects of volcanos ; as appears from Savery's fire engine for raising water, and from
the acolipile.
26 EXTRACTS, ETC.
Ex. 3. 3rd of June, 1725. Yesterday the charter passed the
privy seal. This day the new chancellor began his office by
putting the recipe to it.
Ex. 4. 12th of June, 1725. The charter hath passed all the
seals, and is now in my custody. It hath cost me 130/. dry fees,
beside expedition money to men in office.
Ex. 5. 3rd of Sept., 1725. I wrote long since to Caldwell
about his going to Bermuda, but had no answer ; which makes
me think my letter miscarried. I must now desire you to give
my service to him, and know whether he still retains the thoughts
he once seemed to have of entering into that design. I know
he hath since got an employment, &c., but I have good reason to
think he would not suffer in his temporalities by taking one of
our fellowships, although he resigned all that. In plain English,
I have good assurance that our college will be endowed beyond
any thing expected or desired hitherto. This makes me confi-
dent he would lose nothing by the change, and on this supposi-
tion only I propose it to him. I wish he may judge rightly in
this matter, as well for his own sake as for the sake of the college.
Ex. 6. 27th of Jan., 1726. I must once more entreat you,
for the sake of old friendship, to pluck up a vigorous, active
spirit, and disencumber me of the affairs relating to the inherit-
ance, by putting one way or other a final issue to them. I thank
God I find in matters of a more difficult nature good effects of
activity and resolution. I mean Bermuda, with which my hands
are full, and which is in a fair way to thrive and flourish in spite
of all opposition.
Ex. 7. 6th of Feb., 1726. I am in a fair way of having a
very noble endowment for the college of Bermuda, though the
late meeting of parliament and the preparations of a fleet, &c.,
will delay the finishing things which depend in some measure on
the parliament, and to which I have gained the consent of the
government, and indeed of which I make no doubt ; but only
the delay, it is to be feared, will make it impossible for me to set
out this spring. One good effect of this, I hope, may be, that
you will have disembarrassed yourself of all sort of business
that may detain you here, and so be ready to go with us: in
which case I may have somewhat to propose to you, that I believe
is of a kind agreeable to your inclinations, and may be of consi-
derable advantage to you. But you must say nothing of this to
any one, nor of any one thing that I have now hinted concern-
ing endowment, delay, going, &c. I have heard lately from
Caldwell, who wrote to me on an affair in which it will not be in
my power to do him any service. I answered his letter, and
mentioned somewhat about Bermuda, with an overture for his
being fellow there. I desire you would discourse him, as from
yourself, on that subject, and let me know his thoughts and dis-
positions towards engaging in that design.
EXTRACTS, ETC. 27
Ex. 8. 15th of March, 1726. I had once thought I should
be able to have set out for Bermuda this season. But his majes-
ty's long stay abroad, the late meeting of parliament, and the
present posture of foreign affairs taking up the thoughts both of
ministers and parliament, have postponed the settling of certain
lands in St. Christopher's on our college, so as to render the said
thoughts abortive. I have now my hands full of that business,
and hope to see it soon settled to my wish. In the mean time, my
attendance on this business renders it impossible for me to mind
my private affairs. Your assistance therefore in them will not
only be a kind service to me, but also to the public weal of our
college, which would very much suffer if I were obliged to leave
this kingdom before I saw an endowment settled on it. For this
reason I must depend upon you.
Ex. 9. 19th of April, 1726. Last Saturday I sent you the
instrument empowering you to set my deanery. It is at present
my opinion that matter had better be deferred till the charter of
St. Paul's college hath got through the house of commons, who
are now considering it. In ten days at furthest I hope to let
you know the event hereof, which, as it possibly may affect
some circumstance in the farming my said deanery, is the occa-
sion of giving you this trouble for the present, when I am in the
greatest hurry of business I ever knew in my life, and have only
time to add that I am, &c.
Ex. 10. 12th of May, 1726. After six weeks' struggle
against an earnest opposition from different interests and motives,
I have yesterday carried my point just as I desired in the house
of commons by an extraordinary majority, none having the con-
fidence to speak against it, and not above two giving their nega-
tives, which was done in so low a voice as if they themselves
were ashamed of it. They were both considerable men in stocks
in trade, and in the city : and in truth I have had more opposition
from that sort of men, and from the governors and traders to
America, than from any others. But God be praised, there is
an end of all their narrow and mercantile views and endeavours,
as well as of the jealousies and suspicions of others (some whereof
were very great men), who apprehended this college may produce
an independency in America, or at least lessen its dependency
upon England. Now I must tell you that you have nothing to
do but go on with farming my deanery, &c., according to the
tenor of my former letter, which I suspended by a subsequent
one till I should see the event of yesterday.
Ex. 11. 4:th of Aug., 1726. You mentioned a friend of
Synge's, who was desirous to be one of our fellows. Pray let
me know who he is, and the particulars of his character. There
are many competitors more than vacancies, and the fellowships
are likely to be very good ones : so I would willingly see them
well bestowed.
28 EXTRACTS, ETC.
Ex. 12. 1st of Dec., 1726. Bermuda is now on a better and
surer foot than ever. After the address of the commons and
his majesty's most gracious answer, one would have thought all
difficulties had been over. But much opposition hath been since
raised (and that by very great men) to the design. As for the
obstacles thrown in my way by interested men, though there
hath been much of that, I never regarded it, no more than the
clamours and calumnies of ignorant, mistaken people : but in
good truth it was with much difficulty, and the peculiar blessing
of God, that the point was carried, maugre the strong opposition
in the cabinet council ; wherein nevertheless it hath of late been
determined to go on with the grant pursuant to the address of
the house of commons, and to give it all possible despatch. Ac-
cordingly his majesty had ordered the warrant for passing the
said grant to be drawn. The persons appointed to contrive the
draught of the warrant are the solicitor-general, Baron Scroop
of the treasury, and my very good friend Mr. Hutcheson.
You must know that in July last the lords of the treasury had
named commissioners for taking an estimate of the value and
quantity of the crown lands in St. Christopher's, and for receiv-
ing proposals either for selling or farming the same for the benefit
of the public. Their report is not yet made ; and the treasury
were of opinion they could not make a grant to us till such time
as the whole were sold or farmed pursuant to such report. But
the point I am now labouring is, to have it done without delay.
And how this may be done without embarrassing the treasury
in their after disposal of the whole lands, was this day the sub-
ject of a conference between the solicitor-general, Mr. Hutcheson,
and myself. The method agreed on is, by a rent charge on the
whole crown lands, redeemable on the crown's paying twenty
thousand pounds for the use of the president and fellows of St.
Paul's and their successors. Sir Robert Walpole hath signified
that he hath no objection to this method ; and I doubt not Baron
Scroop will agree to it : by which means the grant may be
passed before the meeting of parliament; after which we may
prepare to set out on our voyage in April. I have unawares
run into this long account, because you desired to know how the
affair of Bermuda stood at present.
Ex. 13. 27th of Feb., 1727. My going to Bermuda I cannot
positively say when it will be. I have to do with very busy
people at a very busy time. I hope nevertheless to have all that
business completely finished in a few weeks.
Ex. 14. llth of April, 1727. Now I mention my coming to
Ireland, I must earnestly desire you by all means to keep this a
secret from every individual creature. I cannot justly say what
time (probably some time next month) I shall be there, or how
long ; but find it necessary to be there to transact matters with
EXTRACTS, ETC. 29
one or two of my associates, whom yet I would not have know
of my coming till I am on the spot ; and for several reasons am
determined to keep myself as secret and concealed as possible all
the time I am in Ireland. In order to this I make it my request
that you will hire for me an entire house, as neat and convenient
as you can get, somewhere within a mile of Dublin, for half a
year. But what I principally desire is, that it be in no town or
village, but in some quiet private place out of the way of roads
or street or observation. I would have it hired with necessary
furniture for kitchen, a couple of chambers, and a parlour. At
the same time I must desire you to hire an honest maid-servant
who can keep it clean, and dress a plain bit of meat : a man-
servant I shall bring with me. You may do all this either in
your own name, or as for a friend of yours, one Mr. Brown (for
that is the name I shall assume), and let me know it as soon as
possible. There are several little scattered houses with gardens
about Clontarf, Rathfarnham, &c. I remember particularly the
old castle of Rathmines, and a little white house upon the hills
by itself beyond the old men's hospital ; likewise in the out-
goings or fields about St. Kevin's, &c. In short, in any snug
private place within half a mile or a mile of town. I would have
a bit of a garden to it, no matter what sort. Mind this, and you
will oblige yours.
Ex. 15. 20th of May, 1727. I would by all means have a
place secured for me by the end of June : it may be taken only
for three months. I am, God be praised, very near concluding
the crown grant to our college, having got over all difficulties
and obstructions, which were not a few. I conclude in great
haste, yours.
Ex. 16. 13th of June, 1727. Poor Caldwell's death I had
heard of two or three posts before I received your letters. Had
he lived, his life would not have been agreeable. He was formed
for retreat and study, but of late was grown fond of the world
and getting into business. A house between Dublin and Drum-
condra I can by no means approve of : the situation is too public,
and what I chiefly regard is privacy. I like the situation of
Lord's house mucn better, and have only one objection to it,
which is your saying he intends to use some part of it himself:
for this would be inconsistent with my view of being quite con-
cealed, and the more so because Lord knows me, which of all
things is what I would avoid. His house and price would suit
me. If you can get such another quite to myself, snug, private,
and clean, with a stable, I shall not matter whether it be painted
or no, or how it is furnished, provided it be clean and warm. I
aim at nothing magnificent or grand (as you term it), which might
probably defeat my purpose of continuing concealed.
Ex. 17. 15th of June, 1727. Yesterday we had an account
30 EXTRACTS, ETC.
of king George's death. This day king George II. was pro-
claimed. All the world here are in a hurry, and I as much as
any body, our grant being defeated by the king's dying before
the broad seal was annexed to it, in order to which it was passing
through the offices. I have la mer a boire again. You shall hear
from me when I know more. At present I am at a loss what
course to take.
Ex. 17. 27th of June, 1727. In a former letter I gave you
to know, that my affairs were unravelled by the death of his
majesty. I am now beginning on a new foot, and with good
hopes of success. The warrant for our grant had been signed
by the king, countersigned by the lords of the treasury, and
passed the attorney-general : here it stood, when the express
came of the king's death. A new warrant is now preparing,
which must be signed by his present majesty in order to a pa-
tent's passing the broad seal. As soon as this affair is finished, I
propose going to Ireland.
Ex. 18. 6th of July, 1727. I have obtained a new warrant
for a grant, signed by his present majesty, contrary to the expec^
tations of my friends, who thought nothing could be expected of
that kind in this great hurry of business. As soon as this grant,
which is of the same import with that begun by his late majesty,
hath passed the offices and seals, I propose to execute my design
of going to Ireland.
Ex. 19. 2lst of July, 1727. My grant is now got further
than where it was at the time of the king's death. I am in
hopes the broad seal will soon be put to it, what remains to be
done in order thereto being only matter of form : so that I pro-
pose setting out from hence in a fortnight's time. When I set
out, I shall write at the same time to tell you of it. I know not
whether I shall stay longer than a month on that side of the
water : I am sure I shall not want the country lodging, I desired
you to procure, for a longer time. Do not therefore take it for
more than a month, if that can be done. I remember certain
remote suburbs called Pimlico and Dolphin's barn, but know not
whereabout they lie. If either of them be situate in a private,
pleasant place, and airy, near the fields, I should therein like a
first floor in a clean house (I desire no more) ; and it would be
better if there was a bit of a garden where I had the liberty to
walk. This I mention in case my former desire cannot be con-
veniently answered for so short a time as a month ; and if I may
judge at this distance, those places seem as private as a house in
the country. For you must know, what I chiefly aim at is
secresy. This makes me uneasy to find that there hath been a
report spread among some of my friends in Dublin of my de-
signing to go over. I cannot account for this, believing, after
the precautions I had given you, that you would not mention it,
directly or indirectly, to any mortal.
EXTRACTS, ETC. 31
Ex. 20. 20th of Feb., 1728. I need not repeat to you what I
told you here of the necessity there is for my raising all the
money possible against my voyage, which, God willing, I shall
begin in May, whatever you may hear suggested to the contrary ;
though you need not mention this. I propose to set out for
Dublin about a month hence : but of this you must not give the
least intimation to any body. I beg the favour of you to look
out at leisure a convenient lodging for me in or about Church-
street, or such other place as you shall think the most retired — I
do not design to be known when I am in Ireland.
Ex. 21. 6th of April, 1728. I have been detained from my
journey partly in expectation of Dr. Clayton's coming, who was
doing business in Lancashire, and partly in respect to the exces-
sive rains. The doctor hath been several days in town, and we
have had so much rain that probably it will be soon over. I am
therefore daily expecting to set out, all things being provided.
Now it is of all things my earnest desire (and for very good rea-
sons) not to have it known that I am in Dublin. Speak not
therefore one syllable of it to any mortal whatsoever. When I
formerly desired you to take a place for me near the town, you
gave out that you were looking for a retired lodging for a friend
of yours ; upon which every body surmised me to be the person.
I must beg you not to act in the like manner now, but to take
for me an entire house in your own name, and as for yourself;
for, all things considered, I am determined upon a whole house,
with no mortal in it but a maid of your own putting, who is to
look on herself as your servant. Let there be two bedchambers,
one for you, another for me ; and as you like you may ever and
anon lie there. I would have the house with necessary furniture
taken by the month (or otherwise, as you can), for I purpose
staying not beyond that time : and yet perhaps I may. Take it
as soon as possible, and never think of saving a week's hire by
leaving it to do when I am there. Dr. Clayton thinks (and I
am of the same opinion) that a convenient place may be found
in the further end of Great Britain-street, or Ballibough-bridge —
by all means beyond Thomson's, the fellow's. Let me entreat
you to say nothing of this to any body, but to do the thing di-
rectly. In this affair I consider convenience more than expense,
and would of all things (cost what it will) have a proper place in
a retired situation, where I may have access to fields and sweet
air, provided against the moment I arrive. I am inclined to
think, one may be better concealed in the outermost skirt of the
suburbs than in the country, or within the town. Wherefore if
you cannot be accommodated where I mention, inquire in some
other skirt or remote suburb. A house quite detached in the
country I should have no objection to, provided you judge that I
shall not be liable to discovery in it. The place called Bermuda
32 EXTRACTS, ETC.
I am utterly against. Dear Tom, do this matter cleanly and
cleverly, without waiting for further advice. You see I am will-
ing to run the risk of the expense. To the person from whom
you hire it (whom alone I would have you speak of it to) it will
not seem strange you should at this time»of the year be desirous
for your own convenience or health to have a place in a free and
open air. If you cannot get a house without taking it for a
longer time than a month, take it at such the shortest time it can
be let for, with agreement for further continuing in case there be
occasion. — Mr. Madden, who witnesses the letter of attorney, is
now going to Ireland. He is a clergyman, and man of estate in
the north of Ireland.
Ex. 22. Gravesend, 5th of September, 1728. To-morrow, with
God's blessing, I set sail for Rhode Island, with my wife and a
friend of hers, my lady Hancock's daughter, who bears us com-
pany. I am married since I saw you to Miss Forster, daughter
of the late chief justice, whose humour and turn of mind pleases
me beyond any thing I knew in her whole sex. Mr. James,
Mr. Dalton, and Mr. Smilert, go with us on this voyage: we
are now all together at Gravesend, and engaged in one view.
When my next rents are paid, I must desire you to inquire for
my cousin, Richard Berkeley,* who was bred a public notary (I
suppose he may, by that time, be out of his apprenticeship), and
give him twenty moidores as a present from me, towards helping
him on his beginning the world. I believe I shall have occasion
for 600/. English before this year's income is paid by the
farmers of my deanery. I must therefore desire you to speak
to Messrs. Swift, &c., to give me credit for said sum in London
about three months hence, in case I have occasion to draw for it,
and I shall willingly pay their customary interest for the same
till the farmers pay it to them, which I hope you will order
punctually to be done by the first of June. Direct for me in
Rhode Island, and enclose your letter in a cover to Thomas
Corbet, Esq., at the admiralty office in London, who will always
forward my letters by the first opportunity. Adieu : I write in
great haste. A copy of my charter was sent to Dr. Ward by
Dr. Clayton : if it be not arrived when you go to London, write
out of the charter the clause relating to my absence. Adieu
once more.
Ex. 23. Newport, in Rhode Island, 24th of April, 1729. I can
by this tune say something to you, from my own experience, of
* This act of goodness to a poor relation being a matter altogether of a private
nature, the editor was not sure whether he ought to have communicated it to the
public. Certainly it is not given as an uncommon feature in our author's character,
that he should be liberal to his relations : his letters furnish many proofs of his gene-
rosity. But the reader will be pleased to recollect the time when this young man's
wants were attended to — the whole soul of the Bermuda projector on the stretch to
attain, what after so many obstructions seemed at last to be within his grasp.
EXTRACTS, ETC. 33
this place and people. The inhabitants are of a mixed kind,
consisting of many sects and subdivisions of sects. Here are
four sorts of anabaptists, besides presbyterians, quakers, inde-
pendents, and many of no profession at all. Notwithstanding so
many differences, here are fewer quarrels about religion than
elsewhere, the people living peaceably with their neighbours of
whatsoever persuasion. They all agree in one point, that the
church of England is the second best. The climate is like that
of Italy, and not at all colder in the winter than I have known
it every where north of Rome. The spring is late : but to
make amends, they assure me the autumns are the finest and
longest in the world ; and the summers are much pleasanter
than those of Italy by all accounts, forasmuch as the grass con-
tinues green, which it doth not there. This island is pleasantly
laid out in hills, and vales, and rising grounds ; hath plenty of
excellent springs and fine rivulets, and many delightful land-
scapes of rocks, and promontories, and adjacent lands. The
provisions are very good ; so are the fruits, which are quite
neglected, though vines sprout up of themselves to an extraor-
dinary size, and seem as natural to this soil as to any I ever saw.
The town of Newport contains about six thousand souls, and is
the most thriving, flourishing place in all America for its big-
ness. It is very pretty, and pleasantly situated. I was never
more agreeably surprised than at the first sight of the town and
its harbour. I could give you some hints that may be of use to
you, if you were disposed to take advice : but of all men in the
world I never found encouragement to give you any.- — I have
heard nothing from you or any of my friends in England or Ire-
land, which makes me suspect my letters were in one of the
vessels that were wrecked. I write in great haste, and have no
time to say a word to my brother Robin : let him know we are
in good health. Take care that my draughts are duly honoured,
which is of the greatest importance to my credit here ; and if I
can serve you in these parts, you may command yours, &c.
Ex. 24. Newport in Rhode Island, 12th of June, 1729. Being
informed that an inhabitant of this country is on the point of
going for Ireland, I would not omit writing to you. The win-
ter, it must be allowed, was much sharper than the usual winters
in Ireland, but not at all sharper than I have known them in
Italy. To make amends, the summer is exceeding delightful;
and if the spring begins late, the autumn ends proportionably
later than with you, and is said to be the finest in the world. I
snatch this moment to write, and have time only to add, that I
have got a son, who, I thank God, is likely to live. — I find it
hath been reported in Ireland, that we purpose settling here : I
must desire you to discountenance any such report. The truth
is, if the king's bounty were paid in, and the charter could be
VOL. i. D
34 EXTRACTS, ETC.
removed hither, I should like it better than Bermuda. But if
this were mentioned before the payment of said money, it might
perhaps hinder it, and defeat all our designs. As to what you
say of Hamilton's proposal, I can only answer at present by a
question, viz., whether it be possible for me, in my absence, to
be put in possession of the deanery of Dromore ? Desire him
to make that point clear, and you shall hear further from me.
Ex. 25. Rhode Island, 9th of March, 1730. My situation
hath been so uncertain, and is like to continue so till I am clear
about the receipt of his majesty's bounty, and in consequence
thereof, of the determination of my associates, that you are not
to wonder at my having given no categorical answer to the pro-
posal you made in relation to Hamilton's deanery, which his
death hath put an end to. If I had returned, I should perhaps
have been under some temptation to have changed. But as my
design still continues to wait the event, and go to Bermuda as
soon as I can get associates and money, which my friends are
now soliciting in London, I shall in such case persist in my first
resolution, of not holding any deanery beyond the limited time.
— I live here upon land that I have purchased, and in a farm-
house that I have built in this island: it is fit for cows and
sheep, and may be of good use in supplying our college at Ber-
muda. Among my delays and disappointments I thank God I
have two domestic comforts that are very agreeable, my wife
and my little son, both which exceed my expectations, -and fully
answer all my wishes. — Messrs. James, Dalton, and Smilert, &c.,
are at Boston, and have been there these four months. My wife
and I abide by Rhode Island, preferring quiet and solitude to
the noise of a great town, notwithstanding all the solicitations
that have been used to draw us thither. — I have desired Mac
Manus, in a letter to Dr. Ward, to allow twenty pounds per
ann. for me, towards the poor-house now on foot for clergymen's
widows, in the diocese of Derry.
Ex. 26. Rhode Island, 1th of May, 1730. Last week I re-
ceived a packet from you by the way of Philadelphia, the post-
age whereof amounted to above four pounds of this country
money. I thank you for the enclosed pamphlet,* which in the
main I think very seasonable and useful. It seems to me that,
in computing the sum total of the loss by absentees, you have
extended some articles beyond their due proportion — e. g. when
you charge the whole income of occasional absentees in the third
class ; and that you have charged some articles twice — e. g. when
you make distinct articles for law suits 90007., and for attendance
on employments and other business 80007., both which seem al-
ready charged in the third class. The tax you propose seems
very reasonable, and I wish it may take effect for the good of the
* Mr. Prior's celebrated List of the Absentees of Irel&nd, published in 1729.
EXTRACTS, ETC. 35
kingdom, which will be obliged to you if it can be brought about.
That it would be the interest of England to allow a free trade to
Ireland, I have been thoroughly convinced, ever since my being
in Italy and talking with the merchants there ; and have upon all
occasions endeavom^ed to convince English gentlemen thereof,
and have convinced some both in and out of parliament ; and I
remember to have discoursed with you at large upon the subject
when I was last in Dublin. Your hints for setting up new
manufactures seem reasonable ; but the spirit of projecting is lowr
in Ireland. — Now as to my o\vn affair, I must tell you I have no
intention of continuing in these parts, but in order to settle the
college his majesty hath been pleased to found in Bermuda ; and
I want only the payment of the king's grant to transport myself
and family thither. I am now employing the interest of my
friends in England for that purpose, and I have wrote in the most
pressing manner either to get the money paid, or at least such an
authentic answer as I may count upon, and may direct me what
course I am to take. Dr. Clayton indeed hath wrote me word,
that he hath been informed by a very good friend of mine, who
had it from a very great man, that the money will not be paid.
But I cannot think a hearsay at second or third hand to be a
proper answer for me to act upon. I have therefore suggested
to the doctor, that it might be proper for him to go himself to
the treasury with the letters patent containing the grant in his
hands, and there make his demand in form. I have also wrote
to others to use their interest at court ; though indeed one would
have thought all solicitation at an end when once I had obtained
a grant under his majesty's hand and the broad seal of England.
As to my own going to London and soliciting in person, I think
it reasonable first to see what my friends can do ; and the rather
because I shall have small hopes that my solicitation will be re-
garded more than theirs. Be assured I long to know the upshot
of this matter, and that upon an explicit refusal I am determined
to return home, and that it is not at all in my thoughts to continue
abroad and hold my deanery. It is well known to many consi-
derable persons in England, that I might have had a dispensation
for holding it in my absence during life, and that I was much
pressed to it ; but I resolutely declined it ; and if our college
had taken place as soon as I once hoped it would, I should have
resigned before this time. A little after my coming to this is-
land, I entertained some thoughts of applying to his majesty
(when Dr. Clayton had received the 20,0007.), to translate our
college hither ; but have since seen cause to lay aside all thoughts
of that matter. I do assure you, bondjide, that I have no inten-
tion to stay here longer than I can get an authentic answer from
the government, which I have all the reason in the world to ex-
pect this summer ; for, upon all private accounts, I should like
D 2
36 EXTRACTS, ETC.
Derry better than New England. As to my being in this island,
I think I have already informed you that I have been at very
great expense in purchasing land and stock here, which might
supply the defects of Bermuda in yielding those provisions to
our college, the want of which was made a principal objection
against its situation in that island. To conclude, as I am here
in order to execute a design addressed for by parliament, and set
on foot by his majesty's royal charter, I think myself obliged to
wait the event, whatever course is taken in Ireland about my
deanery. I have wrote to both the bishops of Raphoe and
Derry : but letters, it seems, are of uncertain passage ; your last
was half a year in coming, and I have had some a year after their
date, though often in two or three months, and sometimes less.
I must desire you to present my duty to both their lordships,
and acquaint them with what I have now wrote to you, in answer
to the kind message from my lord bishop of Derry conveyed by
your hands, for which pray return my humble thanks to his lord-
ship. My wife gives her service to you. She hath been lately
iJl of a miscarriage, but is now, I thank God, recovered. Our
little son is great joy to us : we are such fools as to think him
the most perfect thing in its kind that we ever saw.
Ex. 27. Newport, 20th of July, 1730. Since my last of the
7th of May, I have not had one line from the persons to whom I
had wrote to make the last instances for the 20,0007. This I im-
pute to an accident that we hear happened to a man of war, as it
was coming down the river bound for Boston, where it was ex-
pected some months ago, and is now daily looked for with the
new governor. The newspapers of last February mentioned Dr.
Clayton's being made bishop. I wish him joy of his preferment,
since I doubt we are not likely to see him in this part of the
world.
The settlement of affairs with his fellow executor Mr. Marshal,
with a Mr. Partinton Vanhomrigh, and with the creditors of Mrs.
Esther Vanhomrigh in London, involved our Author in a great
deal of trouble for near four years. His letters to Mr. T. Prior
are full of this business, which cannot at this day be interesting to
any body. It is thought proper, however, to subjoin a few extracts
from them, as a proof how strongly he felt this embarrassment in
the midst of his Bermuda project.
Ex. 28. London, 8th of Dec., 1724. Provided you bring my
affair with Partinton to a complete issue before Christmas day
come twelvemonth, by reference or otherwise, that I may have
my dividend, whatever it is, clear, I do hereby promise you to
increase the premium I promised you before by its fifth part,
whatever it amounts to.
Ex. 29. 20th of July, 1725. Our South Sea stock is con-
EXTRACTS, ETC. 37
firmed to be what I already informed you, 880/., somewhat more
or less. But before you get Partinton and Marshal to sign the
letters of attorney or make the probates, nay before you tell
them of the value of subscribed annuities, you should by all
means, in my opinion, insist, carry, and secure two points : first,
that Partinton should consent to a partition of this stock, &c.,
which I believe he cannot deny : secondly, that Marshal should
engage not to touch one penny of it till all debts on this side the
water are satisfied. I even desire you would take advice, and
legally secure it in such sort that he may not touch it if he would,
till the said debts are paid. It would be the wrongest thing in
the world, and give me the greatest pain possible to think, we did
not administer in the justest sense. Whatever therefore appears
to be due, let it be instantly paid ; here is money sufficient to do
it. I must therefore entreat you once for all to clear up and
agree with Marshal what is due, and then make an end by paying
that which it is a shame was not paid sooner. For God's sake
adjust, finish, conclude any way with Partinton ; for at the rate
we have gone on these two years, we may go on twenty. In
your next let me know what you have proposed to him and Mar-
shal, and how they relish it. I hoped to have been in Dublin by
this time ; but business grows out of business, P. S. Bermuda
prospers.
Ex. 30. 16th of October, 1725. I beg you will lose no more
time, but take proper methods out of hand for selling the S. S.
stock and annuities. I have very good reason to apprehend they
will sink in their value, and desire you to let Vanhomrigh Par-
tinton and Mr. Marshal know as much. The less there is to be
expected from them, the more I must hope from you. I know
not how to move them at this distance but by you ; and if what
I have already said will not do, I profess myself to be at a loss
for words to move you. You have told me Partinton was will-
ing to refer matters to an arbitration, but not of lawyers ; and
that Marshal would refer them only to lawyers. For my part,
rather than fail, I am for referring them to any honest knowing
person or persons, whether lawyers or not lawyers ; and if M.
will not come into this, I desire you will do all you can to oblige
him, either by persuasion or otherwise : particularly represent to
him my resolution of going (with God's blessing) in April next
to Bermuda, which will probably make it his interest to compro-
mise matters out of hand. But if he will not, agree if possible
with P. to force him to compliance in putting an end to our
disputes.
Ex. 31. 2nd of Dec., 1725. I must repeat to you that I ear-
nestly wish to see things brought to some conclusion with Par-
tinton. Dear Tom, it requires some address, diligence, and
management to bring business of this kind to an issue, which
38 EXTRACTS, ETC.
should not seem impossible, considering it can be none of our in-
terests to spend our lives and substance in law. I am willing to
refer things to an arbitration, even not of lawyers. Pray push
this point, and let me hear from you upon it.
Ex.32, llth of Dec., 1725. It is now near three months since
I told you there were strong reasons for haste [in selling the S. S.
stock], and these reasons grow every moment stronger. I need
say no more ; I can say no more to you.
Ex. 33. 30th of Dec., 1725. I am exceedingly plagued by
these creditors, and am quite tired and ashamed of repeating the
same answer to them, that I expect every post to hear what Mr.
Marshal and you think of their pretensions, and that then they
shall be paid. It is now a full twelvemonth that I have been ex-
pecting to hear from you on this head, and expecting in vain. I
shall therefore expect no longer, nor hope nor desire to know
what Mr. Marshal thinks, but only what you think, or what appears
to you by Mrs. Vanhomrigh's papers and accounts. This is what
solely depends on you, what I sued for several months ago, and
what you promised to send me an account of long before this time.
Ex. 34. 20th of Jan., 1726. I am worried to death by
creditors : I see nothing done, neither towards clearing their ac-
counts, nor settling the effects here, nor finishing affairs with
Partinton. I am at an end of my patience and almost of my
wits. My conclusion is, not to wait a moment longer for
Marshal, nor to have, if possible, any further regard to him, but
to settle all things without him, and whether he will or no. How
far this is practicable, you will know by consulting an able
lawyer. I have some confused notion that one executor may
act by himself; but how far, and in what case, you will
thoroughly be informed. It is an infinite shame that the debts
here are not cleared up and paid. I have borne the shock and
importunity of creditors about a twelvemonth, and am never the
nearer — have nothing new to say to them: judge you what I
feel. But I have already said all that can be said on this head.
It is also no small disappointment to find that we have been near
three years doing nothing with respect. to bringing things to a
conclusion with Partinton. Is there no way of making a separate
agreement with him ? Is there no way of prevailing with him to
consent to the sale of the reversion ? Let me entreat you to pro-
ceed with a little management and despatch in these matters, and
inform yourself particularly whether I may not come to a refer-
ence or arbitration with P., even though M. should be against it ;
whether I may not take steps that may compel M. to an agree-
ment ; what is the practised method, when one of two executors
is negligent or unreasonable ; in a word, whether an end may not
be put to these matters one way or other. I do not doubt your
skill : I only wish you were as active to serve an old friend as I
should be in any affair of yours that lay in my power.
EXTRACTS, ETC. 39
Ex. 35. 3rd of Sept., 1726. I must desire you to send me
in a letter a full state of the particulars of our pretensions upon
Partinton, that I may have a view of the several emoluments
expected from this suit, and the grounds of such expectation,
these affairs being at present a little out of my thoughts ; that
so having considered the whole, I may take advice here, and
write thereupon to Marshal, in order to terminate that affair this
winter if possible. It is worth while to exert for once. If this
be done, the whole partition may be made, and your share dis-
tinctly known and paid you between this and Christmas. But I
know it cannot be done unless you exert. As for M., I had
from the beginning no opinion of him, no more than you have ;
otherwise I should not have troubled any body else.
Ex. 36. I2t/i of Nov., 1726. I have writ to you often for
certain eclaircissements which are absolutely necessary to settle
matters with the creditors, who importune me to death. You
have no notion of the misery I have undergone, and do daily
undergo on that account. For God's sake disembrangle these
matters, that I may once be at ease to mind my other affairs of
the college, which are enough to employ ten persons. I will not
repeat what I have said in my former letters, but hope for your
answer to all the points contained in them, and immediately to
what relates to despatching the creditors. I propose to make a
purchase of land (which is very dear) in Bermuda, upon my first
going thither ; for which, and for other occasions, I shall want
all the money I can possibly raise against my voyage. For this
purpose it would be a mighty service to me if the affairs with P.
were adjusted this winter by reference or compromise. The
state of all that business, which I desired you to send me, I do
now again earnestly desire. What is doing, or has been done, in
that matter? Can you contrive no way for bringing P. to an im-
mediate sale of the remaining lands ? What is your opinion and
advice upon the whole ? What prospect can I have, if I leave
things at sixes and sevens when I go to another world, seeing all
my remonstrances even now that I am near at hand are to no
purpose ? I know money is at present at a very high foot of
exchange. I shall therefore wait a little in hope's it may become
lower : but it will at all events be necessary to draw over my
money. I have spent here a matter of six hundred pounds more
than you know of, for which I have not yet drawn over. I had
some other points to speak to, but am cut short.
Ex. 37. 1st of Dec., 1726. I have lately received several
letters of yours, which have given me a good deal of light with
respect to Mrs. Vanhomrigh's affairs. But I am so much em-
ployed on the business of Bermuda, that I have hardly time to
mind any thing else. I shall nevertheless snatch the present
moment to write you short answers to the queries you propose.
40 EXTRACTS, ETC.
As to Bermuda, it is now, &c. [See above, Ex. 12.] You also
desire I would speak to Ned. You must know Ned hath parted
fronTme ever since the beginning of last July. I allowed him
six shillings a week, beside his annual wages ; and beside an entire
livery, I gave him old clothes which he made a penny of. But
the creature grew idle and worthless to a prodigious degree : he
was almost constantly out of the way ; and when I told him of
it, he used to give me warning. I bore with this behaviour about
nine months, and let him know I did it in compassion to him,
and in hopes he would mend : but finding no hopes of this, I
was forced at last to discharge him, and take another, who is as
diligent as he was negligent. When he parted from me, I paid
him between six and seven pounds which was due to him, and
likewise gave him money to bear his charges to Ireland, whither
he said he was going. I met him the other day in the street,
and asking why he was not gone to Ireland to his wife and child,
he made answer that he had neither wife nor child. He got, it
seems, into another service when he left me, but continued only
a fortnight in it. The fellow is silly to an incredible degree, and
spoiled by good usage. I shall take care the pictures be sold in
an auction. Mr. Smilert, whom I know to be a very honest,
skilful person, in his profession, will see them put into an auction
at the proper time, which he tells me is not till the town fills with
company, about the meeting of parliament. I remember to have
told you I could know more of matters here than perhaps peo-
ple generally do. You thought we did wrong" to sell : but the
stocks are fallen, and depend upon it they will fall lower.
After our Author's return to Europe, the correspondence was re-
newed with Mr. Prior. The following extracts will continue Dr.
Berkeley's history to a late period of his life.
Ex. 38. Green-street, 13th of March, 1733. I thank you for
the account you sent me of the house, &c., on Arbor hill. I
approve of that and the terms ; so you will fix the agreement for
this year to come (according to the tenor of your letter) with
Mr. Lesly, to whom my humble service. I remember one of
that name, a good sort of man, a class or two below me in the
college. I am willing to pay for the \vhole year commencing
from the 25th inst., but cannot take the furniture, &c. into my
charge till I go over, which I truly propose to do as soon as my
wife is able to travel. She expects to be brought to bed in two
months ; and having had two miscarriages, one of which she was
extremely ill of, in Rhode Island, she cannot venture to stir be-
fore she is delivered. This circumstance not foreseen occasions
an unexpected delay, putting off to summer the journey I pro-
posed to take in spring. I hope our affair with Partinton will
be finished this term. We are here on the eve of great events,
EXTRACTS, ETC. 41
to-morrow being the day appointed for a pitched battle in the
house of commons.
Ex. 39. 27th of March, 1733. This comes to desire you will
exert yourself on a public account, which you know is acting in
your proper sphere. It has been represented here, that in certain
parts of the kingdom of Ireland justice is much obstructed for
the want of justices of the peace, which is only to be remedied
by taking in Dissenters. A great man hath spoke to me on this
point. I told him the view of this was plain ; and that in order
to facilitate this view I suspected the account was invented, for
that I did not think it true. Depend upon it, better service can-
not be done at present than by putting this matter as soon as
possible in a fair light, and that supported by such proofs as may
be convincing here. I therefore recommend it to you to make
the speediest and exactest inquiry that you can into the truth of
this fact, the result whereof send to me. Send me also the best
estimate you can get of the number of papists, dissenters, and
churchmen throughout the kingdom ; an estimate also of dis-
senters considerable for rank, figure, and estate; an estimate also
of the papists in Ulster. " Be as clear in these points as you can.
"When the above-mentioned point was put to me, I said that in
my apprehension there was no such lack of justice or magistrates
except in Kerry or Connaught, where the dissenters were not
considerable enough to be of any use in redressing the evil. Let
me know particularly whether there be any such want of justices
of the peace in the county of Londonderry, or whether men are
aggrieved there by being obliged to repair to them at too great
distances. The prime sergeant Singleton may probably be a
means of assisting you to get light in these particulars- The
despatch you give this affair will be doing the best service to
your country. Enable me to clear up the truth, and to support
it by such reasons and testimonies as may be felt or credited.
Facts I am myself too much a stranger to, though I promise to
make the best use I can of those you furnish me with, towards
taking off an impression which I fear is already deep. If I suc-
ceed, I shall congratulate my being here at this juncture.
Ex. 40. 14th of April, 1733. I thank you for your last, par-
ticularly for that part of it wherein you promise the number of
the justices of peace, of the papists also and the protestants
throughout the kingdom, taken out of proper offices. I did not
know such inventories had been taken by public authority,
and am glad to find it so. Your argument for proving papists
but three to one I had before made use of ; but some of the pre-
mises are not clear to Englishmen. Nothing can do so well as
the estimate you speak of, to be taken from a public office ; which
therefore I impatiently expect. As to the design I hinted, whe-
ther it is to be set on foot there or here I cannot say. I hope it
will take effect no where. It is yet a secret ; I may nevertheless
42 EXTRACTS, ETC.
discover something of it in a little time, and you may then hear
more. The political state of things on this side the water I need
say nothing of : the public papers probably say too much ; though
it cannot be denied much may be said. I must desire you in
your next to let me know what premium there is for getting into
the public fund, which allows five per cent, in Ireland ; and whe-
ther a considerable sum might easily be purchased therein ; also
what is the present legal current interest in Ireland ; and whether
it be easy to lay out money on a secure mortgage where the in-
terest should be punctually paid. I shall be also glad to hear
a word about the law-suit.
Ex. 41. 19th of April, 1733. I thank you for your last ad-
vices, and the catalogue of justices particularly ; of all which
proper use shall be made. The number of protestants and pa-
pists throughout the kingdom, which in your last but one you
said had been lately and accurately taken by the collectors of
hearth-money, you promised, but have omitted to send : I shall
hope for it in your next.
Ex. 42. 1st of May, 1733. I long for the numeration of pro-
testant and popish families, which you'tell me has been taken by
the collectors. A certain person now here hath represented the
papists as seven to one, which I have ventured to affirm is wide
of the truth. What lights you gave me I have imparted to those
who will make the proper use of them. I do not find that any
thing was intended to be done by act of parliament here : as to
that, your information seems' right. I hope they will be able to
do nothing any where. The approaching act at Oxford is much
spoken of. The entertainments of music, &c., in the theatre,
will be the finest that ever were known. For other public news,
I reckon you know as much as yours.
Ex. 43. 1th of Jan., 1734. My family are, I thank God, all
well at present : but it will be impossible for us to travel before
the spring. As to myself, by regular living and rising very
early, which I find the best thing in the world, I am very much
mended : insomuch that though I cannot read, yet my thoughts
seem as distinct as ever. I do therefore for amusement pass my
early hours in thinking of certain mathematical matters, which
may possibly produce something. You say nothing of the law-
suit. I hope it is to surprise me in your next with an account of
its being finished. Perhaps the house and garden on Montpellier
hill may be got a good pennyworth, in which case I should not
be averse to buying it. It is probable a tenement in so remote
a part may be purchased at an easy rate.
Ex.44. 15th of Jan., 1734. I received last pest your three
letters together, for which advices I give you thanks. I had at
the same time two from Baron Wainwright on the same account.
That without my intermeddling T may have the offer of some-
EXTRACTS, ETC. 43
what, I am apt to think, which may make me easy in point of
situation and income, though I question whether the dignity
will much contribute to make me so. Those who imagine, as
you write, that I may pick and choose, to be sure think that I
have been making my court here all this time, and would never
believe (what is most true) that I have not been at the court, or
at the minister's, but once these seven years. The care of my
health and the love of retirement have prevailed over whatsoever
ambition might have come to my share. — Pray send me as
particular an account as you can get of the country, the situation,
the house, the circumstances of the bishopric of Cloyne : and let
me know the charge of coming into a bishopric, i. e. the amount
of the fees and first-fruits.
Ex. 45. 19th of Jan., 1734. Since my last I have kissed
their majesties' hands for the bishopric of Cloyne, having first
received an account from the duke of Newcastle's office, setting
forth that his grace had laid before the king the duke of Dorset's
recommendation, which was readily complied with by his majesty.
The condition of my own health and that of my family will not
suffer me to travel at this season of the year : I must therefore
entreat you to take care of the fees and patent. I shall be glad
to hear from you what you can learn about this bishopric of
Cloyne.
Ex. 46. 22nd of Jan., 1734. On the 6th instant, the duke
sent over his plan, wherein I was recommended to the bishopric
of Cloyne : on the 14th I received a letter from the secretary's
office, signifying his majesty's having immediately complied
therewith, and containing the duke of Newcastle's very obliging
compliments thereupon. In all this I was nothing surprised, his
grace the lord lieutenant having declared on this side the water
that he intended to serve me the first opportunity, though at the
same time he desired me to say nothing of it. As to the A. B. D.
(Archbishop of Dublin, Dr. Hoadley), I readily believe he gave
no opposition. He knew it would be to no purpose, and the
queen herself had expressly enjoined him not to oppose me : this
I certainly knew when the A. B. was here, though I never saw
him. Notwithstanding all which, I had a strong penchant to be
dean of Dromore, and not to take the charge of a bishopric
upon me. Those who formerly opposed my being dean of Down
have thereby made me a bishop ; which rank, how desirable
soever it may seem, I had before absolutely determined to keep
out of. The situation of my own and my family's health will
not suffer me to think of travelling before April. However, as
on that side it may be thought proper that I should vacate the
deanery of Derry, I am ready, as soon as I hear the bishopric of
Cloyne is void by Dr. Synge's being legally possessed of the see
of Ferns, to send over a resignation of my deanery : and I
44 EXTRACTS, ETC.
authorize you to signify as much, where you think proper. I
should be glad you sent me a rude plan of the house from Bishop
Synge's description, that I may forecast the furniture. The
great man, whom you mention as my opponent, concerted his
measures but ill. For it appears by your letter, that at the very
time when my brother informed the speaker of his soliciting
against me there, the duke's plan had already taken place here,
and the resolution was passed in my favour at St. James's. I
am nevertheless pleased, as it gave me an opportunity of being
obliged to the speaker, which I shall not fail to acknowledge
when I see him, which will probably be very soon, for he is
expected here as soon as the session is up. My family are well,
though I myself have gotten a cold this sharp foggy weather,
having been obliged, contrary to my wonted custom, to be much
abroad, paying compliments and returning visits.
Ex. 47. 28th of Jan., 1734. In a late letter you told me the
bishopric of Cloyne is let for 1200/. per annum, out of \vhich
there is a small rent-charge of interest to be paid. I am in-
formed by a letter of yours which I received this day, that there
is also a demesne of 800 acres adjoining to the episcopal house.
I desire to be informed .by your next, whether these 800 acres
are understood to be over and above the 12007. per annum, and
whether they were kept by former bishops in their own hands.
In my last 1 mentioned to you the impossibility of my going to
Ireland before spring, and that I would send a resignation of my
deanery, if need was, immediately upon the vacancy of the see
of Cloyne. I have been since told that this would be a step of
some hazard, viz. in case of the king's death, wrhich I hope is far
off: however one would not care to do a thing which may seem
incautious and imprudent in the eye of the world. Not but
that I would rather do it than be obliged to go over at this
season. But as the bulk of the deanery is in tithes, and a very
inconsiderable part in land, the damage to my successor would be
but a trifle upon my keeping it to the end of March. I would
know what you advise on this matter.
Ex. 48. 7th of Feb., 1734. I have been for several days laid
up with the gout. When I last wrote to you I was confined,
but at first knew not whether it might not be a sprain or hurt
from the shoe. But it soon showed itself a genuine fit of the
gout in both my feet, by the pain, inflammation, swelling, £c.,
attended with a fever and restless nights. With my feet lapped
up in flannels, and raised on a cushion, I receive the visits of my
friends, who congratulate me on this occasion as much as on my
preferment.
Ex. 49. 2nd of March, 1734. As to what you write of the
prospect of new vacancies, and your advising that I should apply
for a better bishopric, I thank you for your advice. But if it
EXTRACTS, ETC. 45
pleased God the bishop of Derry were actually dead, and there
were ever so many promotions thereupon, I would not apply, or
so much as open my mouth to any one friend to make an interest
for getting any of them. To be so very hasty for a removal
even before I had seen Cloync, would argue a greater greediness
for lucre than I hope I shall ever have. Not but that, all things
considered, I have a fair demand upon the government for
expense of time and pains and money on the faith of public
charters : as likewise because I find the income of Cloyne con-
siderably less than was at first represented. I had no notion
that I should, over and above the charge of patents and first-
fruits, be obliged to pay between four and five hundred pounds
for which I shall never see a farthing in return, besides interest
I am to pay for upwards of 300/., which principal devolves upon
my successor. No more was I apprised of three curates, viz.
two at Youghal and one at Aghadoe, to be paid by me. And
after all, the certain value of the income I have not yet learned.
My predecessor writes that he doth not know the true value
himself, but believes it may be about 1200/. per annum including
the fines, and striking them at a medium for seven years. The
uncertainty, I believe, must proceed from the fines; but it may
be supposed that he knows exactly what the rents are, and what
the tithes, and what the payments to the curates ; of which
particulars you may probably get an account from him. Sure I
am, that if I had gone to Derry, and taken my affairs into my
own hands, I might have made considerably above 1000Z. a year,
after paying the curates' salaries. And as for charities, such as
schoolboys, widows, &c., those ought not to be reckoned, because
all sorts of charities, as well as contingent expenses, must be
much higher on a bishop than a dean. But in all appearance,
subducting the money that I must advance, and the expense of
the curates in Youghal and Aghadoe, I shall not have remaining
1000/. per annum ; not even though the whole income was worth
12007., of which I doubt, by Bishop Synge's uncertainty, that it
will be found to fall short. I thank you for the information you
gave me of a house to be hired in Stephen's Green. I should
like the Green very well for situation : but I have no thoughts of
taking a house in town suddenly ; nor would it be convenient for
my affairs so to do, considering the great expense I must be at
on coming into a small bishopric. My gout has left me. I have
nevertheless a weakness remaining in my feet, and what is worse,
an exti'eme tenderness, the effect of my long confinement. I
was abroad the beginning of this week to take a little air in the
park, which gave me a cold, and obliged me to physic and two or
three days' confinement. I have several things to prepare in
order to my journey, and shall make all the despatch I can. But
why I should endanger my health by too much hurry, or why I
46 EXTRACTS, ETC.
should precipitate myself in this convalescent state into doubtful
weather and cold lodgings on the road, I do not see. There is
but one reason that I can comprehend why the great men there
should be so urgent ; viz. for fear that I should make an interest
here in case of vacancies ; which I have already assured you I do
not intend to do ; so they may be perfectly easy on that score.
Ex. 50. 13th of March, 1734. I am bond fide making all the
haste I can. My library is to be embarked on board the first
ship bound to Cork, of which I am in daily expectation. I
suppose it will be no difficult matter to obtain an order from the
commissioners to the custom-house officers there to let it pass
duty-free, which at first word was granted here on my coming
from America. I wish you would mention this, with my
respects, to Dr. Coghil. After my journey I trust that I shall
find my health much better, though at present I am obliged to
guard against the east wind, with which we have been annoyed
of late, and which never fails to disorder my head. I am in
hopes however, by what I hear, that I shall be able to reach
Dublin before my lord lieutenant leaves it. I shall reckon it my
misfortune if I do not : I am sure it shall not be for want of
doing all that lies in my power. 1 am in a hurry. I am obliged
to manage my health, and I have many things to do. I must
desire you at your leisure to look out a lodging for us, to be
taken only by the week : for I shall stay no longer in Dublin
than needs must. I would have the lodging taken for the 10th
of April.
Ex. 51. 20th of March, 1734. There is one Mr. Cox, a
clergyman, son to the late Dr. Cox near Drogheda, who, I
understand, is under the patronage of Dr. Coghil. Pray, inform
yourself of his character; whether he be a good man, one of
parts and learning, and how he is provided for. This you may
possibly do without my being named. Perhaps my brother may
know something of him. I should be glad to be apprised of his
character on my coming to Dublin. No one has recommended
him to me ; but his father was an ingenious man, and I saw two
sensible women his sisters at Rhode Island, which inclines me to
think him a man of merit; and such only I would prefer. I
have had certain persons recommended to me ; but I shall con-
sider their merits preferably to all recommendation. If you can
answer for the ingenuity, learning, and good qualities of the
person you mentioned preferably to that of others in competition,
I should be very glad to serve him.
Ex. 52. St. Alban's, 30th of April, 1734. I was deceived by
the assurance given me of two ships going to Cork. In the
event, one could not take in my goods, and the other took freight
for another port. So that, after all their delays and prevarica-
tions, I have been obliged to ship off my things for Dublin on
EXTRACTS, ETC. 47
board of Captain Leach. From this involuntary cause I have
been detained here so long beyond my intentions, which really
were to have got to Dublin before the parliament, which now I
much question whether I shall be able to do, considering that as
I have two young children with me, I cannot make such despatch
on the road as otherwise I might. The lodging in Jervais-street
which you formerly procured for me will, I think, do very well.
I shall want a stable for six coach-horses : for so many I bring
with me. *
* The following letters, not hitherto published in the author's works, are copied from
the Gentleman's Magazine, vol. ci.
DEAR MR. SMIBERT, Cloyne, 31st of May, 1735.
A great variety and hurry of affairs, joined with ill stile of health, hath deprived me
of the pleasure of. corresponding with you for this good while past, and indeed I am very
sensible that the task of answering a letter is so disagreeable to you, that you can well
dispense with receiving one of mere compliment, or which doth not bring something
pertinent and useful. You are the proper judge whether the following suggestions may
be so or no. I do not pretend to give advice, I only offer a few hints for your own
reflection.
What if there be in my neighbourhood a great trading city ? What if this city be
four times as populous as Boston, and a hundred times as rich? What if there be more
faces to paint, and better pay for painting, and yet nobody to paint them ? Whether it
would be disagreeable to you to receive gold instead of paper'? Whether it might be
worth your while to embark with your busts, your prints, and your drawings, and once
more cross the Atlantic? Whether you might not find full business in Cork, rnd live
there much cheaper than in London? Whether all these things put together might not
be worth a serious thought? I have one more question to ask, and that is, whether myr-
tles grow in or near Boston without pots, stoves, or green-houses, in the open air ? I as-
sure you they do in my garden. So much for the climate. Think of what hath been
said, and God direct you for the best. I am, good Mr. Smibert, your affectionate
humble servant, GEORGE CLOYNE.
P. S. My wife is exceedingly your humble servant, and joins in compliments both to
you and yours. We should be glad to hear the state of your health and family. We
have now three boys, doubtful which is the prettiest. My two eldest passed well through
the small pox last winter. I have my own health better in Cloyne than I had either in
old England or New.
DEAR SIR, Cloiine, 30th of June, 1736.
In this remote corner of Imokilly, where I hear only the rumours and echoes of
things, I know not whether you are still sailing on the ocean, or already arrived to take
possession of your new dignity and estate. In the former case I wish you a good voy-
age, in the latter I welcome you and wish you joy. I have a letter written and lying by
me these three years, which I knew not whither or how to send you. But now you
are returned to our hemisphere, I premise myself the pleasure of being able to corre-
spond with you. You who live to be a spectator of odd scenes, are come into a world
much madder and odder than that you left. \Ve also in this island are growing an odd
and mad people. We were odd before, but I was not sure of our having the genius ne-
cessary to become mad. But some late steps of a public nature give sufficient proof
thereof. Who knows but when you have settled your affairs, and looked about and
laughed enough in England, you may have leisure and curiosity to visit this side of the
water? You may land within two miles of my house, and find that from Bristol to
Cloyne is a shorter and much easier journey than from London to Bristol. 1 would go
about with you, and show you some scenes perhaps as beautiful as you have seen in all
your travels. My own garden is not without its curiosity, having a great number of
myrtles, several of which are seven or eight feet high. They grow naturally, with
no more trouble or art than gooseberry-bushes. This is literally true. Of this part of
the world it may be truly said, that it is —
48 EXTRACTS, ETC.
Ex. 53. Cloyne, 5th of March, 1737. I here send you what
you desire. If you approve of it, publish it in one or more
newspapers : if you have any objection, let me know it by the
next post. I mean, as you see, a brief abstract, which I could
wish were spread through the nation, that men may think on the
subject against next session. But I would not have this letter
made public sooner than a week after the publication of the third
part of my Querist, which I have ordered to be sent to you. I
believe you may receive it about the time that this comes to
your hands ; for, as I told you in a late letter, I have hastened
it as much as possible. I have used the same editor (Dr. Mad-
den) for this as for the two foregoing parts.
Our spinning school is in a thriving way. The children begin
to find a pleasure in being paid in hard money, which I under-
stand they will not give to their parents, but keep to buy clothes
for themselves. Indeed I found it difficult and tedious to bring
them to this, but I believe it will now do. I am building a
work-house for sturdy vagrants, and design to raise about two
acres of hemp for employing them. Can you put me in a way
of getting hemp-seed, or does your society distribute any ? It
is hoped your flax-seed will come in time. Last post a letter
from an English bishop tells me, a difference between the king
and prince is got into parliament, and that it seems to be big
with mischief, if a speedy expedient be not found to heal the
breach. It relates to the provision for his royal highness's family,
My three children have been ill : the eldest and youngest are re-
covered ; but George is still unwell.
[Enclosed in the above a Letter to A. B. Esq., from the
Querist, containing Thoughts on a national bank, printed in the
Dublin Journal.]
Ex. 54. Cloyne, 15th of Feb., 1741. Mr. Faulkner,— The fol-
lowing being a very safe and successful cure of the bloody flux,
which at this time is become so general, you will do well to make
it public. Give a heaped spoonful of common rosin powdered
in a little fresh broth, every five or six hours, till the bloody flux
is stopped ; which I have always found before a farthing's worth
of rosin was spent. If after the blood is staunched there re-
mains a little looseness, this is soon carried off by milk and water
Ver ubi longum lepidasque praebet
Jupiter brumas.
My wife most sincerely salutes you. We should without compliment be overjoyed to
see you. I am in hopes soon to hear of your welfare, and remain, dear Sir, your most
obedient and affectionate servant, G. CLOYNE.
Sir John James, Bart., of Bury St. Edmund's, the last baronet of that line, and Mr.
Smibert, an artist, of the Little Piazza, Covent Garden, but at the date of this letter
residing at Boston, New England, had accompanied Dean Berkeley in his Bermuda
expedition.
EXTRACTS, ETC. 49
boiled with a little chalk in it. This cheap and easy method I
have often tried of late, and never knew it fail. I am your
humble servant, A. B.
Ex. 55. Cloyne, 2£th of Feb., 1741. I find you have published
my remedy in the newspaper of this day. I now tell you that
the patients must be careful of their diet, and especially beware
of taking cold. The best diet I find to be plain broth of mutton
or fowl, without seasoning of any kind. Their drink should be,
till they are freed both from dysentery and diarrhoea, milk and
water, or plain water boiled with chalk (drunk warm), e. g. about
a large heaped spoonful to a quart. Sometimes I find it neces-
sary to give it every four hours, and to continue it for a dose or
two after the blood hath been stopped, to prevent relapses, which
ill management hath now and then occasioned. Given in due
time (the sooner the better) and with proper care, I take it to be
as sure a cure for a dysentery as the bark for an ague. It has
certainly by the blessing of God saved many lives, and continues
to save many lives, in my neighbourhood. I shall be glad to
know its success in any instances you may have tried it in.
Ex. 56. Cloyne, 26th of Feb., 1741. I believe there is no re-
lation that Mr. Sandys and Sir John Rushout have to Lord Wil-
mington, other than what I myself made by marrying Sir John
Rushout's sister to the late earl of Northampton, who was
brother to Lord Wilmington. Sandys is nephew to Sir John.
As to kindred or affinity, I take it to have very little place in
this matter. Nor do I think it possible to foretell whether the
ministry will be whig or tory. The people are so generally and
so much incensed, that (if I am rightly informed) both men and
measures must be changed before we see things composed. Be-
sides, in this disjointed state of things, the prince's party will be
more considered than ever. It is my opinion, there will be no
first minister in haste : and it will be new to act without one.
When I had wrote thus far, I received a letter from a considerable
hand on the other side the water, wherein are the following
words. " Though the whigs and tories had gone hand in hand
in their endeavour to demolish the late ministry, yet some true
whigs, to show themselves such, were for excluding all tories
from the new ministry. Lord Wilmington and duke of Dorset
declared they would quit, if they proceeded on so narrow a bot-
tom: and the prince, duke of Argyle, duke of Bedford, and
many others refused to come in, except there was to be a coalition
of parties. After many fruitless attempts to effect this, it was
at last achieved between eleven and twelve on Tuesday night, and
the prince went next morning to St. James's. It had been that
very evening quite despaired of: and the meeting of the parlia-
ment came on so fast, that there was a prospect of nothing but
great confusion." There is, I, hope, a prospect now of much
VOL. I. E
50 EXTRACTS, ETC.
better things. I much wanted to see this scheme prevail ; which
it has now done, and will, I trust, be followed by many happy
consequences.
Ex. 57. Cloyne, 19th of May, 1741. Though the flax seed
came in such quantity and so late, yet we have above one half
ourselves in ground ; the rest, together with our own seed, has
been given to our poor neighbours, and will, I doubt not, answer,
the weather being very favourable. The distresses of the sick
and poor are endless. The havoc of mankind in the counties of
Cork, Limerick, and some adjacent places hath been incredible.
The nation probably will not recover this loss in a century. The
other day, I heard one from the county of Limerick say, that
whole villages were entirely dispeopled. About two months
since, I heard Sir Richard Cox say, that five hundred were dead
in the parish where he lives, though in a country, I believe, not
very populous. It were to be wished people of condition were
at their seats in the country during these calamitous times,
which might provide relief and employment for the poor. Cer-
tainly, if these perish, the rich must be sufferers in the end.
We have tried in this neighbourhood the receipt of a decoction
of briar-roots for the bloody flux, which you sent me, and in
some cases found it useful. But that which we find the most
speedy, sure, and effectual cure above all others, is a heaped
spoonful of rosin dissolved and mixed over a fire with two or
three spoonfuls of oil, and added to a pint of broth for a clyster :
which, upon once taking, hath never been known to fail stopping
the bloody flux. At first I mixed the rosin in the broth : but
that was difficult, and not so speedy a cure.
Ex. 58. Cloyne, Feb., 1746. (With a letter signed Eubulus,
containing advice about the manner of clothing the militia
arrayed this year, which letter was printed in the Dublin Jour-
nal.) The above letter contains a piece of advice, which seems
to me not unseasonable or useless. You may make use of Faulk-
ner for conveying it to the public, without any intimation of the
author. There is handed about a lampoon against our troop,
which hath caused great indignation in the warriors of Cloyne.
lam informed that Dean Gervais had been looking for the Que-
rist, and could not find one in the shops, for my lord lieutenant,
at his desire. I wish you could get one, handsomely bound, for
his excellency ; or at least, the last published relating to the
Bank, which consisted of excerpta out of the three parts of the
Querist. I wrote to you before to procure two copies of this
for his excellency and Mr. Liddel.
Ex. 59. 24th of Jan., 1747. You asked me in your last let-
ter, whether we had not provided a house in Cloyne for the re-
ception and cure of sick persons. By your query it seems there
is some such report : but Avhat gave rise to it could be no more
EXTRACTS, ETC. 51
than this, viz. that we are used to lodge a few strolling sick with
a poor tenant or two in Cloyne, and employ a poor woman or
two to tend them, and supply them with a few necessaries from
our house. This may be magnified (as things gather in the
telling) into an hospital : but the truth is merely what I tell you.
I wish you would send me a pamphlet political now and then,
with what news you hear. Is there any apprehension of an in-
vasion upon Ireland?
Ex. 60. 6th of Feb.) 1747. Your manner of accounting for
the weather seems to have reason in it. And yet there still re-
mains something unaccountable, viz. why there should be no rain
in the regions mentioned. If the bulk, figure, situation, and
motion of the earth are given, and the luminaries remain the
same, should there not be a certain cycle of the seasons ever re-
turning at certain periods ? To me it seems, that the exhalations
perpetually sent up from the bowels of the earth have no small
share in the weather ; that nitrous exhalations produce cold and
frost ; and that the same causes which produce earthquakes within
the earth produce storms above it. Such are the variable causes
of our weather ; which if it proceeded only from fixed and given
causes, the changes thereof would be as regular as the vicissitudes
of the days, or the return of eclipses. I have writ this extem-
pore— valeat quantum valere potest.
Ex. 61. 9th of Feb., 1747. You ask me if I had no hints
from England about the primacy. I can only say, that last week
I had a letter from a person of no mean rank, who seemed to
wonder that he could not find I had entertained any thoughts of
the primacy, while so many others of our bench were so earnestly
contending for it. He added, that he hoped I would not take it
ill if my friends wished me in that station. My answer was,
that I am so far from soliciting, that I do not even wish for it ;
that I do not think myself the fittest man for that high post ;
and that therefore I neither have nor ever will ask it.
Ex. 62. 10th of Feb., 1747. In a letter from England, which
I told you came a week ago, it was said that several of our
Irish bishops were earnestly contending for the primacy. Pray,
who are they ? I thought Bishop Stone was only talked of at
present. I ask this question merely out of curiosity, and not
from any interest, I assure you. I am no man's rival or competi-
tor in this matter. I am not in love with feasts, and crowds, and
visits, and late hours, and strange faces, and a hurry of affairs
often insignificant. For my own private satisfaction, I had
rather be master of my time than wear a diadem. I repeat these
things to you, that I may not seem to have declined all steps to
the primacy out of singularity, or pride, or stupidity, but from
solid motives. As for the argument from the opportunity of
doing good, I observe, that duty obliges men in high station not
E2
52 EXTRACTS, ETC.
to decline occasions of doing good; but duty doth not oblige
men to solicit such high stations.
Ex. 63. 19th of Feb., 1747. The ballad you sent has mirth
in it, with a political sting in the tail. But the speech of Van
Haaren is excellent. I believe it Lord Chesterfield's. — We have
at present, and for these two days past, had frost and some snow.
Our military men are at length sailed from Cork harbour. We
hear they are designed for Flanders.
I must desire you to make at leisure the most exact and dis-
tinct inquiry you can, into the characters of the senior fellows,
as to their behaviour, temper, piety, parts, and learning : also to
make a list of them, with each man's character annexed to his
name. I think it of so great consequence to the public to have
a good provost, that I would willingly look beforehand, and stir
a little to prepare an interest, or at least to contribute my mite
where I properly may, in favour of a worthy man to fill that
post, when it shall become vacant. — Dr. Hales, in a letter to me,
has made very honourable mention of you to me. It would not
be amiss if you should correspond with him, especially for the
sake of granaries and prisons.
Ex. 64. 20th of Feb., 1747. Though the situation of the
earth with respect to the sun changes, yet the changes are fixed
and regular : if, therefore, this were the cause of the variation of
the winds, the variation of winds must be regular, i. e. regularly
returning in a cycle. To me it seems, that the variable cause of
the variable winds are the subterraneous fires, which constantly
burning, but altering their operation according to the various
quantity or kind of combustible materials they happen to meet
with, send up exhalations, more or less, of this or that species,
which diversly fermenting in the atmosphere, produce uncertain,
variable winds and tempests. This, if I mistake not, is the true
solution of that crux. As to the papers about petrifactions,
which I sent to you and Mr. Simon, I do not well remember the
contents. But be you so good as to look them over, and show
them to some others of your society. And if after this you shall
think them worth publishing in your collections, you may do as
you please. Otherwise I would not have things hastily and
carelessly written thrust into public view.
[ The following anonymous piece, on a subject connected with the
preceding, may deserve a place here. It is in the bishop's hand-
writing, and seems to have been inserted in one of the London
prints.~\
TO THE PUBLISHER.
SIR, — Having observed it hath been offered as a reason to
persuade the public, that the late shocks felt in and about Lon-
EXTRACTS, ETC. 53
don were not caused by an earthquake, because the motion was
lateral, which, it is asserted, the mption of an earthquake never
is, I take upon me to affirm the contrary. I have myself felt an
earthquake at Messina in the year 1718, when the motion was
horizontal or lateral, It did no harm in that city, but threw
down several houses about a day's journey from thence.
We are not to think the late shocks merely an airquake, as
they call it, on account of signs and changes in the air, such
being usually observed to attend earthquakes. There is a cor-
respondence between the subterraneous air and our atmosphere.
It is probable that storms or great concussions of the air do
often, if not always, owe their origin to vapours or exhalations
issuing from below.
I remember to have heard Count Tezzani, at Catania, say,
that some hours before the memorable earthquake of 1692,
which overturned the whole city, he observed a line extended in
the air, proceeding, as he judged, from exhalations poised and
suspended in the atmosphere; also that he heard a hollow,
frightful murmur about a minute before the shock. Of 25,000
inhabitants 18,000 absolutely perished ; not to mention others
who were miserably bruised and wounded. There did not escape
so much as one single house. The streets were narrow, and the
buildings high; so there was no safety in running into the
streets: but on the first tremor (which happens a small space,
perhaps a few minutes, before the downfall) they found it the
safest way to stand under a door-case, or at the corners of the
house.
The count was dug out of the ruins of his own house, which
had overwhelmed about twenty persons, only seven whereof
were got out alive. Though he rebuilt his house with stone,
yet he ever after lay in a small adjoining apartment made of
reeds, plaistered over. Catania was rebuilt more regular and
beautiful than ever : the houses indeed are lower, and the streets
broader than before, for security against future shocks. By
their account^ the first shock seldom or never doth the mischief :
but the repUvke, as they term them, are to be dreaded. The
earth, I was told, moved up and down like the boiling of a pot,
terra bollente di sotto in sopra, to use their own expression. This
sort of subsultive motion is ever accounted the most dangerous.
Pliny, in the second book of his Natural History, observes,
that all earthquakes are attended with a great stillness of the air.
The same was observed at Catania. Pliny further observes, that
a murmuring noise precedes the earthquake. He also remarks,
that there is signum in ccelo, prceceditque motufuturo, aut interdiu,
out paulo post occasum sereno, ceu tennis linea nubis in longum por-
recta spatiwn : which agrees with what was observed by Count
Tezzani and others at Catania. And all these things plainly
54 EXTRACTS, ETC.
show the mistake of those who surmise that noises and signs in
the air do not belong to, or betoken, an earthquake, but only an
airquake.
The naturalist above cited, speaking of the earth, saith, that
varie quatitur, up and down sometimes, at others from side to
side. He adds, that the effects are very various : cities, one
while demolished, another swallowed up; sometimes over-
whelmed by water, at other times consumed by fire bursting
from the earth : one while the gulf remains open and yawning ;
another, the sides close, not leaving the least trace or sign of the
city swallowed up.
Britain is an island — maritima autem mazime quatiuntur, saith
Pliny — and in this island are many mineral and sulphureous
waters. I see nothing in the natural constitution of London, or
the parts adjacent, that should render an earthquake impossible
or improbable. Whether there be any thing in the moral state
thereof that should exempt it from that fear, I leave others to
judge. I am your humble servant, A. (G.) B.
Ex. 65. Cloyne, 22nd of March, 1747. As to what you say,
that the primacy would have been a glorious thing, for my part
I do not see, all things considered, the glory of wearing the
name of primate in these days, or of getting so much money, a
thing every tradesman in London may get if he pleases. I
should not choose to be primate, in pity to my children : and for
doing good to the world, I imagine I may, upon the whole, do
as much in a lower station.
Ex. 66. 23rd of June., 1746. I perceive the earl of Chester-
field is, whether absent or present, a friend to Ireland ; and 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. As
my own wishes and endeavours, howsoever weak and ineffectual,
have had the same tendency, I flatter myself that on this score
he honours me with his regard ; which is an ample recompence
for more public merit than I can pretend to. As you transcribed
a line from his letter relating to me, so in return I send you a line
from a letter of the bishop of Gloucester's, relating to you; —
I formerly told you I had mentioned you to the bishop when I
sent your scheme : — these are his words : " I have had a great
deal of discourse with your lord lieutenant. He expressed his
good esteem of Mr. Prior and his character, and commended him
as one who had no view in life but to do the utmost good he is
capable of. As he has seen the scheme, he may have opportunity
of mentioning it to as many of the cabinet as he pleases : but it
will not be a fashionable doctrine at this time." So far the
bishop. You are doubtless in the right on all proper occasions
to cultivate a correspondence with Lord Chesterfield. When
EXTRACTS, ETC. 55
you write, you will perhaps let him know in the properest man-
ner the thorough sense I have of the honour he does me in his
remembrance, and my concern at not having been able to wait oh
him.
Ex. 67. 3rd of July, 1746. I send you back my letter, with
a new paragraph to be added at the end, where you see the /\.
Lord Chesterfield's letter does great honour both to you and
his excellency. The nation should not lose the opportunity of
profiting by such a viceroy, which indeed is a rarity not to be
met with every season, which grows not on every tree. I hope
your society will find means of encouraging particularly the two
points he recommends, glass and paper. For the former you
would do well to get your workmen from Holland rather than
from Bristol. You have heard of the trick the glassmen of
Bristol were said to have played Dr. Helsham and company.
My wife, with her compliments, sends you a present * by the
Cork carrier who set out yesterday. It is an offering of the first
fruits of her painting. She began to draw in last November, and
did not stick to it closely, but by way of amusement only at lei-
sure hours. For my part, I think she shows a most uncommon
genius ; but others may be supposed to judge more impartially
than I. My two younger children are beginning to employ
themselves the same way. In short, here are two or three fami-
lies in Imokilly f bent upon painting : and I wish it was more
general among the ladies and idle people, as a thing tha imay
divert the spleen, improve the manufactures, and increase the
wealth of the nation. We will endeavour to profit by our lord
lieutenant's advice, and kindle up new arts with a spark of his
public spirit.
Mr. Simon has wrote to me, desiring I would become a mem-
ber of the historico-physical society. I wish them well, but do
not care to list myself among them ; for in that case I should
think myself obliged to do somewhat which might interrupt my
other studies. I must therefore depend on you for getting me
out of this scrape, and hinder Mr. Simon's proposing me, which
he inclines to do at the request, it seems, of the bishop of Meath.
And this, with my service, will be a sufficient answer to Mr.
Simon's letter.
Ex. 68. \2th of Sept., 1746. I am just returned from a tour
through my diocese of 130 miles, almost shaken to pieces.
What you write of Bishop Stone's preferment is highly probable.
For myself, though his excellency the lord lieutenant might have
a better opinion of me than I deserved, yet it was not likely
that he would make an Irishman primate. The truth is, I have
* The bishop's portrait painted by Mrs. Berkeley, afterwards in the possession of the
Hev. Mr. Archdall, of Bolton Street, Dublin.
t The village of Cloyne is in the barony of Imokilly, county of Cork.
56 EXTRACTS, ETC.
a scheme of my own for this long time past, in which I propose
more satisfaction and enjoyment of myself than I could in that
high station, which I neither solicited nor so much as wished for.
It is true the primacy or archbishopric of Dublin, if offered,
might have tempted me by a greater opportunity of doing good :
but there is no other preferment in the kingdom to be desired on
any other account than a greater income, which would not tempt
me to remove from Cloyne, and set aside my Oxford scheme, on
which, though delayed by the illness of my son, yet I am as
intent and as much resolved as ever.
Ex. 69. 2nd of Feb., 1749. Three days ago we received the
box of pictures. The two men's heads with ruffs are well done ;
the third is a copy and ill coloured : they are all Flemish : so is
the woman, which is also very well painted, though it hath not
the beauty and freedom of an Italian pencil. The two Dutch
pictures, containing animals, are well done as to the animals ;
but the human figures and sky are ill done. The two pictures
of ruins are very well done, and are Italian. My son William*
had already copied two other pictures of the same kind, and by
the same hand. He and his sister are both employed in copying
pictures at present, which shall be despatched as soon as possi-
ble ; after which they will set about some of yours. Their stint,
on account of health, is an hour and half a day for painting.
So I doubt two months will not suffice for copying: but no
time shall be lost, and great care taken of your pictures, for
which we hold ourselves much obliged. Our round tower stands
where it did; but a little stone arched vault on the^top was
cracked, and must be repaired : the bell also was thrown down,
and broke its way through three boarded stories, but remains en-
tire. The door was shivered into many small pieces and dispersed,
and there was a stone forced out of the wall. The whole damage,
it is thought, will not amount to twenty pounds. The thunder-
clap was by far the greatest that I ever heard in Ireland.
Ex. 70. 30th of March, 1751. They are going to print at
Glasgow two editions at once, in 4to and in folio, of all Plato's
works, in most magnificent types. This work should be encou-
raged; it would be right to mention it, as you have opportunity.!
TO THE EEV. ME. ARCHDALL, BOLTON-STREET, DUBLIN.
Cloyne, 8th of Dec., 1751. Rev. Sir, — This is to desire you
may publish the inscription I sent you in Faulkner's paper. But
say nothing of the author. I must desire you to cause the letters
* A fine youth, the second son of the bishop, whose loss at an early age was thought
to have stuck too close to his father's heart.
t Mr. Prior died the 21st of October following, aged 71. The inscription men-
tioned in the next article was for his monument in Christ-Church cathedral, erected at
the expense of Mr. Prior's friends and admirers.
EXTRACTS, ETC. 57
G. B., being the initial letters of my name, to be engraved on the
die of the gold medal, at the bottom, beneath the race-horse:
whereby mine will be distinguished from medals given by others.
TO THE SAME.
22nd of Dec., 1751. I thank you for the care you have taken
in publishing the inscription so correctly, as likewise for your
trouble in getting G. B. engraved on the plain at the bottom of
the medal. When that is done, you may order two medals to be
made, and given as usual. I would have only two made by my
die ; the multiplying of premiums lessens their value. If my
inscription is to take place, let me know before it is engraved : I
may perhaps make some trifling alteration.
JVo date ; but sent at this time, to the same. For the parti-
culars of your last favour I give you thanks. I send the above
bill to clear what you have expended on my account, and also ten
guineas beside, which is my contribution towards the monument
which I understand is intended for our deceased friend. Yester-
day, though ill of the cholic, yet I could not forbear sketching
out the enclosed. I wish it did justice to his character. Such
as it is, I submit it to you and your friends.
[Enclosed in the above.]
Memories sacrum
THOM* PRIOR
Viri, si quis unquam alius, de patria
optime meriti :
Qui, cum prodesse mallet quam conspici,
nee in senatum cooptatus
nee consiliorum aulae particeps
nee ullo publico munere insignitus,
rem tamen publicam
mirifice auxit et ornavit
auspiciis, consiliis, labore indefesso :
Vir innocuus, probus, pius
partium studiis minime addictus
de re familiare parum solicitus
cum civium commoda unice spectaret :
quicquid vel ad inopiae levamen
vel ad vit!E elegantiam facit
<juicquid ad desidiam'populi vincendam
aut ad bonas artes excitandas pertinet
id omne pro virili excoluit :
Societatis Dubliniensis
auctor, institutor, curator:
Quae fecerit
pluribus dicere baud refert :
quorsum narraret marmor
ilia quae omnes norunt
ilia quae civium animis insculpta
nulla dies delebit ?
This monument was erected to Thomas Prior, Esquire, at the charge of several
persons tvho contributed to honour the memory of that worthy patriot, to whom his own
actions and unwearied endeavours in the service of his country have raised a monument
more lasting than marble.
58 EXTRACTS, ETC.
1th of Jan., 1752. I here send you enclosed the inscription,
with my last amendments. In the printed copy Siquis was one
word ; it had better be two divided, as in this. There are some
other small changes which you will observe. The bishop of
Meath was for having somewhat in English : accordingly I sub-
join an English addition, to be engraved in a different character
and in continued lines (as it is written) beneath the Latin. The
bishop writes, that contributions come in slowly, but that near
one hundred guineas are got. Now it should seem that if the
first plan, rated at two hundred guineas, was reduced or altered,
there might be a plain neat monument erected for one hundred
guineas, and so (as the proverb directs) the coat be cut according
to the cloth.
TO THE KEY. ME. GERVAIS, SEN.
Cloyne, 25th of Nov., 1738. Eev. Sir, — My wife sends her
compliments to Mrs. Gervais and yourself for the receipt, &c.,
and we both concur in thanks for your venison. The rain hath
so defaced your letter, that I cannot read some parts of it. But I
can make a shift to see there is a compliment of so bright a
strain, that if I knew how to read it, I am sure I should not
know how to answer it. If there was any thing agreeable in
your entertainment at my house, it was chiefly owing to yourself,
and so requires my acknowledgment, which you have very
sincere. You give so much pleasure to others, and are so easily
pleased yourself, that I shall live in hopes of your making my
house your inn whenever you visit these parts, which will be very
agreeable to, &c.
\2thofJan., 1742. You forgot to mention your address; else
I should have sooner acknowledged the favour of your letter, for
which I am much obliged, though the news it contained had
nothing good but the manner of telling it. I had much rather
write you a letter of congratulation than of comfort : and yet I
must needs tell you for your comfort, that I apprehend you mis-
carry by having too many friends. We often see a man with
one only at his back pushed on and making his way, while
another is embarrassed in a crowd of well-wishers. The best of
it is, your merits will not be measured by your success. It is an
old remark, that the race is not always to the swift. But at
present who wins it, matters little : for all protestant clergymen
are like soon to be at par, if that old priest* your countryman
continues to carrry on his schemes with the same policy and
success he has hitherto done. The accounts you send agree with
what I hear from other parts ; they are all alike dismal. Re-
serve yourself however for future times, and mind the main
* Cardinal Fleuri, then 87 years old. Dean Gervais was a native of Montpellier,
and was carried an infant out of France on the revocation of the edict of Nantes in
1680.
EXTRACTS, ETC. 59
chance. I would say, shun late hours, drink tar-water, and bring
back — I wish a good deanery, — but at least a good stock of
health and spirits to grace our little parties in Imokilly, where
we hope, ere it be long, to see you and the sun returned together.
My wife, who values herself on being in the number of your
friends, is extremely obliged for the Italian psalms you have pro-
cured, and desires me to tell you that the more you can procure,
the more she shall be obliged. We join in wishing you many
happy new years, health, and success.
'2nd of Feb., 1742, I condole with you on your cold, a circum-
stance that a man of fashion who keeps late hours can hardly
escape. We find here that a spoonful, half tar and half honey,
taken morning, noon, and night, proves a most effectual remedy
in that case. My wife, who values herself on being in your
good graces, expresses great gratitude for your care in procuring
the psalms, and is doubly pleased with the prospect of your being
yourself the bearer. The instrument she desired to be provided
was a large four-stringed bass violin : but besides this we shall
also be extremely glad to get that excellent bass viol which came
from France, be the number of strings what it will. I wrote
indeed (not to overload you) to Dean Browne* to look out for a
six-stringed bass viol of an old make and mellow tone. But the
more we have of good instruments, the better : for I have got an
excellent master Avhom I have taken into my family, and all my
children, not excepting my little daughter, learn to play, and
are preparing to fill my house with harmony against all events ;
that if we have worse times, we may have better spirits. Our
French woman is grown more attentive to her business, and so
much altered for the better, that my wife is not now inclined to
part with her : but is nevertheless very sensibly obliged by your
kind offer to look out for another. What you say of a certain
pamphlet is enigmatical : I shall hope to have it explained viva
voce. As this corner furnishes nothing worth sending, you will
pardon me if instead of other news I transcribe a paragraph of a
letter I lately received from an English bishop. " We are now
shortly to meet again in parliament, and by the proceedings
upon the state of the nation Sir Robert's fate will be determined.
He is doing all he can to recover a majority in the house of
commons, and is said to have succeeded as to some particulars.
But in his main attempt, which was that of uniting the prince
and his court to the king's, he has been foiled. The bishop of
Oxfordf was employed to carry the proposal to the prince, which
was that he should have the 100,000/. a year he had demanded,
and his debts paid. But the prince, at the same time that he
* Jemmatt Brown, then dean of Ross, bishop of Killaloe in 1743, of Dromore in
1745, of Cork the same year, of Elphin in 1772, and archbishop of Tuam in 1775 :
died in 1782. t Seeker.
60 EXTRACTS, ETC.
expressed the utmost respect and duty to his majesty, declared so
much dislike to his minister, that without his removal he will
hearken to no terms." I have also had another piece in the
following words, which is very agreeable. "Lady Dorothy,*
whose good temper seems as great as her beauty, and who has
gained on every one by her behaviour in these most unhappy
circumstances, is said at last to have gained over Lord Euston,
and to have entirely won his affection." I find by your letter,
the reigning distemper at the Irish court is disappointment. A
man of less spirits and alacrity would be apt to cry out, Spes et
fortuna valete, &c. ; but my advice is, never to quit your hopes.
Hope is often better than enjoyment. Hope is often the cause
as well as the effect of youth. It is certainly a very pleasant
and healthy passion. A hopeless person is deserted by himself:
and he who forsakes himself is soon forsaken by friends and for-
tune, both which are sincerely wished you by, &c.
5th of March, 1742. Your last letter, containing an account
of the queen of Hungary and her affairs, was all over agreeable.
My wife and I are not a little pleased to find her situation so
much better than we expected, and greatly applaud your zeal for
her interests; though we are divided upon the motive of it.
She imagines you would be less zealous, were the queen old and
ugly ; and will have it that her beauty has set you on fire even
at this distance. I on the contrary affirm, that you are not made
of such combustible stuff; that you are affected only by the
love of justice, and insensible to all other flames than those of
patriotism. We hope soon for your presence at Cloyne to put
an end to this controversy. Your care in providing the Italian
psalms set to music, the four-stringed bass violin, and the antique
bass viol, requires our repeated thanks. We had already a bass
viol made in Southwark, A.D. 1730, and reputed the best in
England. And through your means we are possessed of the best
in France. So we have a fair chance for having the two best in
Europe. Your letter gives me hopes of a new and prosperous
scene. We live in an age of revolutions so sudden and sur-
prising in all parts of Europe, that I question whether the like
has been ever known before. Hands are changed at home : it is
well if measures are so too. If not, I shall be afraid of this
change of hands ; for hungry dogs bite deepest. But let those
in power look to this. We behold these vicissitudes with an
equal eye from this serene corner of Cloyne, where we hope soon
to have the perusal of your budget of politics. Meantime accept
our service and good wishes.
6th of Sept., 1743. The book which you were so good as to
procure for me (and which I shall not pay for till you come to
* Lady Dorothy Boyle, daughter of the earl of Burlington, arid wife to Lord
Euston, son of the duke of Grafton.
EXTRACTS, ETC. Ol
receive the money in person) contains all that part of Dr.
Pococke's travels for which I have any curiosity : so I shall, with
my thanks for this, give you no further trouble about any other
volume. I find by the letter put into my hands by your son
(who was so kind as to call here yesterday, but not kind enough
to stay a night with us), that you are taken up with great
matters, and, like other great men, in danger of overlooking your
friends. Prepare however for a world of abuse, both as a courtier
and an architect, if you do not find means to wedge in a visit to
Cloyne between those two grand concerns. Courtiers you will
find none here, and but such virtuosi as the country affords ; I
mean in the way of music, for that is at present the reigning
passion at Cloyne. To be plain, we are musically mad. If you
would know what that is, come and see.
29th of Oct., 1743. A bird of the air has told me that your
reverence is to be dean of Tuam. No nightingale could have
sung a more pleasing song, not even my wife, who, I am told, is
this day inferior to no singer in the kingdom. I promise you we
are preparing no contemptible chorus to celebrate your prefer-
ment : and if you do not believe me, come this Christmas, and
believe your own ears. In good earnest, none of your friends
will be better pleased to see you with your broad seal in your
pocket than your friends at Cloyne. I wish I were able to wish
you joy at Dublin ; but my health, though not a little mended,
suffers me to make no excursions further than a mile or two. —
What is this your favourite the queen of Hungary has been
doing by her emissaries at Petersburgh ? France is again upon
her legs. I foresee no good. I wish all this may be vapours and
spleen : but I Avrite in sunshine.
Sth of Jan., 1744. You have obliged the ladies as well as
myself by your candid judgment on the point submitted to your
determination. I am glad this matter proved an amusement in
your gout by bringing you acquainted with several curious and
select trials,* which I should readily purchase and accept your
kind offer of procuring them, if I did not apprehend there
might be some among them of too delicate a nature to be read
by boys and girls, to whom my library, and particularly all
French books, are open. — As to foreign affairs, we cannot descry
or prognosticate any good event from this remote corner. The
planets that seemed propitious are now retrograde : Russia,
Sweden, and Prussia lost ; and the Dutch a nominal ally at best.
You may now admire the queen of Hungary without a rival :
her conduct with respect to the Czarina and the Marquis de
Botta hath, I fear, rendered cold the hearts of her friends, and
their hands feeble. To be plain, from this time forward I doubt
we shall languish, and our enemies take heart. And while I am
* Collection of Trials in France, published under the title Causes C61ebres.
62 EXTRACTS, ETC.
thus perplexed about foreign affairs, my private economy (I mean
the animal economy) is disordered by the sciatica ; an evil which
has attended me for some time past ; and I apprehend will not
leave me till the return of the sun. Certainly the news that I
want to hear at present is not from Rome, or Paris, or Vienna,
but from Dublin ; viz. when the dean of Tuam is declared, and
when he receives the congratulations of his friends. I constantly
read the news from Dublin; but lest I should overlook this
article, I take upon me to congratulate you at this moment;
that as my good wishes were not, so my compliments may not
be behind those of your other friends. You have entertained
me with so many curious things, that I would fain send some-
thing in return worth reading. But as this quarter affords no-
thing from itself, I must be obliged to transcribe a bit of an
English letter that I received last week. It relates to what is
now the subject of public attention, the Hanover troops, and is
as follows. " General Campbell (a thorough courtier), being
called upon in the House of Commons to give an account
whether he had not observed some instances of partiality, replied
he could not say he had: but this he would say, that he thought
the forces of the two nations could never draw together again.
This, coming from the mouth of a courtier, was looked on as an
ample confession : however, it was carried against the address by
a large majority. Had the question been whether the Hanover
troops should be continued, it would not have been a debate:
but it being well known that the contrary had been resolved
upon before the meeting of parliament, the moderate part of the
opposition thought it was unnecessary and might prove hurtful
to address about it, and so voted with the court." You see how
I am forced to lengthen out my letter by adding a borrowed
scrap of news, which yet probably is no news to you. But
though I should show you nothing new, yet you must give me
leave to show my inclination at least to acquit myself of the
debts I owe you, and to declare myself, &c.
16th of March, 1744. I think myself a piece of a prophet
when I foretold that the pretender's cardinal feigned to aim at
your head, when he meant to strike you, like a skilful fencer, on
the ribs. It is true, one would hardly think the French such
bunglers : but this popish priest hath manifestly bungled so as
to repair the breaches our own bunglers had made at home.
This is the luckiest thing that could have happened, and will, I
hope, confound all the measures of our enemies. — I was much
obliged and delighted with the good news you lately sent, which
was yesterday confirmed by letters from Dublin. And though
particulars are not yet known, I did not think fit to delay our
public marks of joy, as a great bonfire before my gate, firing of
guns, drinking of healths, &c. I was very glad of this opportu-
EXTRACTS, ETC. 63
nity to put a little spirit into our drooping protestants of Cloyne,
who have, of late, conceived no small fears on seeing themselves
in such a defenceless condition among so great a number of
papists, elated with the fame of these new enterprises in their
favour. It is, indeed, terrible to reflect, that we have neither
arms nor militia in a province where the papists are eight to one,
and have an earlier intelligence than we have of what passes ; by
what means I know not, but the fact is certainly true. — Good
Mr. Dean (for dean I will call you, resolving not to be behind
your friends in Dublin), you must know, that to us who live in
this remote corner, many things seem strange and unaccountable
that may be solved by you who are near the fountain head.
"Why are draughts made from our forces when we most want
them ? Why are not the militia arrayed ? How comes it to pass
that arms are not put into the hands of protestants, especially
since they have been so long paid for ? Did not our ministers
know, for a long time past, that a squadron was forming at
Brest? Why did they not then bruise the cockatrice in the
egg ? Would not the French works at Dunkirk have justified
this step ? Why was Sir John Norris called off from the chace
when he had his enemies in full view, and was even at their
heels with a superior force? As we have 240 men of war,
whereof 120 are of the line, how comes it that we did not
appoint a squadron to watch and intercept the Spanish admiral
with his thirty millions of pieces of eight ? In an age, wherein
articles of religious faith are canvassed with the utmost freedom,
we think it lawful to propose these scruples in our political
faith, which, in many points, wants to be enlightened and set
right. — Your last was writ by the hand of a fair lady, to whom
both my wife and I send our compliments, as well as to your-
self : I wish you joy of being able to write yourself. My cholic
is changed to gout and • sciatica, the tar-water having drove it
into my limbs, and as I hope, carrying it off by those ailments,
which are nothing to the cholic.
6th of Jan., 1745. Two days ago I was favoured with a very
agreeable visit from Baron Mounteney and Mr. Bristow. I
hear they have taken Lisniore in their way to Dublin. — We
want a little of your foreign fire to raise our Irish spirits in this
heavy season. This makes your purpose of coming very agree-
able news. We will chop politics together, sing lo Pcean to the
duke, revile the Dutch, admire the king of Sardinia, and ap-
plaud the earl of Chesterfield, whose name is sacred all over this
island except Lismore ; and what should put your citizens of
Lismore out of humour with his excellency I cannot compre-
hend. But the discussion of these points must be deferred to
your wished-for arrival.
6th of Feb., 1745. You say you carried away regret from
64 EXTRACTS, ETC.
Cloyne. I assure you that you did not carry it all away : there
was a good share of it left with us ; which was on the following
news-day increased upon hearing the fate of your niece. My
wife could not read this piece of news without tears, though her
knowledge of that amiable young lady was no more than one
day's acquaintance. Her mournful widower is beset with many
temporal blessings : but the loss of such a wife must be long
felt through them all. Complete happiness is not to be hoped-
for on this side Gascony. All those who are not Gascons must
have a corner of woe to creep out at, and to comfort themselves
with at parting from this world. Certainly, if we had nothing
to make us uneasy here, heaven itself would be less wished for.
But I should remember I am writing to a philosopher and
divine; so shall turn my thoughts to politics, concluding with
this sad reflection, that, happen what will, I see the Dutch are
still to be favourites, though I much apprehend the hearts of
some warm friends may be lost at home by endeavouring to
gain the aifections of those lukewarm neighbours.
3rd of June, 1745. I congratulate with you on the success of
your late dose of physic. The gout, as Dr. Sydenham styles it,
is amarissimum natures pharmacum. It throws off a sharp excre-
ment from the blood to the limbs and extremities of the body,
and is not less useful than painful. I think, Mr. Dean, you
have paid for the gay excursion you made last winter to the
metropolis and the court. And yet, such is the condition of
mortals, I foresee you will forget the pain next winter, and
return to the same course of life which brought it on. — As to
our warlike achievements, if I were to rate our successes by our
merits, I could forebode little good. But if we are sinners, our
enemies are no saints. It is my opinion we shall heartily maul
one another, without any signal advantage on either side. How
the sullen English squires, who pay the piper, will like this
dance, I cannot tell. For my own part, I cannot help thinking,
that land-expeditions are but ill suited either to the force or
interest of England ; and that our friends would do more, if we
did less, on the continent. — Were I to send my son from home,
I assure you there is no one to whose prudent care and good
nature I would sooner trust him than yours. But as I am his
physician, I think myself obliged to keep him with me. Be-
sides, as after so long an illness his constitution is very delicate,
I imagine this warm vale of Cloyne is better suited to it than
your lofty and exposed situation of Lismore. Nevertheless my
wife and I are extremely obliged by your kind offer, and concur
in our hearty thanks for it.
24th of Nov., 1745. You are in for life. Not all the phi-
losophers have been saying these three thousand years, on the
vanity of riches, the cares of greatness, and the brevity of
EXTRACTS, ETC. 65
human life, will be able to reclaim you. However, as it is
observed, that most men have patience enough to bear the mis-
fortunes of others, I am resolved not to break my heart for my
old friend, if you should prove so unfortunate as to be made a
bishop. — The reception you met with from Lord Chesterfield
was perfectly agreeable to his excellency'® character, who, being
so clair-voyant in every thing else, could not be supposed blind
to your merit. — Your friends, the Dutch, have showed them-
selves what I always took them to be, selfish and ungenerous.
To crown all, we are now told the forces they sent us have pri-
vate orders not to fight : I hope we shall not want them. — By
the letter you favoured me with, I find the regents of our uni-
versity have shown their loyalty at the expense of their wit.
The poor dead Dean,* though no idolater of the whigs, was no
more a Jacobite than Dr. Baldwin. And had he been even a
papist, what then ? Wit is of no party. — We have been alarmed
with a report, that a great body of rapparees is up in the county
of Killkenny : these are looked on by some as the forerunners of
an insurrection. In opposition to this, our militia have been
arrayed, that is, sworn : but alas ! we want not oaths, we want
muskets. I have bought up all I could get, and provided horses
and arms for four and twenty of the protestants of Cloyne,
which, with a few more that can furnish themselves, make up a
troop of thirty horse. This seemed necessary to keep off rogues
in these doubtful times. — May we hope to gain a sight of you
in the recess ? Were I as able to go to town, how readily should
I wait on my lord lieutenant and the dean of Tuam. Your let-
ters are so much tissue of gold and silver: in return I am
forced to send you from this corner a patch-work of tailor's
shreds, for which I entreat your compassion, and that you will
believe me, &c.
24itk of Feb., 1746. I am heartily sensible of your loss, which
yet admits of alleviation, not only from the common motives
which have been repeated every day for upwards of five thou-
sand years, but also from your own peculiar knowledge of the
world and the variety of distresses which occur in all ranks,
from the highest to the lowest : I may add too, from the peculiar
times in which we live, which seem to threaten still more
wretched and unhappy times to come.
* Immediately after Dean Swift's death, the class of Senior Sophisters, in the col-
lege of Dublin, determined to apply a sum of money, raised among themselves, and
usually expended on an entertainment, to the purpose of honouring the memory of that
great man, by a bust to be set up in the college library. Provost Baldwin, being a
staunch whig, and having once smarted by an epigram of the dean's, it was confidently
thought, would have refused his consent to this measure, and the talk of the town about
this time was, that the board of Senior Fellows would enter implicitly into the same
sentiments. But the event soon proved the falsehood of such an unworthy report : the
bust was admitted without the least opposition, and is now in the library.
VOL. I. F
66 EXTRACTS, ETC.
Aetaa parentum pejor avis tulit
Nos nequiores, mox daturos
Progeniem vitiosiorem.
Nor is it a small advantage that you have a peculiar resource
against distress from the gaiety of your own temper. Such is
the hypochondriac, melancholy complexion of us islanders, that
we seem made of butter, every accident makes such a deep im-
pression upon us ; but those elastic spirits which are your birth-
right cause the strokes of fortune to rebound without leaving a
trace behind them: though for a time there is and will be a
gloom, which, I agree with your friends, is best dispelled at the
court and metropolis amidst a variety of faces and amusements.
I wish I was able to go with you, and pay my duty to the lord
lieutenant : but alas ! the disorder I had this winter and my long
retreat have disabled me for the road, and disqualified me for a
court. But if I see you not in Dublin, which I wish I may be
able to do, I shall hope to see you at Cloyne when you can be
spared from better company. These sudden changes and tossings
from side to side betoken a fever in the state. But whatever
ails the body politic, take care of your own bodily health, and let
no anxious cares break in upon it.
8th of Nov., 1746. Your letter, with news from the Castle,
found me in bed, confined by the gout. In answer to which
news I can only say, that I neither expect nor wish for any
dignity higher than what I am encumbered with at present. —
That which more nearly concerns me is my credit, which I am
glad to find so well supported by Admiral Lestock. I had pro-
mised you that before the first of November he would take king
Lewis by the beard. Now Quimpercorrentin, Quimperlay, and
Quimperen, being certain extreme parts or excrescencies of his
kingdom, may not improperly be styled the beard of France.
In proof of his having been there, he has plundered the ward-
robes of the peasants, and imported a great number of old petti-
coats, waistcoats, wooden shoes, and one shirt, all which are
actually sold at Cove : the shirt was bought by a man of this
town for a groat. And if you won't believe me, come and
believe your own eyes. In case you doubt either the facts or
the reasonings, I am ready to make them good, being now well
on my feet, and longing to triumph over you at Cloyne, which I
hope will be soon.
6th of April, 1752. Your letter by last post was very agree-
able : but the trembling hand with which it was written is a
drawback from the satisfaction I should otherwise have had in
hearing from you. If my advice had been taken, you would
have escaped so many miserable months in the gout and the
bad air, of Dublin. But advice against inclination is seldom
successful. Mine was very sincere, though I must own a little
EXTUACTS, ETC. 67
interested : for we often wanted your enlivening company to
dissipate the gloom of Cloyne. This I look on as enjoying
France at second hand. I wish any thing but the gout could fix
you among us. But bustle and intrigue and great affairs have
and will, as long as you exist on this globe, fix your attention.
For my own part, I submit to years and infirmities. My views
in this world are mean and narrow : it is a thing in which I have
small share, and which ought to give me small concern. I abhor
business, and especially to have to do with great persons and
great affairs, which I leave to such as you who delight in them
and are fit for them. The evening of life I choose to pass in a
quiet retreat. Ambitious projects, intrigues and quarrels of
statesmen, are things I have been formerly amused with ; but
they now seem to me a vain, fugitive dream. If you thought as
I do, we should have more of your company, and you less of the
gout. We have not those transports of you castle-hunters ; but
our lives are calm and serene. We do however long to see you
open your budget of politics by our fire-side. My wife and all
here salute you, and send you, instead of compliments, their best
sincere wishes for your health and safe return. The part you
take in my son's recovery is very obliging to us all, and particu-
larly to, &c.
G. CLOYNE.
E 2
A TREATISE
CONCERNING THE
THE CHIEF CAUSES OF ERROR AND DIFFICULTY IN THE SCIENCES, WITH
THE GROUNDS OF SCEPTICISM, ATHEISM, AND IRRELIGION, ARE IN-
QUIRED INTO.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THOMAS, EAEL OF PEMBROKE, &c.
KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER, AND ONE OF THE LORDS OF
HER MAJESTY'S MOST HONOURABLE PRIVY COUNCIL.
MY LORD,
You will, perhaps, wonder that an obscure person, who has not the
honour to be known to your lordship, should presume to address you in
this manner. But that a man, who has written something with a design
to promote useful knowledge and religion in the world, should make
choice of your lordship for his patron, will not be thought strange by any
one that is not altogether unacquainted with the present state of the
church and learning, and consequently ignorant how great an ornament
and support you are to both. Yet, nothing could have induced me to
make you this present of my poor endeavours, were I not encouraged by
that candour and native goodness, which is so bright a part in your lord-
ship's character. I might add, my lord, that the extraordinary favour and
bounty you have been pleased to show towards our society, gave me
hopes, you would not be unwilling to countenance the studies of one of
its members. These considerations determined me to lay this treatise
at your lordship's feet. And the rather, because I was ambitious to
have it known, that I am, with the truest and most profound respect, on
account of that learning and virtue which the world so justly admires
in your lordship,
My Lord,
Your lordship's most humble and most devoted servant,
GEORGE BERKELEY.
PREFACE.
WHAT I here make public has, after a long and scrupulous inquiry,
seemed to me evidently true, and not unuseful to be known, particularly
to those who are tainted with scepticism, or want a demonstration of
the existence and immateriality of God, or the natural immortality of
the soul. Whether it be so or no, I am content the reader should
impartially examine. Since I do not think myself any further con-
cerned for the success of what I have written than as it is agreeable to
truth. But to the end this may not suffer, I make it my request that
the reader suspend his judgment till he has once, at least, read the
whole through with that degree of attention and thought which the
subject matter shall seem to deserve. For as there are some passages
that, taken by themselves, are very liable (nor could it be remedied) to
gross misinterpretation, and to be charged with most absurd conse-
quences, which, nevertheless, upon an entire perusal will appear not to
follow from them: so likewise, though the whole should be read over,
yet if this be done transiently, it is very probable my sense may be
mistaken ; but to a thinking reader, I flatter myself, it will be through-
out clear and obvious. As for the characters of novelty and singularity,
which some of the following notions may seem to bear, it is, I hope,
needless to make any apology on that account. He must surely be
either very weak, or very little acquainted with the sciences, who shall
reject a truth that is capable of demonstration, for no other reason but
because it is newly known and contrary to the prejudices of mankind.
Thus much I thought fit to premise, in order to prevent, if possible, the
hasty censures of a sort of men, who are too apt to condemn an opinion
before they rightly comprehend it.
INTRODUCTION.
I. PHILOSOPHY being nothing else but the study of wisdom
and truth, it may with reason be expected, that those who have
spent most time and pains in it should enjoy a greater calm and
serenity of mind, a greater clearness and evidence of knowledge,
and be less disturbed with doubts and difficulties than other men.
Yet so it is, we see the illiterate bulk of mankind, that walk the
high road of plain, common sense, and are governed by the dic-
tates of nature, for the most part easy and undisturbed. [To
them nothing that is familiar appears unaccountable or difficult
to comprehend.] They complain not of any want of evidence
in their senses, and are out of all danger of becoming sceptics.
But no sooner do we depart from sense and instinct to follow the
light of a superior principle, to reason, meditate, and reflect on
the nature of things, but a thousand scruples spring up in our
minds, concerning those things which before we seemed fully to
comprehend. Prejudices and errors of sense do from all parts
discover themselves to our view ; and endeavouring to correct
these by reason, we are insensibly drawn into uncouth paradoxes,
difficulties, and inconsistences, which multiply and grow upon
us as we advance in speculation ; till at length, having Avandered
through many intricate mazes, we find ourselves just where we
were, or, which is worse, sit down in a forlorn scepticism.
II. [The cause of this is thought to be (1) the obscurity of
things, or the natural weakness and imperfection of our under-
standings.] It is said the faculties we have are few, and those
designed by nature for the support and comfort (pleasure) of life,
and not to penetrate into the inward essence and constitution of
things. [Besides, (2) the mind of man being finite, when it
treats of things which partake of infinity, it is not to be won-
dered at if it run into absurdities and contradictions; out of
which it is impossible it should ever extricate itself, it being of
the nature of infinite not to be comprehended by that which is
finite.]
III. But perhaps we may be too partial to ourselves in placing
the fault originally in our faculties, and not rather in the wrong
use we make of them. It is a hard thing to suppose, that right
deductions from true principles should ever end in consequences which
74 INTRODUCTION.
cannot be maintained or made consistent. We should believe
that God has dealt more bountifully with the sons of men, than
to give them a strong desire for that knowledge which he had
placed quite out of their reach. [This were not agreeable to the
wonted indulgent methods of Providence, which, whatever
appetites it may have implanted in the creatures, doth usually
furnish them with such means as, if rightly made use of, will
not fail to satisfy them.] Upon the whole I am inclined to think
that the far greater part, if not all, of those difficulties which
have hitherto amused philosophers, and blocked up the way to
knowledge, are entirely owing to ourselves. That we have first
raised a dust, and then complain, we cannot see.
IV. My purpose therefore is, to try if I can discover what
those principles are, which have introduced all that doubtfulness
and uncertainty, those absurdities and contradictions into the
several sects of philosophy ; insomuch that the wisest men have
thought our ignorance incurable, conceiving it to arise from the
natural dulness and limitation of our faculties. And surely it is
a work well deserving our pains, to make a strict inquiry con-
cerning the first principles of human knowledge, to sift and
examine them on all sides : especially since there may be some
grounds to suspect that those lets and difficulties, which stay and
embarrass the mind in its search after truth, do not spring from
any darkness and intricacy in the objects, or natural defect in the
understanding, so much as from false principles which have been
insisted on, and might have been avoided.
V. How difficult and discouraging soever this attempt may
seem, when I consider how many great and extraordinary men
have gone before me in the same designs : yet I am not without
some hopes, upon the consideration that the largest views are
not always the. clearest, and that he who is shortsighted will be
obliged to draw the object nearer, and may, perhaps, 'by a close
and narrow survey discern that which had escaped far better eyes.
VI. A chief source of error in all parts of knowledge. — In order
to prepare the mind of the reader for the easier conceiving what
follows, it is proper to premise somewhat, by way of introduc-
tion, concerning the nature and abuse of language. But the un-
ravelling this matter leads me in some measure to anticipate my
design, by taking notice of what seems to have had a chief part
in rendering speculation intricate and perplexed, and to have
occasioned innumerable errors and difficulties in almost all parts
of knowledge. [And that is the opinion that the mind hath a
power of framing" abstract ideas or notions of things.] He who
is not a perfect stranger to the writings and disputes of philoso-
phers, must needs acknowledge that no small part of them are
spent about abstract ideas. [These are, in a more especial man-
ner, thought to be the object of those sciences which go by the
INTRODUCTION. 75
name of logic and metaphysics,^ and of all that which passes un-
der the notion of the most abstracted and sublime learning, in
all which one shall scarce find any question handled in such a
manner, as does not suppose their existence in the mind, and
that it is well acquainted with them.
VII. Proper acceptation of abstraction. — It is agreed, on all
hands, that the qualities or modes of things do never really exist
each of them apart by itself, and separated from all others, but
are mixed, as it were, and blended together, several in the same
object. But we are told, the mind being able to consider each
quality singly, or abstracted from those other qualities with
which it is united, does by that means frame to itself abstract
ideas. For example, there is perceived by sight an object ex-
tended, coloured, and moved : this mixed or compound idea the
mind resolving into its simple, constituent parts, and viewing each
by itself, exclusive of the rest, does frame the abstract ideas of
extension, colour, and motion. Not that it is possible for colour
or motion to exist without extension : but only that the mind can
frame to itself by abstraction the idea of colour exclusive of ex-
tension, and of motion exclusive of both colour and extension.
VIII. Of generalizing* — Again, the mind having observed
that in the particular extensions perceived by sense, there is
something common and alike in all, and some other things pecu-
liar, as this or that figure or magnitude, which distinguish them
one from another ; it considers apart or singles out by itself
that which is common, making thereof a most abstract idea of
extension, which is neither line, surface, nor solid, nor has any
figure or magnitude, but is an idea entirely prescinded from all
these. So likewise the mind, by leaving out of the particular
colours perceived by sense, that which distinguishes them one
from another, and retaining that only which is common to all,
makes an idea of colour in abstract, which is neither red, nor
blue, nor white, nor any other determinate colour. And in like
manner, by considering motion abstractedly not only from the
body moved, but likewise from the figure it describes, and all
particular directions and velocities, the abstract idea of motion
is framed ; which equally corresponds to all particular motions
whatsoever that may be perceived by sense.
IX. Of compounding. — And as the mind frames to itself
abstract ideas of qualities or modes, so does it, by the same pre-
cision or mental separation, attain abstract ideas of the more
compounded beings, which include several coexistent qualities.
For example, the mind having observed that Peter, James, and
John resemble each other, in certain common agreements of
shape and other qualities, leaves out of the complex or com-
pounded idea it has of Peter, James, and any other particular
* Vide Reid, on the Intellectual Powers of Man, Essay V. chap. iii. sec. l.edit. 1843.
76 INTRODUCTION.
man, that which is peculiar to each, retaining only what is com-
mon to all ; and so makes an abstract idea wherein all the parti-
culars equally partake, abstracting entirely from and cutting off
all those circumstances and differences, which might determine
it to any particular existence. And after this manner it is said
we come by the abstract idea of man, or, if you please, humanity
or human nature ; wherein it is true there is included colour,
because there is no man but has some colour, but then it can be
neither white, nor black, nor any particular colour ; because
there is no one particular colour wherein all men partake. So
likewise there is included stature, but then it is neither tall
stature nor low stature, nor yet middle stature, but something
abstracted from all these. And so of the rest. Moreover, there
being a great variety of other creatures that partake in some
parts, but not all, of the complex idea of man, the mind leaving
out those parts which are peculiar to men, and retaining those
only which are common to all the living creatures, frameth the
idea of animal, which abstracts not only from all particular men,
but also all birds, beasts, fishes, and insects. The constituent
parts of the abstract idea of animal are body, life, sense, and
spontaneous motion. By body is meant, body without any par-
ticular shape or figure, there being no one shape or figure] com-
mon to all animals, without covering, either of hair or feathers,
or scales, &c., nor yet naked : hair, feathers, scales, and naked-
ness being the distinguishing properties of particular animals,
and for that reason left out of the abstract idea. Upon the
same account the spontaneous motion must be neither walking,
nor flying, nor creeping ; it is nevertheless a motion, but what
that motion is, it is not easy to conceive.*
X. Two objections to the existence of abstract ideas. — Whether
others have this wonderful faculty of abstracting their ideas, they
best can tell: for myself I find indeed I have a faculty of
imagining, or representing to myself the ideas of those particular
things I have perceived, and of variously compounding and
dividing them. I can imagine a man with two heads, or the
upper parts of a man joined to the body of a horse. I can con-
sider the hand, the eye, the nose, each by itself abstracted or
separated from the rest of the body. But then whatever hand
or eye I imagine, it must have some particular shape and colour.
Likewise the idea of man that I frame to myself, must be either
of a white, or a black, or a tawny, a straight, or a crooked, a
tall, or a low, or a middle-sized man. I cannot by any effort of
thought conceive the abstract idea above described. And it is
equally impossible for me to form the abstract idea of motion
distinct from the body moving, and which is neither swift nor
slow, curvilinear nor rectilinear ; and the like may be said of all
* Vide Ifobbes' Tripos, ch. v. sect. 6.
INTRODUCTION. 77
other abstract general ideas whatsoever. To be plain, [I own
myself able to abstract in one sense, as when I consider some
particular parts or qualities separated from others, with which
though they are united in some object, yet it is possible they
may really exist without them. But I deny that I can abstract
one from another, or conceive separately, those qualities which
it is impossible should exist so separated ; or that I can frame a
general notion by abstracting from particulars in the manner
aforesaid. Which two last are the proper acceptations of ab-
straction.^ And there are grounds to think most men will
acknowledge themselves to be in my case. The generality of
men which are simple and illiterate never pretend to abstract
notions. [ (1) It is said they are difficult, and not to be attained
without pains and study. We may therefore reasonably con-
clude that, if such there be, they are confined only to the
learned.]
XL I proceed to examine, what can be alleged in defence of
the doctrine of abstraction, and try if I can discover what it is
that inclines the men of speculation to embrace an opinion so
remote from common sense as that seems to be. There has
been a late deservedly esteemed philosopher, who, no doubt, has
given it very much countenance by seeming to think the having
abstract general ideas is what puts the widest difference in point
of understanding betwixt man and beast. " The having of
general ideas," saith he, " is that which puts a perfect distinction
betwixt man and brutes, and is an excellency which the facul-
ties of brutes do by no means attain unto. For it is evident we
observe no footsteps in them of making use of general signs for
universal ideas ; from which we have reason to imagine that
they have not the faculty of abstracting, or making general ideas,
since they have no use of words or any other general signs."
And a little after : " Therefore, I think, we may suppose that it
is in this that the species of brutes are discriminated from men,
and it is that proper difference wherein they are wholly sepa-
rated, and which at last widens to so wide a distance. For if
they have any ideas at all, and are not bare machines (as some
would have them), we cannot deny them to have some reason.
It seems as evident to me that they do some of them in certain
instances reason as that they have sense, but it is only in parti-
cular ideas, just as they receive them from their senses. They
are the best of them tied up within those narrow bounds, and
have not (as I think) the faculty to enlarge them by any kind of
abstraction." Essay on Hum. Underst., b. ii. ch. xi. sect. 10, 11.
I readily agree with this learned author, that the faculties of
brutes can by no means attain to abstraction. But then if this
be made the distinguishing property of that sort of animals, I
fear a great many of those that pass for men must be reckoned
78 INTRODUCTION.
into their number. The reason that is here assigned why we
have no grounds to think brutes have abstract general ideas, is
that we observe in them no use of words or any other general
signs ; [which is built on this supposition, to wit, that the mak-
ing use of words implies the having general ideas.] From which
it follows, that men who use language are able to abstract or
generalize their ideas. That this is the sense and arguing of the
author will further appear by his answering the question he in
another place puts. " Since all things that exist are only par-
ticulars, how come we by general terms ?" His answer is,
"Words become general by being made the signs of general
ideas." Essay on Hum. Underst., b. iii. ch. iii. sect. 6. But* it
seems that [(2) a word becomes general by being made the sign,
not of an abstract general idea, but of several particular ideas,!
any one of which it indifferently suggests to the mind.] For
example, when it is said the change of motion is proportional to the
impressed force, or that whatever has extension is divisible ; these
propositions are to be understood of motion and extension in
general, and nevertheless it will not follow that they suggest to
my thoughts an idea of motion without a body moved, or any
determinate direction and velocity, or that I must conceive an
abstract general idea of extension, which is neither line, surface,
nor solid, neither great nor small, black, white, nor red, nor of
any other determinate colour. It is only implied that whatever
motion I consider, whether it be swift or slow, perpendicular,
horizontal, or oblique, or in whatever object, the axiom concern-
ing it holds equally true. As does the other of every particular
extension, it matters not whether line, surface, or solid, whether
of this or that magnitude or figure.
XII. Existence of general ideas admitted. — By observing how
ideas become general, we may the better judge how words are
made so. And here it is to be noted that I do not deny abso-
lutely there are general ideas, but only that there are any ab-
stract general ideas : for in the passages above quoted, wherein
there is mention of general ideas, it is always supposed that they
are formed by abstraction, after the manner set forth in Sect. vm.
and IX. Now if we will annex a meaning to our words, and
speak only of what we can conceive, I believe we shall acknow-
ledge, that an idea, which considered in itself is particular,
becomes general, by being made to represent or stand for all
other particular ideas of the same sort. $& To make this plain
by an. example, suppose a geometrician is demonstrating the
method of cutting a line in two equal parts. He draws, for
instance, a black line of an inch in length ; this, which in itself is
a particular line, is nevertheless with regard to its signification
* " To this I cannot assent, being of opinion," edit of 1710.
t Of the same sort.
INTRODUCTION. 79
general, since, as it is there used, it represents all particular
lines whatsoever ; so that what is demonstrated of it, is demon-
strated of all lines, or, in other words, of a line in general. And
as that particular line becomes general, by being made a sign, so
the name line, which taken absolutely is particular, by being
a sign is made general. And as the former owes its generality,
not to its being the sign of an abstract or general line, but of all
particular right lines that may possibly exist ; so the latter must
be thought to derive its generality from the same cause, namely,
the various particular lines which it indifferently denotes.*
XIII. Abstract general ideas necessary, according to- Locke. —
To give the reader a yet clearer view of the nature of abstract
ideas, and the uses they are thought necessary to, I shall add
one more passage out of the Essay on Human Understanding,
which is as follows. " Abstract ideas are not so obvious or easy
to children or the yet unexercised mind as particular ones. If
they seem so to grown men, it is only because by constant and
familiar use they are made so. For when we nicely reflect upon
them, we shall find that general ideas are fictions and contriv-
ances of the mind, that carry difficulty with them, and do not
so easily offer themselves as we are apt to imagine. For ex-
ample, does it not require some pains and skill to form the
general idea of a triangle ? (which is yet none of the most abstract,
comprehensive, and difficult;) for it must be neither oblique nor
rectangle, neither equilateral, equicrural, nor scalenon, but all
and none of these at once. In effect, it is something imperfect
that cannot exist, an idea wherein some parts of several different
and inconsistent ideas are put together. It is true the mind in
this imperfect state has need of such ideas, and makes all the
haste to them it can, for the (1) convenient/ of communication and
(2) enlargement of knowledge, to both which it is naturally very
much inclined. But yet one has reason to suspect such ideas
are marks of our imperfection. At least this is enough to show
that the most abstract and general ideas are not those that the
mind is first and most easily acquainted with, nor such as its
earliest knowledge is conversant about." Book iv. ch. vii.
sect. 9. If any man has the faculty of framing in his mind such
an idea of a triangle as is here described, it is in vain to pretend
to dispute him out of it, nor would I go about it. All I desire
is, that the reader would fully and certainly inform himself
whether he has such an idea or no. And this, methinks, can be
no hard task for any one to perform. What more easy than for
any one to look a little into his own thoughts, and there try
* " I look upon this (doctrine) to be one of the greatest and most valuable dis-
coveries that have been made of late years in the republic of letters." — Treatise of
Human Nature, book i. part i. sect. 7. Also Stewart's Philosophy of the Mind, part
i. ch. iv. sect. iii. p. 99.
80 INTRODUCTION.
whether he has, or can attain to have, an idea that shall corre-
spond with the description that is here given of the general idea
of a triangle, which is, neither oblique, nor rectangle, equilateral,
equicrural, nor scalenon, but all and none of these at once ?
XIV. But they are not necessary for communication. — Much is
here said of the difficulty that abstract ideas carry with them,
and the pains and skill requisite to the forming them. And it
is on all hands agreed that there is need of great toil and labour
of the mind, to emancipate our thoughts from particular objects,
and raise them to those sublime speculations that are conversant
about abstract ideas. [From all which the natural consequence
should seem to be, that so difficult a thing as the forming abstract
ideas was not necessary for communication, which is so easy and
familiar to all sorts of men.~\ But we are told, if they seem ob-
vious and easy to grown men, it is only because by constant and
familiar use they are made so. [Now I would fain know at what
time it is men are employed in surmounting that difficulty, and
furnishing themselves with those necessary helps for discourse.
It cannot be when they are grown up, for then it seems they are
not conscious of any such pains-taking ; it remains therefore to
be the business of their childhood. And surely, the great and
multiplied labour of framing abstract notions will be found a
hard task for that tender age.] $S" Is it not a hard thing to
imagine, that a couple of children cannot prate together of their
sugar-plums, and rattles, and the rest of their little trinkets, till
they have first tacked together numberless inconsistencies, and
so framed in their minds abstract general ideas, and annexed them
to every common name they make use of ?
XV. Nor for the enlargement of knowledge. — Nor do I think
them a whit more needful for the enlargement of knowledge than
for communication. It is, I know, a point much insisted on, that
all knowledge and demonstration are about universal notions, to
which I fully agree : but then it doth not appear to me that
those notions are formed by abstraction in the manner premised ;
[universality, so far as I can comprehend, not consisting in the
absolute, positive nature or conception of any thing, but in the
relation it bears to the particulars signified or represented by it:]
by virtue whereof it is that things, names, or notions, being in
their own nature particular, are rendered universal. Thus when
I demonstrate any proposition concerning triangles, it is to be
supposed that I have in view the universal idea of a triangle ;
which ought not to be understood as if I could frame an idea of
a triangle which was neither equilateral, nor scalenon, nor equi-
crural. But only that the particular triangle I consider, whether
of this or that sort it matters not, doth equally stand for and
represent all rectilinear triangles whatsoever, and is, in that
sense, universal. All which seems very plain, and not to include
any difficulty in it.
INTRODUCTION.
81
XVI. Objection. — Answer. — But here it will be demanded,
how we can know any proposition to be true of all particular tri-
angles, except we have first seen it demonstrated of the abstract
idea of a triangle which equally agrees to all ? For because a
property may be demonstrated to agree to some one particular
triangle, it will not thence follow that it equally belongs to any
other triangle, which in all respects is not the same with it.
For example, having demonstrated that the three angles of an
isosceles rectangular triangle are equal to two right ones, I can-
not therefore conclude this affection agrees to all other triangles,
which have neither a right angle, nor two equal sides. It seems
therefore that, to be certain this proposition is universally true,
we must either make a particular demonstration for every par-
ticular triangle, which is impossible, or once for all demonstrate
it of the abstract idea of a triangle, in which all the particulars
do indifferently partake, and by which they are all equally
represented. To which I answer, that though the idea I have
in view whilst I make the demonstration, be, for instance, that
of an isosceles rectangular triangle, whose sides are of a deter-
minate length, I may nevertheless be certain it extends to all
other rectilinear triangles, of what sort or bigness soever.
[And that, because neither the right angle, nor the equality,
nor determinate length of the sides, are at all concerned in the
demonstration.] It is true, the diagram I have in view includes
all these particulars, but then there is not the least mention
made of them in the proof of the proposition. It is not said, the
three angles are equal to two right ones, because one of them is
a right angle, or because the sides comprehending it are of the
same length. Which sufficiently shows that the right angle
might have been oblique, and the sides unequal, and for all that
the demonstration have held good. And for this reason it is,
that I conclude that to be true of any obliquangular or scalenon,
which I had demonstrated of a particular right-angled, equi-
crural triangle ; and not because I demonstrated the proposition of
the abstract idea of a triangle. [*And here it must be acknow-
ledged, that a man may consider a figure merely as triangular,
without attending to the particular qualities of the angles, or
relations of the sides. So far he may abstract : but this will
never prove that he can frame an abstract general inconsistent
idea of a triangle. In like manner we may consider Peter so far
forth as man, or so far forth as animal, without framing the
forementioned abstract idea, either of man or of animal, inas-
much as all that is perceived is not considered.]
XVII. Advantage of investigating the doctrine of abstract ge-
neral ideas. — It were an endless, as well as a useless thing, to
* The passage here enclosed by brackets does not appear in the edition of 1710.
VOL. I. G
82 INTRODUCTION.
trace the schoolmen, those great masters of abstraction, through
all the manifold, inextricable labyrinths of error and dispute,
which their doctrine of abstract natures and notions seems to
have led them into. What bickerings and controversies, and
what a learned dust have been raised about those matters, and
what mighty advantage hath been from thence derived to man-
kind, are things at this day too clearly known to need being in-
sisted on. And it had been well if the ill effects of that doctrine
were confined to those only who make the most avowed pro-
fession of it. When men consider the great pains, industry, and
parts, that have, for so many ages, been laid out on the cultiva-
tion and advancement of the sciences, and that notwithstanding
all this, the far greater part of them remain full of darkness and
uncertainty, and disputes that are like never to have an end, and
even those that are thought to be supported by the most clear
and cogent demonstrations, contain in them paradoxes which are
perfectly irreconcilable to the understandings of men, and that,
taking all together, a small portion of them doth supply any real
benefit to mankind, otherwise than by being an innocent diver-
sion and amusement : I say, the consideration of all this is apt
to throw them into a despondency, and perfect contempt of all
study. But this may perhaps cease, upon a view of the false
principles that have obtained in the world, amongst all which
there is none, methinks, hath a more wide influence over the
thoughts of speculative men, than * this of abstract general ideas.
XVIII. [I come now to consider the source of this prevailing
notion, and that seems to me to be language. And surely
nothing of less extent than reason itself could have been the
source of an opinion so universally received.] The truth of this
appears as from other reasons, so also from the plain confession
of the ablest patrons of abstract ideas, [who acknowledge that
they are made in order to naming ; from which it is a clear con-
sequence, that if there had been no such thing as speech or
universal signs, there never had been any thought of abstrac-
tion.] See book iii. ch. vi. sect. 39, and elsewhere, of the
Essay on Human Understanding. Let us therefore examine
the manner wherein words have contributed to the origin of that
mistake. [First, f then, it is thought that every name hath, or
ought to have, one only precise and settled signification, which
inclines men to think there are certain abstract, determinate ideas,
which constitute the true and only immediate signification of
each general name. And that it is by the mediation of these
abstract ideas, that a general name comes to signify any par-
ticular thing.] [Whereas, in truth, there is no such thing as
one precise and definite signification annexed to any general
* " That we have been endeavouring to overthrow." — Edit. 1710.
tt Vide sect. xix.
INTRODUCTION. 83
name, they all signifying indifferently a great number of particular
ideas.] All which doth evidently follow from what has been
already said, and will clearly appear to any one by a little reflec-
tion. [To this it will be objected, that every name that has a
definition, is thereby restrained to one certain signification.]
For example, a triangle is defined to be a plain surface compre-
hended by three right lines; by which that name is limited to
denote one certain idea and no other. To which I answer, that
in the definition it is not said whether the surface be great or
small, black or white, nor whether the sides are long or short,
equal or unequal, nor with what angles they are inclined to each
other ; in all which there may be great variety, [and conse-
quently there is no one settled idea which limits the signification
of the word triangle.~\ [It is one thing for to keep a name con-
stantly to the same definition, and another to make it stand
every where for the same idea : the one is necessary, the other
useless and impracticable.]
XIX. \_Secondly, But to give a further account how words
came to produce the doctrine of abstract ideas, it must be observed
that it is a received opinion, that language has no other end but
the communicating our ideas, and that every significant name
stands for an idea.] This being so, and it being withal certain,
that names, which yet are not thought altogether insignificant,
do not always mark out particular conceivable ideas, it is
straightway concluded that they stand for abstract notions. That
there are many names in use amongst speculative men, which do
not always suggest to others determinate particular ideas, is
what nobody will deny. And a little attention will discover,
that it is not necessary (even in the strictest reasonings) signifi-
cant names which stand for ideas should, every time they are
used, excite in the understanding the ideas they are made to
stand for: [in reading and discoursing, names being, for the
most part, used as letters are in algebra, in which, though a par-
ticular quantity be marked by each letter, yet to proceed right
it is not requisite that in every step each letter suggest to your
thoughts that particular quantity it was appointed to stand for.*]
XX. Some of the ends of language. — [Besides, the (1) commu-
nicating of ideas marked by words is not the chief and only end
of language, as is commonly supposed. There are other ends, as
the (2) raising of some passion, the exciting to, or (3) deterring
from an action, the (4) putting the mind in some particular dis-
position] ; to which the former is, in many cases, barely sub-
servient, and sometimes entirely omitted, when these can be
obtained without it, as I think doth not infrequently happen in
* Language has become the source or origin of abstract general ideas on account of
a twofold error. — (1.) That every word has one only signification. (2.) That the
only end of language is the communication of our ideas. — Ed.
G2
84 INTRODUCTION.
the familiar use of language. I entreat the reader to reflect
with himself, and see if it doth not often happen, either in hear-
ing or reading a discourse, that the passions of fear, love, hatred,
admiration, disdain, and the like, arise immediately in his mind
upon the perception of certain words, without any ideas coining
between. At first, indeed, the words might have occasioned
ideas that were fit to produce those emotions ; but, if I mistake
not, it will be found that when language is once grown familiar,
the hearing of the sounds or sight of the characters is oft im-
mediately attended with those passions, which at first were wont
to be produced by the intervention of ideas, that are now quite
omitted. May we not, for example, #?!" be affected with the
promise of a good thing, though we have not an idea of what it
is? Or is not the being threatened with danger sufficient to
excite a dread, though we think not of any particular evil likely
to befall us, nor yet frame to ourselves an idea of danger in ab-
stract ? If any one shall join ever so little reflection of his own
to what has been said, I believe it will evidently appear to him,
that general names are often used in the propriety of language
without the speaker's designing them for marks of ideas in his
own, which he would have them raise in the mind of the hearer.
Even proper names themselves do not seem always spoken with
a design to bring into our view the ideas of those individuals
that are supposed to be marked by them. $3r For example,
when a schoolman tells me " Aristotle hath said it," all I con-
ceive he means by it, is to dispose me to embrace his opinion
with the deference and submission which custom has annexed to
that name. And this effect may be so instantly produced in the
minds of those who are accustomed to resign their judgment to
the authority of that philosopher, as it is impossible any idea
either of his person, writings, or reputation, should go before.*
Innumerable examples of this kind may be given, but why
should I insist on those things which every one's experience
will, I doubt not, plentifully suggest unto him ?
XXI. Caution in the use of language necessary. — We have, I
think, shown (1) the impossibility of abstract ideas. We have
considered (2) what has been said for them by their ablest
patrons ; and endeavoured to show they are of no use for those
ends to which they are thought necessary. And lastly, we have
(3) traced them to the source from whence they flow, which ap-
pears to be language. It cannot be denied that words are of
excellent use ; in that, by their means, all that stock of know-
ledge, which has been purchased by the joint labours of inquisi-
tive men in all ages and nations, may be drawn into the view
t " So close and immediate a connexion may custom establish betwixt the very
word Aristotle, and the motions of assent and raverence in the minds of some men." —
Edit. 1710.
INTRODUCTION. 85
and made the possession of one single person. But at the same
time it must be owned that most parts of knowledge have been
strangely perplexed and darkened by the abuse of words, and
general ways of speech wherein they are delivered.* Since,
therefore, words are so apt to impose on the understanding,!
whatever ideas I consider, I shall endeavour to take them bare
and naked into my view, keeping out of my thoughts, so far as
I am able, those names which long and constant use hath so
strictly united with them ; from which I may expect to derive
the following advantages : —
XXII. First, I shall be sure to get clear of all controversies
purely verbal ; the springing up of which weeds in almost all the
sciences has been a main hindrance to the growth of true and
sound knowledge. Secondly, this seems to be a sure way to ex-
tricate myself out of that fine and subtile net of abstract ideas,
which has so miserably perplexed and entangled the minds of
men, and that with this peculiar circumstance, that by how much
the finer and more curious was the wit of any man, by so much
the deeper was he like to be ensnared, and faster held therein.
Thirdly, so long as I confine my thoughts to my own ideas di-
vested of words, I do not see how I can be easily mistaken. The
objects, I consider, I clearly and adequately know. I cannot be
deceived in thinking I have an idea which I have not. It is not
possible for me to imagine, that any of my own ideas are like or
unlike, that are not truly so. To discern the agreements or dis-
agreements that are between my ideas, to see what ideas are in-
cluded in any compound idea, and what not, there is nothing
more requisite, than an attentive perception of what passes in
my own understanding.
XXIII. But the attainment of all these advantages doth pre-
suppose an entire deliverance from the deception of words, which I
dare hardly promise myself; so difficult a thing it is to dissolve a
union so early begun, and confirmed by so long a habit as that
betwixt words and ideas. [Which difficulty seems to have been
very much increased by the doctrine of abstraction. For so long
as men thought abstract ideas were annexed to their words, it
doth not seem strange that they should use words for ideas : it
being found an impracticable thing to lay aside the word, and
retain the abstract idea in the mind, ivhich in itself was perfectly
inconceivable^ This seems to me the principal cause, why those
men who have so emphatically recommended to others the laying
aside all use of words in their meditations, and contemplating
their bare ideas, have yet failed to perform it themselves. Of
* " That it may almost be made a question, whether language has contributed more
to the hindrance or advancement of the sciences." — Edit. 1710.
t " I am resolved in my inquiries to make as little use of them as possibly I can."
—Edit. 1710.
OO INTRODUCTION.
late many have been very sensible of the absurd opinions and
insignificant disputes, which grow out of the abuse of words.
And in order to remedy these evils they advise well, that we at-
tend to the ideas signified, and draw off our attention from the
words which signify them. [But how good soever this advice
may be they have given others, it is plain they could not have a
due regard to it themselves, so long as they thought (1) the only
immediate use of words was to signify ideas, and that (2) the
immediate signification of every general name was a determinate,
abstract ideaJ\
XXIV. But these being known to be mistakes, a man may with
greater ease prevent his being imposed on by words. He that knows
he has no other than particular ideas, will not puzzle himself in
vain to find out and conceive the abstract idea, annexed to any
name. And he that knows names do not always stand for ideas,
will spare himself the labour of looking for ideas, where there
are none to be had. It were therefore to be wished that every
one would use his utmost endeavours, to obtain a clear view of
the ideas he would consider, separating from them all that dress
and encumbrance of words which so much contribute to blind
the judgment and divide the attention. In vain do we extend
our view into the heavens, and pry into the entrails of the earth ;
in vain do we consult the writings of learned men, and trace the
dark footsteps of antiquity ; we need only draw the curtain of
words, to behold the fairest tree of knowledge, whose fruit is
excellent, and within the reach of our hand.
XXV. Unless we take care to clear the first principles of know-
ledge, from the embarrass and delusion of words, we may make in-
finite reasonings upon them to no purpose : we may draw conse-
quences from consequences, and be never the wiser. The further
we go, we shall only lose ourselves the more irrecoverably, and
be the deeper entangled in difficulties and mistakes. Whoever
therefore designs to read the following sheets, I entreat him to
make my words the occasion of his own thinking, and endeavour
to attain the same train of thoughts in reading, that I had in
writing them. By this means it will be easy for him to discover
the truth or falsity of what I say. He will be out of all danger
of being deceived by my words, and I do not see how he can be
led into an error by considering his own naked, undisguised ideas.
.
OF
THE PRINCIPLES
OF
HUMAN KNOWLEDGE.
PART I.
I. Objects of human knowledge. — [It is evident to any one who
takes a survey of the objects of human knowledge, that they
are either ideas actually (1) imprinted on the senses, or else such
as are (2) perceived by attending to the passions and operations
of the mind, or lastly, ideas (3) formed by help of memory and
imagination, either compounding, dividing, or barely representing
those originally perceived in the aforesaid ways.] By sight I
have the ideas of light and colours with their several degrees
and variations. By touch I perceive, for example, hard and soft,
heat and cold, motion and resistance, and of all these more and
less either as to quantity or degree. Smelling furnishes me
with odours ; the palate with tastes ; and hearing conveys sounds
to tlie mind in all their variety of tone and composition. And
as several of these are observed to accompany each other, they
come to be marked by one name, and so to be reputed as one
thing. $21' Thus, for example, a certain colour, taste, smell,
figure, and consistence having been observed to go together, are
accounted one distinct thing, signified by the name apple.
Other collections of ideas constitute a stone, a tree, a book, and
the like sensible things ; which, as they are pleasing or disagree-
able, excite the passions of love, hatred, joy, grief, and so forth.
II. Mind — spirit — soul. — But besides all that endless variety
of ideas or objects of knowledge, there is likewise something
Avhich knows or perceives them, and exercises divers operations,
as willing, imagining, remembering about them. This perceiving,
active being is what I call mind, spirit, soul, or myself. By
which words I do not denote any one of my ideas, but a thing
entirely distinct from them, wherein they exist, or, which is the
same thing, whereby they are perceived ; for the existence of an
idea consists in being perceived.
88 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [>ART I.
III. How far the assent of tJie vulgar conceded. — [That neither
our thoughts, nor passions, nor ideas formed by the imagination,
exist without the mind, is what every body will allow.^ And (to
me) it seems no less evident that the various sensations or ideas
imprinted on the sense, however blended or combined together
(that is, whatever objects they compose), cannot exist otherwise
than in a mind perceiving them. [I think an intuitive know-
ledge may be obtained of this, by any one that shall attend to
what is meant by the term exist, when applied to sensible things.
The table I write on, I say, exists, that is, I see and feel it ;
and if I were out of my study I should say it existed, meaning
thereby that if I was in my study I might perceive it, or that
some other spirit actually does perceive it.] * There was an
odour, that is, it was smelled ; there was a sound, that is to say,
it was heard ; a colour or figure, and it was perceived by sight
or touch. This is all that I can understand by these and the
like expressions. For as to what is said of the absolute exis-
tence of unthinking things without any relation to their being
perceived, that seems perfectly unintelligible. Their esse is per-
cipi, nor is it possible they should have any existence, out of the
minds or thinking things which perceive them.
IV. The vulgar opinion involves a contradiction. — It is indeed
an opinion strangely prevailing amongst men, that houses, moun-
tains, rivers, and in a word all sensible objects have an existence
natural or real, distinct from their being perceived by the under-
standing. But with how great an assurance and acquiescence
soever this principle may be entertained in the world ; yet who-
ever shall find in his heart to call it in question, may, if I
mistake not, perceive it to involve a manifest contradiction.
| For what are the forementioned objects but the things we per-
ceive by sense, and what do we perceive besides our own ideas or
sensations ; and is it not plainly repugnant that any one of these
or any combination of them should exist unperceived ?]
V. Cause of this prevalent error. — [If we throughly examine
this tenet, it will, perhaps, be found at bottom to depend on the
doctrine of abstract ideas. For can there be a nicer strain of
abstraction than to distinguish the existence of sensible objects
from their being perceived, so as to conceive them existing un-
perceived ?] Light and colours, heat and cold, extension and
figures, in a word the things we see and feel, what are they but
so many sensations, notions, ideas, or impressions on the sense ;
and is it possible to separate, even in thought, any of these from
perception ? For my part I might as easily divide a thing from
itself. I may indeed divide in my thoughts or conceive apart
from each other those things which, perhaps, I never perceived
by sense so divided. $& Thus I imagine the trunk of a human
* First argument, in support of the author's theory.
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 89
body without the limbs, or conceive the smell of a rose without
thinking on the rose itself. So far I will not deny I can ab-
stract, if that may properly be called abstraction, which extends
only to the conceiving separately such objects as it is possible
may really exist or be actually perceived asunder. But my con-
ceiving or imagining power does not extend beyond the possi-
bility of real existence or perception. Hence as it is impossible
for me to see or feel any thing without an actual sensation of
that thing, so is it impossible for me to conceive in my thoughts
any sensible thing or object distinct from the sensation or per-
ception of it.*
VI. Some truths there are so near and obvious to the mind,
that a man need only open his eyes to see them. Such I take
this important one to be, to wit, that all the choir of heaven and
furniture of the earth, in a word all those bodies which compose
the mighty frame of the world, have not any subsistence without
a mind, that their being (esse) is to be perceived or known ; that
consequently so long as they are not actually perceived by me,
or do not exist in my mind or that of any other created spirit,
they must either have no existence at all, or else subsist in the
mind of some eternal spirit : it being perfectly unintelligible and
involving all the absurdity of abstraction, to attribute to any
single part of them an existence independent of a spirit, f To
be convinced of which, the reader need only reflect and try to
separate in his own thoughts the being of a sensible thing from
its being perceived.
VII. Second argument.^ — [From what has been said, it follows,
there is not any other substance than spirit, or that which per-
ceives.] But for the fuller proof of this point, let it be consi-
dered, the sensible qualities are colour, figure, motion, smell,
taste, and such like, that is, the ideas perceived by sense. [Now
for an idea to exist in an unperceiving thing, is a manifest con-
tradiction ; for to have an idea is all one as to perceive : that there-
fore wherein colour, figure, and the like qualities exist, must per-
ceive them ; hence it is clear there can be no unthinking substance
or substratum of those ideas.]
VIII. Objection. — Answer. — [But say you, though the ideas
themselves do not exist without the mind, yet there may be
things like them whereof they are copies or resemblances, which
things exist without the mind, in an unthinking substance.] [I
answer, an idea can be like nothing but an idea ; a colour or
* " In truth the object and the sensation are the same thing, and cannot therefore be
abstracted from eacli other." — Edit. 1710.
t " To make this appear with all the light and evidence of an axiom, it seems suffi-
cient if I can but awaken the reflection of the reader, that he may take an impartial view
of his own meaning, and turn his thoughts upon the subject itself, free and disengaged from
all embarrass of words and prepossession in favour of received mistakes." — Edit. 1710.
i Vide sect. iii. and xxv.
90 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. QPART I.
figure can be like nothing but another colour or figure. If we
look but ever so little into our thoughts, we shall find it impossi-
ble for us to conceive a likeness except only between our ideas.]
[Again, I ask whether those supposed originals or external
things, of which our ideas are the pictures or representations, be
themselves perceivable or no ? if they are, then they are ideas,
and we have gained our point ; but if you say they are not, I
appeal to any one whether it be sense, to assert a colour is like
something which is invisible ; hard or soft, like something which
is intangible; and so of the rest.]
IX. The philosophical notion of matter involves a contradiction.
— Some there are who make a distinction betwixt primary and
secondary qualities : by the former, they mean extension, figure,
motion, rest, solidity or impenetrability, and number : by the
latter they denote all other sensible qualities, as colours, sounds,
tastes, and so forth. The ideas we have of these they acknow-
ledge not to be the resemblances of any thing existing without
the mind or unperceived ; but they will have our ideas of the
primary qualities to be patterns or images of things which exist
without the mind, in an unthinking substance which they call
matter. [By matter therefore we are to understand an inert,
senseless substance, in which extension, figure and motion, do
actually subsist. But it is evident from what we have already
shown, that extension, figure, and motion, are only ideas existing
in the mind, and that an idea can be like nothing but another
idea, and that consequently neither they nor their archetypes
can exist in an unperceiving substance.] Hence it is plain, that
the very notion of what is called matter., or corporeal substance,
involves a contradiction in it.*
X. Argumentum ad hominem. — They who assert that figure,
motion, and the rest of the primary or original qualities, do exist
without the mind, in unthinking substances, do at the same time
acknowledge that colours, sounds, heat, cold, and such like
secondary qualities, do not, which they tell us are sensations
existing in the mind alone, that depend on and are occasioned by
the different size, texture, and motion of the minute particles of
matter. This they take for an undoubted truth, which they can
demonstrate beyond all exception. [Now if it be certain, that
those original qualities are inseparably united ivith the other
sensible qualities, and not, even in thought, capable of being
abstracted from them, it plainly follows that they exist only in
the mind. But I desire any one to reflect and try, whether he
* " Insomuch that I should not think it necessary to spend more time in exposing
its absurdity. But because the tenet of the existence of matter seems to have taken so
deep a root in the minds of philosophers, and draws after it so many ill consequences, I
choose rather to be thought prolix and tedious, than omit any thing that might conduce
to the full discovery and extirpation of that prejudice." — Edit. 1710.
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 91
can, by any abstraction of thought, conceive the extension and
motion of a body, without all other sensible qualities.] For my
own part, I see evidently that it is not in my power to frame an
idea of a body extended and moved, but I must withal give it
some colour or other sensible quality which is acknowledged to
exist only in the mind. In short, extension, figure, and motion,
abstracted from all other qualities, are inconceivable. Where
therefore the other sensible qualities are, there must these be
also, to wit, in the mind and nowhere else.
XL A second argumentum ad hominem. — [Again, great and
small, swift and slow, are allowed to exist no where without the
mind, being entirely relative, and changing as the frame or posi-
tion of the organs of sense varies. The extension therefore
which exists without the mind, is neither great nor small, the
motion neither swift nor slow, that is, they are nothing at all.
But, say you, they are extension in general, and motion in
general : thus we see how much the tenet of extended, moveable
substances existing without the mind, depends on that strange
doctrine of abstract ideas.~\ And here I cannot but remark, how
nearly the vague and indeterminate description of matter or
corporeal substance, which the modern philosophers are run into
by their own principles, resembles that antiquated and so much
ridiculed notion ofmateria prima, to be met with in Aristotle and
his followers. [Without extension solidity cannot be conceived;
since therefore it has been shown that extension exists not in an
unthinking substance, the same must also be true of solidity.]
XII. [That number is entirely the creature of the mind, even
though the other qualities be allowed to exist without, will be
evident to whoever considers, that the same thing bears a differ-
ent denomination of number, as the mind views it with different
respects.] Thus, the same extension is one, or three, or thirty-
six, according as the mind considers it with reference to a yard,
a foot, or an inch. Number is so visibly relative, and dependent
on men's understanding, that it is strange to think how any one
should give it an absolute existence without the mind. We say,
one book, one page, one line ; all these are equally units, though
some contain several of the others. And in each instance it is
plain, the unit relates to some particular combination of ideas
arbitrarily put together by the mind.
XIII. Unity, I know, some will have to be a simple or uncom-
pounded idea, accompanying all other ideas into the mind. That
I have any such idea, answering the word unity, I do not find ;
and if I had, methinks I could not miss finding it ; on the con-
trary, it should be the most familiar to my understanding, since
it is said to accompany all other ideas, and to be perceived by all
the ways of sensation and reflection. To say no more, it is an
abstract idea.
92 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [>ART I.
XIV. A third argumentum ad hominem. — I shall further add,
that after the same manner as modern philosophers prove certain
sensible qualities to have no existence in matter, or without the
mind, the same thing may be likewise proved of all other sensible
qualities whatsoever. Thus, for instance, it is said that heat and
cold are affections only of the mind, and not at all patterns of
real beings, existing in the corporeal substances which excite
them, for that the same body which appears cold to one hand,
seems warm to another. [Now why may we not as well argue
that figure and extension are not patterns or resemblances of
qualities existing in matter, because to the same eye at different
stations, or eyes of a different texture at the same station, they
appear various, and cannot therefore be the images of any thing
settled and determinate without the mind f\ Again, it is proved
that sweetness is not really in the sapid thing, because, the thing
remaining unaltered, the sweetness is changed into bitter, as in
case of a fever or otherwise vitiated palate. Is it not as reason-
able to say, that motion is not without the mind, since if the
succession of ideas in the mind become swifter, the motion, it is
acknowledged, shall appear slower without any alteration in any
external object.
XV. Not conclusive as to extension. — In short, let any one con-
sider those arguments which are thought manifestly to prove
that colours and tastes exist only in the mind, and he shall find
they may with equal force be brought to prove the same thing
of extension, figure, and motion. [Though it must be confessed,
this method of arguing doth not so much prove that there is no
extension or colour in an outward object, as that we do not know
by sense which is the true extension or colour of the object.]
But the arguments foregoing plainly show it to be impossible
that any colour or extension at all, or other sensible quality
whatsoever, should exist in an unthinking subject without the
mind, or in truth, that there should be any such thing as an out-
ward object.
XVI. But let us examine a little the received opinion. It is
said extension is a mode or accident of matter, and that matter is
the substratum that supports it. Now I desire that you would
explain what is meant by matter's supporting extension : say you,
I have no idea of matter, and therefore cannot explain it, I
answer, though you have no positive, yet if you have any mean-
ing at all, you must at least have a relative idea of matter;
though you know not what it is, yet you must be supposed to
know what relation it bears to accidents, and what is meant by
its supporting them. It is evident support cannot here be taken
in its usual or literal sense, as when we say that pillars support
a building : in what sense therefore must it be taken ?*
* " For mv part, I am uot able to discover any sense at all that can be applicable to
it."— Edit. 1710.
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 93
XVII. Philosophical meaning of " material substance" divisible
into two parts. — [If we inquire into what the most accurate phi-
losophers declare themselves to mean by material substance, we
shall find them acknowledge, they have no other meaning an-
nexed to those sounds, but the idea of being in general, together
with the relative notion of its supporting accidents.^ The general
idea of being appeareth to me the most abstract and incompre-
hensible of all other ; and as for its supporting accidents, this, as
we have just now observed, cannot be understood in the common
sense of those words ; it must therefore be taken in some other
sense, but what that is they do not explain. [So that when I
consider the two parts or branches which make the significa-
tion of the words material substance, I am convinced there is no
distinct meaning annexed to them.] But why should we trouble
ourselves any further, in discussing this material substratum or
support of figure and motion, and other sensible qualities ? does
it not suppose they have an existence without the mind ? and is
not this a direct repugnancy, and altogether inconceivable ?
XVIII. The existence of external bodies wants proof. — [But
though it were possible that solid, figured, moveable substances
may exist without the mind, corresponding to the ideas we have
of bodies, yet how is it possible for us to hnoio this ? either we
must know it by sense, or by reason.] [As for our senses, by
them we have the knowledge only of our sensations, ideas, or
those things that are immediately perceived by sense, call them
what you will: but they do not inform us that things exist
without the mind, or unperceived, like to those which are per-
ceived.] This the materialists themselves acknowledge. It
remains therefore that if we have any knowledge at all of ex-
ternal things, it must be by reason, inferring their existence from
what is immediately perceived by sense. [But (I do not see)
what reason can induce us to believe the existence of bodies
without the mind, from what we perceive, since the very patrons
of matter themselves do not pretend, there is any necessary con-
nexion betwixt them and our ideas. I say, it is granted on all
hands (and what happens in dreams, frenzies, and the like, puts
it beyond dispute) that it is possible we might be affected with all
the ideas ice have now, though no bodies existed without, resembling
thcm.~\ Hence it is evident the supposition of external bodies is
not necessary for the producing our ideas : since it is granted
they are produced sometimes, and might possibly be produced
always, in the same order AVC see them in at present, without
their concurrence.
XIX. The existence of external bodies affords no explication of
the manner in which our ideas are produced. — But though we
might possibly have all our sensations without them, yet perhaps
it may be thought easier to conceive and explain the manner of
94 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. £PAUT I.
their production, by supposing external bodies in their likeness
rather than otherwise ; and so it might be at least probable there
are such things as bodies that excite their ideas in our minds.
[But neither can this be said; for though we give the materialists
their external bodies, they, by their own confession, are never
the nearer knowing how our ideas are produced : since they own
themselves unable to comprehend in what manner body can act
upon spirit, or how it is possible it should imprint any idea in the
mind.] Hence it is evident, the production of ideas or sensa-
tions in our minds, can be no reason why we should suppose
matter or corporeal substances, since that is acknowledged to re-
main equally inexplicable with or without this supposition. [If
therefore it were possible for bodies to exist without the mind,
yet to hold they do so must needs be a very precarious opinion ;
since it is to suppose, without any reason at all, that God has
created innumerable beings that are entirely useless, and serve to
no manner of purpose.
XX Dilemma. — In short, if there were external bodies, it is
impossible we should ever come to know it ; and if there were
not, we might have the very same reasons to think there were
that we have now. [Suppose, what no one can deny possible,
an intelligence, without the help of external bodies, to be affected
with the same train of sensations or ideas that you are, imprinted
in the same order and with like vividness in his mind. I ask,
whether that intelligence hath not all the reason to believe the
existence of corporeal substances, represented by his ideas, and
exciting them in his mind, that you can possibly have for be-
lieving the same thing?] Of this there can be no question;
which one consideration is enough to make any reasonable per-
son suspect the strength of whatever arguments he may think
himself to have for the existence of bodies without the mind.
XXI. [Were it necessary to add any further proof against
the existence of matter, after what has been said, I could instance
several of those errors and difficulties (not to mention impieties)
which have sprung from that tenet.] It has occasioned number-
less controversies and disputes in philosophy, and not a few of
greater moment in religion. But I shall not enter into the detail
of them in this place, as well because I think arguments a poste-
riori are unnecessary for confirming what has been, if I mistake
not, sufficiently demonstrated a priori, as because I shall here-
after find occasion to say somewhat of them.
XXII. I am afraid I have given cause to think me needlessly
prolix in handling this subject. For to what purpose is it to
dilate on that which may be demonstrated with the utmost evi-
dence in a line or two, to any one that is capable of the least
reflection? it is but looking into your own thoughts, and so
trying whether you can conceive it possible for a sound, or figure,
PART I.] TUB PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 95
or motion, or colour, to exist without the mind, or unpereeived.
This easy trial may make you see, that what you contend for is
a downright contradiction. Insomuch that I am content to put
the whole upon this issue ; if you can but conceive it possible for
one extended moveable substance, or in general, for any one idea,
or any thing like an idea, to exist otherwise than in a mind per-
ceiving it, I shall readily give up the cause : and as for all that
compares of external bodies which you contend for, I shall grant
you its existence, though (1) you cannot either give me any reason
why you believe it exists,* or (2) assign any use to it when it is sup-
posed to existf I say, the bare possibility of your opinion's being
true, shall pass for an argument that it is so. I
XXIII. [But say you, surely there is nothing easier than to
imagine trees, for instance, in a park, or books existing in a closet,
and nobody by to perceive them. I answer, you may so, there
is no difficulty in it] : [but what is all this, I beseech you, more
than framing in your mind certain ideas which you call books and
trees, and at the same time omitting to frame the idea of any one
that may perceive them ? but do not you yourself perceive or think
of them all the while ?] this therefore is nothing to the purpose ;
it only shows you have the power of imagining or forming ideas
in your mind ; [but it doth not show that you can conceive it pos-
sible the objects of your thought may exist without the mind :
to make out this, it is necessary that you conceive them existing un-
concerned or unthought-of, which is a manifest repugnancy J\ [When
we do our utmost to conceive the existence of external bodies,
we are all the while only contemplating our own ideas. But the
mind, taking no notice of itself, is deluded to think it can and
doth conceive bodies existing unthought-of or without the mind ;
though at the same time they are apprehended by or exist in it-
self.] A little attention will discover to any one the truth and
evidence of what is here said, and make it unnecessary to insist
on any other proofs against the existence of material substance.
XXIV. The absolute existence of unthinking things are icords
tuithout a meaning. — It is very obvious, upon the least inquiry into
our own thoughts, to know whether it be possible for us to under-
stand what is meant by the absolute existence of sensible objects in
themselves or without the mind. To me it is evident those words
mark ou4; either a direct contradiction, or else nothing at all. And
to convince others of this, I know no readier or fairer way, than
to entreat they would calmly attend to their own thoughts : and
if by this attention the emptiness or repugnancy of those expres-
sions does appear, surely nothing more is requisite for their con-
viction. It is on this therefore that I insist, to wit, that the
* Vide sect. Iviii. t Vide sect. Ix.
t i- e. Although your argument be deficient in the two requisites of an hypothesis.
— Ed.
96 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [PART I.
absolute existence of unthinking things are words without a
meaning, or which include a contradiction. This is what I repeat
and inculcate, and earnestly recommend to the attentive thoughts
of the reader.
XXY. Third argument* — Refutation of Locke. — [All our
ideas, sensations, or the things which we perceive, by whatsoever
names they may be distinguished, are visibly inactive ; there is
nothing of power or agency included in them. So that one idea
or object of thought cannot produce, or make any alteration in
another.'] To be satisfied of the truth of this, there is nothing
else requisite but a bare observation of our ideas. For since
they and every part of them exist only in the mind, it follows
that there is nothing in them but what is perceived. But who-
ever shall attend to his ideas, whether of sense or reflection, will
not perceive in them any power or activity ; there is therefore
no such thing contained in them. A little attention will dis-
cover to us that the very being of an idea implies passiveness
and inertness in it, insomuch that it is impossible for an idea to
do any thing, or, strictly speaking, to be the cause of any thing :
neither can it be the resemblance or pattern of any active being,
as is evident from Sect. Viii. [Whence it plainly follows that
extension, figure, and motion, cannot be the cause of our sensa-
tions. To say, therefore, that these are the effects of powers
resulting from the configuration, number, motion, and size of
corpuscles, must certainly be false.]f
XXVI. Cause of ideas. — We perceive a continual succession
of ideas, some are anew excited, others are changed or totally
disappear. There is therefore some cause of these ideas whereon
they depend, and which produces and changes them. That this
cause cannot be any quality or idea or combination of ideas, is
clear from the preceding section. It must therefore be a sub-
stance ; but it has been shown that there is no corporeal or mate-
rial substance : [it remains therefore that the cause of ideas is an
incorporeal active substance or spirit.]
XXVII. No idea of spirit. — A spirit is one simple, undivided,
active being : as it perceives ideas, it is called the understanding,
and as it produces or otherwise operates about them, it is called
the will. Hence there can be no idea formed of a soul or spirit :
[for all ideas whatever, being passive and inert (vide Sect, xxv.),
they cannot represent unto us, by way of image or likeness, that
which acts.] A little attention will make it plain to any one,
that to have an idea which shall be like that active principle of
motion and change of ideas, is absolutely impossible. [Such is
the nature of spirit, or that which acts, that it cannot be of itself
perceived but only by the effects which it producethJ\ If any man
* Vide sect. iii. and vii. t Vide sect. cii.
PART I.] T1IE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 97
shall doubt of the truth of what is here delivered, let him but
reflect and try if he can frame the idea of any power or active
being ; and whether he hath ideas of two principal powers,
marked by the names will and understanding, distinct from each
other as well as from a third idea of substance or being in gene-
ral, with a relative notion of its supporting or being the subject
of the aforesaid powers, which is signified by the name soul or
spirit This is what some hold ; but so far as I can see, the
words will* soul, spirit, do not stand for different ideas, or in
truth, for any idea at all, but for something which is very diffe-
rent from ideas, and which being an agent cannot be like unto,
or represented by, any idea whatsoever. [Though it must be
owned at the same time, that we have some notion of soul, spirit,
and the operations of the mind, such as willing, loving, hating,
inasmuch as we know or understand the meaning of those words.]
XXVIII. I find I can excite ideas in my mind at pleasure, and
vary and shift the scene as oft as I think fit. It is no more than
willing, and straightway this or 'that idea arises in my fancy:
and by the same power it is obliterated, and makes way for
another. This making and unmaking of ideas doth very pro-
perly denominate the mind active. Thus much is certain, and
grounded on experience : but when we talk of unthinking agents,
or of exciting ideas exclusive of volition, we only amuse our-
selves with words.
XXIX. Ideas of sensation f differ from those of reflection or
memory. — [But whatever power I may have over my own thoughts,
I find the ideas actually perceived by sense have not a like de-
pendence on my will.] When in broad day-light I open my eyes,
it is not in my power to choose whether I shall see or no, or to
determine what particular objects shall present themselves to my
view ; and so likewise as to the hearing and other senses, the
ideas imprinted on them are not creatures of my will. [There is
therefore some other will or spirit that produces them.~\
XXX. Laws of nature. — [The ideas of sense are more strong,
lively, and distinct than those of the imagination ; they have like-
wise a steadiness, order, and coherence, and are not excited at
random, as those which are the effects of human wills often are,
but in a regular train or series, the admirable connexion whereof
sufficiently testifies the wisdom and benevolence of its author.]
Now the set rules or established methods, wherein the mind we depend
on excites in us the ideas of sense, are called the laws of nature :
and these we learn by experience, which teaches us that such and
such ideas are attended with such and such other ideas, in the or-
dinary course of things.
XXXI. Knowledge of them necessary for the conduct of worldly
* " Understanding, mind." — Edit. 1710.
•f- 1st. They do not depend on the will. — 2nd. They are distinct.
VOL. I. H
98 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [PART I.
affairs. — [This gives us a sort of foresight, which enables us to
regulate our actions for the benefit of life. And without this we
should be eternally at a loss : we could not know how to act any
thing that might procure us the least pleasure, or remove the
least pain of sense.] That food nourishes, sleep refreshes, and
fire warms us ; that to sow in the seed-time is the way to reap in
the harvest, and, in general, that to obtain such or such ends, such
or such means are conducive, all this we know, not by discovering
any necessary connexion between our ideas, but only by the obser-
vation of the settled laws of nature, without which we should be
all in uncertainty and confusion, and a grown man no more know
how to manage himself in the affairs of life than an infant just
born.
XXXII. And yet this consistent, uniform working, which so
evidently displays the goodness and wisdom of that governing
Spirit whose will constitutes the laws of nature, is so far from
leading our thoughts to him, that it rather sends them a wandering
after second causes. [For when we perceive certain ideas of sense
constantly followed by other ideas, -and we know this is not of our
own doing, we forthwith attribute power and agency to the ideas
themselves, and make one the cause of another, than which no-
thing can be more absurd and unintelligible.] Thus, for example,
having observed that when we perceive by sight a certain round
luminous figure, we at the same time perceive by touch the idea
or sensation called heat, we do from thence conclude the sun to be
the cause of heat. And in like manner perceiving the motion
and collision of bodies to be attended with sound, we are inclined
to think the latter an effect of the former.
XXXIII. Of real things and ideas or chimeras. — [The ideas
imprinted on the senses by the author of nature are called real
things: and those excited in the imagination, being less regular,
vivid, and constant, are more properly termed ideas, or images of
things, which they copy and represent.] But then our sensations,
be they never so vivid and distinct, are nevertheless ideas, that is,
they exist in the mind, or are perceived by it, as truly as the
ideas of its own framing. The ideas of sense are allowed to have
more reality in them, that is, to be more (1) strong, (2) orderly,
and (3) coherent than the creatures of the mind : but this is no
argument that they exist without the mind. They are also (4) less
dependent on the spirit, * or thinking substance which perceives
them, in that they are excited by the will of another and more
powerful spirit: yet still they are ideas, and certainly no idea,
whether faint or strong, can exist otherwise than in a mind per-
ceiving it.
XXXIV. First general objection. — Answer. — Before we proceed
* Vide sect. xxix. — Note.
THE PUINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 99
any further, it is necessary to spend some time in answering ob-
jections which may probably be made against the principles
hitherto laid down. In doing of which, if I seem too prolix to
those of quick apprehensions, I hope it may be pardoned, since
all men do not equally apprehend things of this nature ; and I
am willing to be undei'stood by every one. \_First then it will be
objected that by the foregoing principles, all that is real and sub-
stantial in nature is banished out of the world : and instead thereof
a chimerical scheme of ideas takes place.] All things that
exist, exist only in the mind, that is, they are purely notional.
What therefore becomes of the sun, moon, and stars? What
must we think of houses, rivers, mountains, trees, stones ; nay,
even of our own bodies? Are all these but so many chimeras
and illusions on the fancy ? To all which, and whatever else of
the same sort may be objected, [I answer, that by the principles
premised, we are not deprived of any one thing in nature.
Whatever we see, feel, hear, or any wise conceive or understand,
remains as secure as ever, and is as real as ever. There is a
rerum natura, and the distinction betweenrrealities and chimeras
retains its full force.] This is evident from Sect, xxix., xxx., and
xxxm., where we have shown what is meant by real things in op-
position to chimeras, or ideas of our own framing ; but then they
both equally exist in the mind, and in that sense are like ideas.
XXXV. The existence of matter, as understood by philosophers,
denied.* — I do not argue against the existence of any one thing that
we can apprehend, either by sense or reflection. That the things I
see with mine eyes and touch with my hands do exist, really exist,
I make not the least question. The only thing whose existence
we deny, is that which philosophers call matter or corporeal sub-
stance. And in doing of this, there is no damage done to the
rest of mankind, who, I dare say, will never miss it. The atheist
indeed will want the colour of an empty name to support his im-
piety ; and the philosophers may possibly find, they have lost a
great handle for trifling and disputation.
XXXVI. Reality explained. — If any man thinks this detracts
from the existence or reality of things, he is very far from un-
derstanding what hath been premised in the plainest terms I could
think of. Take here an abstract of what has been said. [There
are spiritual substances, minds, or human souls, which will or ex-
cite ideas in themselves at pleasure : but these are faint, weak,
and unsteady in respect of others they perceive by sense, which
being impressed upon them according to certain rules or laws of
nature, speak themselves the effects of a mind more powerful and
wise than human spirits. These latter are said to have more
reality in them than the former : by which is meant that they are
* Vide sect. Ixxxiv.
H 2
100 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [JPART I.
affecting, orderly, and distinct, and that they are not fictions of
the mind perceiving them.] And in this sense, the sun that I see
by day is the real sun, and that which I imagine by night is the
idea of the former. In the sense here given of reality, it is evi-
dent that every vegetable, star, mineral, and in general each part
of the mundane system, is as much a real being by our principles
as by any other. Whether others mean any thing by the term
reality different from what I do, I entreat them to look into their
own thoughts and see.
XXXVII. The philosophic, not the vulgar substance, taken
away. — [It Avill be urged that thus much at least is true, to wit,
that we take away all corporeal substances. To this my answer
is, that if the word substance be taken in the vulgar sense, for a
combination of sensible qualities, such as extension, solidity,
weight, and the like : this we cannot be accused of taking away.
But if it be taken in a philosophic sense, for the support of acci-
dents or qualities without the mind ; then indeed I acknowledge
that we take it away, if one may be said to take away that which
never had any existence, not even in the imagination.]
XXXVIII. But, say you, it sounds very harsh to say we eat
and drink ideas, and are clothed with ideas. I acknowledge it
does so, the word idea not being used in common discourse to
signify the several combinations of sensible qualities, which are
called things : and it is certain that any expression which varies
from the familiar use of language, will seem harsh and ridiculous.
But this doth not concern the truth of the proposition, which in
other words is no more than to say, we are fed and clothed with
those things which we perceive immediately by our senses. The
hardness or softness, the colour, taste, warmth, figure, and such
like qualities, which combined together constitute the several
sorts of victuals and apparel, have been shown to exist only in
the mind that perceives them ; and this is all that is meant by
calling them ideas ; which word, if it was as ordinarily used as
thing, would sound no harsher nor more ridiculous than it. I
am not for disputing about the propriety, but the truth of the
expression. If therefore you agree with me that we eat, and
drink, and are clad with the immediate objects of sense, which
cannot exist unperceived or without the mind ; I shall readily
grant it is more proper or conformable to custom, that they
should be called things rather than ideas.
XXXIX. The term idea preferable to thing. — If it be de-
manded why I make use of the wrord idea, and do not rather in
compliance with custom call them things. [I answer, I do it for
two reasons : first, because the term thing, in contradistinction to
idea, is generally supposed to denote somewhat existing without
the mind : secondly, because thing hath a more comprehensive
signification than idea, including spirits, or thinking things, as
PART I.J THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 101
well as ideas.~\ Since therefore the objects of sense exist only in
the mind, and are withal thoughtless and inactive, I chose to
mark them by the word idea, which implies those properties.
XL. The evidence of the senses not discredited. — But, say what
we can, some one perhaps may be apt to reply, he will still
believe his senses, and never suffer any arguments, how plausible
soever, to prevail over the certainty of them. Be it so, assert
the evidence of sense as high as you please, we are willing to do
the same. That what I see, hear, and feel doth exist, that is to
say, is perceived by me, I no more doubt than I do of my own
being. But I do not see how the testimony of sense can be
alleged as a proof for the existence of any thing which is not
perceived by sense. We are not for having any man turn
sceptic, and disbelieve his senses ; on the contrary, we give them
all the stress and assurance imaginable ; nor are there any prin-
ciples more opposite to scepticism than those we have laid down,*
as shall be hereafter clearly shown.
XLI. Second objection. — Answer. — Secondly, it will be objected
that there is a great difference betwixt real fire, for instance, and
the idea of fire, betwixt dreaming or imagining one's self burnt,
and actually being so : this and the like may be urged in oppo-
sition to our tenets. [To all which the answer is evident from
what hath been already said, and I shall only add in this place,
that if real fire be very different from the idea of fire, so also is
the real pain that it occasions, very different from the idea of the
same pain : and yet nobody will pretend that real pain either is,
or can possibly be, in an unperceiving thing or without the mind,
any more than its idea.]
XLII. Third objection. — Answer. — Thirdly, it will be objected
that we see things actually without or at a distance from us, and
which consequently do not exist in the mind, it being absurd
that those things which are seen at the distance of several miles,
should be as near to us as our own thoughts. [In answer to
this, I desire it may be considered, that in a dream we do oft
perceive things as existing at a great distance off, and yet for all
that, those things are acknowledged to have their existence only
in the mind.]
XLIII. But for the fuller clearing of this point, it may be
worth while to consider, how it is that we perceive distance and
things placed at a distance by sight. For that we should in
truth see external space, and bodies actually existing in it, some
nearer, others further off, seems to carry with it some opposition
to what hath been said, of their existing nowhere without the
mind. The consideration of this difficulty it was that gave birth
to my Essay towards a new Theory of Vision, which was pub-
* They extirpate the very root of scepticism, "the fallacy of the senses." — Ed.
102 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. £PAHT I.
lished not long since. [Wherein it is shown ( 1 ) that distance or
outness is neither immediately of itself perceived by sight, nor yet
apprehended or judged of by lines and angles, or any thing that
hath a necessary connexion with it : but (2) that it is only
suggested to our thoughts, by certain visible ideas and sensations
attending vision, which in their own nature have no manner of
similitude or relation, either with distance, or things placed at a
distance. But by a connexion taught us by experience, they
come to signify and suggest them to us, after the same manner
that words of any language suggest the ideas they are made to
stand for. lUf3 Insomuch that a man born blind, and afterwards
made to see, would not, at first sight, think the things he saw to
be without his mind, or at any distance from him. See Sect.
XLI. of the forementioned treatise.
XLIV. The ideas of sight and touch make two species, en-
tirely distinct and heterogeneous. The former are marks and
prognostics of the latter. That the proper objects of sight neither
exist without the mind, nor are the images of external things,
was shown even in that treatise. Though throughout the same,
the contrary be supposed true of tangible objects : not that to
suppose that vulgar error was necessary for establishing the no-
tions therein laid down, but because it was beside my purpose to
examine and refute it in a discourse concerning vision. [So that
in strict truth the ideas of sight, when we apprehend by them
distance and things placed at a distance, do not suggest or mark
out to us things actually existing at a distance, but only admo-
nish us what ideas of touch will be imprinted in our minds at
such and such distances of time, and in consequence of such or
such actions.] It is, I say, evident from what has been said in
the foregoing parts of this treatise, and in Sect. CXLVII., and
elsewhere of the essay concerning vision, that visible ideas are
the language whereby the governing Spirit, on whom we de-
pend, informs us what tangible ideas he is about to imprint
upon us, in case we excite this or that motion in our own bodies.
But for a fuller information in this point, I refer to the essay
itself.
XL V. Fourth objection, from perpetual annihilation and creation.
— Answer. — [Fourthly, it will be objected, that from the foregoing
principles it follows, things are every moment annihilated and
created anew.] The objects of sense exist only when they are
perceived : the trees therefore are in the garden, or the chairs in
the parlour, no longer than while there is somebody by to per-
ceive them. Upon shutting my eyes, all the furniture in the room
is reduced to nothing, and barely upon opening them it is again
created. [In answer to all which, I refer the reader to what has
been said in Sect, m., iv., &c., and desire he will consider whether
he means any thing by the actual existence of an idea, distinct
PART I.~| THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 103
from its being perceived.] For my part, after the nicest inquiry
I could make, I am not able to discover that any thing else is
meant by those words. And I once more entreat the reader to
sound his own thoughts, and not suffer himself to be imposed on
by words. If he can conceive it possible either for his ideas or
their archetypes to exist without being perceived, then I give up
the cause : but if he cannot, he will acknowledge it is unreason-
able for him to stand up in defence of he knows not what, and
pretend to charge on me as an absurdity the not assenting to
those propositions which at bottom have no meaning in them.
XL VI. Argumentum ad hominem. — [It will not be amiss to
observe, how far the received principles of philosophy are them-
selves chargeable with those pretended absurdities.] [(1) It is
thought strangely absurd that upon closing my eye-lids all the
visible objects round me should be reduced to nothing; and yet
is not this what philosophers commonly acknowledge when they
agree on all hands, that light and colours, which alone are the
proper and immediate objects of sight, are mere sensations, that
exist no longer than they are perceived ?] [(2) Again, it may
to some perhaps seem very incredible, that things should be
every moment creating ; yet this very notion is commonly
taught in the schools. For the schoolmen, though they acknow-
ledge the existence of matter, and that the whole mundane
fabric is framed out of it, are nevertheless of opinion that it can-
not subsist without the divine conservation, which by them is
expounded to be a continual creation.]
XL VII. [(3) Further, a little thought will discover to us,
that though we allow the existence of matter or corporeal sub-
stance, yet it will unavoidably folio w from the principles which
are now generally admitted, that the particular bodies, of what
kind soever, do none of them exist whilst they are not perceived.]
For (1) it is evident from Sect. xi. and the following sections,
that the matter philosophers contend for is an incomprehensible
somewhat, which hath none of those particular qualities whereby
the bodies falling under our senses are distinguished one from another.
(2) But to make this more plain, it must be remarked, that the
infinite divisibility of matter is now universally allowed, at least
by the most approved and considerable philosophers, who, on the
received principles, demonstrate it beyond all exception. Hence
it follows, that there is an infinite number of parts in each
particle of matter, which are not perceived by sense. The
reason, therefore, that any particular body seems to be of a finite
magnitude, or exhibits only a finite number of parts to sense, is,
not because it contains no more, since in itself it contains an
infinite number of parts, but because the sense is not acute enough
to discern them. In proportion, therefore, as the sense is ren-
dered more acute, it perceives a greater number of parts in the
104 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. £PART I.
object ; that is, the object appears greater, and its figure varies,
those parts in its extremities which were before unperceivable,
appearing now to bound it in very different lines and angles
from those perceived by an obtuser sense. And, at length, after
various changes of size and shape, when the sense becomes infi-
nitely acute, the body shall seem infinite. During all which,
there is no alteration in the body, but only in the sense. Each
body, therefore, considered in itself, is infinitely extended, and conse-
quently void of all shape or figure. From which it follows, that
though we should grant the existence of matter to be ever so
certain, yet it is withal as certain, the materialists themselves
are by their own principles forced to acknowledge, that neither
the particular bodies perceived by sense, nor any thing like them,
exist without the mind. [Matter, I say, and each particle
thereof, is according to them infinite and shapeless, and it is the
mind that frames all that variety of bodies which compose the visible
world, any one ivhereof does not exist longer than it is perceived.]
XL VIII. If we consider it, the objection proposed in Sect.
XLV. will not be found reasonably charged on the principles we
have premised, so as in truth to make any objection at all against
our notions. [For though we hold, indeed, the objects of sense
to be nothing else but ideas which cannot exist unperceived, yet
we may not hence conclude they have no existence, except only
while they are perceived by us, since there may be some other spirit
that perceives them, though we do not.~\ Wherever bodies are said
to have no existence without the mind, I would not be under-
stood to mean this or that particular mind, but all minds whatso-
ever. It does not therefore follow from the foregoing principles,
that bodies are annihilated and created every moment, or exist
not at all during the intervals between our perception in them.
XLIX. Fifth objection. — Answer. — [Fifthly, it may perhaps
be objected, that if extension and figure exist only in the mind, it
follows that the mind is extended and figured ; since extension is
a mode or attribute, which (to speak with the schools) is predi-
cated of the subject in which it exists.] I answer, (1) Those
qualities are in the mind only as they are perceived by it, that is,
not by way of mode or attribute, but only by way of idea ; and it
no more follows, that the soul or mind is extended because ex-
tension exists in it alone, than it does that it is red or blue, be-
cause those colours are on all hands acknowledged to exist in it,
and nowhere else.] [(2) As to what philosophers say of sub-
ject and mode, that seems very groundless and unintelligible.]
yjClr For instance, in this proposition, a die is hard, extended, and
square ; they will have it that the word die denotes a subject or
substance, distinct from the hardness, extension, and figure, which
are predicated of it, and in which they exist. This I cannot
comprehend : [to me a die seems to be nothing distinct from those
PAUT I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 105
things which are termed its modes or accidents. And to say a
die is hard, extended, and square, is not to attribute those quali-
ties to a subject distinct from and supporting them, but only an
explication of the meaning of the word die.~\
L. Sixth objection, from natural philosophy. — Answer. — [Sixthly,
you will say there have been a great many things explained by
matter and motion : take away these, and you destroy the whole
corpuscular philosophy, and undermine those mechanical princi-
ples which have been applied with so much success to account for
the phenomena^ In short, whatever advances have been made,
either by ancient or modern philosophers, in the study of nature,
do all proceed on the supposition, that corporeal substance or
matter doth really exist. To this I answer, that there is not any
one phenomenon explained on that supposition, which may not as
well be explained without it, as might easily be made appear by
an induction of particulars. [To explain the phenomena, is all one
as to show, why upon such and such occasions we are affected
with such and such ideas. But (1) how matter should operate
on a spirit, or produce any idea in it, is what no philosopher will
pretend to explain. It is therefore evident, there can be no use
of matter in natural philosophy.] [Besides, (2) they who at-
tempt to account for things, do it not by corporeal substance, but
by figure, motion, and other qualities, which are in truth no more
than mere ideas, and therefore cannot be the cause of any thing,
as hath been already shown.] See Sect. xxv.
LI. Seventh objection. — Answer. — [Seventhly, it will upon this
be demanded whether it does not seem absurd to take away natural
causes, and ascribe every thing to the immediate operation of spirits ?]
We must no longer say upon these principles that fire heats, or
water cools, but that a spirit heats, and so forth. Would not a
man be deservedly laughed at, who should talk after this manner ?
I answer, he would so ; in such things we ought to think with the
learned, and speak tvith the vulgar. They who to demonstration
are convinced of the truth of the Copernican system, do never-
theless say the sun rises, the sun sets, or comes to the meridian :
and if they affected a contrary style in common talk, it would
without doubt appear very ridiculous. A little reflection on
what is here said will make it manifest, that the common use of
language would receive no manner of alteration or disturbance
from the admission of our tenets.
IjII. \_In the ordinary affairs of life, any phrases may be retained,
so long as they excite in us proper sentiments, or dispositions to
act in such a manner as is necessary for our well-being, how false
soever they may be, if taken in a strict and speculative sense. Nay
this is unavoidable, since propriety being regulated by custom, lan-
guage is suited to the received opinions, which are not always the
truest.] Hence it is impossible, even in the most rigid philoso-
106 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [[PART I.
phic reasonings, so far to alter the bent and genius of the tongue
we speak, as never to give a handle for cavillers to pretend diffi-
culties and inconsistencies. But a fair and ingenuous reader will
collect the sense from the scope and tenor and connexion of a
discourse, making allowances for those inaccurate modes of speech
which use has made inevitable.
LIII. [As to the opinion that there are no corporeal causes, this
has been heretofore maintained by some of the schoolmen, as it
is of late by others among the modern philosophers, who though
they allow matter to exist, yet will have God alone to be the im-
mediate efficient cause of all things.] These men saw, that
amongst all the objects of sense, there was none which had any
power or activity included in it, and that by consequence this was
likewise true of whatever bodies they supposed to exist without
the mind, like unto the immediate objects of sense. [But then,
that they should suppose an innumerable multitude of created
beings, which they acknowledge are not capable of producing
any one effect in nature, and which therefore are made to no
manner of purpose, since God might have done every thing as
well without them ; this I say, though we should allow it possi-
ble, must yet be a very unaccountable and extravagant supposi-
tion.]
LIV. Eighth objection. — Twofold answer. — [In the eighth
place, the universal concurrent assent of mankind may be thought
by some an invincible argument in behalf of matter, or the ex-
istence of external things.] Must we suppose the whole world
to be mistaken ? and if so, what cause can be assigned of so
wide-spread and predominant an error ? I answer, first, That upon
a narrow inquiry, it will not perhaps be found, so many as is
imagined do really believe the existence of matter or things
without the mind. Strictly speaking, to believe that which in-
volves a contradiction, or has no meaning in it, is impossible : and
whether the foregoing expressions are not of that sort, I refer it to
the impartial examination of the reader. [In one sense indeed, men
may be said to believe that matter exists, that is, they act as if
the immediate cause of their sensations, which affects them every
moment and is so nearly present to them, were some senseless,
unthinking being.] But that they should clearly apprehend any
meaning marked by those words, and form thereof a settled spe-
culative opinion, is what I am not able to conceive. This is not
the only instance wherein men impose upon themselves, by
imagining they believe those propositions they have often heard,
though at bottom they have no meaning in them.
LV. But secondly, though we should grant a notion to be ever
so universally and stedfastly adhered to, yet this is but a weak
argument of its truth, to whoever considers what a vast number
of prejudices and false opinions are every where embraced with
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 107
the utmost tenaciousness, by the unreflecting (which are the far
greater) part of mankind. lUF There was a time when the an-
tipodes and motion of the earth were looked upon as monstrous
absurdities, even by men of learning: and if it be considered
what a small proportion they bear to the rest of mankind, we
shall find that at this day, those notions have gained but a very
inconsiderable footing in the world.
LVL Ninth objection. — Answer. — [But it is demanded, that
we assign a cause of this prejudice, and account for its' obtaining
in the world. To this I answer, That men knowing they per-
ceived several ideas, whereof they themselves were not the authors,
as not being excited from within, nor depending on the operation
of their wills, this made them maintain, those ideas or objects of
perception had an existence independent of, and without the mind,
without ever dreaming that a contradiction was involved in those
words.] [But philosophers having plainly seen that the imme-
diate objections of perception do not exist without the mind, they
in some degree corrected the mistake of the vulgar, but at the
same time run into another which seems no less absurd, to wit,
that there are certain objects really existing without the mind, or
having a subsistence distinct from being perceived, of which our
ideas are only images or resemblances, imprinted by those objects
on the mind.] And this notion of the philosophers owes its ori-
gin to the same cause with the former, namely, their being con-
scious that they were not the authors of their own sensations,
which they evidently knew were imprinted from without, and
which therefore must have some cause distinct from the minds
on which they are imprinted.
LVII. But why they should suppose the ideas of sense to be ex-
cited in us by things in their likeness, and not rather have recourse
to spirit which alone can act, may be accounted for, \first, because
they were not aware of the repugnancy there is, (1) as well in
supposing things like unto our ideas existing without, as (2) attri-
buting to them pmver or activity.] [Secondly, because the supreme
spirit, which excites those ideas in our minds, is not marked out
and limited to our view by any particular finite collection of sensible
ideas, as human agents are by their size, complexion, limbs, and
motions.] [And thirdly, because his operations are regular and
uniform.] Whenever the course of nature is interrupted by a
miracle, men are ready to own the presence of a superior agent.
But when we see things go on in the ordinary course, they do not
excite in us any reflection ; their order and concatenation, though
it be an argument of the greatest wisdom, power, and goodness
in their creator, is yet so constant and familiar to us, that we do
not think them the immediate effects of a, free spirit: especially
since inconstancy and mutability in acting, though it be an im-
perfection, is looked on as a mark of freedom.
108 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. fpART I.
LVIII. Tenth objection. — Answer. — Tenthly, it will be ob-
jected, that the notions we advance are inconsistent with several
sound truths in philosophy and mathematics, ggf" [For example,
the motion of the earth is now universally admitted by astronomers,
as a truth grounded on the clearest and most convincing reasons ;
but on the foregoing principles, there can be no such thing. For
motion being only an idea, it follows that if it be not perceived,
it exists not ; but the motion of the earth is not perceived
by sense.] I answer, that tenet, if rightly understood, will be
found to agree with the principles we have premised ; [for the
question, whether the earth moves or no, amounts in reality to no
more than this, to wit, whether we have reason to conclude from
what hath been observed by astronomers, that if we were placed
in such and such circumstances, and such or such a position and
distance, both from the earth and sun, we should perceive the
former to move among the choir of the planets, and appearing in
all respects like one of them : and this, by the established rules
of nature, which we have no reason to mistrust, is reasonably
collected from the phenomena.]
LIX. [We may, from the experience we have had of the train
and succession of ideas in our minds, often make, I will not say
uncertain conjectures, but sure and well-grounded predictions,
concerning the ideas we shall be affected with, pursuant to a great
train of actions, and be enabled to pass a right judgment of what
would have appeared to us, in case we were in circumstances very
different from those we are in at present.] [Herein consists the
knowledge of nature, which may preserve its use and certainty
very consistently with what hath been said.] It will be easy to
apply this to whatever objections of the like sort may be drawn
from the magnitude of the stars, or any other discoveries in astro-
nomy or nature.
LX. Eleventh objection. — [In the eleventh place, it will be de-
manded to what purpose serves that curious organization of plants,
and the admirable mechanism in the parts of animals ?] Might not
vegetables grow, and shoot forth leaves and blossoms, and animals
perform all their motions, as well without as with all that variety
of internal parts so elegantly contrived and put together, which
being ideas have nothing powerful or operative in them, nor have any
necessary connexion with the effects ascribed to them ? If it be a spirit
that immediately produces every effect by a fiat, or act of his
will, we must think all that is fine and artificial in the works,
whether of man or nature, to be made in vain, f^ By this doc-
trine, though an artist hath made the spring and wheels, and every
movement of a watch, and adjusted them in such a manner as he
knew would produce the motions he designed ; yet he must think
all this done to no purpose, and that it is an intelligence which
directs the index, and points to the hour of the day. If so, why
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 109
may not the intelligence do it, without his being at the pains of
making the movements, and putting them together ? Why does
not an empty case serve as well as another ? And how comes it
to pass, that whenever there is any fault in the going of a watch,
there is some corresponding disorder to be found in the move-
ments, which being mended by a skilful hand, all is right again ?
The like may be said of all the clock-work of nature, great
part whereof is so wonderfully fine and subtile, as scarce to be
discerned by the best microscope. In short it will be asked, how
upon our principles any tolerable account can be given, or any
final cause assigned of an innumerable multitude of bodies and
machines framed with the most exquisite art, which in the com-
mon philosophy have very apposite uses assigned them, and serve
to explain abundance of phenomena.
LXI. Answer. — To all which I answer, first, that though
there were some difficulties relating to the administration of pro-
vidence, and the uses by it assigned to the several parts of na-
ture, which I could not solve by the foregoing principles, yet
this objection could be of small weight against the truth and
certainty of those things which may be proved a priori, with the
utmost evidence. Secondly, but neither are the received princi-
ples free from the like difficulties ; for it may still be demanded,
to what end God should take those round-about methods of
effecting things by instruments and machines, which no one can
deny might have been effected by the mere command of his will,
without all that apparatus : nay, (thirdly,) if we narrowly consi-
der it, we shall find the objection may be retorted with greater
force on those who hold the existence of those machines without
the mind ; for it has been made evident, that solidity, bulk,
figure, motion, and the like, have no activity or efficacy in them, so
as to be capable of producing any one effect in nature. See
Sect. xxv. [Whoever therefore supposes them to exist (allowing
the supposition possible) when they are not perceived, does it
manifestly to no purpose ; since the only use that is assigned to
them, as they exist unperceived, is that they produce those per-
ceivable effects, which in truth cannot be ascribed to any thing
but spirit.]
LXII. (Fourthly.) — [But to come nearer the difficulty, it
must be observed, that though the fabrication of all those parts
and organs be not absolutely necessary to the producing any effect,
yet it is necessary to the producing of things in a constant, regu-
lar way, according to the laws of nature. There are certain gene-
ral laws that run through the whole chain of natural effects :
these are learned by the observation and study of nature, and are
by men applied (1) as well to the framing artificial things for the
use and ornament of life, as (2) to the explaining the various
phenomena :] which explication consists only in showing the con-
110 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. ^PART I.
formity any particular phenomenon hath to the general laws of
nature, or which is the same thing, in discovering the uniformity
there is in the production of natural effects ; as will be evident
to whoever shall attend to the several instances, wherein philoso-
phers pretend to account for appearances. That there is a great
and conspicuous use in these regular constant methods of work-
ing observed by the supreme agent, hath been shown in Sect.
xxxi. And it is no less visible, that a particular size, figure,
motion, and disposition of parts are necessary, though not abso-
lutely to the producing any effect, yet to the producing it accord-
ing to the standing mechanical laws of nature. §3r Thus, for
instance, it cannot be denied that God, or the intelligence which
sustains and rules the ordinary course of things, might, if he
were minded to produce a miracle, cause all the motions on the
dial-plate of a watch, though nobody had ever made the move-
ments, and put them in it : but yet if he will act agreeably to
the rules of mechanism, by him for wise ends established and
maintained in the creation, it is necessary that those actions of
the watchmaker, whereby he makes the movements and rightly
adjusts them, precede the production of the aforesaid motions ;
as also that any disorder in them be attended with the perception
of some corresponding disorder in the movements, which being
once corrected, all is right again.
LXIII. It may indeed on some occasions be necessary, that
the author of nature display his overruling power in producing some
appearance out of his ordinary series of things. Such excep-
tions from the general rules of nature are proper to surprise and
awe men into an acknowledgment of the divine being : [but then
they are to be used but seldom, (1) otherwise there is a plain
reason why they should fail of that effect.] [(2) Besides, God
seems to choose the convincing our reason of his attributes by the
works of nature, which discover so much harmony and contri-
vance in their make, and are such plain indications of wisdom
and beneficence in their author, rather than to astonish us into a
belief of his being by anomalous and surprising events.]
LXIV. To set this matter in a yet clearer light, I shall observe
that what has been objected in Sect. LX. amounts in reality to
no more than this : ideas are not any how and at random pro-
duced, there being a certain order and connexion between them,
like to that of cause and effect : there are also several combina-
tions of them, made in a very regular and artificial manner,
which seem like so many instruments in the band of nature,
that being hid, as it were, behind the scenes, have a secret opera-
tion in producing those appearances which are seen on the thea-
tre of the world, being themselves discernible only to the curious
eye of the philosopher. But since one idea cannot be the cause
of another, to what purpose is that connexion ? and since those
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. Ill
instruments, being barely inefficacious perceptions in the mind,
are not subservient to the production of natural effects : it is de-
manded why they are made, or, in other words, what reason can
be assigned why God should make us, upon a close inspection
into his works, behold so great variety of ideas, so artfully laid
together, and so much according to rule ; it not being credible,
that he would be at the expense (if one may so speak) of all
that art and regularity to no purpose ?
LXV. [To all which my answer is, first, that the connexion
of ideas does not imply the relation of cause and effect, but only
of a mark or sign with the thing signified.'] $3r Thejtfre which
I see is not the cause of the pain I suffer upon my approaching
it, but the mark that forewarns me of it. In like manner, the
noise that I hear is not the effect of this or that motion or col-
lision of the ambient bodies, but the sign thereof. [Secondly,
the reason why ideas are formed into machines, that is, artificial
and regular combinations, is the same with that for combining
letters into words. That a few original ideas may be made to
signify a great number of effects and actions, it is necessary they
be variously combined together : and to the end their use be per-
manent and universal, these combinations must be made by rule,
and with wise contrivance.] By this means abundance of infor-
mation is conveyed unto us concerning what we are to expect
from such and such actions, and what methods are proper to be
taken, for the exciting such and such ideas : which in effect is all
that I conceive to be distinctly meant, when it is said that by
discerning the figure, texture, and mechanism of the inward
parts of bodies, whether natural or artificial, we may attain to
know the several uses and properties depending thereon, or the
nature of the thing.
LXVL Proper employment of the natural philosopher. — Hence
it is evident, that those things which, under the notion of a cause
co-operating or concurring to the production of effects, are altogether
inexplicable, and run us into great absurdities, may be very natu-
rally explained, and have a proper and obvious use assigned them,
when they are considered only as marks or signs for our infor-
mation. [And it is the searching after, and endeavouring to
understand those signs (this language, if I may so call it) instituted
by the author of nature, that ought to be the employment of the
natural philosopher, and not the pretending to explain things by
corporeal causes ; which doctrine seems to have too much es-
tranged the minds of men from that active principle, that supreme
and wise spirit, " in whom we live, move, and have our being."]
LXVII. Twelfth objection. — Answer. — In the twelfth place, it
may perhaps be objected, that though it be clear from what has
been said, that there can be no such thing as an inert, senseless,
extended, solid, figured, moveable substance, existing without the
112 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. £PART I.
mind, such as philosophers describe matter : [yet if any man
shall leave out of his idea of matter, the positive ideas of exten-
sion, figure, solidity, and motion, and say that he means only by
that word an inert senseless substance, that exists without the
mind, or unperceived, which is the occasion of our ideas, or at the
presence whereof God is pleased to excite ideas in us :] it doth
not appear, but that matter taken in this sense may possibly
exist. [In answer to which I say first, that it seems no less ab-
surd to suppose a substance without accidents, than it is to sup-
pose accidents without a substance. But secondly, though we
should grant this unknown substance may possibly exist, yet
where can it be supposed to be? that it exists not in the
mind is agreed, and that it exists not in place is no less certain ;
since all (place or) extension exists only in the mind, as hath been
already proved. It remains therefore that it exists no where
at all.]
LXVIII. Matter supports nothing, an argument against its exis-
tence.— Let us examine a little the description that is here given
us of matter. It neither acts, nor perceives, nor is perceived :
for this is all that is meant by saying it is an inert, senseless, un-
known substance ; which is a definition entirely made up of
negatives, excepting only the relative notion of its standing
under or supporting : but then it must be observed, that it
supports nothing at all ; and how nearly this conies to the de-
scription of a nonentity, I desire may be considered. But, say
you, it is the unknown occasion, at the presence of which ideas are
excited in us by the will of God. [Now I would fain know
how any thing can be present to us, which is neither perceivable
by sense nor reflection, nor capable of producing any idea in our
minds, nor is at all extended, nor hath any form, nor exists in
any place.] The words to be present, when thus applied, must
needs be taken in some abstract and strange meaning, and which
I am not able to comprehend.
LXIX. [Again,* let us examine what is meant by occasion ;
so far as I can gather from the common use of language, that
word signifies, either the agent which produces any effect, or else
something that is observed to accompany, or go before it, in the
ordinary course of things.] But when it is applied to matter as
above described, it can be taken in neither of those senses.
[For matter is said to be passive and inert, and so cannot be an
agent or efficient cause. It is also unperceivable, as being devoid
of all sensible qualities, and so cannot be the occasion of our per-
ceptions in the latter sense :] f^" as when the burning my finger
is said to be the occasion of the pain that attends it. What
therefore can be meant by calling matter an occasion ? this term
* Vide sect. Ixvii. for the first argument to show that matter is not the occasion of our
ideas. — Ed.
PARTI.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 113
is either used in no sense at all, or else in some sense very distant
from its received signification.
LXX. [You will perhaps say that matter, though it be not
perceived by us, is nevertheless perceived by God, to whom it is
the occasion of exciting ideas in our minds.] For, say you,
since we observe our sensations to be imprinted in an orderly and
constant manner, it is but reasonable to suppose there are certain
constant and regular occasions of their being produced. That is
to say, that there are certain permanent and distinct parcels of
matter, corresponding to our ideas, which, though they do not
excite them in our minds, or any ways immediately affect us, as
being altogether passive and unperceivable to us, they are never-
theless to God, by whom they are perceived, as it were so many
occasions to remind him when and what ideas to imprint on our
minds : that so things may go on in a constant, uniform manner.
LXXI. [In answer to this I observe, that as the notion of
matter is here stated, the question is no longer concerning the
existence of a thing distinct from spirit and idea, from perceiving
and being perceived : but whether there are not certain ideas, of
I know not what sort, in the mind of God, which are so many
marks or notes that direct him how to produce sensations in our
minds, in a constant and regular method] : |Ct" much after the
same manner as a musician is directed by the notes of music to
produce that harmonious train and composition of sound, which
is called a tune ; though they who hear the music do not perceive
the notes, and may be entirely ignorant of them. But this
notion of matter* seems too extravagant to deserve a confutation.
[Besides, it is in effect no objection against what we have ad-
vanced, to wit, that there is no senseless, unperceived substance^]
LXXII. The order of our perceptions shows the goodness of God,
but affords no proof of the existence of matter. — If we follow the
light of reason, we shall, from the constant, uniform method of
our sensations, collect the goodness and wisdom of the spirit who
excites them in our minds. But this is all that I can see reason-
ably concluded from thence. To me, I say, it is evident that
the being of a spirit infinitely wise, good, and powerful is abun-
dantly sufficient to explain all the appearances of nature. But
as for inert, senseless matter, nothing that I perceive has any the
least connexion with it, or leads to the thoughts of it. And I
would fain see any one explain any the meanest phenomenon in
nature by it, or show any manner of reason, though in the lowest
rank of probability, that he can have for its existence ; or even
make any tolerable sense or meaning of that supposition. For
as to its being an occasion, we have, I think, evidently shown
that with regard to us it is no occasion : it remains therefore that
* (Which after all is the only intelligible one that I can pick, from vvliat is said of
unknown occasions.) — Edit. 1710.
VOL. I. I
114 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. QpART I.
it must be, if at all, the occasion to God of exciting ideas in us ;
and what this amounts to, we have just now seen.
LXXIII. [It is worth while to reflect a little on the motives
which induced men to suppose the existence of material substance] ;
that so having observed the gradual ceasing and expiration of
those motives or reasons, we may proportionably withdraw the
assent that was grounded on them. First, therefore, it was
thought that colour, figure, motion, and the rest of the sensible
qualities or accidents, did really exist without the mind ; [and
for this reason, it seemed needful to suppose some unthinking sub-
stratum or substance wherein they did exist, since they could not be
conceived to exist by themselves.^ Afterwards, (secondly) in process
of time, men being convinced that colours, sounds, and the rest of
the sensible secondary qualities had no existence without the
mind, they stripped this substratum or material substance of those
qualities, leaving only the primary ones, figure, motion, and such
like, which they still conceived to exist without the mind, and con-
sequently to stand in need of a material support. But it having
been shown, that none, even of these, can possibly exist otherwise
than in a spirit or mind which perceives them, it follows that we
have no longer any reason to suppose the being of matter. Nay
that it is utterly impossible there should be any such thing, so
long as that word is taken to denote an unthinking substratum of
qualities or accidents, wherein they exist without the mind.
LXXIV. But though it be allowed by the materialists them-
selves, that matter was thought of only for the sake of support-
ing accidents ; and the reason entirely ceasing, one might expect
the mind should naturally, and without any reluctance at all,
quit the belief of what was solely grounded thereon. Yet the
prejudice is riveted so deeply in our thoughts, that we can scarce
tell how to part with it, and are therefore. inclined, since the thing
itself is indefensible, at least to retain the name ; which we apply
to I know not what abstracted and indefinite notions of being or
occasion, though without any show of reason, at least so far as I
can see. For what is there on our part, or what do we perceive
amongst all the ideas, sensations, notions, which are imprinted on
our minds, either by sense or reflection, from whence may be in-
ferred the existence of an inert, thoughtless, unperceived occasion?
and on the other hand, on the part of an all-sufficient spirit, what
can there be that should make us believe, or even suspect, he is
directed by an inert occasion to excite ideas in our minds ?
LXXV. Absurdity of contending for the existence of matter as
the occasion of ideas. — It is a very extraordinary instance of the
force of prejudice, and much to be lamented, that the mind of
man retains so great a fondness, against all the evidence of reason,
for a stupid, thoughtless somewhat, by the interposition whereof it
would, as it were, screen itself from the providence of God, and
PAUT I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 115
remove him further off from the affairs of the world. But
though we do the utmost we can, to secure the belief of matter,
though when reason forsakes us, we endeavour to support our
opinion on the bare possibility of the thing, and though we in-
dulge ourselves in the full scope of an imagination not regulated
by reason, to make out that poor possibility, yet the upshot of all
is, that there are certain unknown ideas in the mind of God ; for
this, if any thing, is all that I conceive to be meant by occasion
with regard to God. And this, at the bottom, is no longer con-
tending for the thing, but for the name.
LXXVI. Whether therefore there are such ideas in the mind
of God, and whether they may be called by the name matter, I
shall not dispute. But if you stick to the notion of an unthink-
ing substance, or support of extension, motion, and other sensible
qualities, then to me is it most evidently impossible there should
be any such thing. Since is it a plain repugnancy, that those
qualities should exist in or be supported by an unperceiving sub-
stance.
L XX VII. That a substratum not perceived, may exist, unim-
portant.— [But say you, though it be granted that there is no
thoughtless support of extension, and the other qualities or acci-
dents which we perceive ; yet there may, perhaps, be some inert
unperceiving substance, or substratum of some other qualities, as
incomprehensible to us as colours are to a man born blind, because
we have not a sense adapted to them.~\ But if we had a new sense,
we should possibly no more doubt of their existence, than a
blind man made to see does of the existence of light and colours.
[I answer, first, if what you mean by the word matter be only
the unknown support of unknown qualities, it is no matter whether
there is such a thing or not, since it no way concerns us : and I
do not see the advantage there is in disputing about we know
not what, and we know not why.~\
LXXVIII. [But secondly, if we had a new sense,* it could only
furnish us with new ideas or sensations : and then we should have
the same reason against their existing in an unperceiving sub-
stance, that has been already offered with relation to figure,
motion, colour, and the like.] Qualities, as hath been shown,
nre nothing else but sensations or ideas, which exist only in a, mind
perceiving them ; and this is true not only of the ideas we are
acquainted with at present, but likewise of all possible ideas
whatsoever.
LXXIX. But you will insist, what if (1) I have no reason
to believe the existence of matter, what if (2) I can assign any
use to it, or (3) explain any thing by it, or even (4) conceive
what is meant by that word? yet still it is no contradiction to
say that matter exists, and that this matter is in general a
* Vide sect, cxxxvi.
I 2
J16 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. QPART I.
substance, or occasion of ideas ; though, indeed, to go about to un-
fold the meaning, or adhere to any particular explication of those
words, may be attended with great difficulties. I answer, when
words are used without a meaning, you may put them together
as you please, without danger of running into a contradiction.
You may say, for example, that twice two is equal to seven, so
long as you declare you do not take the words of that proposition
in their usual acceptation, but for marks of you know not what.
And by the same reason you may say, there is an inert thought-
less substance without accidents, which is the occasion of our
ideas. And we shall understand just as much by one proposition,
as the other.
LXXX. [In the last place, you will say, what if we give up
the cause of material substance, and assert, that matter is an un-
known somewhat, neither substance nor accident, spirit nor idea,
inert, thoughtless, indivisible, immoveable, unextended, existing
in no place ?] for, say you, whatever may be urged against sub-
stance or occasion, or any other positive or relative notion of
matter, hath no place at all, so long as this negative definition of
matter is adhered to. I answer, you may, if so it shall seem good,
use the word matter in the same sense that other men use nothing,
and so make those terms convertible in your style. For after all,
this is what appears to me to be the result of that definition, the
parts whereof when I consider with attention, either collectively,
or separate from each other, I do not find that there is any kind
of effect or impression made on my mind, different from what is
excited by the term nothing.
LXXXI. [You will reply perhaps, that in the foresaid defini-
tion is included, what doth sufficiently distinguish it from nothing,
the positive, abstract idea of quiddity, entity, or existence.'} I own
indeed, that those who pretend to the faculty of framing abstract
general ideas, do talk as if they had such an idea, which is, say
they, the most abstract and general notion of all, that is to me
the most incomprehensible of all others. That there are a great
variety of spirits of different orders and capacities, whose facul-
ties, both in number and extent, are far exceeding those the
author of my being has bestowed on me, I see no reason to deny.
And for me to pretend to determine by my own few, stinted,
narrow inlets of perception, what ideas the inexhaustible power
of the supreme spirit may imprint upon them, were certainly the
utmost folly and presumption. Since there may be, for ought
that I know, innumerable sorts of ideas or sensations, as different
from one another, and from all that I have perceived, as colours
are from sounds. But how ready soever I may be to acknow-
ledge the scantiness of my comprehension, with regard to the
endless variety of spirits and ideas, that might possibly exist,
yet for any one to pretend to a notion of entity or existence,
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 117
abstracted from spirit and idea, from perceiving and being per-
ceived, is, I suspect, a downright repugnancy and trifling with
words. It remains that we consider the objections which may
possibly be made on the part of religion.
LXXXII. Objections derived from the scriptures answered.* —
Somef there are who think, that though the arguments for the
real existence of bodies, which are drawn from reason, be allowed
not to amount to demonstration, yet (first) the holy scriptures are
so clear in the point, as will sufficiently convince every good
Christian, that bodies do really exist, and are something more
than mere ideas ; there being in holy writ innumerable facts re-
lated, which evidently suppose the reality of timber, and stone,
mountains, and rivers, and cities, and human bodies. [To which
I answer, that no sort of writings whatever, sacred or profane,
which use those and the like words in the vulgar acceptation, or
so as to have a meaning in them, are in danger of having their
truth called in question by our doctrine. That all those things
do really exist, that there are bodies, even corporeal substances,
when taken in the vulgar sense, has been shown to be agreeable
to our principles] : and the difference betwixt things and ideas,
realities and chimeras, has been distinctly explained.^ [And I do
not think, that either what philosophers call matter, or the exis-
tence of objects without the mind, is any where mentioned in
scripture.]
LXXXIII. No objection as to language tenable. — [Again,
whether there be or be not external things, it is agreed on all
hands, that the proper use of words is the marking our concep-
tions, or things only as they are known and perceived by us ;
whence it plainly follows, that in the tenets we have laid down,
there is nothing inconsistent with the right use and significancy
of language, and that discourse of what kind soever, so far as it
is intelligible, remains undisturbed.] But all this seems so
manifest, from what hath been set forth in the premises, that it
is needless to insist any further on it.
LXXXIV. But (secondly) § it will be urged, that miracles
do, at least, lose much of their stress and import by our principles.
%*$" What must we think of Moses' rod, was it not really turned
into a serpent, or was there only a change of ideas in the minds
of the spectators ? And can it be supposed, that our Saviour
did no more at the marriage-feast in Cana, than impose on the
sight, and smell, and taste of the guests, so as to create in them
the appearance or idea only of wine ? The same may be said of
all other miracles : which, in consequence of the foregoing prin-
ciples, must be looked upon only as so many cheats, or illusions
* And concluded in sect. xcv. + Malebranche. Vide sect. Ixxxiv.
^ Sect, xxix., xxx., xxxiii., xxxvi., &c. $ Sect. Ixxxii.
1 18 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [PAKT I.
of fancy. To this I reply, that the rod was changed into a real
serpent, and the water into real wine. That this doth not, in
the least, contradict what I have elsewhere said, will be evident
from Sect, xxxiv., xxxv. But this business of real and imaginary
hath been already so plainly and fully explained, and so often
referred to, and the difficulties about it are so easily answered
from what hath gone before, that it were an affront to the read-
er's understanding, to resume the explication of it in this place.
$£f? I shall only observe, that if at table all who were present
should see, and smell, and taste, and drink wine, and find the
effects of it, with me there could be no doubt of its reality. [So
that at bottom, the scruple concerning real miracles hath no
place at all on ours, but only on the received principles, and, con-
sequently, maketh rather for, than against, what hath been said.]
LXXXV. Consequences of the preceding tenets. — Having done
with the objections, which I endeavoured to propose in the
clearest light, and given them all the force and weight I could,
we proceed in the next place to take a view of our tenets in their
consequences. [Some of these appear at first sight, as that
several difficult and obscure questions, on which abundance of
speculation hath been thrown away, are entirely banished from
philosophy. Whether (1) corporeal substance can think? whe-
ther (2) matter be infinitely divisible ? and (3) how it operates
on spirit? These, and the like inquiries, have given infinite
amusement to philosophers in all ages.] But depending on the
existence of matter, they have no longer any place on our prin-
ciples. Many other advantages there are, as well with regard to
religion as the sciences, which it is easy for any one to deduce
from what hath been premised. But this will appear more
plainly in the sequel.*
L XXX VI. The removal of matter gives certainty to knmoledge.
— [From the principles we have laid down, it follows, human
knowledge may naturally be reduced to two heads, that of ideas,
and that of spirits.] Of each of these I shall treat in order.
And first, as to ideas or unthinking things, our knowledge of
these hath been very much obscured and confounded, and we
have been led into very dangerous errors, by supposing a two-
fold existence of the- objects of sense, the one intelligible, or in
the mind, the other real and without the mind : whereby un-
thinking things are thought to have a natural subsistence of
their own, distinct from being perceived by spirits. [This,
which, if 1 mistake not, hath been shown to be a most ground-
less and absurd notion, is the very root of scepticism ; for so long
as men thought that real things subsisted without the mind, and
* (1) Many philosophic speculations banished: (2) Scepticism extirpated: (3;
Atheists and fatalists deprived of their chief support : (4) Idolatry exposed : (5) So-
cinianism refuted.
PARTI.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 119
that their knowledge was only so far forth real as it was con-
formable to real things, it follows, they could not be certain that
they had any real knowledge at all. For how can it be known,
that the things which are perceived are conformable to those
which are not perceived, or exist without the mind ?]
LXXXVII. Colour, figure, motion, extension, and the like,
considered only as so many sensations in the mind, are perfectly
known, there being nothing in them which is not perceived.
But if they are looked on as notes or images, referred to things
or archetypes existing without the mind, then are we involved all
in scepticism. We see only the appearances, and not the real
qualities of things. [What may be the extension, figure, or
motion of any thing really and absolutely, or in itself, it is im-
possible for us to know, but only the proportion or the relation
they bear to our senses.] Things remaining the same, our ideas
vary, and which of them, or even whether any of them at all
represent the true quality really existing in the thing, it is out
of our reach to determine. So that, for ought we know, all we
see, hear, and feel, may be only phantom and vain chimera, and
not at all agree with the real things, existing in rerum natura.
All this scepticism follows, from our supposing a difference be-
tween things and ideas, and that the former have a subsistence
without the mind, or unperceived. It were easy to dilate on
this subject, and show how the arguments urged by sceptics in
all ages, depend on the supposition of external objects.*
L XXX VIII. If there be external matter, neither the nature nor
existence of things can be known. — So long as we attribute a real
existence to unthinking things, distinct from their being per-
ceived, it is not only impossible for us to know with evidence (1)
the nature of any real unthinking being, but even (2) that it
exists. Hence it is, that we see philosophers distrust their
senses, and doubt of the existence of heaven and earth, of every
thing they see or feel, even of their own bodies. And .after all
their labour and struggle of thought, they are forced to own, we
cannot attain to any self-evident or demonstrative knowledge of
the existence of sensible things. But all this doubtfulness,
which so bewilders and confounds the mind, and makes phi-
losophy ridiculous in the eyes of the world, vanishes, if we annex
a meaning to our words, and do not amuse ourselves with the
terms absolute, external, exist, and such like, signifying we know
not what. I can as well doubt of my own being, as of the being
of those things which I actually perceive by sense : [it being a
manifest contradiction, that any sensible object should be im-
mediately perceived by sight or touch, and, at the same time,
have no existence in nature, since the very existence of an un-
thinking being consists in being perceived.']
* " But this is too obvious to need being insisted on." — Edit. 1710.
120 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. , JJ>AUT I.
LXXXIX. Of thing or being. — Nothing seems of more im-
portance, towards erecting a firm system of sound and real
knowledge, which may be proof against the assaults of scepti-
cism, than to lay the beginning in a distinct explication of what
is meant by thing, reality, existence : for in vain shall we dispute
concerning the real existence of things, or pretend to any know-
ledge thereof, so long as we have not fixed the meaning of those
words. [ Thing or being* is the most general name of all ; it
comprehends under it two kinds entirely distinct and hetero-
geneous, and which have nothing common but the name, to wit,
spirits and ideas. The former are active, indivisible (incorrupt-
ible) substances : the latter are inert, Jleeting, (perishable passions,)
or dependent beings, which subsist not by themselves, but are
supported by, or exist in minds or spiritual substances, f We
comprehend our own existence by inward feeling or reflection,
and that of other spirits by reason. We may be said to have
some knowledge or notion of our own minds, of spirits and active
beings, whereof, in a strict sense, we have not ideas. In like
manner we know and have a notion of relations between things
or ideas, which relations are distinct from the ideas or things
related, inasmuch as the latter may be perceived by us without
our perceiving the former. [To me it seems that ideas, spirits,
and relations, are all, in their respective kinds, the object of
human knowledge and subject of discourse : and that the term
idea would be improperly extended to signify every thing we
know or have any notion of.]
XC. External things either imprinted by or perceived by some
other mind. — [Ideas imprinted on the senses are real things, or
do really exist ; this we do not deny, but we deny (1) they can
subsist without the minds which perceive them, or (2) that they
are resemblances of any archetypes existing without the mind :
(1) since the very being of a sensation or idea consists in being
perceived, and (2) an idea can be like nothing but an idea.]
[Again, the things perceived by sense may be termed external, with
regard to their origin, in that they are not generated from
within, by the mind itself, but (1) imprinted by a spirit distinct
from that ivhich perceives them. Sensible objects may likewise be
said to be without the mind, in another sense, namely, (2) when
they exist in some other mind. Thus when I shut my eyes, the
things I saw may still exist, but it must be in another mind.]
XCI. Sensible qualities real. — It were a mistake to think, that
what is here said derogates in the least from the reality of
things. [It is acknowledged, on the received principles, that ex-
tension, motiqn, and, in a word, all sensible qualities, have need
of a support, as not being able to subsist by themselves. But
* Vide sect, xxxix.
t 1 he remainder of the section does not appear in the edition of 1710.
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 121
the objects perceived by sense are allowed to be nothing but
combinations of those qualities, and, consequently, cannot sub-
sist by themselves. Thus far it is agreed on all hands.~\ So that
in denying the things perceived by sense, an existence inde-
pendent of a substance, or support wherein they may exist, we
detract nothing from the received opinion of their reality, and
are guilty of no innovation in that respect. All the difference
is, that according to us the unthinking beings perceived by
sense have no existence distinct from being perceived, and can-
not therefore exist in any other substance, than those unextended,
indivisible substances, or spirits, which act, and think, and perceive
them : whereas philosophers vulgarly hold, that the sensible qua-
lities exist in an inert, extended, unperceiving sicbstance, which they
call matter, to which they attribute a natural subsistence, ex-
terior to all thinking beings, or distinct from being perceived by
any mind whatsoever, even the eternal mind of the Creator,
wherein they suppose only ideas of the corporeal substances cre-
ated by him : if indeed they allow them to be at all created.
XCII. Objections of atheists overturned. — For as we have
shown the doctrine of matter, or corporeal substance, to have
been the main pillar and support of scepticism, so likewise upon
the same foundation have been raised all the impious schemes of
atheism and irreligion. [Nay, so great a difficulty hath it been
thought, to conceive matter produced out of nothing, that the most
celebrated among the ancient philosophers, even of these who
maintained the being of a God, have thought matter to be un-
created and coeternal with him.] How great a friend material
substance hath been to atheists in all ages, wrere needless to
relate. All their monstrous systems have so visible and neces-
sary a dependence on it, that when this corner-stone is once
removed, the whole fabric cannot choose but fall to the ground ;
insomuch that it is no longer worth while to bestow a particular
consideration on the absurdities of every wretched sect of
atheists.
XCIII. And of fatalists also. — [That impious and profane per-
sons should readily fall in with those systems which favour their
inclinations, by deriding immaterial substance, and supposing
the soul to be divisible and subject to corruption as the body ;
which exclude all freedom, intelligence, and design from the
formation of things, and instead thereof make a self-existent,
stupid, unthinking substance, the root and origin of all beings.]
That they should hearken to those who deny a Providence, or
inspection of a superior mind over the affairs of the world,
attributing the whole series of events either to blind chance or
fatal necessity, arising from the impulse of one body on another.
All this is very natural. And on the other hand, when men of
better principles observe the enemies of religion lay so great a
122 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. QPART I.
stress on unthinking matter., and all of them use so much industry
and artifice to reduce every thing to it ; methinks they should
rejoice to see them deprived of their grand support, and driven
from that only fortress, without which your Epicureans, Hobb-
ists, and the like, have not even the shadow of a pretence, but
become the most cheap and easy triumph in the world.
XCIV. Of Idolaters. — The existence of matter, or bodies
unperceived, has not only been the main support of atheists and
fatalists, but [on the same principle doth idolatry likewise in all its
various forms depend.] Did men but consider that the sun,
moon, and stars, and every other object of the senses, are only so
many sensations in their minds, which have no other existence
but barely being perceived, doubtless they would never fall down
and worship their own ideas ; but rather address their homage to
that eternal invisible Mind which produces and sustains all things.
XCV. And Socinians. — The same absurd principle, by min-
gling itself with the articles of our faith, Kath occasioned no small
difficulties to Christians, [f^ For example, about the resurrec-
tion, how many scruples and objections have been raised by Soci-
nians and others ? But do not the most plausible of them depend
on the supposition, that a body is denominated the same, with
regard not to the form or that which is perceived by sense, but the
material substance which remains the same under several forms ?]
Take away this material substance, about the identity whereof all
the dispute is, and mean by body what every plain ordinary per-
son means by that word, to wit, that which is immediately seen
and felt, which is only a combination of sensible qualities, or
ideas: and then their most unanswerable objections come to
nothing.*
XCVI. Summary of the consequences of expelling matter. —
Matter being once expelled out of nature, drags with it so many
sceptical and impious notions, such an incredible number of dis-
putes and puzzling questions, which have been thorns in the
sides of divines, as well as philosophers, and made so much fruit-
less work for mankind ; that if the arguments we have produced
against it are not found equal to demonstration (as to me they
evidently seem), yet I am sure all friends to knowledge, peace,
and religion, have reason to wish they were.
XCVII. BESIDE the external existence of the objects of per-
ception, another great source of errors and difficulties, with re-
gard to ideal knowledge, is the doctrine of abstract ideas, such as
it hath been set forth in the introduction. The plainest things
in the world, those we are most intimately acquainted with, and
perfectly know, when they are considered in an abstract way,
appear strangely difficult and incomprehensible. Time, place,
* The answers to objections on the ground of religion, which are concluded in this
section, were commenced in sect. Ixxxii.
PART I.] ^HE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 123
and motion, taken in particular or concrete, are what every body
knows ; but having passed through the hands of a metaphysician,
they become too abstract and fine to] be apprehended by men of
ordinary sense. Bid your servant meet you at such a time, in
such a place, and he shall never stay to deliberate on the meaning
of those words : in conceiving that particular time and place, or
the motion by which he is to get thither, he finds not the least
difficulty. But if time be taken, exclusive of all those particular
actions and ideas that diversify the day, merely for the continua-
tion of existence, or duration in abstract, then it will perhaps
gravel even a philosopher to comprehend it.
XC VIII. Dilemma. — (For my own part,) whenever I attempt
to frame a simple idea of time, abstracted from the succession of
ideas in my mind, which flows uniformly, and is participated by all
beings, I am lost and embrangled in inextricable difficulties. I
have no notion of it at all, only I hear others say, it is infinitely di-
visible, and speak of it in such a manner as leads me to entertain
odd thoughts of my existence ; [since that doctrine lays one under
an absolute necessity of thinking, either (1) that he passes away
innumerable ages without a thought, or else (2) that he is an-
nihilated every moment of his life :] both which seem equally
absui'd. [Time therefore being nothing, abstracted from the
succession of ideas in our minds, it follows that the duration of any
finite spirit must be estimated by the number of ideas or actions
succeeding each other in that spirit or mind. Hence it is a plain
consequence that the soul always thinks : * and in truth, whoever
shall go about to divide in his thoughts, or abstract the existence
of a spirit from its cogitation, will, I believe, find it no easy task.
XCIX. So likewise, when we attempt to abstract extension
and motion from all other qualities, and consider them by them-
selves, we presently lose sight of them, and run into great ex-
travagancies.f [All which depend on a twofold abstraction :
first, it is supposed that extension, for example, may be abstracted
from all other sensible qualities ; and secondly, that the entity
of extension may be abstracted from its being perceived.] But
whoever shall reflect, and take care to understand what he says,
will, if I mistake not, acknowledge that all sensible qualities arc
alike sensations, and alike real ; that where the extension is, there
is the colour too, to wit, in his mind, and that their archetypes
can exist only in some other mind: and that the objects of sense
are nothing but those sensations combined, blended, or (if one
may so speak) concreted together : none of all which can be
supposed to exist unperceivecl.
C. What it is for a man to be happy, or an object of good,
* Vide Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, Book ii. ch. i. sect. 10.
t " Hence spring those odd paradoxes that the fire is not hot, nor the wall white, &c.,
or that heat and colour are in the objects, nothing but figure and motion." — Edit. 1710.
124 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE^ [_PART I.
of happiness, prescinded from all particular pleasure, or of good-
ness, from every thing that is good, this is what few can pretend
to. [So likewise, a man may be just and virtuous, without hav-
ing precise ideas of justice and virtue. The opinion that those
and the like words stand for general notions abstracted from all
particular persons and actions, seems to have rendered morality
difficult, and the study thereof of less use to mankind.] And
in effect,* the doctrine of abstraction has not a little contributed
towards spoiling the most useful parts of knowledge.
CI. Of natural philosophy and mathematics. — The two great
provinces of speculative science, conversant about ideas received
from sense. and their relations, are natural philosophy and mathe-
matics ; with regard to each of these I shall make some observa-
tions. And first, I shall say somewhat of natural philosophy.
On this subject it is that the sceptics triumph : all that stock of
arguments they produce to depreciate our faculties, and make
mankind appear ignorant and low, are drawn principally from
this head, to wit, that we are under an invincible blindness as to
the true and real nature of things. This they exaggerate, and
love to enlarge on. We are miserably bantered, say they, by
our senses, and amused only with the outside and show of things.
The real essence, the internal qualities, and constitution of every
the meanest object, is hid from our view ; something there is in
every drop of water, every grain of sand, which it is beyond the
power of human understanding to fathom or comprehend. But
it is evident from what has been shown, that all this complaint is
groundless, and that we are influenced by false principles to that
degree as to mistrust our senses, and think we know nothing of
those things which we perfectly comprehend.
CII. [One great inducement to our pronouncing ourselves ig-
norant of the nature of things, s the current opinion that every
thing includes within itself the cause of its properties : or that there
is in each object an inward essence, which is the source whence
its discernible qualities flow, and whereon they depend. Somef
have pretended to account for appearances by occult qualities, but
of late they are mostly resolved into mechanical causes, | to wit,
the figure, motion, weight, and such like qualities of insensible
particles : whereas in truth there is no other agent or efficient
cause than spirit, it being evident that motion, as well as all other
ideas, is perfectly inert. See Sect. xxv. Hence, to endeavour
to explain the production of colours or sounds, by figure, motion,
* " One may make a great progress in school ethics, without ever being the wiser or
better man for it, or knowing how to behave himself, in the affairs of life, more to the
advantage of himself, or his neighbours, than he did before. This hint may suffice to
let any one see that." — Edit. 1710. t The Peripatetics.
t By the Cartesians. Vide Reid on the Intellectual Powers, Essay ii. ch. xviii.
sect. 6, 7. Edit. 1843.
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 125
every one may think he knows. But to frame an abstract idea
magnitude, and the like, must needs be labour in vain.* And
accordingly, we see the attempts of that kind are not at all satis-
factory. Which may be said, in general, of those instances,
wherein one idea or quality is assigned for the cause of another.
[I need not say, how many hypotheses and speculations are left
out, and how much the study of nature is abridged by this doc-
trine.]
CHI. Attraction signifies the effect, not the manner or cause. —
The great mechanical principle now in vogue is attraction. That
a stone falls to the earth, or the sea swells towards the moon, may
to some appear sufficiently explained thereby. But how are we
enlightened by being told this is done by attraction ? Is it that
that word signifies the manner of the tendency, and that it is by
the mutual drawing of bodies, instead of their being impelled or
protruded towards each other ? but nothing is determined of the
manner or action, and it may as truly (for ought we know) be
termed impulse, or protrusion, as attraction. Again, the parts of
steel we see cohere firmly together, and this also is accounted for
by attraction ; but in this, as in the other instances, I do not per-
ceive that any thing is signified besides the effect itself : for as to
the manner of the action whereby it is produced, or the cause
which produces it, these are not so much as aimed at.
CIV. Indeed, if we take a view of the several phenomena,
and compare them together, we may observe some likeness and
conformity between them, f^f1* For example, in the falling of a
stone to the ground, in the rising of the sea towards the moon, in
cohesion and crystallization, there is something alike, namely a
union or mutual approach of bodies. So that any one of these
or the like phenomena, may not seem strange or surprising to a
man who hath nicely observed and compared the effects of nature.
For that only is thought so which is uncommon, or a thing by
itself, and out of the ordinary course of our observation. That
bodies should tend towards the centre of the earth, is not thought
strange, because it is what we perceive every moment of our
lives. But that they should have a like gravitation towards the
centre of the moon, may seem odd and unaccountable to most
men, because it is discerned only in the tides. But a philosopher,
whose thoughts take in a larger compass of nature, having ob-
served a certain similitude of appearances, as well in the heavens
as the earth, that argue innumerable bodies to have a mutual
tendency towards each other, which he denotes by the general
name attraction, Avhatever can be reduced to that, he thinks justly
accounted for. Thus he explains the tides by the attraction of
the terraqueous globe towards the moon, which to him doth not
* Because they are insrt.
126 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. QPART I.
appear odd or anomalous, but only a particular example of a ge-
neral rule or law of nature.
CV. If therefore we consider the difference there is betwixt
natural philosophers and other men, with regard to their knowledge
of the phenomena, we shall find it consists, [not in an exacter
knowledge of the efficient cause that produces them, for that can
be no other than the will of a spirit, but only in a greater large-
ness of comprehension, whereby analogies, harmonies, and agreements
are discovered in the works of nature, and the particular effects ex~
plained,~\ that is, reduced to general rules (see Sect. LXIL), which
rules, grounded on the analogy and uniformness observed in the
production of natural effects, are most agreeable, and sought af-
ter by the mind; [for that they extend our prospect beyond
what is present, and near to us, and enable us to make very pro-
bable conjectures, touching things that may have happened at very
great distances of time and place, as well as to predict things to
come ;] which sort of endeavour towards omniscience is much
affected by the mind.
CVI. Caution as to the use of analogies. — [But we should pro-
ceed warily in such things :* for we are apt to lay too great a
stress on analogies, and to the prejudice of truth, humour that
eagerness of the mind, whereby it is carried to extend its know-
ledge into general theorems.] f^" For example, gravitation, or
mutual attraction, because it appears in many instances, some are
straightway for pronouncing universal ; and that to attract, and
be attracted by every other body, is an essential quality inherent in all
bodies whatsoever. Whereas it appears the fixed stars have no
such tendency towards each other : and so far is that gravitation
from being essential to bodies, that in some instances a quite con-
trary principle seems to ehow itself; as in the perpendicular
growth of plants, and the elasticity of the air. There is nothing
necessary or essential in the case, but it depends entirely on the
will of the governing spirit, who causes certain bodies to cleave
together, or tend towards each other, according to various laws,
whilst he keeps others at a fixed distance ; and to some he gives
a quite contrary tendency to fly asunder, just as he sees conve-
nient.
CVII. After what has been premised, I think we may lay
down the following conclusions. First, it is plain philosophers
amuse themselves in vain, when they inquire for any natural
efficient cause distinct from a mind or spirit. Secondly, considering
the whole creation is the workmanship of a wise and good agent,
* Vide Reid on the Intellectual Powers, Essay i. ch. iv. sect. 4. et seq. 8vo. edit. 1843.
t " For besides that this could prove a very pleasing entertainment to the mind, it
might be of' great advantage,! i° tnat it n°t OQly discovers to us the (!) attributes of the
Creator, but may also direct us in several instances to the (2) proper uses and applica-
tions of things.
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE^ 127
it should seem to become philosophers to employ their thoughts
(contrary to what some hold) about the final causes of things:*
[(3) and I must confess, I see no reason why pointing out the
various ends to which natural things are adapted, and lor which
they were originally with unspeakable wisdom contrived, should
not be thought one good way of accounting for them,] and alto-
gether worthy a philosopher. Thirdly, from what hath been
premised no reason can be drawn, why the history of nature
should not still be studied, and observations and experiments made,
which, that they are of use to mankind, and enable us to draw
any general conclusions, is not the result of any immutable habi-
tudes, or relations between things themselves, but only of God's
f^odness and kindness to men in the administration of the world,
ee Sect, xxx., xxxi. Fourthly, by a diligent observation of
the phenomena within our view, we may discover the general laws
of nature, and from them deduce the other phenomena, I do not say
demonstrate ; for all deductions of that kind depend on a suppo-
sition that the Author of nature always operates uniformly, and
in a constant observance of those rules we take for principles :
which ice cannot evidently know.
C VIII. Three analogies. — fThose men who frame general rules
from the phenomena, and afterwards derive the phenomena from
those rules, seem to consider signs rather than causes. A man
may well understand natural signs without knowing their analogy
or being able to (1) say by what rule a thing is so or so.J [And
as it is very possible (2) to write improperly through too strict an
observance of general grammar rules : so in arguing from general
rules of nature, it is not impossible we may extend the analogy
too far, and by that means run into mistakes.]
CIX [As in (3) reading other books, a wise man will choose to
fix his thoughts on the sense and apply it to use, rather than lay
them out in grammatical remarks on the language ; so in perusing
the volume of nature, it seems beneath the dignity of the mind
to affect an exactness in reducing each particular phenomenon to
general rules, or showing how it follows from them.] We should
propose to ourselves nobler views, such as (1) to recreate and
exalt the mind, with a prospect of the beauty, order, extent, and
* This advantage threefold: (1) it would help in discovering the attributes of the
Creator ; (2) in directing us to the proper uses of things ; (3) in pointing out the ends to
which natural things are adapted.
f (\y Speaking. (2) Writing. (3) Reading.
| In the edition of 1710, sect, cviii. commences as follows : " It appears from sect.
Ixvi. (66) that the steady, consistent methods of nature may not unfitly be styled the
language of its Author, by which he discovers his attributes to our view, and directs us
how to act for the convenience and felicity of life. And to me, those men who frame
general rules from the phenomena, and afterwards derive the phenomena from those rules,
seem to be grammarians, and their art the grammar of nature. [Two ways there are of
learning a language, either by rule or by practice.] A man may be well read in the
language of nature, without understanding the grammar of it, or being able to say by
what rule a thing is so or so.
128 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [PART I.
variety of natural things: hence, by proper inferences, (2) to
enlarge our notions of the grandeur, wisdom, and beneficence of
the Creator : and lastly, (3) to make the several parts of the crea-
tion, so far as in us lies, subservient to the ends they were de-
signed for, God's glory, and the sustentation and comfort of our-
selves and fellow-creatures.
CX. The best key for the aforesaid analogy, or natural science,
will be easily acknowledged to be a certain celebrated treatise of
mechanics:* in the entrance of which justly admired treatise,
time, space, and motion, are distinguished into absolute and rela-
tive, true and apparent, mathematical and vulgar : [which distinc-
tion, as it is at large explained by the author, doth suppose those
quantities to have an existence without the mind : and that they
are ordinarily conceived with relation to sensible things, to which
nevertheless, in their own nature, they bear no relation at all.]
CXI. As for time, as it is there taken in an absolute or
abstracted sense, for the duration or perseverance of the existence
of things, I have nothing more to add concerning it, after what
hath been already said on that subject, Sect, xcvu., xcvui. For
the rest, this celebrated author holds there is an absolute space,
which, being unperceivable to sense, remains in itself similar and
immoveable : and relative space to be the measure thereof, which
being moveable, and defined by its situation in respect of sensible
bodies, is vulgarly taken for immoveable space. Place he defines
to be that part of space which is occupied by any body. And
according as the space is absolute or relative, so also is the place.
Absolute motion is said to be the translation of a body from abso-
lute place to absolute place, as relative motion is from one relative
place to another. And because the parts of absolute space do not
fall under our senses, instead of them we are obliged to use their
sensible measures : and so define both place and motion with re-
spect to bodies, which we regard as immoveable. But it is said, in
philosophical matters we must abstract from our senses, since it may
be, that none of those bodies which seem to be quiescent, are truly
so : and the same thing which is moved relatively, may be really
at rest. As likewise one and the same body may be in relative rest
and motion, or even moved with contrary relative motions at the
same time, according as its place is variously defined. All which
ambiguity is to be found in the apparent motions, but not at all
* This section is much altered and abridged from the edition of 1710, in which the
commencement is thus given : " The best grammar of the kind we are speaking of,
will be easily acknowledged to be a treatise of Mechanics, demonstrated and applied to
nature, by a philosopher of a neighbouring nation, whom all the world admire.t I
shall not take upon me to make remarks on that extraordinary person : only some things
he has advanced, so directly opposite to the doctrine we have hitherto laid down, that we
should be wanting in the regard due to the authority of so great a man, did we not take
some notice of them."
t Newton.
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 129
in the true or absolute, which should therefore be alone regarded
in philosophy. And the true, we are told, are distinguished from
apparent or relative motions by the following properties. First,
in true or absolute motion, all parts which preserve the same
position with respect to the whole, partake of the motions of the
whole. Secondly, the place being moved, that which is placed
therein is also moved : so that a body moving in a place which is
in motion, doth participate the motion of its place. Thirdly,
true motion is never generated or changed, otherwise than by
force impressed on the body itself. Fourthly, true motion is
always changed lay force impressed on the body moved. Fifthly,
in circular motion barely relative, there is no centrifugal force,
which nevertheless in that which is true or absolute, is propor-
tional to the quantity of motion.
CXII. Motion, whether real or apparent, relative. — But not-
withstanding what hath been said, it doth not appear to me, that
there can be any motion other than relative : so that to conceive
motion, there must be at least conceived two bodies, whereof the
distance or position in regard to each other is varied. Hence if
there was one only body in being, it could not possibly be moved.
This seems evident, in that the idea I have of motion doth
necessarily include relation.*
CXIII. Apparent motion denied. — But though in every motion
it be necessary to conceive more bodies than one, yet it may be
that one only is moved, namely that on which the force causing
the change of distance is impressed, or in other words, that to
which the action is applied. For however some may define rela-
tive motion, so as to term that body moved, which changes its
distance from some other body, whether the force or action
causing that change were applied to it, or no : yet as relative
motion is that which is perceived by sense, and regarded in the
ordinary affairs of life, it should seem that every man of common
sense knows what it is, as well as the best philosopher : now I
ask any one, whether in this sense of motion as he walks along
the streets, the stones he passes over may be said to move, because
they change distance with his feet ? [To me it seems, that though
motion includes a relation of one thing to another, yet it is not
necessary that each term of the relation be denominated from it.~\
As a man may think of somewhat which doth not think, so a
body may be moved to or from another body, which is not there-
fore itself in motion, f
CXIV. As the place happens to be variously defined, the
motion which is related to it varies, f^ A man in a ship may
* " This to me seems very evident, in that the idea I have of motion does necessarily
involve relation in it. Whether others can conceive it otherwise, a little attention may
satisfy them."— Edit. 1710, 8vo.
f " I mean relative motion, for other I am not able to conceive." — Edit. 1710.
VOL. I. K
130 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. £pART I.
be said to be quiescent, with relation to the sides of the vessel,
and yet move with relation to the land. Or he may move east-
ward in respect of the one, and westward in respect of the other.
In the common affairs of life, men never go beyond the earth to
define the place of any body : and what is quiescent in respect
of that, is accounted absolutely to be so. But philosophers, who
have a greater extent of thought, and juster notions of the system
of things, discover even the earth itself to be moved. [In order
therefore to fix their notions, they seem to conceive the corporeal
world as finite, and the utmost unmoved walls or shell thereof
to be the place whereby they estimate true motions.] If we
sound our own conceptions, I believe we may find all the abso-
lute motion we can frame an idea of, to be at bottom no other
than relative motion thus defined. For as hath been already
observed, absolute motion exclusive of all external relation is in-
comprehensible: and to this kind of relative motion, all the
above-mentioned properties, causes, and effects ascribed to abso-
lute motion, will, if I mistake not, be found to agree. As to
what is said of the centrifugal force, that it doth not at all belong
to circular relative motion: I do not see how this follows from
the experiment which is brought to prove it. See Philosophies
Naturalis Principia Mathematica, in Schol. Def. VIII. For
the water in the vessel, at that time wherein it is said to have
the greatest relative circular motion, hath, I think, no motion at
all ; as is plain from the foregoing section.
CXV. [For to denominate a body moved, it is requisite, first,
that it change its distance or situation with regard to some other
body : and secondly, that the force or action occasioning that
change be applied to it.] If either of these be wanting, I do
not think that agreeable to the sense of mankind, or the pro-
priety of language, a body can be said to be in motion. I grant
indeed, that it is possible for us to think a body, which we see
change its distance from some other, to be moved, though it have
no force applied to it, (in which sense there may be apparent
motion,) but then it is, because the force causing the change of
distance is imagined by us to be applied or impressed on that
body thought to move. Which indeed shows we are capable of
mistaking a thing to be in motion which is not, and that is all ;
*but does not prove that, in the common acceptation of motion,
a body is moved merely because it changes distance from
another; since as soon as^we are undeceived, and find that the
moving force was not communicated to it, we no longer hold it
to be moved. [So on the other hand, when one only body, the
parts whereof preserve a given position between themselves, is
imagined to exist ; some there are who think that it can be moved
* The remainder of the section is taken from the edition of 1710.
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 131
all manner of ways, though without any change of distance or
situation to any other bodies ; which we should not deny, if they
meant only that it might have an impressed force, which, upon
the bare creation of other bodies, would produce a motion of some
certain quantity and determination.] But that an actual motion
(distinct from the impressed force, or power productive of change
of place, in case there were bodies present whereby to define it)
can exist in such a single body, I must confess I am not able to
comprehend.
CXVI. Any idea of pure space relative. — From what hath
been said, it follows that the philosophic consideration of motion
doth not imply the being of an absolute space, distinct from that
which is perceived by sense, and related to bodies : which that it
cannot exist without the mind, is clear upon the same principles,
that demonstrate the like of all other objects of sense. And
perhaps, if we inquire narrowly, we shall find we cannot even
frame an idea of pure space exclusive of all body. This, I must
confess, seems impossible, as being a most abstract idea. When
I excite a motion in some part of my body, if it be free or with-
out resistance, I say there is space : but if I find a resistance, then
I say there is body : and in proportion as the resistance to motion
is lesser or greater, I say the space is more or less pure. So that
when I speak of pure or empty space, it is not to be supposed,
that the word space stands for an idea distinct from, or conceiv-
able without body and motion. Though indeed we are apt to
think every noun substantive stands for a distinct idea, that may be
separated from all others : which hath occasioned infinite/nistakes.
[When therefore supposing, all the world to be annihilated besides
my own body, I say there still remains pure space : thereby
nothing else is meant, but only that I conceive it possible for
the limbs of my body to be moved on all sides without the least
resistance : but if that too were annihilated, then there could be
no motion, and consequently no space.] Some perhaps may
think the sense of seeing doth furnish them with the idea of pure
space ; but it is plain from what we have elsewhere shown, that
the ideas of space and distance are not obtained by that sense.
See the Essay concerning Vision.
CXVII. What is here laid down seems to put an end to all
those disputes and difficulties which have sprung up amongst the
learned concerning the nature of pure space. [But the chief ad-
vantage arising from it is, that we are freed from that dangerous
dilemma, to which several who have employed their thoughts on
this subject imagine themselves reduced, to wit, of thinking
either that real space is God, or else that there is something
beside God which is eternal, uncreated, infinite, indivisible, im-
mutable.] Both which may justly be thought pernicious and
absurd notions. It is certain that not a few divines, as well as
K 2
132 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. ^PART I.
philosophers of great note, have, from the difficulty they found
in conceiving either limits or annihilation of space, concluded it
must be divine. And some of late have set themselves particu-
larly to show, that the incommunicable attributes of God agree
to it. Which doctrine, how unworthy soever it may seem of the
divine nature, yet I do not see how we can get clear of it, so long
as we adhere to the received opinions.
C XVIII. The errors arising from the doctrines of abstraction
and external material existences, influence mathematical reasonings. —
Hitherto of natural philosophy : we come now to make some in-
quiry concerning that other great branch of speculative knowledge,
to wit, mathematics. These, how celebrated soever they may
be for their clearness and certainty of demonstration, which is
hardly any where else to be found, cannot nevertheless be sup-
posed altogether free from mistakes, if -in their principles there
lurks some secret error, which is common to the professors of
those sciences with the rest of mankind. Mathematicians, though
they deduce their theorems from a great height of evidence, yet
their first principles are limited by the consideration of quantity :
and they do not ascend into any inquiry concerning those tran-
scendental maxims, which influence all the particular sciences,
each part whereof, mathematics not excepted, doth consequently
participate of the errors involved in them. That the principles
laid down by mathematicians are true, and their way of deduction
from those principles clear and incontestable, we do not deny.
But we hold, there may be certain erroneous maxims of greater
extent than the object of mathematics, and for that reason not
expressly mentioned, though tacitly supposed throughout the
whole progress of that science ; and that the ill effects of those
secret, unexamined errors are diffused through all the branches
thereof. [To be plain, we suspect the mathematicians are, as
well as other men, concerned in the errors (1) arising from the
doctrine of abstract general ideas, and (2) the existence of objects
without the mind.]
CXIX. Arithmetic hath been thought to have for its object
abstract ideas of number. Of which to understand the properties
and mutual habitudes is supposed no mean part of speculative
knowledge. The opinion of the pure and intellectual nature of
numbers in abstract, hath made them in esteem with those philo-
sophers, who seem to have affected an uncommon fineness and
elevation of thought. It hath set a price on the most trifling
numerical speculations, which in practice are of no use, but serve
only for amusement: and hath therefore so far infected the
minds of some, that they have dreamt of mighty mysteries in-
volved in numbers, and attempted the explication of natural
things by them. But if we inquire into our own thoughts, and
consider what hath been premised, we may perhaps entertain a
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 133
low opinion of those high flights and abstractions, and look on all
inquiries about numbers, only as so many difficiles nugce, so far as
they are not subservient to practice, and promote the benefit of
life.
CXX. [ Unity in abstract we have before considered in Sect, xin.,
from which and what has been said in the Introduction, it plainly
follows there is not any such idea. But number being defined a
collection of units, we may conclude that, if there be no such
thing as unity or unit in abstract, there are no ideas of number
in abstract denoted by the numeral names and figures.] The
theories therefore in arithmetic, if they are abstracted from the
names and figures, as likewise from all use and practice, as well
as from the particular things numbered, can be supposed to have
nothing at all for their object. Hence we may see, how entirely
the science of numbers is subordinate to practice, and how jejune
and trifling it becomes, when considered as a matter of mere
speculation.
CXXL However since there may be some, who, deluded by
the specious show of discovering abstracted verities, waste their
time in arithmetical theorems and problems, which have not any
use : it will not be amiss, if we more fully consider, and expose
the vanity of that pretence ; and this will plainly appear, by
taking a view of arithmetic in its infancy, and observing what it
was that originally put men on the study of that science, and to
what scope they directed it. It is natural to think that at first
men, for ease of memory and help of computation, made use of
counters, or in writing of single strokes, points, or the like, each
whereof was made to signify a unit, that is, some one thing of
whatever kind they had occasion to reckon. Afterwards they
found out the more compendious ways, of making one character
stand in place of several strokes, or points. And lastly, the no-
tation of the Arabians or Indians came into use, wherein, by the
repetition of a few characters or figures, and varying the signifi-
cation of each figure according to the place it obtains, all num-
bers may be most aptly expressed : which seems to have been
done in imitation of language, so that an exact analogy is
observed betwixt the notation by figures and names, the nine
simple figures answering the nine first numeral names and places
in the former, corresponding to denominations in the latter. And
agreeably to those conditions of the simple and local value of
figures, were contrived methods of finding from the given figures
or marks of the parts, what figures, and how placed, are proper to
denote the whole, or vice versa. And having found the sought
figures, the same rule or analogy being observed throughout, it
is easy to read them into words ; and so the number becomes
perfectly known. For then the number of any particular things
is said to be known, when we know the names or figures (with
134 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. QPART I.
their due arrangement) that according to the standing analogy
belong to them. For these signs being known, we can, by the
operations of arithmetic, know the signs of any part of the par-
ticular sums signified by them; and thus computing in signs (be-
cause of the connexion established betwixt them and the distinct
multitudes of things, whereof one is taken for a unit), we may
be able rightly to sum up, divide, and proportion the things
themselves that we intend to number.
* CXXII. [In arithmetic therefore we regard not the things-hut
the signs, which nevertheless are not regarded for their own sake,
but because they direct us how to act with relation to things, and
dispose rightly of them.] [Now agreeably to what we have
before observed of words in general (Sect. xix. Introd.), it
happens here likewise, that abstract ideas are thought to be sig-
nified by numeral names or characters, while they do not suggest
ideas of particular things to our minds.] I shall not at present
enter into a more particular dissertation on this subject ; but only
observe that it is evident from what hath been said, those things
which pass for abstract truths and theorems concerning numbers
are, in reality, conversant about no object distinct from particular
numerable things, except only names and characters ; which ori-
ginally came to be considered on no other account but their being
signs, or capable to represent aptly whatever particular things
men had need to compute. Whence it follows, that to study them
for their own sake would be just as wise, and to as good purpose,
as if a man, neglecting the true use or original intention and sub-
serviency of language, should spend his time in impertinent criti-
cisms upon words, or reasonings and controversies purely verbal.
CXXIII. From numbers we proceed to speak of extension,
which considered as relative, is the object of geometry. The in-
finite divisibility of finite extension, though it is not expressly
laid down, either as an axiom or theorem in the elements of that
science, yet is throughout the same every where supposed, and
thought to have so inseparable and essential a connexion with the
principles and demonstrations in geometry, that mathematicians
never admit it into doubt, or make the least question of it. And
as this notion is the source from whence do spring all those
amusing geometrical paradoxes, which have such a direct repug-
nancy to the plain common sense of mankind, and are admitted
with so much reluctance into a mind not yet debauched by
learning ; so is it the principal occasion of all that nice and ex-
treme subtilty, which renders the study of mathematics so difficult
and tedious. [Hence, if we can make it appear that no finite
extension contains innumerable parts, or is infinitely divisible, it
follows that we shall at once clear the science of geometry from
a great number of difficulties and contradictions, which have ever
been esteemed a reproach to human reason, and withal make the
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 135
attainment thereof a business of much less time and pains than
it hitherto hath been.]
CXXIV. [Every particular finite extension, which may pos-
sibly be the object of our thought, is an idea existing only in the
mind, and consequently each part thereof must be perceived. If
therefore I cannot perceive innumerable parts in any finite exten-
sion that I consider, it is certain that they arej not contained in
it] : but it is evident, that I cannot distinguish innumerable
parts in any particular line, surface, or solid, which I either per-
ceive by sense, or figure to myself in my mind : wherefore I
conclude they are not contained in it. Nothing can be plainer
to me, than that the extensions I have in view are no other than
my own ideas, and it is no less plain, that I cannot resolve any
one of my ideas into an infinite number of other ideas, that is,
that they are not infinitely divisible. If by finite extension be
meant something distinct from a finite idea, I declare I do not
know what that is, and so cannot affirm or deny any thing of it.
But if the terms extension, parts, and the like, are taken in any
sense conceivable, that is, for ideas ; then to say a finite quantity
or extension consists of parts infinite in number, is so manifest a
contradiction, that every one at first sight acknowledges it to be
so. And it is impossible it should ever gain the assent of any
reasonable creature, who is not brought to it by gentle and slow
degrees, as a converted gentile to the belief of transubstantiation.
Ancient and rooted prejudices do often pass into principles : and
those propositions which once obtain the force and credit of a
principle, are not only themselves, but likewise whatever is de-
ducible from them, thought privileged from all examination.
And there is no absurdity so gross, which by this means the mind
of man may not be prepared to swallow.
CXXV. [(1) He whose understanding is prepossessed with
the doctrine of abstract general ideas, may be persuaded, that
(whatever be thought of the ideas of sense) extension in abstract
is infinitely divisible. (2) And one who thinks the objects of
sense exist without the mind, will perhaps in virtue thereof be
brought to admit, that a line but an inch long may contain innu-
merable parts really existing, though too small to be discerned.]
These errors are grafted as well in the minds of geometricians, as
of other men, and have a like influence on their reasonings ; and
it were no difficult thing, to show how the arguments from
geometry, made use of to support the infinite divisibility of ex-
tension, are bottomed on them. [At present we shall only ob-
serve in general, whence it is that the mathematicians are all so
fond and tenacious of this doctrine.
CXXVI. It hath been observed in another place, that the
theorems and demonstrations in geometry are conversant about
universal ideas. Sect. xv. Introd.] Where it is explained in
136 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [J-AKT I.
what sense this ought to be understood, to wit, that the particular
lines and figures included in the diagram, are supposed to stand
for innumerable others of different sizes : or in other words, the
geometer considers them abstracting from their magnitude : which
doth not imply that he forms an abstract idea, but only that he
cares not what the particular magnitude is, whether great or small,
but looks on that as a thing indifferent to the demonstration:
[hence it follows, that a line in the scheme, but an inch long,
must be spoken of as though it contained ten thousand parts,
since it is regarded not in itself, but as it is universal ; and it is
universal only in its signification, whereby it represents innu-
merable lines greater than itself, in which may be distinguished
ten thousand parts or more, though there may not be above an
inch in it. After this manner the properties of the lines signified
are (by a very usual figure ) transferred to the sign, and thence
through mistake thought to appertain to it considered in its own
nature.]
CXXVII.*Because there is no number of parts so great, but
it is possible there may be a line containing more, the inch-line is
said to contain parts more than any assignable number ; which is
true, not of the inch taken absolutely, but only for the things
signified by it. But men not retaining that distinction in their
thoughts, slide into a belief that the small particular line de-
scribed on paper contains in itself parts innumerable. There is
no such thing as the ten-thousandth part of an inch; but there
is of a mile or diameter of the earth, which may be signified by
that inch. When therefore I delineate a triangle on paper, and
take one side not above an inch, for example, in length, to be the
radius ; this I consider as divided into ten thousand or a hun-
dred thousand parts, or more. For though the ten thousandth
part of that line, considered in itself, is nothing at all, and conse-
quently may be neglected without any error or inconveniency ;
yet these described lines being only marks standing for greater
quantities, whereof it may be the ten-thousandth part is very
considerable, it follows, that to prevent notable errors in practice,
the radius must be taken of ten thousand parts, or moye.
CXXVIII. Lines which are infinitely divisible, — From what
hath been said the reason is plain why, to the end any theorem
may become universal in its use, it is necessary we speak of the
lines described on paper, as though they contained parts which
really they do not. In doing of which, if we examine the
matter throughly, we shall perhaps discover that we cannot con-
ceive an inch itself as consisting of, or being divisible into a
thousand parts, [but only some other line which is far greater
than an inch, and represented by it.] And that when we say a
line is infinitely divisible, we must mean a line which is infinitely
great. What we have here observed seems to-be the chief cause,
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 137
why to suppose the infinite divisibility of finite extension hath
been thought necessary in geometry.
CXXIX. The several absurdities and contradictions which
flowed from this false principle might, one would think, have
been esteemed so many demonstrations against it. [But by I
know not what logic, it is held that proofs a posteriori are not to
be admitted against propositions relating to infinity. As though
it were not impossible even for an infinite mind to reconcile con-
tradictions. Or as if any thing absurd and repugnant could
have a necessary connexion with truth, or flow from it.] But
whoever considers the weakness of this pretence, will think it
was contrived on purpose to humour the laziness of the mind,
which had rather acquiesce in an indolent scepticism, than be at
the pains to go through with, a severe examination of those
principles it hath ever embraced for true.
CXXX. Of late the speculations about infinites have run so
high, and grown to such strange notions, as have occasioned no
small scruples and disputes among the geometers of the present
age. Some there are of great note, who, not content with
holding that finite lines may be divided into an infinite number
of parts, do yet further maintain, that each of those infinite-
simals is itself subdivisible into an infinity of other parts, or
infinitesimals of a second order, and so on ad infinitum. These,
I say, assert there are infinitesimals of infinitesimals of infi-
nitesimals, without ever coming to an end. So that according
to them an inch doth not barely contain an infinite number of
parts, but an infinity of an infinity of an infinity ad infinitum of
parts. Others there be who hold all orders of infinitesimals be-
low the first to be nothing at all, thinking it with good reason
absurd, to imagine there is any positive quantity or part of ex-
tension, which though multiplied infinitely, can ever equal the
smallest given extension. And yet on the other hand it seems
no less absurd, to think the square, cube, or other power of a
positive real root, should itself be nothing at all; which they
who hold infinitesimals of the first order, denying all of the sub-
sequent orders, are obliged to maintain.
CXXXI. Objection of mathematicians. — Answer. — Have we not
therefore reason to conclude, that they are both in the wrong, and
that there is in effect no such thing as parts infinitely small, or an
infinite number of parts contained in any finite quantity ?_ But
you will say, that if this doctrine obtains, it will follow (1) that
the very foundations of geometry are destroyed : and those great
men who have raised that science to so astonishing a height,
have been all the while building a castle in the air. [To this it
may be replied, that whatever is useful in geometry and promotes
the benefit of human life, doth still remain firm and unshaken on
our principles. ] That science, considered as practical, will rather
receive advantage than any prejudice from what hath been said.
138 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. ^PART I.
But to set this in a due light, may be the subject of a distinct
inquiry. For the rest, though it should follow that some of the
more intricate and subtle parts of speculative mathematics may be
pared off without any prejudice to truth ; yet I do not see what
damage will be thence derived to mankind. On the contrary, it
were highly to be wished, that men of great abilities and obsti-
nate application would draw off their thoughts from those amuse-
ments, and employ them in the study of such things as lie nearer
the concerns of life, or have a more direct influence on the
manners.
CXXXII. Second objection of mathematicians. — Answer. — If
it be said that several theorems undoubtedly true, are discovered
by methods in which infinitesimals are made use of, which could
never have been, if their existence included a contradiction in it.
[I answer, that upon a thorough examination it will not be found,
that in any instance it is necessary to make use of or conceive
infinitesimal parts of finite lines, or even quantities less than the
minimum sensibile : nay, it will be evident this is never done, it
being impossible.]*
CXXXIII. If the doctrine were only an hypothesis it should be
respected for its consequences. — By what we have premised, it is
plain that very numerous and important errors have taken their
rise from those false principles, which were impugned in the fore-
going parts of this treatise. And the opposites of those erro-
neous tenets at the same time appear to be most fruitful prin-
ciples, from whence do flow innumerable consequences highly
advantageous to true philosophy as well as to religion. Par-
ticularly, matter or the absolute existence of corporeal objects, hath
been shown to be that wherein the most avowed and pernicious
enemies of all knowledge, whether human or divine, have ever
placed their chief strength and confidence. And surely, if by
distinguishing the real existence of unthinking things from their
being perceived, and allowing them a substance of their own out
of the minds of spirits, (1) no one thing is explained in nature ;
but on the contrary a great many inexplicable difficulties' arise :
if (2) the supposition of matter is barely precarious, as not being
grounded on so much as one single reason : if (3) its consequences
cannot endure the light of examination and free inquiry, but screen
themselves under the dark and general pretence of infinites being
incomprehensible : if withal (4) the removal of this matter be not
* The following passage is added in the edition of 1710: — " And whatever mathema-
ticians may think of fluxions or the differential calculus and the like, a little reflection will
show them, that in working by those methods, they do not conceive or imngine lines or
surfaces less than what are perceivable to sense. They may, indeed, call those little
and almost insensible quantities infinitesimals or infinitesimals of infinitesimals, if they
please : but at bottom this is all, they being in truth finite, nor does the solution of
problems require the supposing any other. But this will be more clearly made out
hereafter."
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 139
attended with the least evil consequence, if it be not even missed
in the world, but every thing as well, nay much easier conceived
without it : if lastly, (5) both sceptics and atheists are for ever
silenced upon supposing only spirits and ideas, and this scheme of
things is perfectly agreeable both to reason and religion : me-
thinks we may expect it should be admitted and firmly embraced,
though it were proposed only as an hypothesis, and the existence
of matter had been allowed possible, which yet I think we have
evidently demonstrated that it is not.
CXXXIV. True it is, that in consequence of the foregoing
principles, several disputes and speculations, which are esteemed
no mean parts of learning, are rejected as useless. But how
great a prejudice soever against our notions, this may give to
those who have already been deeply engaged, and made large ad-
vances in studies of that nature : yet by others, we hope it will
not be thought any just ground of dislike to the principles and
tenets herein laid down, that they abridge the labour of study, and
make human sciences more clear, compendious, and attainable,
than they were before.
CXXXV. HAVING despatched what we intended to say con-
cerning the knowledge of ideas, the method we proposed leads us,
in the next place, to treat of spirits :* with regard to which,
perhaps human knowledge is not so deficient as is vulgarly ima-
gined. [The great reason that is assigned for our being thought
ignorant of the nature of spirits, is, our not having an idea of it.]
But surely it ought not to be looked on as a defect in a human
understanding, that it does not perceive the idea of spirit, if it is
manifestly impossible there should be any such idea. And this, if I
mistake not, has been demonstrated in Sect, xxvii. ; to which I
shall here add [that a spirit has been shown to be the only sub-
stance or support, wherein the unthinking beings or ideas can
exist : but that this substance which supports or perceives ideas
should itself be an idea, or like an idea, is evidently absurd.]
CXXXVI. Objection. — Ansiver. — [It will perhaps be said,
that we want a sensef (as some have imagined) proper to know
substances withal, which if we had, we might know our own soul,
as we do a triangle. To this I answer, that in case we had a
new sense bestowed upon us, we could only receive thereby some
new sensations or ideas of sense. But I believe nobody will say,
that what he means by the terms soul and substance, is only
some particular sort of idea or sensation.] We may therefore
infer, that all things duly considered, it is not more reasonable
to think our faculties defective, in that they do not furnish us
with an idea of spirit or active thinking substance, than it would
be if we should blame them for not being able to comprehend a
round square.
* Vide sect, xxvii. t Vide sect. Ixxviii.
140 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [VA.RT I.
C XXX VII. From the opinion (1) thai spirits are to be known
after the manner of an idea* or sensation, have risen many absurd
and heterodox tenets, and much scepticism about the nature of
the soul. [It is even probable, that this opinion may have pro-
duced a doubt in some, whether they had any soul at all distinct
from their body, since upon inquiry they could not find they had
an idea of it.'] That an idea, which is inactive, and the existence
whereof consists in being perceived, should be the image or like-
ness of an agent subsisting by itself, seems no need to other refu-
tation, than barely attending to what is meant by those words.
[But perhaps you will say, that though an idea cannot resemble a
spirit) in its thinking, acting, or subsisting by itself, yet it may
in some other respects : and it is not necessary that an idea or
image be in all respects like the original.]
CXXXVIII. \Ianswer, if it does not in those mentioned, it
is impossible it should represent it in any other thing. Do but
leave out the power of willing, thinking, and perceiving ideas,
and there remains nothing else wherein the idea can be like a
spirit.] For by the word spirit we mean only that which thinks,
wills, and perceives ; this, and this alone, constitutes the signifi-
cation of that term. If, therefore, it is impossible that any
degree of those powers should be represented in an idea, it is
evident there can be no idea of a spirit.
CXXXIX. [But it will be objected, (2)f that if there is no
idea signified by the terms soul, spirit, and substance, they are
wholly insignificant, or have no meaning in them. I answer,
those words do mean or signify a real thing, which is neither an
idea nor like an idea, but that which perceives ideas, and wills,
and reasons about them.] What I am myself, that which I de-
note by the term I, is the same with what is meant by soul or
spiritual substance. If it be said that this is only quarrelling at
a word, and that since the immediate significations of other
names are, by common consent, called ideas, no reason can be
assigned, why that which is signified by the name spirit or soul,
may not partake in the same appellation. [I answer, all the un-
thinking objects of the mind agree, in that they are entirely
passive, and their existence consists only in being perceived :
whereas a soul or spirit is an active being, whose existence con-
sists not in being perceived, but in perceiving ideas and thinking.
It is therefore necessary, in order to prevent equivocation, and
confounding natures perfectly disagreeing and unlike, that we
distinguish between spirit and idea. See Sect, xxvil.]
CXL. Our idea of spirit. — [In a large sense indeed, we may
be said to have an idea, or rather a notion of spirit, that is, (1)
we understand the meaning of the word, otherwise we could not
* Vide sect, cxxxix. t Vide sect, cxxxvii.
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 141
affirm or deny any thing of it. Moreover, (2) as we conceive
the ideas that are in the minds of other spirits by means of our
own, which we suppose to be resemblances of them : so we know
other spirits by means of our own soul, which in that sense is
the image or idea of them, it having a like respect to other spi-
rits, that blueness or heat by me perceived hath to those ideas
perceived by another.]*
CXLL The natural immortality of the soul is a necessary con-
sequence of the foregoing doctrine.] — [It must not be supposed,
that they who assert the natural immortality of the soul are of
opinion that it is absolutely incapable of annihilation, even by the
infinite power of the Creator who first gave it being : but only
that it is not liable to be broken or dissolved by the ordinary
laws of nature or motion .] They, indeed, who hold the soul of
man to be only a thin vital flame, or system of animal spirits,
make it perishing and corruptible as the body, since there is
nothing more easily dissipated than such a being, which it is
naturally impossible should survive the ruin of the tabernacle
wherein it is enclosed. And this notion hath been greedily
embraced and cherished by the worst part of mankind, as the
most effectual antidote against all impressions of virtue and
religion. But it hath been made evident, that bodies, of what
frame or texture soever, are barely passive ideas in the mind,
which is more distant and heterogeneous from them, than light
is from darkness. [We have shown that the soul is indivisible,
incorporeal, unextended, and it is consequently incorruptible.
Nothing can be plainer, than that the motions, changes, decays,
and dissolutions, which we hourly see befall natural bodies (and
which is what we mean by the course of nature), cannot possibly
affect an active, simple, uncompounded substance : such a being
therefore is indissoluble by the force of nature, that is to say, the
soul of man is naturally immortal.^
CXLII. After what hath .been said, it is I suppose plain,
that our souls are not to be known in the same manner as senseless,
inactive objects, or by way of idea. Spirits and ideas are things
so wholly different, that when AVC say they exist, they are known,
or the like, these words must not be thought to signify any
thing common to both natures. There is nothing alike or com-
mon in them : and to expect that by any multiplication or en-
largement of our faculties, we may be enabled to know a spirit
as we do a triangle, seems as absurd as if we should hope to see
a sound. This is inculcated because I imagine it may be of
moment towards clearing several important questions, and pre-
venting some very dangerous errors concerning the nature of the
* Vide Reid on the Intellectual Powers. Essay ii. ch. x. sect. 13. Edit. 1843.
t " But before we attempt to prove that, it is fit that we explain the meaning of that
tenet." — Original edition.
142 THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. £PAKT I.
soul. We may not, I think, strictly be said to have an idea of
an active being, or of an action, although we may be said to
have a notion of them. I have some knowledge or notion of my
mind, and its acts about ideas, inasmuch as I know or understand
what is meant by those words. What I know, that I have some
notion of. I will not say that the terms idea and notion may not
be used convertibly, if the world will have it so. But yet it
conduceth to clearness and propriety, that we distinguish things
very different by different names. It is also to be remarked,
that, all relations including an act of the mind, we cannot so pro-
perly be said to have an idea, but rather a notion of the rela-
tions or habitudes between things. But if, in the modern way,
the word idea is extended to spirits, and relations, and acts ; this
is, after all, an affair of verbal concern.
CXLIII. It will not be amiss to add, that the doctrine of
abstract ideas hath had no small share in rendering those sciences
intricate and obscure, which are particularly conversant about
spiritual things. [Men have imagined they could frame abstract
notions of the powers and acts of the mind, and consider them
prescinded, as well from the mind or spirit itself, as from their
respective objects and effects.] Hence a great number of dark
and ambiguous terms, presumed to stand for abstract notions,
have been introduced into metaphysics and morality, and from
these have grown infinite distractions and disputes amongst the
learned.
CXLIV.* [But nothing seems more to have contributed
towards engaging men in controversies and mistakes, with re-
gard to the nature and operations of the mind, than the being
used to speak of those things in terms borrowed from sensible ideas.~\
$£§" For example, the will is termed the motion of the soul : this
infuses a belief, that the mind of man is as a ball in motion,
impelled and determined by the objects of sense, as necessarily
as that is by the stroke of a racket. Hence arise endless scru-
ples and errors of dangerous consequence in morality. All
which, I doubt not, may be cleared, and truth appear plain, uni-
form, and consistent, could but philosophers be prevailed on to
retire into themselves, and attentively consider their own meaning.
CXL V. Knowledge of spirits not immediate. — [From what hath
been said, it is plain that we cannot know the existence of other
spirits otherwise than by their operations, or the ideas by them ex-
cited in us. I perceive several motions, changes, and combina-
tions of ideas, that inform me there are certain particular agents
like myself, which accompany them, and concur in their produc-
* We are said to have an idea of spirit because (1) an opinion of spirit may be had
in the manner of an idea. Sect. cxl. (2) It has been thought practicable to have an
abstract idea of the powers and acts of the mind. Sect, cxliii. (3) These powers are
spoken of in terms borrowed from sensible objects. Sect, cxliv.
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 143
tion.] [Hence the knowledge I have of other spirits is not im-
mediate, as is the knowledge of my ideas ; but depending on the
intervention of ideas, by me referred to agents or spirits distinct
from myself, as effects or concomitant signs.]
CXLVI. But though there be some things which convince
us human agents are concerned in producing them ; yet it is
evident to every one, that those things which are called the
works of nature, that is, the far greater part of the ideas or sen-
sations perceived by us, are not produced by, or dependent on,
the Avills of men. There is therefore some other spirit that
causes them, since it is repugnant that they should subsist by
themselves. See Sect. xxix. But if we attentively consider the
constant regularity, order, and concatenation of natural things,
the surprising magnificence, beauty, and perfection of the larger,
and the exquisite contrivance of the smaller parts of the creation,
together with the exact harmony and correspondence of the
whole, but, above all, the never enough admired laws of pain
and pleasure, and the instincts or natural inclinations, appetites,
and passions of animals ; I say if we consider all these things,
and at the same time attend to the meaning and import of the
attributes, one, eternal, infinitely wise, good, and perfect, we
shall clearly perceive that they belong to the aforesaid spirit,
icho works all in all, and by whom all things consist.
CXLVII. The existence of God more evident than that of man.
— Hence it is evident, that God is known as certainly and im-
mediately as any other mind or spirit whatsoever, distinct from
ourselves. [We may even assert, that the existence of God is
far more evidently perceived than the existence of men ; because
the effects of nature are infinitely more numerous and considerable
than those ascribed to human agents.] There is not any one
mark that denotes a man, or effect produced by him, which doth
not more strongly evince the being of that Spirit who is the
Author of nature. [For it is evident that in affecting other per-
sons, the will of rnan hath no other object than barely the
motion of the limbs of his body ; but that such a motion should be
attended by, or excite any idea in the mind of another, depends
wholly on the will of the Creator.] He alone it is who, " uphold-
ing all things by the word of his power," maintains that intercourse
between spirits, whereby they are able to perceive the existence
of each other. And yet this pure and clear light, which en-
lightens every one, is itself invisible (to the greatest part of
mankind.*)
CXLVIII. It seems to be a general pretence of the unthinking
herd, that they cannot see God. Could we but see him, say they,
as we see a man, we should believe that he is, and believing
* Orig. Edit.
1 44 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. [>ART I.
obey his commands. But, alas, we need only open our eyes to
see the sovereign Lord of all things with a more full and clear
view, than we do any one of our fellow-creatures. Not that I
imagine we see God (as some will have it) by a direct and im-
mediate view, or see corporeal things, not by themselves, but by
seeing that which represents them in the essence of God, which
doctrine is, I must confess, to me incomprehensible. But I shall
explain my meaning. A human spirit or person is not perceived
by sense, as not being an idea; when therefore we see the
colour, size, figure, and motions of a man, we perceive only cer-
tain sensations or ideas excited in our own minds : and these
being exhibited to our view in sundry distinct collections, serve
to mark out unto us the existence of finite and created spirits
like ourselves. [Hence it is plain, we do not see a man, if by
man is meant that which lives, moves, perceives, and thinks as
we do : but only such a certain collection of ideas, as directs us
to think there is a distinct principle of thought and motion like
to ourselves, accompanying and represented by it.] And after
the same manner we see God ; all the difference is, that whereas
some one finite and narrow assemblage of ideas denotes a par-
ticular human mind, whithersoever we direct our view, we do at
all times and in all places perceive manifest tokens of the
divinity : every thing we see, hear, feel, or anywise perceive by
sense, being a sign or effect of the power of God ; as is our per-
ception of those very motions which are produced by men.
CXLIX. It is therefore plain, that nothing can be more evi-
dent to any one that is capable of the least reflection, than the
existence of God, or a Spirit who is intimately present to our
minds, producing in them all that variety of ideas or sensations,
which continually affect us, on whom we have an absolute and
entire dependence, in short, in whom we live, and move, and have
our being. That the discovery of this great truth, which lies so
near and obvious to the mind, should be attained to by the
reason of so very few, is a sad instance of the stupidity and inat-
tention of men, who, though they are surrounded with such
clear manifestations of the Deity, are yet so little affected by
them, that they seem as it were blinded with excess of light.
CL. Objection on behalf of nature. — Answer. — [But you will
say, hath nature no share in the production of natural things,
and must they be all ascribed to the immediate and sole operation
of God ? I answer, if by nature is meant only the visible series
of effects, or sensations imprinted on our minds according to cer-
tain fixed and general laws : then it is plain, that nature taken
in this sense cannot produce any thing at all. But if by nature
is meant some being distinct from God, as well as from the laws
of nature, and things perceived by sense, I must confess that
word is to me an empty sound, without any intelligible meaning
PART I.] THE PRINCIPLES OP HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 145
annexed to it.] Nature in this acceptation is a vain chimera,
introduced by those heathens, who had not just notions of the
omnipresence and infinite perfection of God. But it is more
unaccountable, that it should be received among Christians pro-
fessing belief in the holy scriptures, which constantly ascribe
those effects to the immediate hand of God, that heathen philoso-
phers are wont to impute to nature. " The Lord, he causeth the
vapours to ascend ; he maketh lightnings with rain ; he bringeth
forth the wind out of his treasures," Jer. x. 13. " He turneth
the shadow of death into the morning, and maketh the day dark
with night," Amos v. 8. " He visiteth the earth, and maketh
it soft with showers : he blesseth the springing thereof, and
crowneth the year with his goodness ; so that the pastures are
clothed with flocks, and the valleys are covered over with corn."
See Psalm Ixv. But notwithstanding that this is the constant
language of scripture ; yet we have I know not what aversion
from believing, that God concerns himself so nearly in our affairs.
Fain would we suppose him at a great distance off, and substitute
some blind unthinking deputy in his stead, though (if we may
believe St. Paul) he be " not far from every one of us."
CLI. Objection to the hand of God being the immediate cause,
threefold. — Answer. — [It will I doubt not be objected, (1) that
the slow and gradual methods observed in the production of natu-
ral things, do not seem to have for their cause the immediate hand
of an almighty agent. (2) Besides, monsters, untimely births,
fruits blasted in the blossom, rains falling in desert places, (3)
miseries incident to human life, are so many arguments that the
whole frame of nature is not immediately actuated and superin-
tended by a spirit of infinite wisdom and goodness.] But the
answer to this objection is in a good measure plain from Sect.
LXII., it being visible, that the aforesaid methods of nature are
absolutely necessary, in order to working by the most simple and
general rules, and after a steady and consistent manner ; which ar-
gues both the wisdom and goodness of God.* [Such is the arti-
ficial contrivance of this mighty machine of nature, that whilst
its motions and various phenomena strike on our senses, the hand
which actuates the whole is itself uuperceivable to men of flesh
and blood. " Verily," saith the prophet, " thou art a God that
hidest thyself," Isaiah xlv. 15. But though God conceal himself
from the eyes of the sensual and lazy, who will not be at the
least expense of thought ; yet to an unbiassed and attentive
mind, nothing can be more plainly legible, than the intimate
presence of an all-wise Spirit, who fashions, regulates, and sus-
* " C First) For it doth hence follow, that the finger of God is not so conspicuous
to^the resolved and careless sinner, which gives him an opportunity to harden in his im-
piety, and grow ripe for vengeance. Vide sect. Ivii."- — Edit 1710.
VOL. I. L
146 THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. Ql'ART I.
tains the whole system of being. (Secondly,)* it is clear from
what we have elsewhere observed, that the operating according
to general and stated laws, is so necessary for our guidance in the
affairs of life,'] and letting us into the secret of nature, that with-
out it, all reach and compass of thought, all human sagacity and
design could serve to no manner of purpose : it were even im-
possible there should be any such faculties or powers in the
mind. See Sect. xxxi. Which one consideration abundantly
outbalances whatever particular inconveniences may thence arise.
CLII. ["We should further consider, (1) that the very blem-
ishes and defects of nature are not without their use, in that
they make an agreeable sort of variety, and augment the beauty
of the rest of the creation, as shades in a picture serve to set off
the brighter and more enlightened parts.] (2) [We would like-
wise do well to examine, whether our taxing the waste of seeds
and embryos, and accidental destruction of plants and animals,
before they come to full maturity, as an imprudence in the author
of nature, be not the effect of prejudice contracted by our famili-
arity with impotent and saving mortals.] In man indeed a
thrifty management of those things, which he cannot procure
without much pains and industry, may be esteemed wisdom. But
we must not imagine, that the inexplicably fine machine of an
animal or vegetable costs the great Creator any more pains or
trouble in its production than a pebble doth : nothing being more
evident, than that an omnipotent spirit can indifferently produce
every thing by a mere fiat or act of his will. [Hence it is plain,
that the splendid profusion of natural things should not be
interpreted weakness or prodigality in the agent who produces
them, but rather be looked on as an argument of the riches of
his power.]
CLIII. As for the mixture of pain, or uneasiness which is in
the world, pursuant to the general laws of nature, and the actions
of finite imperfect spirits : this, in the state we are in at present,
is indispensably necessary to our well-being. But our prospects
are too narrow : we take, for instance, the idea of some one parti-
cular pain into our thoughts, and account it evil ; whereas if we
enlarge our view, so as to comprehend the various ends, connex-
ions, and dependencies of things, on what occasions and in what
proportions we are affected with pain and pleasure, the nature of
human freedom, and the design with which we are put into the
world ; [we shall be forced to acknowledge that those particular
things, which considered in themselves appear to be evil, have the
nature of good, when considered as linked with the whole system of
being s.~\
CLIV. Atheism and Manicheism would have few supporters if
* The first argument is contained in the preceding not?.
PART I/] THE PRINCIPLES OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. 147
mankind were in general attentive. — From what hath been said it
will be manifest to any considering person, that it is merely for
want of attention and comprehensiveness of mind, that there are
any favourers of atheism or the Manichean heresy to be found.
Little and unreflecting souls may indeed burlesque the works of
Providence, the beauty and order whereof they have not capacity,
or will not be at the pains, to comprehend. But those who are
masters of any justness and extent of thought, and are withal
used to reflect, can never sufficiently admire the divine traces of
wisdom and goodness that shine throughout the economy of
nature. But what truth is there which shineth so strongly on
the mind, that by an aversion of thought, a wilful shutting of
the eyes, we may not escape seeing it ? Is it therefore to be
wondered at, if the generality of men, who are ever intent on
business or pleasure, and little used to fix or open the eye of
their mind, should not have all that conviction and evidence of
the being of God, which might be expected in reasonable crea-
tures ?
CLV. We should rather wonder, that men can be found so stu-
pid as to neglect, than that neglecting they should be unconvinced
of such an evident and momentous truth. And yet it is to be
feared that too many of parts and leisure, who live in Christian
countries, are merely through a supine and dreadful negligence
sunk into a sort of atheism. Since it is downright impossible,
that a soul pierced and enlightened with a thorough sense of the
omnipresence, holiness, and justice of that Almighty Spirit,
should persist in a remorseless violation of his laws. We ought
therefore earnestly to meditate and dwell on those important
points; that so we may attain conviction without all scruple,
that " the eyes of the Lord are in every place beholding the evil
and the good ;" that he is with us and keepeth us in all places
whither we go, and giveth us bread to eat, and raiment to put
on ; that he is present and conscious to our innermost thoughts ;
and that we have a most absolute and immediate dependence on
him. A clear view of which great truths cannot choose but fill
our heart with an awful circumspection and holy fear, which is
the strongest incentive to virtue, and the best guard against vice.
CLVI. For after all, what deserves the first place in our
studies, is the consideration of God, and our duty ; which to pro-
mote, as it was the main drift and design of my labours, so shall
I esteem them altogether useless and ineffectual if by what I
have said I cannot inspire my readers with a pious sense of the
presence of God: and having shown the falseness or vanity of
those barren speculations, which make the chief employment of
learned men, the better dispose them to reverence and embrace
the salutary truths of the gospel, which to know and to practise
is the highest perfection of human nature.
L 2
THREE DIALOGUES
BliTWKE.V
HYLAS AND PHILONOUS,
I.V OPPOSITION TO
SCEPTICS AND ATHEISTS.
THREE DIALOGUES
ETC.
THE FIKST DIALOGUE.
Philonous. GOOD morrow, Hylas : I did not expect to find you
abroad so early.
Hylas. It is indeed something unusual : but my thoughts were
so taken up with a subject I was discoursing of last night, that
finding I could not sleep, I resolved to rise and take a turn in
the garden.
Phil. It happened well, to let you see what innocent and
agreeable pleasures you lose every morning. Can there be a
pleasanter time of the day, or a more delightful season of the
year ? That purple sky, those wild but sweet notes of birds, the
fragrant bloom upon the trees and flowers, the gentle influence
of the rising sun, these and a thousand nameless beauties of
nature inspire the soul with secret transports ; its faculties too
being at this time fresh and lively, are fit for these meditations,
which the solitude of a garden and tranquillity of the morning
naturally dispose us to. But I am afraid I interrupt your
thoughts ; for you seemed very intent on something.
Hyl. It is true, I was, and shall be obliged to you if you will
permit me to go on in the same vein ; not that I would by any
means deprive myself of your company, for my thoughts always
flow more easily in conversation with a friend, than when I am
alone : but my request is, that you would suffer me to impart
my reflections to you.
Phil With all my heart, it is what I should have requested
myself, if you had not prevented me.
Hyl. I was considering the odd fate of those men who have in
all ages, through an affectation of being distinguished from the
vulgar, or some unaccountable turn of thought, pretended either
to believe nothing at all, or to believe the most extravagant things
in the world. This however might be borne, if their paradoxes
and scepticism did not draw after them some consequences of
general disadvantage to mankind. But the mischief lieth here ;
152 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
that when men of less leisure see them who are supposed to have
spent their whole time in the pursuits of knowledge, professing
an entire ignorance of all things, or advancing such notions as
are repugnant to plain and commonly received principles, they
will be tempted to entertain suspicions concerning the most im-
portant truths, which they had hitherto held sacred and unques-
tionable.
Phil. I entirely agree with you, as to the ill tendency of the
affected doubts of some philosophers, and fantastical conceits of
others. I am. even so far gone of late in this way of thinking,
that I have quitted several of the sublime notions I had got in
their schools for vulgar opinions. And I give it you on my word,
since this revolt from metaphysical notions to the plain dictates
of nature and common sense, I find my understanding strangely
enlightened, so that I can now easily comprehend a great many
things which before were all mystery and riddle.
HyL I am glad to find there was nothing in the accounts I
heard of you.
Phil. Pray, what were those ?
HyL You were represented in last night's conversation, as one
who maintained the most extravagant opinion that ever entered
into the mind of man, to wit, that there is no such thing as ma-
terial substance in the world.
Phil That there is no such thing as what philosophers call
material substance, I am seriously persuaded : but if I were made
to see any thing absurd or sceptical in this, I should then have
the same reason to renounce this, that I imagine I have now to
reject the contrary opinion.
HyL What ! can any thing be more fantastical, more repug-
nant to common sense, or a more manifest piece of scepticism,
than to believe there is no such thing as matter ?
Phil. Softly, good Hylas. What if it should prove, that you
who hold there is, are by virtue of that opinion a greater sceptic,
and maintain more paradoxes and repugnancies to common sense,
than I who believe no such thing ?
HyL You may as soon persuade me, the part is greater than
the whole, as that, in order to avoid absurdity and scepticism, I
should ever be obliged to give up my opinion in this point.
Phil. Well then, are you content to admit that opinion for true,
which upon examination shall appear most agreeable to common
sense, and remote from scepticism ?
HyL With all my heart. Since you are for raising disputes
about the plainest things in nature, I am content for once to hear
what you have to say.
Phil. Pray, Hylas, what do you mean by a sceptic ?
HyL I mean what all men mean, one that doubts of every
thing.
THE FIHST DIALOGUE. 153
Phil. He then who entertains no doubt concerning some par-
ticular point, with regard to that point cannot be thought a sceptic.
Hyl. I agree with you.
Phil. Whether doth doubting consist in embracing the affirma-
tive or negative side of a question ?
Hyl. In neither ; for whoever understands English, cannot but
know that doubting signifies a suspense between both.
Phil. He then that denieth any point, can no more be said to
doubt of it than he who affirmeth it with the same degree of as-
surance.
Hyl True.
Phil. And consequently, for such his denial is no more to be
esteemed a sceptic than the other.
Hyl. I acknowledge it.
Phil How cometh it to pass then, Hylas, that you pronounce
me a sceptic, because I deny what you affrm, to wit, the existence
-of matter ? Since, for ought you can tell, I am as peremptory in
my denial, as you in your affirmation.
Hyl. Hold, Philonous, I have been a little out in my definition ;
but every false step a man makes in discourse is not to be insisted
on. I said, indeed, that a sceptic was one who doubted of every
thing ; but I should have added, or who denies the reality and
truth of things.
Phil What things ? Do you mean the principles and theorems
of sciences ? but these you know are universal intellectual no-
tions, and consequently independent of matter ; the denial there-
fore of this doth not imply the denying them.
Hyl I grant it. But are there no other things ? What think
you of distrusting the senses, of denying the real existence of
sensible things, or pretending to know nothing of them ? Is not
this sufficient to denominate a man a sceptic ?
Phil. Shall we therefore examine which of us it is that denies
the reality of sensible things, or professes the greatest ignorance
of them ; since, if I take you rightly, he is to be esteemed the
greatest sceptic ?
Hyl. That is what I desire.
Phil What mean you by sensible things ?
Hyl Those things which are perceived by the senses. Can
you imagine that I mean any thing else ?
Phil Pardon me, Hylas, if I am desirous clearly to apprehend
your notions, since this may much shorten our inquiry. Suffer
me then to ask you this further question. Are those things only
perceived by the senses which are perceived immediately ? or
may those things properly be said to be sensible, which are per-
ceived mediately, or not without the intervention of others ?
Hyl I do not sufficiently understand you.
Phil In reading a book, what I immediately perceive are the
154 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
letters, but mediately, or by means of these, are suggested to my
mind the notions of God, virtue, truth, &c. Now that the let-
ters are truly sensible things, or perceived by sense, there is no
doubt : but I would know whether you take the things suggested
by them to be so too.
Hyl No, certainly, it were absurd to think God or virtue sen-
sible things, though they may be signified and suggested to the
mind by sensible marks, with which they have an arbitrary con-
nexion.
Phil. It seems then, that by sensible things you mean those only
which can be perceived immediately by sense.
Hyl Right.
Phil. Doth it not follow from this, that though I see one part
of the sky red, and another blue, and that my reason doth thence
evidently conclude there must be some cause of that diversity of
colours, yet that cause cannot be said to be a sensible thing, or
perceived by the sense of seeing ?
Hyl It doth.
Phil In like manner, though I hear variety of sounds, yet I
cannot be said to hear the causes of those sounds.
Hyl You cannot.
Phil And when by my touch I perceive a thing to be hot and
heavy, I cannot say with any truth or propriety, that I feel the
cause of its heat or weight.
Hyl To prevent any more questions of this kind, I tell you
once for all, that by sensible things I mean those only which are
perceived by sense, and that in truth the senses perceive nothing
which they do not perceive immediately : for they make no in-
ferences. The deducing therefore of causes or occasions from
effects and appearances, which alone are perceived by sense, en-
tirely relates to reason.
Phil This point then is agreed between us, that sensible things
are those only which are immediately perceived by sense. You will
further inform me, whether we immediately perceive by sight any
thing beside light, and colours, and figures : or by hearing any
thing but sounds : by the palate, any thin^j besides tastes : by
the smell, besides odours : or by the touch, more than tangible
qualities.
Hyl We do not.
Phil It seems therefore, that if you take away all sensible
qualities, there remains nothing sensible.
Hyl I grant it.
Phil Sensible things therefore are nothing else but so many
sensible qualities, or combinations of sensible qualities.
Hyl Nothing else.
Phil Heat then is a sensible thing.
Hyl Certainly.
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 155
Phil. Doth the reality of sensible things consist in being per-
ceived ? or, is it something distinct from their being perceived,
nnd that bears no relation to the mind?
Hyl. To exist is one thing, and to be perceived is another.
Phil. I speak with regard to sensible things only ; and of these
I ask, whether by their real existence you mean a subsistence
exterior to the mind, and distinct from their being perceived ?
Hyl. I mean a real absolute being, distinct from, and without
any relation to their being perceived.
Phil. Heat therefore, if it be allowed a real being, must exist
without the mind.
Hyl. It must.
Phil. Tell me, Hylas, is this real existence equally compatible
to all degrees of heat, which we perceive : or is there any reason
why we should attribute it to some, and deny it others ? and if
there be, pray let me know that reason.
Hyl. Whatever degree of heat we perceive by sense, we may
be sure the same exists in the object that occasions it.
Phil. What, the greatest as well as the least ?
Hyl. I tell you, the reason is plainly the same in respect of
both : they are both perceived by sense ; nay, the greater degree
of heat is more sensibly perceived ; and consequently, if there is
any difference, we are more certain of its real existence than we
can be of the reality of a lesser degree.
Phil. But is not the most vehement and intense degree of heat
a very great pain ?
Hyl. No one can deny it.
Phil. And is any unperceiving thing capable of pain or plea-
sure ?
Hyl. No certainly.
Phil. Is your material substance a senseless being, or a being
endowed with sense and perception?
Hyl. It is senseless without doubt.
Phil It cannot therefore be the subject of pain.
Hyl. By no means.
Phil. Nor consequently of the greatest heat perceived by
sense, since you acknowledge this to be no small pain.
Hyl. I grant it.
Phil. What shall we say then of your external object ; is it a
material substance, or no ?
Hyl. It is a material substance with the sensible qualities in-
hering in it.
Phil. How then can a great heat exist in it, since you own it
cannot in a material substance? I desire you would clear this
point.
Hyl. Hold, Philonous ; I fear I was out in yielding intense heat
to be a pain. It should seem rather, that pain is something dis-
tinct from heat, and the consequence or effect of it.
156 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
Phil. Upon putting your hand near the fire, do you perceive
one simple uniform sensation, or two distinct sensations ?
Hyl But one simple sensation.
Phil. Is not the heat immediately perceived ?
Hyl. It is.
Phil And the pain ?
Hyl True.
Phil. Seeing therefore they are both immediately perceived
at the same time, and the fire affects you only with one simple,
or uncompounded idea, it follows that this same simple idea is
both the intense heat immediately perceived, and the pain ; and
consequently, that the intense heat immediately perceived, is
nothing distinct from a particular sort of pain.
Hyl. It seems so.
Phil Again, try in your thoughts, Hylas, if you can conceive
a vehement sensation to be without pain, or pleasure.
Hyl. I cannot.
Phil. Or can you frame to yourself an idea of sensible pain
or pleasure in general, abstracted from every particular idea of
heat, cold, tastes, smells, &c. ?
Hyl I do not find that I can.
Phil Doth it not therefore follow, that sensible pain is nothing
distinct from those sensations or ideas, in an intense degree ?
Hyl It is undeniable ; and to speak the truth, I begin to sus-
pect a very great heat cannot exist but in a mind perceiving it.
Phil What ! are you then in that sceptical state of suspense,
between affirming and denying?
Hyl I think I may be positive in the point. A very violent
and painful heat cannot exist without the mind.
Phil. It hath not therefore, according to you, any real being.
Hyl I own it.
Phil Is it therefore certain, that there is no body in nature
really hot ?
Hyl I have not denied there is any real heat in bodies. I only
say, there is no such thing as an intense real heat.
Phil But did you not say before, that all degrees of heat were
equally real: or if there was any difference, that the greater
were more undoubtedly real than the lesser ?
Hyl True : but it was, because I* did not then consider the
ground there is for distinguishing between them, which I now
plainly see. And it is this : because intense heat is nothing else
but a particular kind of painful sensation ; and pain cannot exist
but in a perceiving being ; it follows that no intense heat can
really exist in an unperceiving corporeal substance, But this is
no reason why we should deny heat in an inferior degree to exist
in such a substance.
Phil But how shall we be able to discern those degrees of
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 157
heat which exist only in the mind, from those which exist with-
out it ?
Hyl. That is no difficult matter. You know, the least pain
cannot exist unperceived ; whatever therefore degree of heat is
a pain, exists only in the mind. But as for all other degrees of
heat, nothing obliges us to think the same of them.
Phil I think you granted before, that no unperceiving being
was capable of pleasure, any more than of pain.
Hyl I did.
Phil. And is not warmth, or a more gentle degree of heat
than what causes uneasiness, a pleasure ?
Hyl. What then?
Phil Consequently it cannot exist without the mind in any
unperceiving substance, or body.
Hyl So it seems.
Phil Since therefore, as well those degrees of heat that are
not painful, as those that are, can exist only in a thinking sub-
stance ; may we not conclude that external bodies are absolutely
incapable of any degree of heat whatsoever ?
Hyl On second thoughts, I do not think it so evident that
warmth is a pleasure, as that a great degree of heat is a pain.
Phil I do not pretend that warmth is as great a pleasure as
heat is a pain. But if you grant it to be even a small pleasure,
it serves to make good my conclusion.
Hyl I could rather call it an indolence. It seems to be nothing
more than a privation of both pain and pleasure. And that
such a quality or state as this may agree to an unthinking sub-
stance, I hope you will not deny.
Phil If you are resolved to maintain that warmth, or a gentle
degree of heat, is no pleasure, I know not how to convince you
otherwise, than by appealing to your own sense. But what
think you of cold ?
Hyl The same tha^ I do of heat. An intense degree of cold
is a pain ; for to feel a very great cold, is to perceive a great
uneasiness : it cannot therefore exist without the mind ; but a
lesser degree of cold may, as well as a lesser degree of heat.
Phil Those bodies therefore, upon whose application to our
own we perceive a moderate degree of heat, must be concluded
to have a moderate degree of heat or warmth in them : and those,
upon whose application we feel a like degree of cold, must be
thought to have cold in them.
Hyl They must.
Phil Can any doctrine be true that necessarily leads a man
into an absurdity ?
Hyl Without doubt it cannot.
Phil Is it not an absurdity to think that the same thing
should be at the same time both cold and warm ?
158 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
Hyl. It is.
Phil Suppose now one of your hands hot, and the other cold,
and that they are both at once put into the same vessel of water,
in an intermediate state ; will not the water seem cold to one
hand, and warm to the other ?
Hyl It will.
Phil. Ought we not therefore by your principles to conclude,
it is really both cold and warm at the same time, that is, accord-
ing to your own concession, to believe an absurdity ?
Hyl. I confess it seems so.
Phil Consequently, the principles themselves are false, since
you have granted that no true principle leads to an absurdity.
Hyl. But after all, can any thing be more absurd than to say,
there is no heat in the fire ?
Phil. To make the point still clearer ; tell me, whether in two
cases exactly alike, we ought not to make the same judgment ?
Hyl. We ought.
Phil. When a pin pricks your finger, doth it not rend and
divide the fibres of your flesh ?
Hyl It doth.
Phil And when a coal burns your finger, doth it any more ?
Hyl It doth not.
Phil Since therefore you neither judge the sensation itself
occasioned by the pin, nor any thing like it to be in the pin ;
you should not, conformably to what you have now granted,
judge the sensation occasioned by the fire, or any thing like it,
to be in the fire.
Hyl Well, since' it must be so, I am content to yield this
point, and acknowledge, that heat and cold are only sensations
existing in our minds : but there still remain qualities enouga to
secure the reality of external things.
Phil But what will you say, Hylas, if it shall appear that the
case is the same with regard to all other sensible qualities, and
that they can no more be supposed to exist without the mind,
than heat and cold?
Hyl Then indeed you will have done something to the pur-
pose ; but that is what I despair of seeing proved.
Phil Let us examine them in order. What think you of
tastes, do they exist without the mind, or no ?
Hyl Can any man in his senses doubt whether sugar is sweet,
or wormwood bitter ?
Phil, Inform me, Hylas. Is a sweet taste a particular kind of
pleasure or pleasant sensation, or is it not ?
Hyl It is.
Phil And is not bitterness some kind of uneasiness or pain?
Hyl I grant it.
Phil If therefore sugar and wormwood are unthinking corpo-
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 159
real substances existing without the mind, how can sweetness and
bitterness, that is, pleasure and pain, agree to them ?
Hyl. Hold, Philonous ; I now see what it was deluded me all
this time. You asked Avhether heat and cold, sweetness and
bitterness, Avere not particular sorts of pleasure and pain ; to
which I answered simply, that they were. Whereas I should
have thus distinguished : those qualities, as perceived by u , are
pleasures or pains, but not as existing in the external objects. We
must not therefore conclude absolutely, that there is no h -at in
the fire, or sweetness in the sugar, but only that heat or sweet-
ness, as perceived by us, are not in the fire or sugar. What say
} ou to th s ?
Phil I say it is nothing to the purpose. Our discourse pro-
ceeded altogether concerning sensible things, which you defined
to be the things we immediately perceive by our senses. Whatever
other qualities therefore you speak of, as distinct from these, I
know nothing of them, neither do they at all belong to the point
in dispute. You may indeed pretend to have discovered certain
qualities which you do not perceive, and assert those insensible
qualities exist in fire and sugar. But what use can be made of
this to your present purpose, I am at a loss to conceive. Tell
me then once more, do you acknowledge that heat and cold,
sweetness and bitterness (meaning those qualities which are per-
ceived by the senses), do not exist without the mind?
Hyl I see it is to no purpose to hold out, so I give up the
cause as to those mentioned qualities. Though I profess it sounds
oddly, to say that sugar is not sweet.
Phil, But for your further satisfaction, take this along with
you : that which at other times seems sweet, shall [to a distem-
pered palate appear bitter. And nothing can be plainer, than
that divers persons perceive different tastes in the same food,
since that which one man delights in, another abhors. And how
could this be, if the taste was something really inherent in the
food?
Hyl I acknowledge I know not how.
Phil In the next place, odours are to be considered. And
with regard to these, I would fain know, whether what hath been
said of tastes doth not exactly agree to them ? Are they not so
many pleasing or displeasing sensations ?
Hyl They are.
Phil. Can you then conceive it possible that they should exist
in an unperceiving thing?
Hyl I cannot.
Phil Or can you imagine, that filth and ordure affect those
brute animals that feed on them out of choice, with the same
smells which we perceive in them ?
Hyl By no means.
160 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
Phil May we not therefore conclude of smeHs, as of the other
forementioned qualities, that they cannot exist in any but a per-
ceiving substance or mind ?
Hyl. I think so.
Phil. Then as to sounds, what must we think of them : are
they accidents really inherent in external bodies, or not ?
Hyl. That they inhere not in the sonorous bodies, is plain from
hence ; because a bell struck in the exhausted receiver of an air-
pump, sends forth no sound. The air therefore must be thought
the subject of sound.
Phil. What reason is there for that, Hylas ?
Hyl. Because when any motion is raised in the air, we per-
ceive a sound greater or lesser, in proportion to the air's motion ;
but without some motion in the air, we never hear any sound at
all.
Phil. And granting that we never hear a sound but when some
motion is produced in the air, yet I do not see how you can infer
from thence, that the sound itself is in the air.
Hyl. It is this very motion in the external air, that produces
in the mind the sensation of sound. For striking on the drum
of the ear, it causeth a vibration, which by the auditory nerves
being communicated to the brain, the soul is thereupon affected
with the sensation called sound.
Phil. What ! is sound then a sensation ?
Hyl. I tell you, as perceived by us, it is a particular sensation
in the mind.
Phil. And can any sensation exist without the mind ?
Hyl. No, certainly.
Phil How then can sound, being a sensation, exist in the air,
if by the air you mean a senseless substance existing without the
mind.
Hyl. You must distinguish, Philonous, between sound, as it is
perceived by us, and as it is in itself ; or, (which is the same thing)
between the sound we immediately perceive, and that which exists
without us. The former indeed is a particular kind of sensation,
but the latter is merely a vibrative or undulatory motion in the
air.
Phil I thought I had already obviated that distinction by the
answer I gave when you were applying it in a like case before.
But to say no more of that ; are you sure then that sound is
really nothing but motion ?
Hyl. I am.
Phil. Whatever therefore agrees to real sound, may with
truth be attributed to motion.
Hyl. It may.
Phil It is then good sense to speak of motion, as of a thing
that is loud, sweet, acute, or grave.
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 161
Hyl. I see you are resolved not to understand me. Is it not
evident, those accidents or modes belong only to sensible sound,
or sound in the common acceptation of the word, but not to sound
in the real and philosophic sense, which, as I just now told you,
is nothing but a certain motion of the air ?
Phil It seems then there are two sorts of sound, the one vul-
gar, or that which is heard, the other philosophical and real.
Hyl. Even so.
Phil. And the latter consists in motion.
Hyl. I told you so before.
Phil. Tell me, Hylas, to which of the senses, think you, the
idea of motion belongs : to the hearing ?
HyL No, certainly, but to the sight and touch.
Phil. It should follow then, that according to you, real sounds
may possibly be seen or felt, but never heard.
HyL Look you, Philonous, you may if you please make a jest
of my opinion, but that will not alter the truth of things. I own,
indeed, the inferences you draw me into sound something oddly :
but common language, you know, is framed by, and for the use
of the vulgar : we must not therefore wonder, if expressions
adapted to exact philosophic notions, seem uncouth and out of
the way.
Phil. Is it come to that ? I assure you, I imagine myself to
have gained no small point, since you make so light of departing
from common phrases and opinions ; it being a main part of our
inquiry, to examine whose notions are widest of the common
road, and most repugnant to the general sense of the world.
But can you think it no more than a philosophical paradox, to
say that real sounds are never heard, and that the idea of them is
obtained by some other sense. And is there nothing in this con-
trary to nature and the truth of things?
Hyl. To deal ingenuously, I do not like it. And after the
concessions already made, I had as well grant that sounds too
have no real being without the mind.
Phil. And I hope you will make no difficulty to acknowledge
the same of colours.
Hi/I. Pardon me ; the case of colours is very different. Can
any thing be plainer, than that we see them on the objects ?
Phil. The objects you speak of are, I suppose, corporeal sub-
stances existing without the mind.
HyL They are.
Phil. And have true and real colours inhering in them ?
Hyl. Each visible object hath that colour which we see in it.
Phil. How ! is there any thing visible but what we perceive
by sight.
Hyl. There is not.
VOL. i. M
162 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
Phil And do we perceive any thing by sense, which we do
not perceive immediately ?
Hyl How often must I be obliged to repeat the same thing ?
I tell you, we do not.
Phil. Have patience, good Hylas; and tell me once more
whether there is any thing immediately perceived by the senses,
except sensible qualities. I know you asserted there was not :
but I would now be informed, whether you still persist in the
same opinion.
Hyl I do.
Phil. Pray, is your corporeal substance either a sensible quality
or made up of sensible qualities ?
Hyl. What a question that is ! who ever thought it was ?
Phil. My reason for asking was, because in saying, each visible
object hath that colour which we see in it, you make visible objects
to be corporeal substances ; which implies either that corporeal
substances are sensible qualities, or else that there is something
beside sensible qualities perceived by sight : but as this point was
formerly agreed between us, and is still maintained by you, it is
a clear consequence, that your corporeal substance is nothing dis-
tinct from sensible qualities.
Hyl. You may draw as many absurd consequences as you
please, and endeavour to perplex the plainest things ; but you
shall never persuade me out of my senses. I clearly understand
my own meaning.
Phil, I wish you would make me understand it too. But
since you are unwilling to have your notion of corporeal substance
examined, I shall urge that point no further. Only be pleased to
let me know, whether the same colours which we see, exist in
external bodies, or some other.
Hyl. The very same.
Phil. What ! are then the beautiful red and purple we see on
yonder clouds, really in them ? Or do you imagine they have in
themselves any other form than that of a dark mist or vapour?
Hyl. I must own, Philonous, those colours are not really in the
clouds as they seem to be at this distance. They are only appa-
rent colours.
Phil. Apparent call you them ? how shall we distinguish these
apparent colours from real?
Hyl. Very easily. Those are to be thought apparent, which,
appearing only at a distance, vanish upon a nearer approach.
Phil. And those I suppose are to be thought real, which are
discovered by the most near and exact survey.
Hyl Right.
Phil Is the nearest and exactest survey made by the help of
a microscope, or by the naked eye ?
Hyl By a microscope, doubtless.
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 163
Phil. But a microscope often discovers colours in an object
different from those perceived by the unassisted sight. And in
case we had microscopes magnifying to any assigned degree ; it
is certain, that no object whatsoever viewed through them, would
appear in the same colour which it exhibits to the naked eye.
Hyl. And what will you conclude from all this ? You cannot
argue that there are really and naturally no colours on objects ;
because by artificial managements they may be altered, or made
to vanish,
Phil. I think it may evidently be concluded from your own
concessions, that all the colours we see with our naked eyes, are
only apparent as those on the clouds, since they vanish upon a
more close and accurate inspection, which is afforded us by a
microscope. Then as to what you say by way of prevention ;
I ask you, whether the real and natural state of an object is better
discovered by a very sharp and piercing sight, or by one which
is less sharp.
Hyl. By the former without doubt.
Phil. Is it not plain from dioptrics, that microscopes make the
sight more penetrating, and represent objects as they would ap-
pear to the eye, in case it were naturally endowed with a most
exquisite sharpness ?
Hyl It is.
Phil. Consequently the microscopical representation is to be
thought that which best sets forth the real nature of the thing,
or what it is in itself. The colours therefore by it perceived,
are more genuine and real, than those perceived otherwise.
Hyl. I confess there is something in what you say.
Phil. Besides, it is not only possible but manifest, that there
actually are animals, whose eyes are by nature framed to perceive
those things, which by reason of their minuteness escape our
sight. What think you of those inconceivably small animals
perceived by glasses ? must we suppose they are all stark blind ?
Or, in case they see, can it be imagined their sight hath not the
same use in preserving their bodies from injuries, which appears
in that of all other animals ? And if it hath, is it not evident,
they must see particles less than their own bodies, which will
present them with a far different view in each object, from that
which strikes our senses ? Even our own eyes do not always re-
present objects to us after the same manner. In the jaundice,
every one knows that all things seem yellow. Is it not therefore
highly probable, those animals in whose eyes we discern a very
different texture from that of ours, and whose bodies abound
with different humours, do not see the same colours in every ob-
ject that we do ? From all of which, should it not seem to follow
that all colours are equally apparent, and that none of those
which we perceive are really inherent in any outward object ?
M 2
164 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
Hyl It should.
Phil. The point will be past all doubt, if you consider, that
in case colours were real properties or affections inherent in ex-
ternal bodies, they could admit of no alteration, without some
change wrought in the very bodies themselves: but is it not
evident from what hath been said, that upon the use of micro-
scopes, upon a change happening in the humours of the eye, or
a variation of distance, without any manner of real alteration in
the thing itself, the colours of any object are either changed, or
totally disappear ? Nay, all other circumstances remaining the
same, change but the situation of some objects, and they shall
present different colours to the eye. The same thing happens
upon viewing an object in various degrees of light. And what
is more known, than that the same bodies appear differently
coloured by candle-light from what they do in the open day ?
Add to these the experiment of a prism, which, separating the
heterogeneous rays of light, alters the colour of any object ; and
will cause the whitest to appear of a deep blue or red to the
naked eye. And now tell me, whether you are still of opinion,
that every body hath its true, real colour inhering in it ; and if
you think it hath, I would fain know further from you, what
certain distance and position of the object, what peculiar texture
and formation of the eye, what degree or kind of light is neces-
sary for ascertaining that true colour, and distinguishing it from
apparent ones.
Hyl. I own myself entirely satisfied, that they are all equally
apparent ; and that there is no such thing as colour really inher-
ing in external bodies, but that it is altogether in the light.
And what confirms me in this opinion, is, that in proportion to
the light, colours are still more or less vivid ; and if there be no
light, then are there no colours perceived. Besides, allowing
there are colours on external objects, yet how is it possible for
us to perceive them ? For no external body affects the mind,
unless it act first on our organs of sense. But the only action
of bodies is motion ; and motion cannot be communicated other-
wise than by impulse. A distant object therefore cannot act on
the eye, nor consequently make itself or its properties perceiv-
able to the soul. Whence it plainly follows, that it is immedi-
ately some contiguous substance, which operating on the eye
occasions a perception of colours : and such is light.
Phil. How ! is light then a substance ?
Hyl. I tell you, Philonous, external light is nothing but a
thin fluid substance, whose minute particles being agitated with
a brisk motion, and in various manners reflected from the differ-
ent surfaces of outward objects to the eyes, communicate differ-
ent motions to the optic nerves ; which being propagated to the
brain, cause therein various impressions : and these are attended
with the sensations of red, blue, yellow, &c.
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 165
Phil. It seems, then, the light doth no more than shake the
optic nerves.
Hyl. Nothing else.
Phil. And consequent to each particular motion of the nerves
the mind is affected with a sensation, which is some particular
colour.
Hyl Right.
Phil. And these sensations have no existence without the
mind.
Hyl. They have not.
Phil. How then do you affirm that colours are in the light,
since by light you understand a corporeal substance external to
the mind ?
Hyl. Light and colours, as immediately perceived by us, I
grant cannot exist without the mind. But in themselves they
are only the motions and configurations of certain insensible
particles of matter,
Phil. Colours then, in the vulgar sense, or taken for the im-
mediate objects of sight, cannot agree to any but a perceiving
substance.
Hyl That is what I say.
Phil. "Well then, since you give up the point as to those sen-
sible qualities, which are alone thought colours by all mankind
beside, you may hold what you please with regard to those in-
visibles ones of the philosophers. It is not my business to dis-
pute about them ; only I would advise you to bethink yourself,
whether, considering the inquiry wre are upon, it be prudent for
you to affirm the red and blue tvhich we see are not real colours, but
certain unknown motions and figures which no man ever did or can
see, are truly so. Are not these shocking notions, and are not
they subject to as many ridiculous inferences, as those you were
obliged to renounce before in the case of sounds ?
Hyl I frankly own, Philonous, that it is in vain to stand out
any longer. Colours, sounds, tastes, in a word, all those termed
secondary qualities, have certainly no existence without the mind.
But by this acknowledgment I must not be supposed to derogate
any thing from the reality of matter or external objects, seeing
it is no more than several philosophers maintain, who neverthe-
less are the furthest imaginable from denying matter. For the
clearer understanding of this, you must know sensible qualities
are by philosophers divided into primary and secondary. The
former are extension, figure, solidity, gravity, motion, and rest.
And these they hold exist really in bodies. The latter are those
above enumerated ; or briefly, all sensible qualities beside the
primary, which they assert are only so many sensations or ideas
existing no where but in the mind. But all this, I doubt not,
you are already apprised of. For my part, I have been a long
166 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
time sensible there was such an opinion current among philoso-
phers, but was never thoroughly convinced of its truth till now.
Phil You are still then of opinion, that extension and figures
are inherent in external unthinking substances.
Hyl I am.
Phil. But what if the same arguments which are brought
against secondary qualities, will hold proof against these also ?
Hyl. Why then I shall be obliged to think, they too exist only
in the mind.
Phil. Is it your opinion, the very figure and extension which
you perceive by sense, exist in the outward object or material
substance ?
Hyl It is.
Phil. Have all other animals as good grounds to think the
same of the figure and extension which they see and feel ?
Hyl. Without doubt, if they have any thought at all.
Phil Answer me, Hylas. Think you the senses were bestowed
upon all animals for their preservation and well-being in life ? or
were they given to men alone for this end ?
Hyl I make no question but they have the same use in all
other animals.
Phil If so, is it not necessary they should be enabled by them
to perceive their own limbs, and those bodies which are capable
of harming them ?
Hyl Certainly.
Phil A mite therefore must be supposed to see his own foot,
and things equal or even less than it, as bodies of some consider-
able dimension ; though at the same time they appear to you
scarce discernible, or at best as so many visible points.
Hyl I cannot deny it.
Phil And to creatures less than the mite they will seem yet
larger.
Hyl They will.
Phil Insomuch that what you can hardly discern, will to ano-
ther extremely minute animal appear as some huge mountain.
Hyl All this I grant.
Phil Can one and the same thing be at the same time in itself
of different dimensions ?
Hyl That were absurd to imagine.
Phil But from what you have laid down it follows, that both
the extension by you perceived, and that perceived by the mite
itself, as likewise all those perceived by lesser animals, are each
of them the true extension of the mite's foot, that is to say, by
your own principles you are led into an absurdity.
Hyl There seems to be some difficulty in the point.
Phil Again, have you not acknowledged that no real inherent
property of any object can be changed, without some change in
the thing itself?
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 167
Hyl. I have.
Phil. But as we approach to or recede from an object, the
visible extension varies, being at one distance ten or a hundred
times greater than at another. Doth it not therefore follow from
hence likewise, that it is not really inherent in the object ?
Hyl. I own I am at a loss what to think.
Phil. Your judgment will soon be determined, if you will
venture to think as freely concerning this quality, as you have
done concerning the rest. Was it not admitted as a good argu-
ment, that neither heat nor cold was in the water, because it
seemed warm to one hand, and cold to the other ?
Hyl. It Avas.
Phil. Is it not the very same reasoning to conclude, there is
no extension or figure in an object, because to one eye it shall
seem little, smooth, and round, when at the same time it appears
to the other, great, uneven, and angular?
Hyl. The very same. But doth this latter fact ever happen ?
Phil. You may at any time make the experiment, by looking
with one eye bare, and with the other through a microscope.
Hyl. I know not how to maintain it, and yet I am loath to
give up extension, I see so many odd consequences following upon
such a concession.
Phil. Odd, say you ? After the concessions already made, I
hope you will stick at nothing for its oddness. But on the other
hand should it not seem very odd, if the general reasoning
which includes all other sensible qualities did not also include
extension ? If it be allowed that no idea nor any thing like an
idea can exist in an unperceiving substance, then surely it follows,
that no figure or mode of extension, which we can either perceive
or imagine, or have any idea of, can be really inherent in matter ;
not to mention the peculiar difficulty there must be, in conceiv-
ing a material substance, prior to and distinct from extension, to
be the substratum of extension. Be the sensible quality what it
will, figure, or sound, or colour; it seems alike impossible it
should subsist in that which doth not perceive it.
Hyl. I give up the point for the present, reserving still a right
to retract my opinion, in case I shall hereafter discover any false
step in my progress to it.
Phil. That is a right you cannot be denied. Figures and ex-
tension being despatched, we proceed next to motion. Can a real
motion in any external body be at the same time both very swift
and very slow ?
Hyl. It cannot.
Phil. Is not the motion of a body swift in a reciprocal pro-
portion to the time it takes up in describing any given space ?
Thus a body that describes a mile in an hour, moves three times '
faster than it would in case it described only a mile in three
hours.
168 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
HyL I agree with you.
Phil. And is not time measured by the succession of ideas in
our minds ?
HyL It Is.
Phil. And is it not possible ideas should succeed one another
twice as fast in your mind, as they do in mine, or in that of some
spirit of another kind.
HyL I own it.
Phil. Consequently the same body may to another seem to
perform its motion over any space in half the time that it doth
to you. And the same reasoning will hold as to any other pro-
portion : that is to say, according to your principles (since the
motions perceived are both really in the object) it is possible one
and the same body shall be really moved the same way at once,
both very swift and very slow. How is this consistent either
with common sense, or with what you just now granted ?
HyL I have nothing to say to it.
Phil. Then as for solidity : either you do not mean any sensi-
ble quality by that word, and so it is beside our inquiry : or if
you do, it must be either hardness or resistance. But both the
one and the other are plainly relative to our senses : it being
evident, that what seems hard to one animal, may appear soft to
another, who hath greater force and firmness of limbs. Nor is
it less plain, that the resistance I feel is not in the body.
HyL I own the very sensation of resistance, which is all you
immediately perceive, is not in the body, but the cause of that
sensation is.
Phil. But the causes of our sensations are not things imme-
diately perceived, and therefore not sensible. This point I
thought had been already determined.
HyL I own it was ; but you will pardon me if I seem a little
embarrassed : I know not how to quit my old notions.
Phil. To help you out, do but consider, that if extension be
once acknowledged to have no existence without the mind, the
same must necessarily be granted of motion, solidity, and gravity,
since they all evidently suppose extension. It is therefore super-
fluous to inquire particularly concerning each of them. In deny-
ing extension, you have denied them all to have any real existence.
HyL I wonder, Philonous, if what you say be true, why those
philosophers who deny the secondary qualities any real existence,
should yet attribute it to the primary. If there is no difference
between them, how can this be accounted for ?
Phil. It is not my business to account for every opinion of the
philosophers. But among other reasons which may be assigned
for this, it seems probable, that pleasure and pain being rather
annexed to the former than the latter, may be one. Heat and
cold, tastes and smells, have something more vividly pleasing or
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 169
disagreeable than the ideas of extension, figure, and motion, af-
fect us with. And it being too visibly absurd to hold, that pain
or pleasure can be in an unperceiving substance, men are more
easily weaned from believing the external existence of the
secondary, than the primary qualities. You t will be satisfied
there is something in this, if you recollect the difference you
made between an intense and more moderate degree of heat,
allowing the one a real existence, while you denied it to the
other. But after all, there is no rational ground for that distinc-
tion ; for surely an indifferent sensation is as truly a sensation, as
one more pleasing or painful ; and consequently should not any
more than they be supposed to exist in an unthinking subject.
Hyl. It is just come into my head, Philonous, that I have
somewhere heard of a distinction between absolute and sensible
extension. Now though it be acknowledged that great and small,
consisting merely in the relation which other extended beings have
to the parts of our own bodies, do not really inhere in the sub-
stances themselves ; yet nothing obliges us to hold the same with
regard to absolute extension, which is something abstracted from
great and small, from this or that particular magnitude or figure.
So likewise as to motion, stvift and slow are altogether relative to
the succession of ideas in our own minds. But it doth not fol-
low, because those modifications of motion exist not without the
mind, that therefore absolute motion abstracted from them doth
not.
Phil. Pray what is it that distinguishes one motion, or one
part of extension from another ? Is it not something sensible, as
some degree of swiftness or slowness, some certain magnitude or
figure peculiar to each ?
Hyl. I think so.
Phil. These qualities therefore, stripped of all sensible proper-
ties, are without all specific and numerical differences, as the
schools call them.
Hyl. They are.
Phil. That is to say, they are extension in general, and motion
in general.
Hyl. Let it be so.
Phil. But it is a universally received maxim, that every thing
which exists is particular. How then can motion in general, or
extension in general, exist in any corporeal substance ?
Hyl. I will take time to solve your difficulty.
Phil. But I think the point may be speedily decided. With-
out doubt you can tell, whether you are able to frame this or
that idea. Now I am content to put our dispute on this issue.
If you can frame in your thoughts a distinct abstract idea of
motion or extension, divested of all those sensible modes, as swift
and slow, great and small, round and square, and the like, which
J70 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
are acknowledged to exist only in the mind, I will then yield the
point you contend for. But if you cannot, it will be unreasonable
on your side to insist any longer upon what you have no notion
of.
Hyl. To confess ingenuously, I cannot.
Phil. Can you even separate the ideas of extension and motion,
from the ideas of all those qualities which they who make the
distinction term secondary ?
Hyl. What ! is it not an easy matter, to consider extension
and motion by themselves, abstracted from all other sensible
qualities ? Pray how do the mathematicians treat of them ?
Phil. I acknowledge, Hylas, it is not difficult to form general
propositions and reasonings about those qualities, without men-
tioning any other ; and in this sense to consider or treat of them
abstractedly. But how doth it follow that because I can pro-
nounce the word motion by itself, I can form the idea of it in my
mind exclusive of body ? Or because theorems may be made of
extension and figures, without any mention of great or small, or
any other sensible mode or quality ; that therefore it is possible
such an abstract idea of extension, without any particular size or
figure, or sensible quality, should be distinctly formed, and ap-
prehended by the mind? Mathematicians treat of quantity,
without regarding what other sensible qualities it is attended
with, as being altogether indifferent to their demonstrations.
But when laying aside the words, they contemplate the bare
ideas, I believe you will find, they are not the pure abstracted
ideas of extension.
Hyl. But what say you to pure intellect ? May not abstracted
ideas be framed by that faculty ?
Phil. Since I cannot frame abstract ideas at all, it is plain, I
cannot frame them by the help of pure intellect, whatsoever faculty
you understand by those words. Besides — not to inquire into the
nature of pure intellect and its spiritual objects, as virtue — reason,
God, or the like, thus much seems manifest, that sensible things
are only to be perceived by sense, or represented by the imagi-
nation. Figures therefore and extension, being originally per-
ceived by sense, do not belong to pure intellect. But for your
further satisfaction, try if you can frame the idea of any figure,
abstracted from all particularities of size, or even from other
sensible qualities.
Hyl Let me think a little 1 do not find that I can.
Phil. And can you think it possible, that should really exist
in nature, which implies a repugnancy in its conception ?
Hyl. By no means.
Phil Since therefore it is impossible even for the mind to dis-
unite the ideas of extension and motion from all other sensible
qualities, doth it not follow, that where the one exist, there
necessarily the other exist likewise ?
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 17J
Hyl. It should seem so.
Phil. Consequently the very same arguments which you ad-
mitted, as conclusive against the secondary qualities, are without
any further application of force against the primary too. Besides,
if you will trust your senses, is it not plain all sensible qualities
co-exist, or to them appear as being in the same place ? Do
they ever represent a motion, or figure, as being divested of all
other visible and tangible qualities ?
Hyl. You need say no more on this head. I am free to own,
if there be no secret error or oversight in our proceedings hith-
erto, that all sensible qualities are alike to be denied existence
without the mind. But my fear is, that I have been too liberal
in my former concessions, or overlooked some fallacy or other.
In short, I did not take time to think.
Phil. For that matter, Hylas, you may take what time you
please in reviewing the progress of our inquiry. You are at
liberty to recover any slips you might have made, or offer what-
ever you have omitted, which makes for your first opinion.
Hyl. One great oversight I take to be this : that I did not
sufficiently distinguish the object from the sensation. Now though
this latter may not exist without the mind, yet it will not thence
follow that the former cannot.
Phil. What object do you mean ? The object of the senses ?
Hyl. The same.
Phil. It is then immediately perceived ?
Hyl Right.
Phil. Make me to understand the difference between what is
immediately perceived, and a sensation.
Hyl. The sensation I take to be an act of the mind perceiving ;
beside which, there is something perceived ; and this I call the
object. For example, there is red and yellow on that tulip. But
then the act of perceiving those colours is in me only, and not in
the tulip.
Phil What tulip do you speak of? is it that which you see ?
Hyl. The same.
Phil And what do you see beside colour, figure, and exten-
sion ?
Hyl Nothing.
Phil What you would say then is, that the red and yellow are
co-existent with the extension; is it not?
Hyl That is not all : I would say, they have a real existence
without the mind, in some unthinking substance.
Phil That the colours are really in the tulip which I see, is
manifest. Neither can it be denied, that this tulip may exist
independent of your mind or mine ; but that any immediate
object of the senses, that is, any idea, or combination of ideas,
should exist in an unthinking substance, or exterior to all minds,
172 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
is in itself an evident contradiction. Nor can I imagine how
this folloVs from what you said just now, to wit that the red and
yellow were on the tulip you saw, since you do not pretend to
see that unthinking substance.
Hyl. You have an artful way, Philonous, of diverting our
inquiry from the subject.
Phil. I see you have no mind to be pressed that way. To
return then to your distinction between sensation and object ; if I
take you right, you distinguish in every perception two things,
the one an action of the mind, the other not.
Hyl True.
Phil. And this action cannot exist in, or belong to any un-
thinking thing ; but whatever beside is implied in a perception,
may.
Hyl. That is my meaning.
Phil. So that if there was a perception without any act of the
mind, it were possible such a perception should exist in an un-
thinking substance.
Hyl. I grant it. But it is impossible there should be such a
perception.
Phil. When is the mind said to be active ?
Hyl. When it produces, puts an end to, or changes any thing.
Phil. Can the mind produce, discontinue, or change any thing
but by an act of the will ?
Hyl. It cannot.
Phil. The mind therefore is to be accounted active in its per-
ceptions, so far forth as volition is included in them.
Hyl It is.
Phil In plucking this flower, I am active, because I do it by
the motion of my hand, which was consequent upon my volition ;
so likewise in applying it to my nose. But is either of these
smelling ?
Hyl No.
Phil I act too in drawing the air through my nose ; because
my breathing so rather than otherwise, is the effect of my voli-
tion. But neither can this be called smelling : for if it were, I
should smell every time I breathed in that manner.
Hyl. True.
Phil. Smelling then is somewhat consequent to all this.
Hyl It is.
Phil But I do not find my will concerned any further. What-
ever more there is, as that I perceive such a particular smell or
any smell at all, this is independent of my will, and therein I
am altogether passive. Do you find it otherwise with you,
Hylas ?
Hyl No, the very same.
Phil Then as to seeing, is it not in your power to open your
eyes, or keep them shut ; to turn them this or that way ?
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 173
Hyl Without doubt.
Phil. But doth it in like manner depend on your will, that in
looking on this flower, you perceive white rather than any other
colour ? Or directing your open eyes towards yonder part of the
heaven, can you avoid seeing the sun ? Or is light or darkness
the effect of your volition?
Hyl. No, certainly.
Phil. You are then in these respects altogether passive.^
Hyl. I am.
Phil. Tell me now, whether seeing consists in perceiving light
and colours, or in opening and turning the eyes ?
Hyl. Without doubt, in the former.
Phil. Since therefore you are in the very perception of light
and colours altogether passive, what is become of that action you
were speaking of, as an ingredient in every sensation ? And doth
it not follow from your own concessions, that the perception of
light and colours, including no action in it, may exist in an un-
perceiving substance ? And is not this a plain contradiction ?
Hyl. I know not what to think of it.
Phil. Besides, since you distinguish the active and passive in
every perception, you must do it in that of pain. But how is it
possible that pain, be it as little active as you please, should
exist in an unperceiving substance ? In short, do but consider
the point, and then confess ingenuously, whether light and colours,
tastes, sounds, &c., are not all equally passions or sensations in the
soul. You may indeed call them external objects, and give them
in words what subsistence you please. But examine your own
thoughts, and then tell me whether it be not as I say ?
Hyl. I acknowledge, Philonous, that upon a fair observation of
what passes in my mind, I can discover nothing else, but that I
am a thinking being, affected with variety of sensations ; neither
is it possible to conceive how a sensation should exist in an un-
perceiving substance. But then on the other hand, when I look
on sensible things in a different view, considering them as so
many modes and qualities, I find it necessary to suppose a mate-
rial substratum, without which they cannot be conceived to exist.
Phil. Material substratum call you it? Pray, by which of
your senses came you acquainted with that being ?
Hyl. It is not itself sensible; its modes and qualities only
being perceived by the senses.
Phil. I presume then, it was by reflection and reason you ob-
tained the idea of it,
Hyl. I do not pretend to any proper positive idea of it. How-
ever I conclude it exists, because qualities cannot be conceived
to exist without a support.
Phil. It seems then you have only a relative notion of it, or
that you conceive it not otherwise than by conceiving the rela-
tion it bears to sensible qualities.
J74 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
Hyl Right.
Phil Be pleased therefore to let me know wherein that rela-
tion consists.
Hyl. Is it not sufficiently expressed in the term substratum, or
substance ?
Phil. If so, the word substratum should import, that it is
spread under the sensible qualities or accidents.
Hyl True.
Phil. And consequently under extension.
Hyl. I own it.
Phil. It is therefore somewhat in its own nature entirely dis-
tinct from extension.
Hyl. I tell you, extension is only a mode, and matter is some-
thing that supports modes. And is it not evident the thing
supported is different from the thing supporting ?
Phil. So that something distinct from, and exclusive of exten-
sion, is supposed to be the substratum of extension.
HyL Just so.
Phil. Answer me, HylasN Can a thing be spread without
extension ? or is not the idea of extension necessarily included in
spreading ?
HyL It is.
Phil. Whatsoever therefore you suppose spread under any
thing, must have in itself an extension distinct from the exten-
sion of that thing under which it is spread.
Hyl. It must.
Phil. Consequently every corporeal substance being the sub-
stratum of extension, must have in itself another extension by
which it is qualified to be a substratum : and so on to infinity.
And I ask whether this be not absurd in itself, and repugnant to
what you granted just now, to wit, that the substratum was
something distinct from, and exclusive of extension.
HyL Aye but Philonous, you take me wrong. I do not mean
that matter is spread in a gross literal sense under extension.
The word substratum is used only to express in general the same
thing with substance.
Phil. Well then, let us examine the relation implied in the
term substance. Is it not that it stands under accidents ?
HyL The very same.
Phil. But that one thing may stand under or support another,
must it not be extended?
Hyl. It must.
Phil. Is not therefore this supposition liable to the same ab-
surdity with the former ?
Hyl. You still take things in a strict literal sense : that is not
fair, Philonous.
Phil. I am not for imposing any sense on jour words : you
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 175
are at liberty to explain them as you please. Only I beseech
you, make me understand something by them. You tell me,
matter supports or stands under accidents. How ! is it as your
legs support your body ?
Hyl No ; that is the literal sense.
Phil. Pray let me know any sense, literal or not literal, that
you understand it in. How long must I wait for an answer,
Hylas?
Hyl. I declare I know not what to say. I once thought I
understood well enough what was meant by matter's supporting
accidents. But now the more I think on it, the less can I com-
prehend it ; in short, I find that I know nothing of it.
Phil. It seems then you have no idea at all, neither relative
nor positive, of matter ; you know neither what it is in itself, nor
what relation it bears to accidents.
Hyl. I acknowledge it.
Phil. And yet you asserted, that you could not conceive how
qualities or accidents should really exist, without conceiving at
the same time a material support of them.
Hyl I did.
Phil That is to say, when you conceive the real existence of
qualities, you do withal conceive something which you cannot
conceive.
Hyl It was wrong, I own. But still I fear there is some
fallacy or other. Pray what think you of this ? It is just come
into my head, that the ground of all our mistake lies in your
treating of each quality by itself. Now, I grant that each
quality cannot singly subsist without the mind. Colour cannot
without extension, neither can figure without some other sensible
quality. But as the several qualities united or blended together
form entire sensible things, nothing hinders why such things may
not be supposed to exist without the mind.
Phil Either, Hylas, you are jesting, or have a very bad me-
mory. Though indeed we went through all the qualities by
name one after another ; yet my arguments, or rather your con-
cessions no where tended to prove, that the secondary qualities
did not subsist each alone by itself: but that they were not at all
without the mind. Indeed in treating of figure and motion, we
concluded they could not exist without the mind, because it was
impossible even in thought to separate them from all secondary
qualities, so as to conceive them existing by themselves. But
then this was not the only argument made use of upon that oc-
casion. But (to pass by all that hath been hitherto said, and
reckon it for nothing, if you will have it so) I am content to put
the whole upon this issue. If you can conceive it possible for
any mixture or combination of qualities, or any sensible object
whatever, to exist without the mind, then I will grant it actually
to be so.
176 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
Hyl. If it comes to that, the point will soon be decided. What
more easy than to conceive a tree or house existing by itself, in-
dependent of, and unperceived by any mind whatsoever ? I do
at this present time conceive them existing after that manner.
Phil. How say you, Hylas, can you see a thing which is at
the same time unseen ?
Hyl. No, that were a contradiction.
Phil. Is it not as great a contradiction to talk of conceiving a
thing which is unconceived ?
Hyl. It is.
Phil. The tree or house therefore which you think of, is con-
ceived by you.
Hyl. How should it be otherwise ?
Phil. And what is conceived is surely in the mind.
Hyl. Without question, that which is conceived is in the mind.
Phil. How then came you to say, you conceived a house or
tree existing independent and out of all minds whatsoever ?
Hyl. That was, I own, an oversight ; but stay, let me consider
what led me into it. — It is a pleasant mistake enough. As I was
thinking of a tree in a solitary place, where no one was present
to see it, methought that was to conceive a tree as existing unper-
ceived or unthought of, not considering that I myself conceived
it all the while. But now I plainly see, that all I can do is to
frame ideas in my own mind. I may indeed conceive in my own
thoughts the idea of a tree, or a house, or a mountain, but that
is all. And this is far from proving, that I can conceive them
existing out of the minds of all spirits.
Phil. You acknowledge then that you cannot possibly conceive
how any one corporeal sensible thing should exist otherwise than
in a mind.
Hyl I do.
Phil. And yet you will earnestly contend for the truth of that
which you cannot so much as conceive.
Hyl. I profess I know not what to think, but still there are
some scruples remain with me. Is it not certain I see things at
a distance ? Do we not perceive the stars and moon, for example,
to be a great way off? Is not this, I say, manifest to the senses ?
Phil. Do you not in a dream too perceive those or the like ob-
jects?
Hyl. I do.
Phil. And have they not then the same appearance of being
distant ?
Hyl. They have.
Phil. But you do not thence conclude the apparitions in a
dream to be without the mind ?
Hyl. By no means.
Phil. You ought not therefore to conclude that sensible ob-
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 177
jects are without the mind, from their appearance or manner
wherein they are perceived.
Hyl. I acknowledge it. But doth not my sense deceive me in
those cases ?
Phil By no means. The idea or thing which you immedi-
ately perceive, neither sense nor reason inform you that it actually
exists without the mind. By sense you only know that you are
affected with such certain sensations of light and colours, &c.
And these you will not say are without the mind.
Hyl. True : but beside all that, do you not think the sight
suggests something of outness or distance ?
Phil Upon approaching a distant object, do the visible size
and figure change perpetually, or do they appear the same at all
distances ?
Hyl They are in a continual change.
Phil. Sight therefore doth not suggest or any way inform
you, that the visible object you immediately perceive, exists at a
distance,* or will be perceived when you advance further onward,
there being a continued series of visible objects succeeding each
other, during the whole time of your approach.
Hyl It doth not ; but still I know, upon seeing an object,
what object I shall perceive after having passed over a certain
distance : no matter whether it be exactly the same or no : there
is still something of distance suggested in the case.
Phil Good Hylas, do but reflect a little on the point, and then
tell me whether there be any more in it than this. From the
ideas you actually perceive by sight, you have by experience
learned to collect what other ideas you will (according to the
standing order of nature) be affected with, after such a certain
succession of time and motion.
Hyl Upon the whole, I take it to be nothing else.
Phil Now is it not plain, that if we suppose a man born blind
was on a sudden made to see, he could at first have no experience
of what may be suggested by sight.
Hyl It is.
Phil He would not then, according to you, have any notion of
distance annexed to the things he saw ; but would take them for
a new set of sensations existing only in his mind.
Hyl It is undeniable.
Phil But to make it still more plain : is not distance a line
turned endwise to the eye ?
Hyl It is.
Phil And can a line so situated be perceived by sight ?
Hyl It cannot.
Phil Doth it not therefore follow that distance is not properly
and immediately perceived by sight ?
* See the Essay towards a new Theory of Vision : and its Vindication.
VOL. I. N
178 THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
Hyl It should seem so.
Phil. Again, is it your opinion that colours are at a distance ?
Hyl. It must be acknowledged, they are only in the mind.
Phil. But do not colours appear to the eye as coexisting in
the same place with extension and figures ?
Hyl They do.
Phil. How can you then conclude from sight, that figures
exist without, when you acknowledge colours do not ; the sen-
sible appearance being the very same with regard to both ?
Hyl. I know not what to answer.
Phil. But allowing that distance was truly and immediately
perceived by the mind, yet it would not thence follow it existed
out of the mind. For whatever is immediately perceived is an
idea : and can any idea exist out of the mind ?
Hyl. To suppose that were absurd : but inform me, Philonous,
can we perceive or know nothing beside our ideas ?
Phil. As for the rational deducing of causes from effects, that
is beside our inquiry. And by the senses you can best tell,
whether you perceive any thing which is not immediately per-
ceived. And I ask you, whether the things immediately per-
ceived, are other than your own sensations or ideas ? You have
indeed more than once, in the course of this conversation, de-
clared yourself on those points ; but you seem, by this last ques-
tion, to have departed from what you then thought.
Hyl. To speak the truth, Philonous, I think there are two
kinds of objects, the one perceived immediately, which are like-
wise called ideas ; the other are real things or external objects
perceived by the mediation of ideas, which are their images and
representations. Now I own, ideas do not exist without the
mind ; but the latter sort of objects do. I am sorry I did not
think of this distinction sooner; it would probably have cut
short your discourse.
Phil. Are those external objects perceived by sense, or by
some other faculty ?
Hyl. They are perceived by sense.
Phil. How ! is there any thing perceived by sense, which is
not immediately perceived ?
Hyl. Yes, Philonous, in some sort there is. For example,
when I look on a picture or statue of Julius Caesar, I may be
said, after a manner, to perceive him (though not immediately)
by my senses.
Phil. It seems, then, you will have our ideas, which alone are
immediately perceived, to be pictures of external things : and
that these also are perceived by sense, inasmuch as they have a
conformity or resemblance to our ideas.
Hyl. That is my meaning.
Phil. And in the same way that Julius Caesar, in himself
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 179
invisible, is nevertheless perceived by sight ; real things, in them-
selves imperceptible, are perceived by sense.
HyL In the very same.
Phil. Tell me, Hylas, when you behold the picture of Julius
Cassar, do you see with your eyes any more than some colours
and figures, with a certain symmetry and composition of the
whole ?
HyL Nothing else.
Phil. And would not a man, who had never known any thing
of Julius Cassar, see as much ?
Hyl. He would.
Phil. Consequently he hath his sight, and the use of it, in as
perfect a degree as you.
Hyl. I agree with you.
Phil. Whence comes it then that your thoughts are directed
to the Roman emperor and his are not ? This cannot proceed
from the sensations or ideas of sense by you then perceived ;
since you acknowledge you have no advantage over him in that
respect. It should seem therefore to proceed from reason and
memory : should it not ?
Hyl It should.
Phil. Consequently it will not follow from that instance, that
any thing is perceived by sense which is not immediately per-
ceived. Though I grant we may in one acceptation be said to
perceive sensible things mediately by sense : that is, when from
a frequently perceived connexion, the immediate perception of
ideas by one sense suggests to the mind others perhaps belonging
to another sense, which are wont to be connected with them.
For instance, when I hear a coach drive along the streets, im-
mediately I perceive only the sound ; but from the experience I
have had that such a sound is connected with a coach, I am said
to hear the coach. It is nevertheless evident, that in truth and
strictness, nothing can be heard but sound : and the coach is not
then properly perceived by sense, but suggested from experience.
So likewise when we are said to see a red-hot bar of iron ; the
solidity and heat of the iron are not the objects of sight, but
suggested to the imagination by the colour and figure, which are
properly perceived by that sense. In short, those things alone
are actually and strictly perceived by any sense, which would
have been perceived, in case that same sense had then been first
conferred on us. As for other things, it is plain they are only
suggested to the mind by experience grounded on former per-
ceptions. But to return to your comparison of Cassar's picture,
it is plain, if you keep to that, you must hold the real things or
archetypes of our ideas are not perceived by sense, but by some
internal faculty of the soul, as reason or memory. I would
therefore fain know, what arguments you can draw from reason
N 2
180 TFIE FIRST DIALOGUE.
for the existence of what you call real things or material objects ;
or whether you remember to have seen them formerly as they
are in themselves ; or if you have heard or read of any one
that did.
Hyl. I see, Philonous, you are disposed to raillery ; but that
will never convince me.
Phil. My aim is only to learn from you the way to come at
the knowledge of material beings. Whatever we perceive, is per-
ceived either immediately or mediately : by sense, or by reason
and reflection. But as you have excluded sense, pray show me
what reason you have to believe their existence ; or what
medium you can possibly make use of to prove it, either to mine
or your own understanding.
Hyl. To deal ingenuously, Philonous, now I consider the
point, I do not find I can give you any good reason for it. But
thus much seems pretty plain, that it is at least possible such
things may really exist ; and as long as there is no absurdity in
supposing them, I am resolved to believe as I did, till you bring
good reasons to the contrary.
PhiL What ! is it come to this, that you only believe the
existence of material objects, and that your belief is founded
barely on the possibility of its being true ? Then you will have
me bring reasons against it : though another would think it rea-
sonable, the proof should lie on him who holds the affirmative.
And after all, this very point which you are now resolved to
maintain without any reason, is, in effect, what you have more
than once, during this discourse, seen good reason to give up.
But to pass over all this ; if I understand you rightly, you say
our ideas do not exist without the mind ; but that they are
copies, images, or representations of certain originals that do.
Hyl. You take me right.
Phil. They are then like external things.
Hyl. They are.
Phil Have those things a stable and permanent nature inde-
pendent of our senses ; or are they in a perpetual change, upon
our producing any motions in our bodies, suspending, exerting,
or altering our faculties or organs of sense.
Hyl. Real things, it is plain, have a fixed and real nature,
which remains the same, notwithstanding any change in our
senses, or in the posture and motion of our bodies ; which, in-
deed, may affect the ideas in our minds, but it were absurd to
think they had the same effect on things existing without the
mind.
Phil How then is it possible, that things perpetually fleeting
and variable as our ideas, should be copies or images of any thing
fixed and constant ? or in other words, since all sensible qualities,
as size, figure, colour, &c., that is, our ideas, are continually
THE FIRST DIALOGUE. 181
changing upon every alteration in the distance, medium, or in-
struments of sensation ; how can any determinate material ob-
jects be properly represented or painted forth by several distinct
things, each of which is so different from and unlike the rest ?
Or if you say it resembles some one only of our ideas, how shall
we be able to distinguish the true copy from all the false ones ?
Hyl. I profess, Philonous, I am at a loss. I know not what to
say to this.
Phil. But neither is this all. Which are material objects in
themselves, perceptible or imperceptible ?
Hyl. Properly and immediately nothing can be perceived but
ideas. All material things therefore are in themselves insensible,
and to be perceived only by their ideas.
Phil. Ideas then are sensible, and their archetypes or originals
insensible.
Hyl Eight.
Phil. But how can that which is sensible be like that which is
insensible ? Can a real thing in itself invisible be like a colour ;
or a real thing which is not audible, be like a sound ? In a word,
can any thing be like a sensation or idea, but another sensation
or idea ?
Hyl. I must own, I think not.
Phil. Is it possible there should be any doubt in the point ?
Do you not perfectly know your own ideas ?
Hyl. I know them perfectly ; since what I do not perceive or
know, can be no part of my idea.
Phil. Consider therefore, and examine them, and then tell me
if there be any thing in them which can exist without the mind :
or if you can conceive any thing like them existing without the
mind.
Hyl. Upon inquiry, I find it is impossible for me to conceive
or understand how any thing but an idea can be like an idea.
And it is most evident, that no idea can exist without the mind.
Phil. You are therefore by your principles forced to deny the
reality of sensible things, since you made it to consist in an ab-
solute existence exterior to the mind. That is to say, you are a
downright sceptic. So I have gained my point, which was to
show your principles led to scepticism.
Hyl. For the present I am, if not entirely convinced, at least
silenced.
Phil. I would fain know what more you would require in
order to a perfect conviction. Have you not had the liberty of
explaining yourself all manner of ways ? Were any little slips
in discourse laid hold and insisted on ? Or were you not allowed
to retract or reinforce any thing you had offered, as best served
your purpose ? Hath not every thing you could say been heard
and examined with all the fairness imaginable? In a word, have
182 THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
you not in every point been convinced out of your own mouth ?
And if you can at present discover any flaw in any of your
former concessions, or think of any remaining subterfuge, any
new distinction, colour, or comment whatsoever, why do you not
produce it ?
Hyl. A little patience, Philonous. I am at present so amazed
to see myself ensnared, and as it were imprisoned in the laby-
rinths you have drawn me into, that on the sudden it cannot be
expected I should find my way out. You must give me time to
look about me, and recollect myself.
Phil Hark ; is not this the college-bell ?
Hyl. It rings for prayers.
Phil We will go in then if you please, and meet here again
to-morrow morning. In the mean time you may employ your
thoughts on this morning's discourse, and try if you can find any
fallacy in it, or invent any new means to extricate yourself.
Hyl. Agreed.
THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
Hylas. I beg your pardon, Philonous, for not meeting you
sooner. All this morning my head was so filled with our late
conversation, that I had not leisure to think of the time of the
day, or indeed of any thing else.
Philonous. I am glad you were so intent upon it, in hopes if
there were any mistakes in your concessions, or fallacies in my
reasonings from them, you will now discover them to me.
Hyl. I assure you, I have done nothing ever since I saw you,
but search after mistakes and fallacies, and with that view have
minutely examined the whole series of yesterday's discourse : but
all in vain, for the notions it led me into, upon review appear
still more clear and evident ; and the more I consider them, the
more irresistibly do they force my assent.
Phil. And is not this, think you, a sign that they are genuine,
that they proceed from nature, and are conformable to right
reason ? Truth and beauty are in this alike, that the strictest
survey sets them both off to advantage. While the false lustre
of error and disguise cannot endure being reviewed, or too nearly
inspected.
Hyl. I own there is a great deal in what you say. Nor can
any one be more entirely satisfied of the truth of those odd conse-
quences, so long as I have in view the reasonings that lead to them.
But when these are out of my thoughts, there seems on the other
hand something so satisfactory, so natural and intelligible in the
THE SECOND DIALOGUE. 183
modern way of explaining things, that I profess I know not how
to reject it.
Phil. I know not what way you mean.
Hyl. I mean the way of accounting for our sensations or ideas.
Phil How is that ?
Hyl. It is supposed the soul makes her residence in some part
of the brain, from which the nerves take their rise, and are
thence extended to all parts of the body : and that outward ob-
jects, by the different impressions they make on the organs of
sense, communicate certain vibrative motions to the nerves ; and
these being filled with spirits, propagate them to the brain or seat
of the soul, which according to the various impressions or traces
thereby made in the brain, is variously affected with ideas.
Phil. And call you this an explication of the manner whereby
we are affected with ideas ?
Hyl. Why not, Philonous ? have you any thing to object
against it ?
Phil. I would first know whether I rightly understand your
hypothesis. You make certain traces in the brain to be the
causes or occasions of our ideas. Pray tell me, whether by the
brain you mean any sensible thing ?
Hyl. What else think you I could mean ?
Phil. Sensible things are all immediately perceivable; and
those things which are immediately perceivable, are ideas ; and
these exist only in the mind. Thus much you have, if I mistake
not, long since agreed to.
Hyl. I do not deny it.
Phil. The brain therefore you speak of, being a sensible thing,
exists only in the mind. Now, I would fain know whether you
think it reasonable to suppose, that one idea or thing existing in
the mind, occasions all other ideas. And if you think so, pray
how do you account for the origin of that primary idea or brain
itself?
Hi/I I do not explain the origin of our ideas by that brain
which is perceivable to sense, this being itself only a combination
of sensible ideas, but by another which I imagine.
Phil. But are not things imagined as truly in the mind as
things perceived?
Hyl. I must confess they are,
Phil. It comes therefore to the same thing; and you have
been all this while accounting for ideas, by certain motions or
impressions in the brain, that is, by some alterations in an idea,
whether sensible or imaginable, it matters not.
Hyl. I begin to suspect my hypothesis.
Phil. Beside spirits, all that we know or conceive are our own
ideas. When therefore you say, all ideas are occasioned by im-
pressions in the brain, do you conceive this brain or no ? If you
184 THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
do, then you talk of ideas imprinted in an idea, causing that
same idea, which is absurd. If you do not conceive it, you talk
unintelligibly, instead of forming a reasonable hypothesis.
HyL I now clearly see it was a mere dream. There is nothing
in it.
Phil. You need not be much concerned at it ; for after all,
this way of explaining things, as you called it, could never have
satisfied any reasonable man. What connexion is there between
a motion in the nerves, and the sensations of sound or colour in
the mind ? Or how is it possible these should be the effect of
that?
HyL But I could never think it had so little in it, as now it
seems to have.
Phil. Well then, are you at length satisfied that no sensible
things have a real existence ; and that you are in truth an arrant
sceptic ?
HyL It is too plain to be denied.
Phil. Look ! are not the fields covered with a delightful ver-
dure ? Is there not something in the woods and groves, in the
rivers and clear springs, that sooths, that delights, that transports
the soul ? At the prospect of the wide and deep ocean, or some
huge mountain whose top is lost in the clouds, or of an old
gloomy forest, are not our minds filled with a pleasing horror ?
Even in rocks and deserts, is there not an agreeable wildness ?
How sincere a pleasure is it to behold the natural beauties of the
earth ! to preserve and renew our relish for them, is not the veil
of night alternately drawn over her face, and doth she not
change her dress with the seasons ? How aptly are the elements
disposed ! What variety and use in the meanest production of
nature ! What delicacy, what beauty, what contrivance in animal
and vegetable bodies? How exquisitely are all things suited
as well to their particular ends, as to constitute opposite parts of
the whole ! and while they mutually aid and support, do they
not also set off and illustrate each other ! Raise now your
thoughts from this ball of earth, to all those glorious luminaries
that adorn the high arch of heaven. The motion and situation
of the planets, are they not admirable for use and order. Were
those (miscalled erratic) globes ever known to stray, in their
repeated journeys through the pathless void ? Do they not mea-
sure areas round the sun ever proportioned to the times ? So
fixed, so immutable are the laws by which the unseen Author
of nature actuates the universe. How vivid and radiant is the
lustre of the fixed stars ! how magnificent and rich that negligent
profusion, with which they appear to be scattered throughout the
whole azure vault ! yet if you take the telescope, it brings into
your sight a new host of stars that escape the naked eye. Here
they seem contiguous and minute, but to a nearer view immense
TUB SECOND DIALOGUE. 185
orbs of light at various distances, far sunk in the abyss of space.
Now you must call imagination to your aid. The feeble narrow
sense cannot descry innumerable worlds revolving round the
central fires ; and in those worlds the energy of an all-perfect
mind displayed in endless forms. But neither sense nor imagina-
tion are big enough to comprehend the boundless extent with all
its glittering furniture. Though the labouring mind exert and
strain each power to its utmost reach, there still stands out un-
grasped a surplusage immeasurable. Yet all the vast bodies that
compose this mighty frame, how distant and remote soever, are
by some secret mechanism, some divine art and force, linked in a
mutual dependence and intercourse with each other, even with
this earth, which was almost slipped from my thoughts, and lost
in the crowd of worlds. Is not the whole system immense,
beautiful, glorious beyond expression and beyond thought ? What
treatment then do those philosophers deserve, who would deprive
these noble and delightful scenes of all reality ? How should
those principles be entertained, that lead us to think all the
visible beauty of the creation a false imaginary glare ? To be
plain, can you expect this scepticism of yours will not be thought
extravagantly absurd by all men of sense ?
Hyl. Other men may think as they please : but for your part
you have nothing to reproach me with. My comfort is, you are
as much a sceptic as I am.
Phil There, Hylas, I must beg leave to differ from you.
Hyl. What ! have you all along agreed to the premises, and
do you now deny the conclusion, and leave me to maintain those
paradoxes by myself which you led me ,into ? This surely is
not fair.
Phil. I deny that I agreed with you in those notions that led
to scepticism. You indeed said, the reality of sensible things
consisted in an absolute existence out of the minds of spirits, or
distinct from their being perceived. And pursuant to this notion
of reality, you are obliged to deny sensible things any real exist-
ence : that is, according to your own definition, you profess
yourself a sceptic. But I neither said nor thought the reality of
sensible things was to be defined after that manner. To me it
is evident, for the reasons you allow of, that sensible things can-
not exist otherwise than in a mind or spirit. Whence I con-
clude, not that they have no real existence, but that seeing they
depend not on my thought, and have an existence distinct from
being perceived by me, there must be some other mind wherein they
exist. As sure therefore as the sensible world really exists, so
sure is there an infinite, omnipresent Spirit who contains and
supports it.
Hyl What ! this is no more than I and all Christians hold ;
nay, and all others too who believe there is a God, and that he
knows and comprehends all things.
186 THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
Phil. Ay, but here lies the difference. Men commonly be-
lieve that all things are known or perceived by God, because
they believe the being of a God, whereas I, on the other side,
immediately and necessarily conclude the being of a God, be-
cause all sensible things must be perceived by him.
Hyl But so long as we all believe the same thing, what
matter is it how we come by that belief?
Phil. But neither do we agree in the same opinion. For phi-
losophers, though they acknowledge all corporeal beings to be
perceived by God, yet they attribute to them an absolute sub-
sistence distinct from their being perceived by any mind what-
ever, which I do not. Besides, is there no difference between
saying, there is a God, therefore he perceives all things : and say-
ing, sensible things do really exist: and if they really exist, they
are necessarily perceived by an infinite mind: therefore there is an
infinite mind, or God. This furnishes you with a direct and
immediate demonstration, from a most evident principle, of the
being of a God. Divines and philosophers had proved beyond all
controversy, from the beauty and usefulness of the several parts
of the creation, that it was the workmanship of God. But that
setting aside all help of astronomy and natural philosophy, all
contemplation of the contrivance, order, and adjustment of
things, an infinite mind should be necessarily inferred from the
bare existence of the sensible world, is an advantage peculiar to
them only who have made this easy reflection : that the sensible
world is that which we perceive by our several senses ; and that
nothing is perceived by the senses beside ideas ; and that no idea
or archetype of an idea can exist otherwise than in a mind. You
may now, without any laborious search into the sciences, with-
out any subtilty of reason, or tedious length of discourse, oppose
and baffle the most strenuous advocate for atheism. Those
miserable refuges, whether in an eternal succession of unthinking
causes and effects, or in a fortuitous concourse of atoms ; those
wild imaginations of Vanini, Hobbes, and Spinoza ; in a word,
the whole system of atheism, is it not entirely overthrown by
this single reflection on the repugnancy included in supposing
the whole, or any part, even the most rude and shapeless of the
visible world, to exist without a mind ? Let any one of those
abettors of impiety but look into his own thoughts, and there
try if he can conceive how so much as a rock, a desert, a chaos,
or confused jumble of atoms; how any thing at all, either sen-
sible or imaginable, can exist independent of a mind, and he
need go no further to be convinced of his folly. Can any thing
be fairer than to put a dispute on such an issue, and leave it to a
man himself to see if he can conceive, even in thought, what he
holds to be true in fact, and from a notional to allow it a real
existence ?
THE SECOND DIALOGUE. 187
Hyl. It cannot be denied, there is something highly service-
able to religion in what you advance. But do you not think it
looks very like a notion entertained by some eminent moderns,
of seeing all things in God ?
Phil. I would gladly know that opinion ; pray explain it to me.
Hyl They conceive that the soul being immaterial, is inca-
pable of being united with material things, so as to perceive
them in themselves, but that she perceives them by her union
with the substance of God, which being spiritual is therefore
purely intelligible, or capable of being the immediate object of a
spirit's thought. Besides, the divine essence contains in it per-
fections correspondent to each created being ; and which are, for
that reason, proper to exhibit or represent them to the mind.
Phil. I do not understand how our ideas, which are things
altogether passive and inert, can be the essence, or any part (or
like any part) of the essence or substance of God, who is an
impassive, indivisible, purely active being. Many more difficul-
ties and objections there are, which occur at first view against
this hypothesis ; but I shall only add, that it is liable to all the
absurdities of the common hypotheses, in making a created world
exist otherwise than in the mind of a spirit. Beside all which it
hath this peculiar to itself, that it makes that material world
serve to no purpose. And if it pass for a good argument against
other hypotheses in the sciences, that they suppose nature or the
Divine Wisdom to make something in vain, or do that by
tedious round-about methods, which might have been performed
in a much more easy and compendious way, what shall AVC think
of that hypothesis which supposes the whole world made in vain ?
Hyl. But what say you, are not you too of opinion that we
see all things in God ? If I mistake not, what you advance
comes near it.
Phil. Few men think, yet all will have opinions. Hence
men's opinions are superficial and confused. It is nothing
strange that tenets, which in themselves are ever so different,
should nevertheless be confounded with each other by those who
do not consider them attentively. I shall not therefore be sur-
prised, if some men imagine that I run into the enthusiasm of
Malebranche, though in truth I am very remote from it. He
builds on the most abstract general ideas, which I entirely dis-
claim. He asserts an absolute external world, which I deny.
He maintains that we are deceived by our senses, and know not
the real natures, or the true forms and figures of extended
beings ; of all which I hold the direct contrary. So that, upon
the whole, there are no principles more fundamentally opposite
than his and mine. It must be owned I entirely agree with
what the holy scripture saith, that " in God we live, and move,
and have our being." But that we see things in his essence,
188 THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
after the manner above set forth, I am far from believing.
Take here in brief my meaning. It is evident, that the things I
perceive are my own ideas, and that no idea can exist unless it
be in a mind. Nor is it less plain that these ideas, or things by
me perceived, either themselves or their archetypes, exist inde-
pendently of my mind, since I know myself not to be their
author, it being out of my power to determine at pleasure, what
particular ideas I shall be affected with upon opening my eyes
or ears. They must therefore exist in some other mind, whose
will it is they should be exhibited to me. The things, I say,
immediately perceived, are ideas or sensations, call them which
you will. But how can any idea or sensation exist in, or be pro-
duced by, any thing but a mind or spirit ? This indeed is incon-
ceivable ; and to assert that which is inconceivable, is to talk
nonsense : is it not ?
Hyl. Without doubt.
Phil. But on the other hand, it is very conceivable that they
should exist in, and be produced by, a spirit : since this is no more
than I daily experience in myself, inasmuch as I perceive num-
berless ideas : and by an act of my will can form a great variety
of them, and raise them up in my imagination : though it must
be confessed, these creatures of the fancy are not altogether so
distinct, so strong, vivid, and permanent, as those perceived by
my senses, which latter are called real things. From all which I
conclude, there is a mind which affects me every moment with all the
sensible impressions I perceive. And from the variety, order, and
manner of these, I conclude the author of them to be wise, pow-
erful, and good, beyond comprehension. Mark it well : I do not
say, I see things by perceiving that which represents them in the
intelligible substance of God. This I do not understand ; but I
say, the things by me perceived are known by the understanding,
and produced by the will, of an infinite Spirit. And is not all
this most plain and evident ? Is there any more in it, than what
a little observation of our own minds, and that which passes in
them, not only enableth us to conceive, but also obligeth us to
acknowledge ?
Hyl. I think I understand you very clearly ; and own the
proof you give of a Deity seems no less evident, than it is sur-
prising. But allowing that God is the supreme and universal
cause of all things, yet may not there be still a third nature be-
sides spirits and ideas ? May we not admit a subordinate and
limited cause of our ideas ? In a word, may there not for all that
be matter ?
Phil. How often must I inculcate the same thing ? You allow
the things immediately perceived by sense to exist no where
without the mind ; but there is nothing perceived by sense,
which is not perceived immediately : therefore there is nothing
THE SECOND DIALOGUE. 189
sensible that exists without the mind. The matter therefore
which you still insist on, is something intelligible, I suppose ;
something that may be discovered by reason, and not by sense.
HyL You are in the right.
Phil. Pray let me know what reasoning your belief of mat-
ter is grounded on ; and what this matter is in your present
sense of it.
HyL I find myself affected with various ideas, whereof I know
I am not the cause ; neither are they the cause of themselves
or of one another, or capable of subsisting by themselves, as be-
ing altogether inactive, fleeting, dependent beings. They have
therefore some cause distinct from me and them : of which I
pretend to know no more, than that it is the cause of my ideas.
And this thing, whatever it be, I call matter.
Phil. Tell me, Hylas, hath every one a liberty to change the
current proper signification annexed to a common name in any
language ? For example, suppose a traveller should tell you, that
in a certain country men might pass unhurt through the fire ;
and, upon explaining himself, you found he meant by the word
fire that which others call water : or if he should assert there are
trees which walk upon two legs, meaning men by the term trees.
Would you think this reasonable ?
HyL No ; I should think it very absurd. Common custom is
the standard of propriety in language. And for any man to
affect speaking improperly, is to pervert the use of speech, and
can never serve to a better purpose, than to protract and multi-
ply disputes where there is no difference in opinion.
Phil. And doth not matter, in the common current acceptation
of the word, signify an extended, solid, moveable, unthinking,
inactive substance?
HyL It doth.
Phil. And hath it not been made evident, that no such sub-
stance can possibly exist ? And though it should be allowed to
exist, yet how can that which is inactive be a cause ; or that which
is unthinking be a cause of thought? You may indeed, if you
please, annex to the word matter a contrary meaning to what is
vulgarly received ; and tell me you understand by it an unex-
tended, thinking, active being, which is the cause of our ideas.
But what else is this, than to play with words, and run into that
very fault you just now condemned with so much reason? I do
by no means find fault with your reasoning, in that you collect a
cause from the phenomena : but I deny that the cause deducible
by reason can properly be termed matter.
HyL There is indeed something in what you say. But I am
afraid you do not thoroughly comprehend my meaning. I would
by no means be thought to deny that God, or an infinite spirit, is
the supreme cause of all things. All I contend for, is that sub-
190 THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
ordinate to the supreme agent there is a cause of a limited and
inferior nature, which concurs in the production of our ideas, not
by any act of will or spiritual efficiency, but by that kind of ac-
tion which belongs to matter, viz. motion,
Phil. I find, you are at every turn relapsing into your old
exploded conceit, of a moveable and consequently an extended
substance existing without the mind. What ! have you already
forgot you were convinced, or are you willing I should repeat
what has been said on that head ? In truth this is not fair dealing
in you, still to suppose the being of that which you have so often
acknowledged to have no being. But not to insist further on
what has been so largely handled, I ask whether all your ideas
are not perfectly passive and inert, including nothing of action
in them ?
Hyl. They are.
Phil And are sensible qualities any thing else but ideas ?
Hyl. How often have I acknowledged that they are not ?
Phil. But is not motion a sensible quality ?
Hyl It is.
Phil Consequently it is no action.
Hyl I agree with you. And indeed it is very plain, that
when I stir my finger, it remains passive ; but my will which
produced the motion, is active.
Phil Now I desire to know in the first place, whether motion
being allowed to be no action, you can conceive any action besides
volition : and in the second place, whether to say something and
conceive nothing be not to talk nonsense: and lastly, whether
having considered the premises, you do not perceive that to sup-
pose any efficient or active cause of our ideas, other than spirit,
is highly absurd and unreasonable ?
Hyl, I give up the point entirely. But though matter may
not be a cause, yet what hinders its being an instrument subser-
vient to the supreme agent in the production of our ideas?
Phil An instrument, say you; pray what may be the figure,
springs, wheels, and motions of that instrument ?
Hyl Those I pretend to determine nothing of, both the sub-
stance and its qualities being entirely unknown to me.
Phil What ? You are then of opinion, it is made up of un-
known parts, that it hath unknown motions, and an unknown
shape.
Hyl I do not believe it hath any figure or motion at all, being
already convinced, that no sensible qualities can exist in an un-
perceiving substance.
Phil. But what notion is it possible to frame of an instrument
void of all sensible qualities, even extension itself?
Hyl I do not pretend to have any notion of it.
Phil And what reason have you to think, this unknown, this
THE SECOND DIALOGUE. 191
inconceivable somewhat doth exist ? Is it that you imagine God
cannot act as well without it, or that you find by experience the
use of some such thing, when you form ideas in your own mind ?
Hyl. You are always teazing me for reasons of my belief.
Pray what reasons have you not to believe it ?
Phil. It is to me a sufficient reason not to believe the exist-
ence of any thing, if I see no reason for believing it. But not
to insist on reasons for believing, you will not so much as let
me know what it is you would have me believe, since you say
you have no manner of notion of it. After all, let me entreat
you to consider whether it be like a philosopher, or even like a
man of common sense, to pretend to believe you know not what
and you know not why.
Hyl. Hold, Philonous. When I tell you matter is an instru-
ment., I do not mean altogether nothing. It is true, I know not
the particular kind of instrument : but however I have some
notion of instrument in general, which I apply to it.
Phil. But what if it should prove that there is something, even
in the most general notion of instrument, as taken in a distinct
sense from cause, which makes the use of it inconsistent with the
divine attributes?
Hyl- Make that appear, and I shall give up the point.
Phil. What mean. you by the general nature or notion of in-
strument ?
Hyl. That which is common to all particular instruments,
composeth the general notion.
Phil. Is it not common to all instruments, that they are ap-
plied to the doing those things only, which cannot be performed
by the mere act of our wills ? Thus for instance, I never use an
instrument to move my finger, because it is done by a volition.
But I should use one, if I were to remove part of a rock, or tear
up a tree by the roots. Are you of the same mind ? Or can you
show any example where an instrument is made use of in pro-
ducing an effect immediately depending on the will of the agent ?
Hyl. I own, I cannot.
Phil. How therefore can you suppose, that an all-perfect Spirit,
on whose will all things have an absolute and immediate depend-
ence, should need an instrument in his operations, or not needing
it make use of it ? Thus it seems to me that you are obliged to
own the use of a lifeless inactive instrument, to be incompatible
with the infinite perfection of God ; that is, by your own con-
fession to give up the point.
Hyl. It doth not readily occur what I can answer you.
Phil. But methinks you should be ready to own the truth,
when it hath been fairly proved to you. We indeed, who are
beings of finite powers, are forced to make use of instruments.
And the use of an instrument showeth the agent to be limited
192 THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
by rules of another's prescription, and that he cannot obtain his
end, but in such a way and by such conditions. Whence it seems
a clear consequence, that the supreme unlimited agent useth no
tool or instrument at all. The will of an omnipotent Spirit is
no sooner exerted than executed, without the application of
means, which, if they are employed by inferior agents, it is not
upon account of any real efficacy that is in them, or necessary
aptitude to produce any effect, but merely in compliance with
the laws of nature, or those conditions prescribed to them by the
first cause, who is himself above all limitation or prescription
whatsoever.
Hyl. I will no longer maintain that matter is an instrument.
However, I would not be understood to give up its existence
neither ; since, notwithstanding what hath been said, it may still
be an occasion.
Phil. How many shapes is your matter to take ? Or how often
must it be proved not to exist, before you are content to part
with it ? But to say no more of this (though by all the laws of
disputation I may justly blame you for so frequently changing
the signification of the principal term) I would fain know what
you mean by affirming that matter is an occasion, having already
denied it to be a cause. And when you have shown in what
sense you understand occasion, pray in the next place be pleased
to show me what reason induceth you to believe there is such an
occasion of our ideas.
Hyl. As to the first point : by occasion I mean an inactive, un-
thinking being, at the presence whereof God excites ideas in our
minds.
Phil. And what may be the nature of that inactive, unthink-
ing being ?
Hyl. I know nothing of its nature.
Phil. Proceed then to the second point, and assign some reason
why we should allow an existence to this inactive, unthinking,
unknown thing.
Hyl. When we see ideas produced in our minds after an
orderly and constant manner, it is natural to think they have
some fixed and regular occasions, at the presence of which they
are excited.
Phil You acknowledge then God alone to be the cause of our
ideas, and that he causes them at the presence of those occasions.
Hyl. That is my opinion.
Phil. Those things which you say are present to God, without
doubt he perceives.
Hyl. Certainly ; otherwise they could not be to him an occa-
sion of acting.
Phil. Not to insist now on your making sense of this hypo-
thesis, or answering all the puzzling questions and difficulties it
THE SECOND DIALOGUE. 1 93
is liable to : I only ask whether the order and regularity observ-
able in the series of our ideas, or the course of nature, be not
sufficiently accounted for by the wisdom and power of God ; and
whether it doth not derogate from those attributes, to suppose he
is influenced, directed, or put in mind, when and what he is to
act, by any unthinking substance. And lastly, whether in case
I granted all you contend for, it would make any thing to your
purpose, it not being easy to conceive how the external or abso-
lute existence of an unthinking substance, distinct from its being
perceived, can be inferred from my allowing that there are cer-
tain things perceived by the mind of God, which are to him the
occasion of producing ideas in us.
Hyl. I am perfectly at a loss what to think, this notion of
occasion seeming now altogether as groundless as the rest.
Phil. Do you not at length perceive, that in all these different
acceptations of matter, you have been only supposing you know
not what, for no manner of reason, and to no kind of use ?
Hyl. I freely own myself less fond of my notions, since they
have been so accurately examined. But still, methinks I have
some confused perception that there is such a thing as matter.
Phil Either you perceive the being of matter immediately,
or mediately. If immediately, pray inform me by which of the
senses you perceive it. If mediately, let me know by what
reasoning it is inferred from those things which you perceive im-
mediately. So much for the perception. Then for the matter
itself, I ask whether it is object, substratum, cause, instrument,
or occasion ? You have already pleaded for each of these, shift-
ing your notions, and making matter to appear sometimes in one
shape, then in another. And what you have offered hath been
disapproved and rejected by yourself. If you have any thing
new to advance, I would gladly hear it.
Hyl. I think I have already offered all I had to say on those
heads. I am at a loss what more to urge.
Phil. And yet you are loath to part with your old prejudice.
But to make you quit it more easily, I desire that, besides what
has been hitherto suggested, you will further consider whether,
upon supposition that matter exists, you can possibly conceive
how you should be affected by it ? Or supposing it did not exist,
whether it be not evident you tmight for all that be affected
with the same ideas you now are, and consequently have the
very same reasons to believe its existence that you now can have ?
Hyl. I acknowledge it is possible \ve might perceive all things
just as we do now, though there was no matter in the world ;
neither can I conceive, if there be matter, how it should produce
any idea in our minds. And I do further grant, you have en-
tirely satisfied me, that it is impossible there should be such a
thing as matter in any of the foregoing acceptations. But still
VOL. i. o
194 THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
I cannot help supposing that there is matter in some sense or
other. AVhat that is I do not indeed pretend to determine.
Phil. I do not expect you should define exactly the nature of
that unknown being. Only be pleased to tell me, whether it is
a substance : and if so, whether you can suppose a substance
without accidents : or in case you suppose it to have accidents or
qualities, I desire you will let me know what those qualities are,
at least what is meant by matter's supporting them.
Hyl. We have already argued on those points. I have no
more to say to them. But to prevent any further questions, let
me tell you, I at present understand by matter neither substance
nor accident, thinking nor extended being, neither cause, instru-
ment, nor occasion, but something entirely unknown, distinct
from all these.
Phil. It seems then you include in your present notion of
matter, nothing but the general abstract of idea of entity.
Hyl. Nothing else, save only that I superadd to this general
idea the negation of all those particular things, qualities, or ideas
that I perceive, imagine, or in any wise apprehend.
Phil. Pray where do you suppose this unknown matter to
exist ?
Hyl. Oh Philonous ! now you think you have entangled me ;
for if I say it exists in place, then you will infer that it exists
in the mind, since it is agreed, that place or extension exists only
in the mind : but I am not ashamed to own my ignorance. I
know not where it exists ; only I am sure it exists not in place.
There is a negative answer for you : and you must expect no
other to all the questions you put for the future about matter.
PhiL Since you will not tell me where it exists, be pleased to
inform me after what manner you suppose it to exist, or what
you mean by its existence.
Hyl. It neither thinks nor acts, neither perceives, nor is per-
ceived.
PhiL But what is there positive in your abstracted notion of
its existence ?
Hyl. Upon a nice observation, I do not find I have any posi-
tive notion or meaning at all. I tell you again I am not ashamed
to own my ignorance. I know not what is meant by its existence,
or how it exists.
PhiL Continue, good Hylas, to act the same ingenuous part,
and tell me sincerely whether you can frame a distinct idea of
entity in general, prescinded from and exclusive of all thinking
and corporeal beings, all particular things whatsoever.
Hyl. Hold, let me think a little 1 profess, Philonous, I do
not find that I can. At first glance methought I had some dilute
and airy notion of pure entity in abstract ; but upon closer at-
tention it hath quite vanished out of sight. The more I think
THE SECOND DIALOGUE. 195
on it, the more am I confirmed in my prudent resolution of
giving none but negative answers, and not pretending to the least
degree of any positive knowledge or conception of matter, its
where, its how, its entity, or any thing belonging to it.
Phil When therefore you speak of the existence of matter,
you have not any notion in your mind.
HyL None at all,
Phil. Pray tell me if the case stands not thus : at first, from
a belief of material substance you would have it that the imme-
diate objects existed without the mind ; then that their arche-
types ; then causes ; next instruments : then occasions : lastly,
something in general, which being interpreted proves nothing. So
matter comes to nothing. What think you, Hylas ? is not this
a fair summary of your whole proceeding ?
Hyl. Be that as it will, yet I still insist upon it, that our not
being able to conceive a thing, is no argument against its ex-
istence.
Phil. That from a cause, effect, operation, sign, or other cir-
cumstance, there may reasonably be inferred the existence of a
thing not immediately perceived, and that it were absurd for any
man to argue against the existence of that thing, from his having
no direct and positive notion of it, I freely own. But where
there is nothing of all this ; where neither reason nor revelation
induces us to believe the existence of a thing ; where we have not
even a relative notion of it ; where an abstraction is made from
perceiving and being perceived, from spirit and idea: lastly,
where there is not so much as the most inadequate or faint idea
pretended to: I will not indeed thence conclude against the
reality of any notion or existence of any thing : but my infer-
ence shall be, that you mean nothing at all : that you imply words
to no manner of purpose, without any design or signification
whatsoever. And I leave it to you to consider how mere jargon
should be treated.
Hyl. To deal frankly with you, Philonous, your arguments
seem in themselves unanswerable, but they have not so great an
effect on me as to produce that entire conviction, that hearty
acquiescence which attends demonstration. I find myself still
relapsing into an obscure surmise of I know not what, matter.
Phil. But are you not sensible, Hylas, that two things must
concur to take away all scruple, and work a plenary assent in the
mind ? Let a visible object be set in never so clear a light, yet
if there is any imperfection in the sight, or if the eye is not
directed towards it, it will not be distinctly seen. And though
a demonstration be never so well grounded and fairly proposed,
yet if there is withal a stain of prejudice, or a wrong bias on
the understanding, can it be expected on a sudden to perceive
clearly and adhere firmly to the truth ? No, there is need of time
02
198 THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
and pains ; the attention must be awakened and detained by a
frequent repetition of the same thing placed oft in the same, oft
in different lights. I have said it already, and find I must still
repeat and inculcate, that it is an unaccountable license you take in
pretending to maintain you know not what, for you know not
what reason, to you know not what purpose. Can this be paral-
leled in any art or science, any sect or profession of men ? Or is
there any thing so barefacedly groundless and unreasonable to be
met with even in the lowest of common conversation ? But
perhaps you will still say, matter may exist, though at the same
time you neither know what is meant by matter., nor by its existence.
This indeed is surprising, and the more so because it is altogether
voluntary, you not being led to it by any one reason; for I
challenge you to show me that thing in nature which needs
matter to explain or account for it.
Hyl. The reality of things cannot be maintained without sup-
posing the existence of matter. And is not this, think you, a
good reason why I should be earnest in its defence ?
Phil. The reality of things ! What things, sensible or intelli-
gible ?
Hyl. Sensible things.
Phil My glove, for example ?
Hyl. That or any other thing perceived by the senses.
Phil. But to fix on some particular thing ; is it not a sufficient
evidence to me of the existence of this glove., that I see it, and
feel it, and wear it ? Or if this will not do, how is it possible I
should be assured of the reality of this thing, which I actually
see in this place, by supposing that some unknown thing, which
I never did or can see, exists after an unknown manner, in an
unknown place, or in no place at all ? How can the supposed
reality of that which is intangible, be a proof that any thing
tangible really exists ? Or of that which is invisible, that any
visible thing, or in general of any thing which is imperceptible,
that a perceptible exists ? Do but explain this, and I shall think
nothing too hard for you.
Hyl. Upon the whole, I am content to own the existence of
matter is highly improbable ; but the direct and absolute impos-
sibility of it does not appear to me.
Phil. But granting matter to be possible, yet upon that account
merely it can have no more claim to existence, than a golden
mountain or a centaur.
Hyl. I acknowledge it ; but still you do not deny it is possible ;
and that which is possible, 'for aught you know, may actually
exist.
Phil. I deny it to be possible ; and have, if I mistake not,
evidently proved from your own concessions that it is not. In
the common sense of the word matter, is there any more implier1
THE SECOND DIALOGUE. 197
than an extended, solid, figured, moveable substance, existing
without the mind ? And have not you acknowledged over and
over, that you have seen evident reason for denying the possi-
bility of such a substance ?
Hyl. True, but that is only one sense of the term matter,
Phil. But is it not the only proper genuine received sense ?
and if matter in such a sense be proved impossible, may it not be
thought with good grounds absolutely impossible ? Else how
could any thing be proved impossible ? Or indeed how could
there be any proof at all one way or other, to a man who takes
the liberty to unsettle and change the common signification of
words ?
Hyl. I thought philosophers might be allowed to speak more
accurately than the vulgar, and were not always confined to the
common acceptation of a term.
Phil. But this now mentioned is the common received sense
among philosophers themselves. But not to insist on that, have
you not been allowed to take matter in what sense you pleased ?
And have you not used this privilege in the utmost extent, some-
times entirely changing, at others leaving out or putting into the
definition of it whatever for the present best served your design,
contrary to all the known rules of reason and logic ? And hath
not this shifting, unfair method of yours spun out our dispute to
an unnecessary length ; matter having been particularly examined,
and by your own confession refuted in each of those senses?
And can any more be required to prove the absolute impossibility
of a thing, than the proving it impossible in every particular
sense, that either you or any one else understands it in ?
Hyl. But I am not so thoroughly satisfied that you have
proved the impossibility of matter in the last most obscure, ab-
stracted and indefinite sense.
Phil. When is a thing shown to be impossible ?
Hyl. When a repugnancy is demonstrated between the ideas
comprehended in its definition.
Phil. But where there are no ideas, there no repugnancy can
be demonstrated between ideas.
Hyl. I agree with you.
Phil. Now in that which you call the obscure, indefinite sense
of the word matter, it is plain, by your own confession, there was
included no idea at all, no sense except an unknown sense, which
is the same thing as none. You are not therefore to expect I
should prove a repugnancy between ideas where there arc no ideas,
or the impossibility of matter taken in an unknown sense, that is
no sense at all. My business was only to show, you meant no-
thing : and this you were brought to own. So that in all your
various senses, you have been shown either to mean nothing at
all, or if any thing, an absurdity. And if this be not sufficient
198 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
to prove the impossibility of a thing, I desire you will let me
know what is.
Hyl. I acknowledge you have proved that matter is impossible ;
nor do I see what more can be said in defence of it. But at the
same time that I give up this, I suspect all my other notions.
For surely none could be more seemingly evident than this once
was : and yet it now seems as false and absurd as ever it did true
before. But I think we have discussed the point sufficiently for
the present. The remaining part of the day I would willingly
spend, in running over in my thoughts the several heads of this
morning's conversation, and to morrow shall be glad to meet you
here again about the same time.
Phii I will not fail to attend you.
THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
Philonous. TELL me, Hylas, what are the fruits of yesterday's
meditation ? Hath it confirmed you in the same mind you were
in at parting? or have you since seen cause to change your
opinion ?
Hylas. Truly my opinion is, that all our opinions are alike vain
and uncertain. What we approve to-day, we condemn to mor-
row. We keep a stir about knowledge, and spend our lives in
the pursuit of it, when, alas ! we know nothing all the while : nor
do I think it possible for us ever to know any thing in this life.
Our faculties are too narrow and too few. Nature certainly never
intended us for. speculation.
Phil. What ! say you we can know nothing, Hylas ?
Hyl. There is not that single thing in the world, whereof we
can know the real nature, or what it is in itself.
Phil. Will you tell me I do not really know what fire or
water is ?
Hyl. You may indeed know that fire appears hot, and water
fluid : but this is no more than knowing what sensations are pro-
duced in your own mind, upon the application of fire and water
to your organs of sense. Their internal constitution, their true
and real nature, you are utterly in the dark as to that.
Phil. Do I not know this to be a real stone that I stand on,
and that which I see before my eyes to be a real tree ?
Hyl. Know ? No, it is impossible you or any man alive should
know it. All you know is, that you have such a certain idea or
appearance in your own mind. But what is this to the real tree
or stone ? I tell you, that colour, figure, and hardness, which you
perceive, are not the real natures of those things, or in the least
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 199
like them. The same may be said of all other real things or
corporeal substances which compose the world. They have none
of them any thing in themselves, like those sensible qualities by
us perceived. We should not therefore pretend to affirm or
know any thing of them, as they are in their own nature.
Phil. But surely, Hylas, I can distinguish gold, for example,
from iron: and how could this be, if I knew not what either
truly was ?
Hyl. Believe me, Philonous, you can only distinguish between
your own ideas. That yellowness, that weight, and other sensi-
ble qualities, think you they are really in the gold ? They are
only relative to the senses, and have no absolute existence in
nature. And in pretending to distinguish the species of real
things, by the appearances in your mind, you may perhaps act
as wisely as he that should conclude two men were of a different
species, because their clothes were not of the same colour.
Phil. It seems then we are altogether put off with the appear-
ances of things, and those false ones too. The very meat I eat,
and the cloth I wear, have nothing in them like what I see and
feel.
Hyl. Even so.
Phil. But is it not_ strange the whole world should be thus
imposed on and so foolish as to believe their senses ? And yet
I know not how it is, but men eat, and drink, and sleep, and per-
form all the offices of life as comfortably and conveniently, as if
they really knew the things they are conversant about.
tlyl. They do so : but you know ordinary practice does not
requ.re a nicety of speculative knowledge. Hence the vulgar
retain their mistakes, and for all that, make a shift to bustle
through the affairs of life. But philosophers know better things.
Phil. You mean, they know that they know nothing.
Hyl. That is the very top and perfection of human knowledge.
Phil. But are you all this while in earnest, Hylas ; and are
you seriously persuaded that you know nothing real in the
world ? Suppose you are going to write, would you not call for
pen, ink, and paper, like another man ; and do you not know
what it is you call for ?
Hyl. How often must I tell you, that I know not the real
nature of any one thing in the universe ? I may, indeed, upon
occasion, make use of pen, ink, and paper. But what any one
of them is in its own true nature, I declare positively I know
not. And the same is true with regard to every other corporeal
thing. And, what is more, we are not only ignorant of the true
and real nature of things, but even of their existence. It cannot
be denied that we perceive such certain appearances or ideas ;
but it cannot be concluded from thence that bodies really exist.
Nay, now I think on it, I must, agreeably to my former con-
200 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
cessions, further declare, that it is impossible any real corporeal
thing should exist in nature.
Phil. You amaze me. Was ever any thing more wild and
extravagant than the notions you now maintain : and is it not
evident you are led into all these extravagancies by the belief of
material substance? This makes you dream of those unknown
natures in every thing. It is this occasions your distinguishing
between the reality and sensible appearances of things. It is to
this you are indebted for being ignorant of what every body else
knows perfectly well. Nor is this all : you are not only ignorant
of the true nature of every thing, but you know not whether
any thing really exists, or whether there are any true natures at
all ; forasmuch as you attribute to your material beings an abso-
lute or external existence, wherein you suppose their reality
consists. And as you are forced in the end to acknowledge such
an existence means either a direct repugnancy, or nothing at all,
it follows that you are obliged to pull down your own hypothesis
of material substance, and positively to deny the real existence
of any part of the universe. And so you are plunged into the
deepest and most deplorable scepticism that ever man was. Tell
me, Hylas, is it not as I say ?
Hyl I agree with you. Material substance was no more than
an hypothesis, and a false and groundless one too. I will no
longer spend my breath in defence of it. But whatever hypo-
thesis you advance, or whatsoever scheme of things you intro-
duce in its stead, I doubt not it will appear every whit as false :
let me but be allowed to question you upon it. That is, suffer
me to serve you in your own kind, and I warrant it shall con-
duct you through as many perplexities and contradictions, to the
very same state of scepticism that I myself am in at present.
Phil. I assure you, Hylas, I do not pretend to frame any
hypothesis at all. I am of a vulgar cast, simple enough to
believe my senses, and leave things as I find them. To be plain,
it is my opinion, that the real things are those very things I see
and feel, and perceive by my senses. These I know, and finding
they answer all the necessities and purposes of life, have no
reason to be solicitous about any otlier unknown beings. A
piece of sensible bread, for instance, would stay my stomach
better than ten thousand times as much of that insensible, unin-
telligible, real bread you speak of. It is likewise my opinion,
that colours and other sensible qualities are on the objects. I
cannot for my life help thinking that snow is white, and fire hot.
You indeed, who by snow and fire mean certain external, unper-
ceived, unperceiving substances, are in the right to deny white-
ness or heat to be affections inherent in them. But I, who
understand by those words the things I see and feel, am obliged
to think like other folks. And as I am no sceptic with regard
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 201
to the nature of things, so neither am I as to their existence.
That a thing should be really perceived by my senses, and at the
same time not really exist, is to me a plain contradiction ; since
I cannot prescind or abstract, even in thought, the existence of
a sensible thing from its being perceived. Wood, stones, fire,
water, flesh, iron, and the like things, which I name and dis-
course of, are things that I know. And I should not have
known them, but that I perceived them by my senses ; and
things perceived by the senses are immediately perceived ; and
things immediately perceived are ideas ; and ideas cannot exist
without the mind ; their existence therefore consists in being
perceived ; when therefore they are actually perceived, there can
be no doubt of their existence. Away then with all that scepti-
cism, all those ridiculous philosophical doubts. What a jest is it
for a philosopher to question the existence of sensible things, till
he hath it proved to him from the veracity of God : or to pre-
tend our knowledge in this point falls short of intuition or
demonstration ! I might as well doubt of my own being, as of
the being of those things I actually see and feel.
Hyl Not so fast, Philonous : you say you cannot conceive
how sensible things should exist without the mind. Do you not ?
Phil I do.
Hyl Supposing you were annihilated, cannot you conceive it
possible that things perceivable by sense may still exist ?
Phil I can ; but then it must be in another mind. When I
deny sensible things an existence out of the mind, I do not mean
my mind in particular, but all minds. Now it is plain they have
an existence exterior to my mind, since I find them by expe-
rience to be independent of it. There is therefore some other
mind wherein they exist, during the intervals between the times
of my perceiving them : as likewise they did before my birth,
and would do after my supposed annihilation. And as the same
is true with regard to all other finite created spirits, it neces-
sarily follows, there is an omnipresent, eternal Mind, which
knows and comprehends all things, and exhibits them to our
view in such a manner, and according to such rules as he himself
hath ordained, and are by us termed the laws of nature.
Hyl Answer me, Philonous. Are all our ideas perfectly
inert beings ? Or have they any agency included in them ?
Phil They are altogether passive and inert.
Hyl And is not God an agent, a being purely active ?
Phil I acknowledge it.
Hyl No idea therefore can be like unto, or represent the
nature of God.
Phil It cannot.
Hyl Since therefore you have no idea of the mind of God,
how can you conceive it possible, that things should exist in his
202 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
mind ? Or, if you can conceive the mind of God without Having
an idea of it, why may not I be allowed to conceive the existence
of matter, notwithstanding that I have no idea of it?
Phil. As to your first question : I own I have properly no idea,
either of God or any other spirit ; for these being active, cannot
be represented by things perfectly inert, as our ideas are. I do
nevertheless know, that I, who am a spirit or thinking substance,
exist as certainly, as I know my ideas exist. Further, I know
what I mean by the terms /and myself; and I know this imme-
diately, or intuitively, though I do not perceive it as I perceive a
triangle, a colour, or a sound. The mind, spirit, or soul, is that
indivisible, unextended thing, which thinks, acts, and perceives. I
say indivisible, because unextended ; and unextended, because ex-
tended, figured, moveable things, are ideas ; and that which per-
ceives ideas, which thinks and wills, is plainly itself no idea, nor
like an idea. Ideas are things inactive, and perceived: and
spirits a sort of beings altogether different from them. I do not
therefore say my soul is an idea, or like an idea. However,
taking the word idea in a large sense, my soul may be said to
furnish me with an idea, that is, an image, or likeness of God,
though indeed extremely inadequate. For all the notion I have
of God, is obtained by reflecting on my own soul, heightening its
powers, and removing its imperfections. I have therefore, though
not an inactive idea, yet in myself some sort of an active think-
ing image of the Deity. And though I perceive him not by
sense, yet I have a notion of him, or know him by reflection and
reasoning. My own mind and my own ideas I have an imme-
diate knowledge of; and by the help of these, do mediately
apprehend the possibility of the existence of other spirits and
ideas. Further, from my own being, and from the dependency
I find in myself and my ideas, I do by an act of reason ne-
cessarily infer the existence of a God, and of all created things
in the mind of God. So much for your first question. For the
second : I suppose by this time you can answer it yourself. For
you neither perceive matter objectively, as you do an inactive
being or idea, nor know it, as you do yourself, by a reflex act :
neither do you mediately apprehend it by similitude of the one
or the other : nor yet collect it by reasoning from that which you
know immediately. All which makes the case of matter widely
different from that of the Deity.
Hyl. You say your own soul supplies you with some sort of an
idea or image of God. But at the same time you acknowledge
you have, properly speaking, no idea of your own soul. You even
affirm that spirits are a sort of beings altogether different from
ideas. Consequently that no idea can be like a spirit. We have
therefore no idea of any spirit. You admit nevertheless that
there is spiritual substance, although you have no idea of it ;
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 203
while you deny there can be such a thing as material substance,
because you have no notion or idea of it. Is this fair dealing ?
To act consistently, you must either admit matter or reject spirit.
What say you to this ?
Phil. I say in the first place, that I do not deny the existence
of material substance merely because I have no notion of it, but
because the notion of it is inconsistent, or in other words, because
it is repugnant that there should be a notion of it. Many things,
for aught I know, may exist, whereof neither I nor any other
man hath or can have any idea or notion whatsoever. But then
those things must be possible, that is, nothing inconsistent must
be included in their definition. I say secondly, that although we
believe things to exist which we do not perceive ; yet we may not
believe that any particular thing exists, without some reason for
such belief: but I have no reason for believing the existence of
matter. I have no immediate intuition thereof : neither can I
mediately from my sensations, ideas, notions, actions, or passions,
infer an unthinking, unperceiving, inactive substance, either by
probable deduction, or necessary consequence. Whereas the
being of myself, that is, my own soul, mind, or thinking principle,
I evidently know by reflection. You will forgive me if I repeat
the same things in answer to the same objections. In the very
notion or definition of material substance, there is included a ma-
nifest repugnance and inconsistency. But this cannot be said of
the notion of spirit. That ideas should exist in what doth not
perceive, or be produced by what doth not act, is repugnant.
But it is no repugnancy to say, that a perceiving thing should be
the subject of ideas, or an active thing the cause of them. It is
granted we have neither an immediate evidence nor a demonstra-
tive knowledge of the existence of other finite spirits ; but it will
not thence follow that such spirits are on a foot with material
substances : if to suppose the one be inconsistent, and it be not
inconsistent to suppose the other ; if the one can be inferred
by no argument, and there is a probability for the other ; if we
see signs and effects indicating distinct finite agents like our-
selves, and see no sign or symptom whatever that leads to a
rational belief of matter. I say lastly, that I have a notion of
spirit, ttough I have not, strictly speaking, an idea of it. I do
not perceive it as an idea or by means of an idea, but know it by
reflection.
Hyl Notwithstanding all you have said, to me it seems, that
according to your own way of thinking, and in consequence of
your own principles, it should follow that you are only a system
of floating ideas, without any substance to support them. Words
are not to be used without a meaning. And as there is no more
meaning in spiritual substance than in material substance, the one
is to be exploded as well as the other.
204 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
Phil How often must I repeat, that I know or am conscious
of my own being ; and that I myself am not my ideas, but some-
what else, a thinking, active principle that perceives, knows, wills,
and operates about ideas ? I know that I, one and the same self,
perceive both colours and sounds : that a colour cannot perceive
a sound, nor a sound a colour : that I am therefore one individual
principle, distinct from colour and sound ; and, for the same reason,
from all other sensible things and inert ideas. But I am not in
like manner conscious either of the existence or essence of matter.
On the contrary, I know that nothing inconsistent can exist, and
that the existence of matter implies an inconsistency. Further,
I know what I mean, when I affirm that there is a spiritual sub-
stance or support of ideas, that is, that a spirit knows and per-
ceives ideas. But I do not know what is meant, when it is said,
that an unperceiving substance hath inherent in it and supports
either ideas or the archetypes of ideas. There is therefore upon
the whole no parity of case between spirit and matter.
Hyl I own myself satisfied in this point. But do you in
earnest think, the real existence of sensible things consists in
their being actually perceived ? If so, how comes it that all
mankind distinguish between them? Ask the first man you
mest, and he shall tell you, to be perceived is one thing, and to
exist is another.
Phil. I am content, Hylas, to appeal to the common sense of
the world for the truth of my notion. Ask the gardener, why
he thinks yonder cherry-tree exists in the garden, and he shall
tell you, because he sees and feels it ; in a word, because he per-
ceives it by his senses. Ask him, why he thinks an orange-tree
not to be there, and he shall tell you, because he does not per-
ceive it. What he perceives by sense, that he terms a real being,
and saith it is, or exists ; but that which is not perceivable, the
same, he saith, hath no being.
Hyl Yes, Philonous, I grant the existence of a sensible thing
consists in being perceivable, but not in being actually perceived.
Phil. And what is perceivable but an idea ? And can an idea
exist without being actually perceived ? These are points long
since agreed between us.
Hyl. But be your opinion never so true, yet surely you will
not deny it is shocking, and contrary to the common sense of -
men. Ask the fellow, whether yonder tree hath an existence
out of his mind : what answer, think you, he would make ?
Phil. The same that I should myself, to wit, that it doth exist
out of his mind. But then to a Christian it cannot surely be
shocking to say, the real tree existing without his mind is truly
known and comprehended by (that is, exists in) the infinite mind
of God. Probably he may not at first glance be aware of the
direct and immediate proof there is of this, inasmuch as the verv
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 205
being of a tree, or any other sensible thing, implies a mind
wherein it is. But the point itself he cannot deny. The ques-
tion between the materialists and me is not, whether things have
a real existence out of the mind of this or that person, but
whether they have an absolute existence, distinct from being per-
ceived by God, and exterior to all minds. This indeed some
heathens and philosophers have affirmed, but whoever entertains
notions of the Deity suitable to the holy scriptures, will be of
another opinion.
Hyl. But according to your notions, what difference is there
between real things, and chimeras formed by the imagination, or
the visions of a dream, since they are all equally in the mind ?
Phil. The ideas formed by the imagination are faint and indis-
tinct ; they have besides an entire dependence on the will. But
the ideas perceived by sense, that is, real things, are more vivid
and clear, and being imprinted on the mind by a spirit distinct
from us, have not a like dependence on our will. There is there-
fore no danger of confounding these with the foregoing : and
there is as little of confounding them with the visions of a dream,
which are dim, irregular, and confused. And though they should
happen to be never so lively and natural, yet by their not being
connected, and of a piece with the preceding and subsequent
transactions of our lives, they might easily be distinguished from
realities. In short, by whatever method you distinguish things
from chimeras on your own scheme, the same, it is evident, will
hold also upon mine. For it must be, I presume, by some per-
ceived difference, and I am not for depriving you of any one
thing that you perceive.
Hyl. But still, Philonoua, you hold, there is nothing in the
world but spirits and ideas. And this, you must needs acknow-
ledge, sounds very oddly.
Phil. I own the word idea, not being commonly used for thing,
sounds something out of the way. My reason for using it was,
because a necessary relation to the mind is understood to be im-
plied by that term ; and it is now commonly used by philoso-
phers, to denote the immediate objects of the understanding.
But however oddly the proposition may sound in words, yet it
includes nothing so very strange or shocking in its sense, which
in effect amounts to no more than this, to wit, that there are
only things perceiving, and things perceived ; or that every un-
thinking being is necessarily, and from the very nature of its
existence, perceived by some mind ; if not by any finite created
mind, yet certainly by the infinite mind of God, in whom " we
live, and move, and have our being." Is this as strange as to say,
the sensible qualities are not on the objects : or, that we cannot
be sure of the existence of things, or know any thing of their
real natures, though we both see and feel them, and perceive
them by all our senses ?
206 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
HyL And in consequence of this, must we not think there
are no such things as physical or corporeal causes ; but that a
spirit is the immediate cause of all the phenomena in nature ?
Can there be any thing more extravagant than this ?
Phil. Yes, it is infinitely more extravagant to say, a thing
which is inert, operates on the mind, and which is unperceiving,
is the cause of our perceptions. Besides, that which to you, I
know not for what reason, seems so extravagant, is no more
than the holy scriptures assert in a hundred places. In them
God is represented as the sole and immediate author of all those
effects, which some heathens and philosophers are wont to
ascribe to nature, matter, fate, or the like unthinking principle.
This is so much the constant language of scripture, that it were
needless to confirm it by citations.
HyL You are not aware, Philonous, that in making God the
immediate author of all the motions in nature, you make him
the author of murder, sacrilege, adultery, and the like heinous
sins.
Phil. In answer to that, I observe first, that the imputation
of guilt is the same, whether a person commits an action with
or without an instrument. In case therefore you suppose God
to act by the mediation of an instrument, or occasion, called
matter, you as truly make him the author of sin as I, who think
him the immediate agent in all those operations vulgarly
ascribed to nature. I further observe, that sin or moral turpi-
tude doth not consist in the outward physical action or motion,
but in the internal deviation of the will from the laws of reason
and religion. This is plain, in that the killing an enemy in a
battle, or putting a criminal legally to death, is not thought
sinful, though the outward act be the very same with that in
the case of murder. Since therefore sin doth not consist in the
physical action, the making God an immediate cause of all such
actions, is not making him the author of sin. Lastly, I have
no where said that God is the only agent who produces all the
motions in bodies. It is true, I have denied there are any other
agents beside spirits : but this is very consistent with allowing
to thinking, rational beings, in the production of motions, the
use of limited powers, ultimately indeed derived from God, but
immediately under the direction of their own wills, which is
sufficient to entitle them to all the guilt of their actions.
Hyl. But the denying matter, Philonous, or corporeal sub-
stance ; there is the point. You can never persuade me that
this is not repugnant to the universal sense of mankind. Were
our dispute to be determined by most voices, I am confident
you would give up the point, without gathering the votes.
Phil. I wish both our opinions were fairly stated and sub-
mitted to the judgment of men who had plain common sense,
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 207
without the prejudices of a learned education. Let me be re-
presented as one who trusts his senses, who thinks he knows the
things he sees and feels, and entertains no doubts of their exist-
ence ; and you fairly set forth with all your doubts, your para-
doxes, and your scepticism about you, and I shall willingly
acquiesce in the determination of any indifferent person. That
there is no substance wherein ideas can exist beside spirit, is to
me evident. And that the objects immediately perceived are
ideas, is on all hands agreed. And that sensible qualities are
objects immediately perceived, no one can deny. It is therefore
evident there can be no substratum of those qualities but spirit,
in which they exist, not by way of mode or property, but as a
thing perceived in that which pei'ceives it. I deny therefore
that there is any unthinking substratum of the objects of sense,
and in that acceptation that there is any material substance.
But if by material substance is meant only sensible body, that
which is seen and felt (and the unphilosophical part of the
world, I dare say, mean no more), then I am more certain of
matter's existence than you, or any other philosopher, pretend
to be. If there be any thing which makes the generality of
mankind averse from the notions I espouse, it is a misapprehen-
sion that I deny the reality of sensible things : but as it is you
who are guilty of that and not I, it follows that in truth their
aversion is against your notions, and not mine. I do therefore
assert that I am as certain as of my own being, that there are
bodies or corporeal substances (meaning the things I perceive
by my senses) ; and that granting this, the bulk of mankind will
take no thought about, nor think themselves at all concerned in
the fate of those unknown natures, and philosophical quiddities,
which some men are so fond of.
Hyl. What say you to this ? Since, according to you, men
judge of the reality of things by their senses, how can a man be
mistaken in thinking the moon a plain lucid surface, about a foot
in diameter ; or a square tower, seen at a distance, round ; or an
oar, with one end in the water, crooked ?
Phil. He is not mistaken Avith regard to the ideas he actually
perceives ; but in the inferences he makes from his present per-
ceptions. Thus in the case of the oar, what he immediately
perceives by sight is certainly crooked ; and so far he is in the
right. But if he thence conclude, that upon taking the oar out
of the water he shall perceive the same crookedness, or that it
would affect his touch as crooked things are Avont to do, in that
he is mistaken. In like manner, if he should conclude from
what he perceives in one station, that in case he advances toward
the moon or tower, he should still be affected Avith the like ideas,
he is mistaken. But his mistake lies not in what he perceives
immediately and at present (it being a manifest contradiction to
208 • THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
suppose he should err in respect of that), but in the wrong judg-
ment he makes concerning the ideas he apprehends to be con-
nected with those immediately perceived: or concerning the
ideas that, from what he perceives at present, he imagines would
be perceived in other circumstances. The case is the same with
regard to the Copernican system. We do not here perceive any
motion of the earth : but it were erroneous thence to conclude,
that in case we were placed at as great a distance from that, as
we are now from the other planets, we should not then perceive
its motion.
Hyl. I understand you ; and must needs own you say things
plausible enough : but give me leave to put you in mind of one
thing. Pray, Philonous, were you not formerly as positive that
matter existed, as you are now that it does not ?
Phil. I was. But here lies the difference. Before, my posi-
tiveness was founded without examination, upon prejudice ; but
now, after inquiry, upon evidence.
Hyl. After all, it seems our dispute is rather about words than
things. We agree in the thing, but differ in the name. That
we are affected with ideas from without is evident ; and it is no
less evident, that there must be (I will not say archetypes, but)
powers without the mind, corresponding to those ideas. And as
these powers cannot subsist by themselves, there is some subject
of them necessarily to be admitted, which I call matter, and you
call spirit. This is all the difference.
Phil. Pray Hylas, is that powerful being, or subject of powers,
extended ?
Hyl. It hath npt extension ; but it hath the power to raise in
you the idea of extension.
Phil. It is therefore itself unextended.
Hyl. I grant it.
Phil. Is it not also active ?
Hyl. Without doubt : otherwise, how could we attribute
powers to it ?
Phil. Now let me ask you two questions : first, whether it be
agreeable to the usage either of philosophers or others, to give
the name matter to an unextended active being ? And secondly,
whether it be not ridiculously absurd to misapply names contrary
to the common use of language ?
Hyl Well then, let it not be called matter, since you will
have it so, but some third nature distinct from matter and spirit.
For, what reason is there why you should call it spirit ? Does
not the notion of spirit imply, that it is thinking as well as active
and unextended?
Phil. My reason is this : because I have a mind to have some
notion or meaning in what I say ; but I have no notion of any
action distinct from volition, neither can I conceive volition to
TIIE THIRD DIALOGUE. 209
be any where but in a spirit: therefore when I speak of an
active being, I am obliged to mean a spirit. Beside, what can
be plainer than that a thing which hath no ideas in itself, cannot
impart them to me ; and if it hath ideas, surely it must be a
spirit, To make you comprehend the point still more clearly, if
it be possible : I assert as well as you, that since we are affected
from without, we must allow powers to be without in a being
distinct from ourselves. So far we are agreed. But then we
differ as to the kind of this powerful being. I will have it to be
spirit, you matter, or I know not what (I may add too, you know
not what) third nature. Thus I prove it to be spirit. From
the effects I see produced, I conclude there are actions ; and be-
cause actions, volitions ; and because there are volitions, there
must be a will. Again, the things I perceive must have an ex-
istence, they or their archetypes, out of my mind : but being
ideas, neither they nor their archetypes can exist otherwise than
in an understanding : there is therefore an understanding. But
will and understanding constitute in the strictest sense a mind or
spirit. The powerful cause therefore of my ideas, is in strict
propriety of speech a spirit.
Hyl. And now I warrant you think you have made the point
very clear, little suspecting that what you advance leads directly
to a contradiction. Is it not an absurdity to imagine any imper-
fection in God?
Phil Without doubt.
Hyl. To suffer pain is an imperfection.
Phil. It is.
Hyl Are we not sometimes affected with pain and uneasiness
by some other being ?
Phil We are.
Hyl And have you not said that being is a spirit, and is not
that spirit God ?
Phil I grant it.
Hyl. But you have asserted, that whatever ideas we perceive
from without, are in the mind which affects us. The ideas there-
fore of pain and uneasiness are in God ; or in other words, God
suffers pain : that is to say, there is an imperfection in the divine
nature, which you acknowledged was absurd. So you are caught
in a plain contradiction.
Phil That God knows or understands all things, and that he
knows among other things what pain is, even every sort of painful
sensation, and what it is for his creatures to suffer pain, I make
no question. But that God, though he knows and sometimes
causes painful sensations in us, can himself suffer pain, I positively
deny. We who are limited and dependent spirits, are liable to im-
pressions of sense, the effects of an external agent, which being
produced against our wills, are sometimes painful and uneasy.
VOL. I. P
210 THE THIUD DIALOGUE.
But God, whom no external being can affect, who perceives
nothing by sense as we do, whose will is absolute and independ-
ent, causing all things, and liable to be thwarted or resisted by
nothing ; it is evident, such a being as this can suffer nothing,
nor be affected with any painful sensation, or indeed any sensa-
tion at all. We are chained to a body, that is to say, our per-
ceptions are connected with corporeal motions. By the law of
our nature we are affected upon every alteration in the nervous
parts of our sensible body: which sensible body rightly con-
sidered, is nothing but a complexion of such qualities or ideas, as
have no existence distinct from being perceived by a mind ; so
that this connexion of sensations with corporeal motions, means
no more than a correspondence in the order of nature between
two sets of ideas, or things immediately perceivable. But God
is a pure spirit, disengaged from all such sympathy or natural
ties. Xo corporeal motions are attended with the sensations of
pain or pleasure in his mind. To know every thing knowable is
certainly a perfection ; but to endure, or suffer, or feel any thing
by sense, is an imperfection. The former, I say, agrees to God,
but not the latter. God knows or hath ideas : but his ideas are
not conveyed to him by sense, as ours are. Your not distinguish-
ing where there is so manifest a difference, makes you fancy you
see an absurdity where there is none.
Hyl But all this while you have not considered, that the
quantity of matter hath been demonstrated to be proportioned
to the gravity of bodies. And what can withstand demon-
stration ?
Phil. Lee me see how you demonstrate that point.
Hyl. I lay it down for a principle, that the moments or
quantities of motion in bodies, are in a direct compounded rea-
son of the velocities and quantities of matter contained in them.
Hence, where the velocities are equal, it follows, the moments
are directly as the quantity of matter in each. But it is found
by experience, that all bodies (bating the small inequalities
arising from the resistance of the air) descend with an equal
velocity ; the motion therefore of descending bodies, and conse-
quently their gravity, which is the cause or principle of that
motion, is proportional to the quantity of matter : which was to
be demonstrated.
Phil You lay it down as a self-evident principle, that the
quantity of motion in any body is proportional to the velocity
and matter taken together : and this is made use of to prove a
proposition, from whence the existence of matter is inferred.
Pray is not this arguing in a circle ?
Hyl In the premise I only mean, that the motion is propor-
tional to the velocity, jointly with the extension and solidity.
Phil But allowing this to be true, yet it will not thence follow,
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 211
that gravity is proportional to matter, in your philosophic sense
of the word ; except you take it for granted, that unknown sub-
stratum, or whatever else you call it, is proportional to those
sensible qualities ; which to suppose is plainly begging the ques-
tion. That there is magnitude, and solidity, or resistance, per-
ceived by sense, I readily grant ; as likewise that gravity may
be proportional to those qualities, I will not dispute. But that
either these qualities as perceived by us, or the powers producing
them, do exist in a material substratum ; this is what I deny, and
you indeed affirm, but notwithstanding your demonstration, have
not yet proved.
Hyl. I shall insist no longer on that point. Do you think,
however, you shall persuade me that natural philosophers have
been dreaming all this while ? pray what becomes of all their
hypotheses and explications of the phenomena, which suppose the
existence of matter ?
Phil. What mean you, Hylas, by the phenomena ?
Hyl. I mean the appearances which I perceive by my senses.
Phil. And the appearances perceived by sense, are they not
ideas ?
Hyl. I have told you so a hundred times.
Phil. Therefore, to explain the phenomena, is to show how we
come to be affected with ideas, in that manner and order wherein
they are imprinted on our senses. Is it not ?
Hyl It is.
Phil. Now if you can prove, that any philosopher hath ex-
plained the production of any one idea in our minds by the help
of matter, I shall for ever acquiesce, and look on all that hath
been said against it as nothing : but if you cannot, it is in vain
to urge the explication of phenomena. That a being endowed
with knowledge and will, should produce or exhibit ideas, is easily
understood. But that a being which is utterly destitute of these
faculties should be able to produce ideas, or in any sort to affect
an intelligence, this I can never understand. This I say, though
we had some positive conception of matter, though we knew its
qualities, and could comprehend its existence, would yet be so far
from explaining things, that it is itself the most inexplicable
thing in the world. And yet for all this, it will not follow, that
philosophers have been doing nothing ; for by observing and
reasoning upon the connexion of ideas, they dis over the laws
and methods of nature, which is a part of knowledge both useful
and entertaining.
Hyl After all, can it be supposed God would deceive all man-
kind ? Do you imagine, he would have induced the whole world
to believe the being of matter, if there was no such thing ?
Phil That every epidemical opinion arising from prejudice, or
passion, or thoughtlessness, may be imputed to God, as the
p 2
212 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
author of it, I believe you will not affirm. Whatsoever opinion
we father on him, it must be either because he has discovered it
to us by supernatural revelation, or because it is so evident to our
natural faculties, which were framed and given us by God, that
it is impossible we should withhold our assent from it. But
where is the revelation, or where is the evidence that extorts
the belief of matter? Nay, how does it appear that matter,
taken for something distinct from what we perceive by our senses,
is thought to exist by all mankind, or indeed by any except a few
philosophers, who do not know what they would be at ? Your
question supposes these points are clear; and when you have
cleared them, I shall think myself obliged to give you another
answer. In the mean time let it suffice that I tell you, I do not
suppose God has deceived mankind at all.
Hyl But the novelty, Philonous, the novelty ! There lies
the danger. New notions should always be discountenanced ;
they unsettle men's minds, and nobody knows where they will
end.
Phil. Why the rejecting a notion that hath no foundation
either in sense, or in reason, or in divine authority, should be
thought to unsettle the belief of such opinions as are grounded
on all or any of these, I cannot imagine. That innovations in
government and religion are dangerous, and ought to be dis-
countenanced, I freely own. But is there the like reason'why
they should be discouraged in philosophy? The making any
thing known which was unknown before, is an innovation in
knowledge : and if all such innovations had been forbidden, men
would have made a notable progress in the arts and sciences.
But it is none of my business to plead for novelties and para-
doxes. That the qualities we perceive are not on the objects :
that we must not believe our senses : that we know nothing of
the real nature of things, and can never be assured even of their
existence : that real colours and sounds are nothing but certain
unknown figures and motions : that motions are in themselves
neither swift nor slow : that there are in bodies absolute exten-
sions, without any particular magnitude or figure : that a thing
stupid, thoughtless, and inactive, operates on a spirit : that the
least particle of a body contains innumerable extended parts.
These are the novelties, these are the strange notions which
shock the genuine uncorrupted judgment of all mankind ; and
being once admitted, embarrass the mind with endless doubts and
difficulties. And it is against these and the like innovations, I
endeavour to vindicate common sense. It is true, in doing this,
I may perhaps be obliged to use some ambages, and ways of
speech not common. But if my notions are once thoroughly
understood, that which is most singular in them will in effect be
found to amount to no more than this : that it is absolutely im-
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 213
possible, and a plain contradiction to suppose, any unthinking
being should exist without being perceived by a mind. And if
this notion be singular, it is a shame it should be so at this time
of day, and in a Christian country.
Hyl. As for the difficulties other opinions may -be liable to,
those are out of the question. It is your business to defend your
own opinion. Can any thing be plainer, than that you are for
changing all things into ideas ? You, I say, who are not ashamed
to charge me with scepticism. This is so plain, there is no deny-
ing it.
Phil. You mistake me. I am not for changing things into
ideas, but rather ideas into things ; since those immediate objects
of perception, which, according to you, are only appearances of
things, I take to be the real things themselves.
Hyl. Things ! you may pretend what you please ; but it is
certain, you leave us nothing but the empty forms of things, the
outside only which strikes the senses.
Phil. What you call the empty forms and outside of things,
seems to me the very things themselves. Nor are they empty
or incomplete otherwise, than upon your supposition, that matter
is an essential part of all corporeal things. We both therefore
agree in this, that we perceive only sensible forms : but herein
we differ, you will have them to be empty appearances, I real
beings. In short you do not trust your senses, I do.
Hyl. You say you believe your senses ; and seem to applaud
yourself that in this you agree with the vulgar. According to
you therefore, the true nature of a thing is discovered by the
senses. If so, whence comes that disagreement ? Why is not
the same figure, and other sensible qualities, perceived all manner
of ways ? and why should we use a microscope, the better to dis-
cover the true nature of a body, if it were discoverable to the
naked eye?
Phil. Strictly speaking, Hylas, we do not see the same object
that we feel ; neither is the same object perceived by the micro-
scope, which was by the naked eye. But in case every variation
was thought sufficient to constitute a new kind or individual, the
endless number or confusion of names would render language
impracticable. Therefore to avoid this as well as other incon-
veniences which are obvious upon a little thought, men combine
together several ideas, apprehended by divers senses, or by the
same sense at different times, or in different circumstances, but
observed however to have some connexion in nature, either with
respect to co-existence or succession ; all which they refer to one
name, and consider as one thing. Hence it follows that when I
examine by my other senses a thing I have seen, it is not in
order to understand better the same object which I had perceived
by sight, the object of one sense not being perceived by the
214 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
other senses. And when I look through a microscope, it is
not that I may perceive more clearly what I perceived already
with my bare eyes, the object perceived by. the glass being
quite different from the former. But in both cases my aim
is only to know what ideas are connected together; and the
more a man knows of the connexion of ideas, the more he
is said to know of the nature of things. What therefore if
our ideas are variable ? What if our senses are not in all circum-
stances affected with the same appearances ? It will not thence
follow, they are not to be trusted, or that they are inconsistent
either with themselves or any thing else, except it be with your
preconceived notion of (I know not what) one single, unchanged,
unperceivable, real nature, marked by each name : which preju-
dice seems to have taken its rise from not rightly understanding
the common language of men speaking of several distinct ideas,
as united into one thing by the mind. And indeed there is
cause to suspect several erroneous conceits of the philosophers
are owing to the same original : while they began to build their
schemes, not so much on notions as words, which were framed by
the vulgar, merely for conveniency and despatch in the common
actions of life, without any regard to speculation.
Hyl. Methinks I apprehend your meaning.
Phil. It is your opinion, the ideas we perceive by our senses
are not real things, but images, or copies of them. Our know-
ledge therefore is no further real, than as our ideas are the true
representations of those originals. But as these supposed ori-
ginals are in themselves unknown, it is impossible to know how
far our ideas resemble them ; or whether they resemble them at
all. We cannot therefore be sure we have any real knowledge.
Further, as our ideas are perpetually varied, without any change
in the supposed real things, it necessarily follows they cannot all
be true copies of them ; or if some are, and others are not, it is
impossible to distinguish the former from the latter. And this
plunges us yet deeper in uncertainty. Again, when we consider
the point, we cannot conceive how any idea, or any thing like an
idea, should have an absolute existence out of a mind ; nor con-
sequently, according to you, how there should be any real thing
in nature. The result of all which is, that we are thrown into
the most hopeless and abandoned scepticism. Now give me leave
to ask you, first, whether your referring ideas to certain abso-
lutely existing unperceived substances, as their originals, be not
the source of all this scepticism ? Secondly, whether you are
informed, either by sense or reason, of the existence of those
unknown originals ? And in case you are not, whether it be not
absurd to suppose them ? Thirdly, whether upon inquiry, you
find there is any thing distinctly conceived or meant by the
absolute or external existence of unperceiving substances ? Lastly,
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 215
whether, the premises considered, it be not the wisest way to
follow nature, trust your senses, and laying aside all anxious
thought about unknown natures or substances, admit with the
vulgar those for real things, which are perceived by the senses ?
Hyl. For the present, I have no inclination to the answering
part. I would much rather see how you can get over what fol-
lows. Pray are not the objects perceived by the senses of one,
likewise perceivable to others present ? If there were a hundred
more here, they would all see the garden, the trees, and flowers
as I see them. But they are not in the same manner affected
with the ideas I frame in my imagination. Does not this make
a difference between the former sort of objects and the latter ?
Phil. I grant it does. Nor have I ever denied a difference
between the objects of sense and those of imagination. But
what would you infer from thence ? You cannot say that sensi-
ble objects exist unperceived, because they are perceived by
many.
Hyl. I own, I can make nothing of that objection : but it hath
led me into another. Is it not your opinion that by our senses
we perceive only the ideas existing in our minds ?
Phil It is.
Hyl. But the same idea which is in my mind, cannot be in
yours, or in any other mind. Doth it not therefore follow from
your principles, that no two can see the same thing ? And is not
this highly absurd ?
Phil. If the term same be taken in the vulgar acceptation, it
is certain (and not at all repugnant to the principles I maintain)
that different persons may perceive the same thing ; or the same
thing or idea exist in different minds. Words are of arbitrary
imposition ; and since men are used to apply the Avord same where
no distinction or variety is perceived, and I do not pretend to
alter their perceptions, it follows, that as men have said before,
several saw the same thing, so they may upon like occasions still
continue to use the same phrase, without any deviation either
from propriety of language, or the truth of things. But if the
term same be used in the acceptation of philosophers, who pre-
tend to an abstracted notion of identity, then, according to their
sundry definitions of this notion (for it is not yet agreed wherein
that philosophic identity consists), it may or may not be possible
for divers persons to perceive the same thing. But whether
philosophers shall think fit to call a thing the same or no, is, I
conceive, of small importance. Let us suppose sevei-al men to-
gether, all endued with the same faculties, and consequently af-
fected in like sort by their senses, and who had yet never known
the use of language ; they would without question agree in their
perceptions. Though perhaps, when they came to the use of
speech, some regarding the uniformness of what was perceived,
216 TUB THIRD DIALOGUE.
might call it the same thing : others especially regarding the di-
versity of persons who perceived, might choose the denomination
of different things. But who sees not that all the dispute is
about a word ; to wit, whether what is perceived by different
persons, may yet have the term same applied to it ? Or suppose
a house, whose walls or outward shell remaining unaltered, the
chambers are all pulled down, and new ones built in their place ;
and that you should call this the same, and I should say it was
not the same house : would we not for all this perfectly agree in
our thoughts of the house, considered in itself? And would not
all the difference consist in a sound ? If you should say, we differ
in our notions ; for that you superadded to your idea of the house
the simple abstracted idea of identity, whereas I did not;
I would tell you I know not what you mean by that abstracted
idea of identity ; and should desire you to look into your own
thoughts, and be sure you understood yourself.; Why so silent,
Hylas ? Are you not yet satisfied, men may dispute about identity
and diversity, without any real difference in their thoughts and
opinions, abstracted from names ? Take this further reflection
with you : that whether matter be allowed to exist or no, the
case is exactly the same as to the point in hand. For the ma-
terialists themselves acknowledge what we immediately perceive
by our senses to be our own ideas. Your difficulty therefore,
that no two see the same thing, makes equally against the ma-
terialists and me.
Hyl. But they suppose an external archetype, to which refer-
ring their several ideas, they may truly be said to perceive the
same thing.
Phil, And (not to mention your having discovered those ar-
chetypes) so may you suppose an external archetype on my
principles : external, I mean, to your own mind ; though indeed
it must be supposed to exist in that mind which comprehends all
things ; but then this serves all the ends of identity, as well as
if it existed out of a mind. And I am sure you yourself will
not say, it is less intelligible.
HyL You have indeed clearly satisfied me, either that there is
no difficulty at bottom in this point ; or if there be, that it makes
equally against both opinions.
Phil. But that which makes equally against two contradictory
opinions, can be a proof against neither.
Hyl. I acknowledge it. But after all, Philonous, when I con-
sider the substance of what you advance against scepticism, it
amounts to no more than this. We are sure that we really see,
hear, feel ; in a word, that we are affected with sensible impres-
sions.
Pldl And how are we concerned any further ? I see this
cherry, I feel it, I taste it : and I am sure nothiwj cannot be seen,
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 217
•
or felt, or tasted : it is therefore real. Take away the sensations
of softness, moisture, redness, tartness, and you take away the
cherry. Since it is not a being distinct from sensations ; a cherry r,
I say, is nothing but a congeries of sensible impressions, or ideas
perceived by various senses; which ideas are united into one
thing (or have one name given them) by the mind ; because they
are observed to attend each other. Thus when the palate is af-
fected with such a particular taste, the sight is affected with a
red colour, the touch with roundness, softness, &c. Hence, when
I see, and feel, and taste, in sundry certain manners, I am sure
the cherry exists, or is real; its reality being in my opinion
nothing abstracted from those sensations. But if by the word
cherry you mean an unknown nature distinct from all those sen-
sible qualities, and by its existence something distinct from its
being perceived ; then indeed I own, neither you, nor I, nor any
one else can be sure it exists.
Hyl. But what would you say, Philonous, if I should bring
the very same reasons against the existence of sensible things in
a mind, which you have offered against their existing in a
material substratum 9
PhiL When I see your reasons, you shall hear what I have to
say to them.
Hyl. Is the mind extended or unextended ?
Phil. Unextended, without doubt.
Hyl. Do you say the things you perceive are in your mind ?
Phil They are.
Hyl. Again, have I not heard you speak of sensible im-
pressions?
Phil. I believe you may.
Hyl Explain to me now, O Philonous ! how it is possible
there should be room for all those trees and houses to exist in
your mind. Can extended things be contained in that which is
unextended ? or are we to imagine impressions made on a thing
void of all solidity ? You cannot say objects are in your mind,
as books in your study : or that things are imprinted on it, as
the figure of a seal upon wax. In what sense therefore are we
to understand those expressions ? Explain me this if you can :
and I shall then be able to answer all those queries you formerly
put to me about my substratum.
Phil. Look you, Hylas, when I speak of objects as existing in
the mind or imprinted on the senses, I would not be understood
in the gross literal sense, as when bodies are said to exist in a
place, or a seal to make an impression upon wax. My meaning
is only that the mind comprehends or perceives them ; and that
it is affected from without, or by some being distinct from itself.
This is my explication of your difficulty ; and how it can serve
to make your tenet of an unperceiving material substratum intel-
ligible, I would fain know.
218 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
|
Hyl. Nay, if that be all, I confess I do not see what use can
be made of it. But are you not guilty of some abuse of lan-
guage in this ?
Phil. None at all : it is no more than common custom, which
you know is the rule of language, hath authorized : nothing
being more usual, than for philosophers to speak of the imme-
diate objects of the understanding as things existing in the mind.
Nor is there any thing in this, but what is conformable to the
general analogy of language ; most part of the mental operations
being signified by words borrowed from sensible things ; as is
plain in the terms comprehend, reflect, discourse, &c., which being
applied to the mind, must not be taken in their gross original
sense.
Hyl. You have, I own, satisfied me in this point ; but there
still remains one great difficulty, which I know not how you will
get over. And, indeed, it is of such importance, that if you could
solve all others, without being able to find a solution for this, you
must never expect to make me a proselyte to your principles.
Phil. Let me know this mighty difficulty.
Hyl. The scripture account of the creation is what appears to
me utterly irreconcilable with your notions. Moses tells us of a
creation : a creation of what ? of ideas ? No, certainly, but of
things, of real things, solid corporeal substances. Bring your
principles to agree with this, and I shall perhaps agree with you.
Phil. Moses mentions the sun, moon, and stars, earth and sea,
plants and animals : that all these do really exist, and were in
the beginning created by God, I make no question. If by ideas
you mean fictions and fancies of the mind, then these are no
ideas. If by ideas you mean immediate objects of the under-
standing, or sensible things which cannot exist unperceived, or
out of a mind, then these things are ideas. But whether you do
or do not call them ideas, it matters little. The difference is
only about a name. And whether that name be retained or
rejected, the sense, the truth, and reality of things continues the
same. In common talk, the objects of our senses are not termed
ideas, but things. Call them so still; provided you do not attri-
bute to them any absolute external existence, and I shall never
quarrel with you for a word. The creation, therefore, I allow
to have been a creation of things, of real things. Neither is this
in the least inconsistent with my principles, as is evident from
what I have now said ; and would have been evident to you
without this, if you had not forgotten what had been so often
said before. But as for solid corporeal substances, I desire you
to show where Moses makes any mention of them ; and if they
should be mentioned by him, or any other inspired writer, it
would still be incumbent on you to show those words were not
taken in the vulgar acceptation, for things falling under our
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 219
senses, but in the philosophic acceptation, for matter, or an
unknown quiddity, with an absolute existence. When you have
proved these points, then (and not till then) may you bring the
authority of Moses into our dispute.
Hyl. It is in vain to dispute about a point so clear. I am con-
tent to refer it to your own conscience. Are you not satisfied
there is some peculiar repugnancy between the Mosaic account
of the creation and your notions ?
Phil. If all possible sense, which can be put on the first chap-
ter of Genesis, may be conceived as consistently with my prin-
ciples as any other, then it has no peculiar repugnancy wijth
them. But there is no sense you may not as well conceive,
believing as I do. Since, beside spirits, all you conceive are
ideas, and the existence of these I do not deny. Neither do you
pretend they exist without the mind.
Hyl. Pray let me see any sense you can understand it in.
Phil. Why I imagine that if I had been present at the cre-
ation, I should have seen things produced into being ; that is,
become perceptible, in the order described by the sacred his-
torian. I ever before believed the Mosaic account of the creation,
and now find no alteration in my manner of believing it. When
things are said to begin or end their existence, we do not mean
this with regard to God, but his creatures. All objects are
eternally known by God, or which is the same thing, have an
eternal existence in his mind : but when things before imper-
ceptible to creatures, are by a decree of God, made perceptible
to them ; then are they said to begin a relative existence with
respect to created minds. Upon reading therefore the Mosaic
account of the creation, I understand that the several parts of
the world became gradually perceivable to finite spirits, endowed
with proper faculties ; so that, whoever such were present, they
were in truth perceived by them. This is the literal, obvious
sense suggested to me by the words of the holy scripture : in
which is included no mention or no thought, either of substra-
tum, instrument, occasion, or absolute existence. And upon
inquiry, I doubt not it will be found, that most plain, honest
men, who believe the creation, never think of those things any
more than I. What metaphysical sense you may understand it
in, you only can tell.
Hyl. But, Philonous, you do not seem to be aware, that you
allow created things in the beginning only a relative, and, conse-
quently, hypothetical being : that is to say, upon supposition
there were men to perceive them, without which they have no
actuality of absolute existence, wherein creation might terminate.
Is it not, therefore, according to you plainly impossible, the cre-
ation of any inanimate creatures should precede that of man ?
And is not this directly contrary to the Mosaic account ?
220 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
Phil. In answer to that I say, first, created beings might begin
to exist in the mind of other created intelligences, beside men.
You will not therefore be able to prove any contradiction between
Moses and my notions, unless you first show, there was no other
order of finite created spirits in being before man. I say further,
in case we conceive the creation, as we should at this time a
parcel of plants or vegetables of all sorts, produced by an invisi-
ble power, in a desert where nobody was present : that this way
of explaining or conceiving it, is consistent with my principles,
since they deprive you of nothing, either sensible or imaginable :
that it exactly suits with the common, natural, undebauched
notions of mankind : that it manifests the dependence of all
things on God ; and consequently hath all the good effect or in-
fluence, which it is possible that important article of our faith
should have in making men humble, thankful, and resigned to
their Creator. I say moreover, that in this naked conception of
things, divested of words, there will not be found any notion of
what you call the actuality of absolute existence. You may indeed
raise a dust with those terms, and so lengthen our dispute to no
purpose. But I entreat you calmly to look into your own
thoughts, and then tell me if they are not a useless and unin-
telligible jargon.
Hyl. I own I have no very clear notion annexed to them.
But what say you to this ? Do you not make the existence of
sensible things consist in their being in a mind ? and were not
all things eternally in the mind of God ? Did they not therefore
exist from all eternity, according to you ? And how could that
which was eternal be created in time ? Can any thing be clearer
or better connected than this ?
Phil. And are not you too of opinion, that God knew all
things from eternity ?
Hyl. I am.
Phil. Consequently they always had a being in the divine in-
tellect.
Hyl. This I acknowledge.
Phil. By your own confession therefore, nothing is new, or
begins to be, in respect of the mind of God. So we are agreed
in that point.
Hyl. What shall we make then of the creation ?
Phil. May we not understand it to have been entirely in re-
spect of finite spirits ; so that things, with regard to us, may
properly be said to begin their existence, or be created, when
God decreed they should become perceptible to intelligent crea-
tures, in that order and manner which he then established, and
we now call the laws of nature ? You may call this a relative, or
hypothetical existence if you please. But so long as it supplies us
with the most natural, obvious, and literal sense of the Mosaic
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 221
history of the creation ; so long as it answers all the religious
ends of that great article ; in a word, so long as you can assign
no other sense or meaning in its stead ; why should we reject
this ? Is it to comply with a ridiculous sceptical humour of
making every thing nonsense and unintelligible ? I am sure you
cannot say it is for the glory of God. For allowing it to be a
thing possible and conceivable, that the corporeal world should
have an absolute subsistence extrinsical to the mind of God, as
well as to the minds of all created spirits : yet how could this
set forth either the immensity or omniscience of the Deity, or
the necessary and immediate dependence of all things on, him ?
Nay, would it not rather seem to derogate from those attri-
butes ?
Hyl. Well, but as to this decree of God's, for making things
perceptible : what say you, Philonous, is it not plain, God did
either execute that decree from all eternity, or at some certain
time began to will what he had not actually willed before, but
only designed to will ? If the former, then there 'could [be no
creation or beginning of existence in finite things. If the latter,
then we must acknowledge something new to befall the Deity ;
which implies a sort of change ; and all change argues imper-
fection.
Phil. Pray consider what you are doing. Is it not evident,
this objection concludes equally against a creation in any sense ;
nay, against every other act of the Deity, discoverable by the
light of nature ? None of which can we conceive, otherwise than
as performed in time, and having a beginning. God is a being of
transcendent and unlimited perfections : his nature therefore is
incomprehensible to finite spirits. It is not therefore to be ex-
pected, that any man, whether materialist or immaterialist, should
have exactly just notions of the Deity, his attributes, and ways
of operation. If then you would infer any thing against me,
your difficulty must not be drawn from the inadequateness of
our conceptions of the divine nature, which is unavoidable on
any scheme : but from the denial of matter, of which there is
not one word, directly or indirectly, in what you have now ob-
jected.
Hyl I must acknowledge the difficulties you are concerned to
clear, are such only as arise from the non-existence of matter,
and are peculiar to that notion. So far you are in the right.
But I cannot by any means bring myself to think there is no
such peculiar repugnancy between the creation and your opinion ;
though indeed where to fix it, I do not distinctly know.
Phil. What would you have ? Do I not acknowledge a twofold
state of things, the one ectypal or natural, the other archetypal
and eternal ? The former was created in time ; the latter existed
from everlasting in the mind of God. Is not this agreeable to
222 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
the common notions of divines ? or is any more than this neces-
sary in order to conceive the creation ? But you suspect some
peculiar repugnancy, though you know not where it lies. To
take away all possibility of scruple in the case, do but consider
this one point. Either you are not able to conceive the creation
on any hypothesis whatsoever ; and if so, there is no ground for
dislike or complaint against my particular opinion on that score :
or you are able to conceive it ; and if so, why not on my princi-
ples, since thereby nothing conceivable is taken away ? You have
all along been allowed the full scope of sense, imagination, and
reason. Whatever therefore you could before apprehend, either
immediately or mediately by your senses, or by ratiocination from
your senses; whatever you could perceive, imagine, or understand,
remains still with you. If therefore the notion you have of the
creation by other principles be intelligible, you have it still upon
mine ; if it be not intelligible, I conceive it to be no notion at
all ; and so there is no loss of it. And indeed it seems to me
very plain, that the supposition of matter, that is, a thing per-
fectly unknown and inconceivable, cannot serve to make us con-
ceive any thing. And I hope, it need not be proved to you, that
if the existence of matter doth not make the creation conceivable,
the creation's being without it inconceivable, can be no objection
against its non-existence.
Hyl I confess, Philonous, you have almost satisfied me in this
point of the creation.
Phil. I would fain know why you are not quite satisfied. You
tell me indeed of a repugnancy between the Mosaic history and
immaterialism : but you know not where it lies. Is this reason-
able, Hylas ? Can you expect I should solve a difficulty without
knowing what it is ? But to pass by all that, would not a man
think you were assured there is no repugnancy between the re-
ceived notions of materialists and the inspired writings ?
Hyl And so I am.
Phil Ought the historical part of scripture to be understood
jn a plain, obvious sense, or in a sense which is metaphysical and
out of the way ?
Hyl. In the plain sense, doubtless.
Phil. When Moses speaks of herbs, earth, water, &c., as
having been created by God ; think you not the sensible things,
commonly signified by those words, are suggested to every un-
philosophical reader ?
Hyl. I cannot help thinking so.
Phil. And are not all ideas, or things perceived by sense, to
be denied a real existence by the doctrine of the materialists ?
Hyl. This I have already acknowledged.
Phil. The creation therefore, according to them, was not the
creation of things sensible, which have only a relative being, but
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 223
of certain unknown natures, which have an absolute being,
wherein creation might terminate.
Hyl True.
Phil. Is it not therefore evident, the asserters of matter
destroy the plain obvious sense of Moses, with which their no-
tions are utterly inconsistent ; and instead of it obtrude on us I
know not what, something equally unintelligible to themselves
and me.
Hyl. I cannot contradict you.
Phil. Moses tells us of a creation. A creation of what ? of
unknown quiddities, of occasions, or substratums? No, certainly;
but of things obvious to the senses. You must first reconcile
this with your notions, if you expect I should be reconciled to
them.
Hyl. I see you can assault me with my own weapons.
Phil. Then as to absolute existence ; was there ever known a
more jejune notion than that? Something it is, so abstracted
and unintelligible, that you have frankly owned you could not
conceive it, much less explain any thing by it. But allowing
matter to exist, and the notion of absolute existence to be as
clear as light, yet was this ever known to make the creation
more credible ? Nay, hath it not furnished the atheists and in-
fidels of all ages with the most plausible argument against a
creation? That a corporeal substance, which hath an absolute
existence without the minds of spirits, should be produced out
of nothing by the mere will of a spirit, hath been looked upon
as a thing so contrary to all reason, so impossible and absurd,
that not only the most celebrated among the ancients, but even
divers modern and Christian philosophers, have thought matter
co-eternal with the Deity. Lay these things together, and then
judge you whether materialism disposes men to believe the cre-
• *' r-o,-
ation 01 things.
Hyl. I own, Philonous, I think it does not. This of the crea-
tion is the last objection I can think of ; and I must needs own
it hath been sufficiently answered as well as the rest. Nothing
now remains to be overcome, but a sort of unaccountable back-
wardness that I find in myself toward your notions.
Phil. When a man is swayed, he knows not why, to one side
of a question, can this, think you, be any thing else but the
effect of prejudice, which never fails to attend old and rooted
notions ? And indeed in this respect I cannot deny the belief
of matter to have very much the advantage over the contrary
opinion, with men of a learned education.
Hyl. I confess it seems to be as you say.
Phil. As a balance therefore to this weight of prejudice, let
us throw into the scale the great advantages that arise from the
belief of immaterialism, both in regard to religion and human
learning. The being of a God, and incorruptibility of the soul,
224 THE Tiimn DIALOGUE.
those great articles of religion, are they not proved with the
clearest and most immediate evidence ? When I say the being
of a God, I do not mean an obscure, general cause of things,
whereof we have no conception, but God, in the strict and
proper sense of the word. A being whose spirituality, omni-
presence, providence, omniscience, infinite power, and goodness,
are as conspicuous as the existence of sensible things, of which
(notwithstanding the fallacious pretences and affected scruples of
sceptics) there is no more reason to doubt than of our own being.
Then with relation to human sciences ; in natural philosophy,
what intricacies, what obscurities, what contradictions, hath the
belief of matter led men into ! To say nothing of the number-
less disputes about its extent, continuity, homogenity, gravity,
divisibility, &c., do they not pretend to explain all things by
bodies operating on bodies, according to the laws of motion ?
and yet, are they able to comprehend how any one body should
move another ? Nay, admitting there was no difficulty in recon-
ciling the notion of an inert being with a cause ; or in conceiving
how an accident might pass from one body to another ; yet by
all their strained thoughts and extravagant suppositions, have they
been able to reach the mechanical production of any one animal
or vegetable body ? Can they account by the laws of motion,
for sounds, tastes, smells, or colours, or for the regular course of
things ? Have they accounted by physical principles for the
aptitude and contrivance, even of the most inconsiderable parts
of the universe ? But laying aside matter and corporeal causes,
and admitting only the efficiency of an all-perfect mind, are not
all the effects of nature easy and intelligible ? If the phenomena
are nothing else but ideas ; God is a spirit, but matter an unin-
telligent, unperceiving being. If they demonstrate an unlimited
power in their cause ; God is active and omnipotent, but matter
an inert mass. If the order, regularity, and usefulness of them
can never be sufficiently admired; God is infinitely wise and
provident, but matter destitute of all contrivance and design.
These surely are great advantages in physics. Not to mention
that the apprehension of a distant Deity naturally disposes men
to a negligence in their moral actions, which they would be more
cautious of in case they thought him immediately present, and
acting on their minds without the interposition of matter, or un-
thinking second causes. Then in metaphysics ; what difficulties
concerning entity in abstract, substantial forms, hylarchic prin-
ciples, plastic natures, substance and accident, principle of indi-
viduation, possibility of matter's thinking, origin of ideas, the
manner how two independent substances, so widely different as
spirit and matter, should mutually operate on each other ! what
difficulties, I say, and endless disquisitions concerning these and
innumerable other the like points, do we escape by supposing
only spirits and ideas ? Even the mathematics themselves, if we
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 225
take away the absolute existence of extended things, become
much more clear and easy; the most shocking paradoxes and
intricate speculations in those sciences, depending on the infinite
divisibility of finite extension, which depends on that supposition.
But what need is there to insist on the particular sciences ?
Is not that opposition to all science whatsoever, that frenzy of
the ancient and modern sceptics, built on the same foundation ?
Or can you produce so much as one argument against the reality
of corporeal things, or in behalf of that avowed utter ignorance
of their natures, which doth not suppose their reality to consist
in an external absolute existence ? Upon this supposition indeed,
the objections from the change of colours in a pigeon's neck, or
the appearances of a broken oar in the water, must be allowed
to have weight. But those and the like objections vanish, if we
do not maintain the being of absolute external originals, but
place the reality of things in ideas, fleeting indeed, and change-
able ; however not changed at random, but according to the
fixed order of nature. For herein consists that constancy and
truth of things, which secures all the concerns of life, and distin-
guishes that which is real from the irregular visions of the fancy.
Hyl. I agree to all you have now said, and must own that no-
thing can incline me to embrace your opinion, more than the
advantages I see it is attended with. I am by nature lazy, and
this would be a mighty abridgment in knowledge. What
doubts, what hypotheses, what labyrinths of amusement, what
fields of disputation, what an ocean of false learning, may be
avoided by that single notion of immaterialism !
Phil. After all, is there any thing further remaining to be
done ? You may remember you promised to embrace that
opinion which upon examination should appear most agreeable
to common sense, and remote from scepticism. This, by your
own confession, is that Avhich denies matter, or the absolute
existence of corporeal things. Nor is this all ; the same notion
has been proved several ways, viewed in different lights, pursued
in its consequences, and all objections against it cleared. Can
there be a greater evidence of its truth ? or is it possible it should
have all the marks of a true opinion, and yet be false ?
Hyl. I own myself entirely satisfied for the present in all
respects. But what security can I have that I shall still continue
the same full assent to your opinion, and that no unthought-of
objection or difficulty will occur hereafter ?
Phil. Pray, Hylas, do you in other cases, when a point is once
evidently proved, withhold your assent on account of objections or
difficulties it may be liable to ? Are the difficulties that attend the
doctrine of incommensurable quantities, of the angle of contact,
of the asymptotes to curves, or the like, sufficient to make you
hold out against mathematical demonstration ? Or will you dis-
VOL. I. Q
226 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
believe the providence of God, because there may be some
particular things which you know not how to reconcile with it ?
If there are difficulties attending immaterialism, there are at the
same time direct and evident proofs for it. But for the existence
of matter there is not one proof, and far more numerous and
insurmountable objections lie against it. But where are those
mighty difficulties you insist on ? Alas ! you know not where
or what they are ; something which may possibly occur here-
after. If this be a sufficient pretence for withholding your full
assent, you should never yield it to any proposition, how free
soever from exceptions, how clearly and solidly soever demon-
strated.
Hyl. You have satisfied me, Philonous.
Phil. But to arm you against all future objections, do but con-
sider, that which bears equally hard on two contradictory opinions,
can be a proof against neither. Whenever therefore any diffi-
culty occurs, try if you can find a solution for it on the hypo-
thesis of the materialists. Be not deceived by words ; but sound
your own thoughts. And in case you cannot conceive it easier
by the help of materialism, it is plain it can be no objection
against immaterialism. Had you proceeded all along by this rule,
you would probably have spared yourself abundance of trouble
in objecting ; since of all your difficulties I challenge you to
show one that is explained by matter ; nay, which is not more
unintelligible with, than without that supposition, and conse-
quently makes rather against than for it. You should consider
in each particular, whether the difficulty arises from the non-
existence of matter. If it doth not, you might as well argue from
the infinite divisibility of extension against the divine prescience,
as from such a difficulty against immaterialism. And yet upon
recollection I believe you will find this to have been often, if not
always the case. You should likewise take heed not to argue on
a petitio prindpii. One is apt to say, the unknown substances
ought to be esteemed real things, rather than the ideas in our
minds : and who can tell but the unthinking external substance
may concur as a cause or instrument in the production of our
ideas ? But is not this proceeding on a supposition that there
are such external substances ? And to suppose this, is it not
begging the question ? But above all things you should beware
of imposing on yourself by that vulgar sophism, which is called
ignoratio elenchi. You talked often as if you thought I main-
tained the non-existence of sensible things : whereas in truth no
one can be more thoroughly assured of their existence than I am,
and it is you who doubt ; I should have said, positively deny it.
Every thing that is seen, felt, heard, or any way perceived by
the senses, is, on the principles I embrace, a real being, but not
on yours. Remember the matter you contend for is an unknown
somewhat (if indeed it may be termed somewhat), which is quite
THE THIRD DIALOGUE. 227
stripped of all sensible qualities, and can neither be perceived by
sense, nor apprehended by the mind. Remember, I say, that it
is not any object which is hard or soft, hot or cold, blue or white,
round or square, &c. For all these things I affirm do exist.
Though indeed I deny they have any existence distinct from being
perceived ; or that they exist out of all minds whatsoever. Think
on these points ; let them be attentively considered and still kept
in view. Otherwise you will not comprehend the state of the
question ; without which your objections will always be wide of
the mark, and instead of mine, may possibly be directed (as
more than once they have been) against your own notions.
Hyl. I must needs own, Philonous, nothing seems to have kept
me from agreeing with you more than this same mistaking the
question. In denying matter, at first glimpse I am tempted to
imagine you deny the things we see and feel ; but upon reflection
find there is no ground for it. What think you therefore of
retaining the name matter, and applying it to sensible things ?
This may be done without any change in your sentiments : and
believe me it would be a means of reconciling them to some per-
sons, who may be more shocked at an innovation in Avords than
in opinion.
Phil. With all my heart : retain the word matter, and apply it
to the objects of sense, if you please, provided you do not attri-
bute to them any subsistence distinct from their being perceived.
I shall never quarrel with you for an expression. Matter, or
material substance, are terms introduced by philosophers ; and as
used by them, imply a sort of independency, or a subsistence
distinct from being perceived by a mind : but are never used by
common people ; or if ever, it is to signify the immediate objects
of sense. One would think therefore, so long as the names of
all particular things, with the terms sensible, substance, body, stuff,
and the like, are retained, the word matter should be never missed
in common talk. And in philosophical discourses it seems the
best way to leave it quite out ; since there is not perhaps any
one thing that hath more favoured and strengthened the depraved
bent of the mind toward atheism, than the use of that general
confused term.
Hyl. Well but, Philonous, since I am content to give up the
notion of an unthinking substance exterior to the mind, I think
you ought not to deny me the privilege of using the word matter
as I please, and annexing it to a collection of sensible qualities
subsisting only in the mind. I freely own there is no other sub-
stance in a strict sense, than spirit. But I have been so long
accustomed to the term matter, that I know not how to part with
it. To say, there is no matter in the world, is still shocking to
me. Whereas to say, there is no matter, if by that term be
meant an unthinking substance existing without the mind ; but if
Q 2
228 THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
by matter is meant some sensible thing, whose existence consists in
being perceived, then there is matter : this distinction gives it quite
another turn : and men will come into your notions with small
difficulty, when they are proposed in that manner. For after all,
the controversy about matter, in the strict acceptation of it, lies
altogether between you and the philosophers, whose principles, I
acknowledge, are not near so natural, or so agreeable to the
common sense of mankind, and holy scripture, as yours. There
is nothing we either desire or shun, but as it makes, or is appre-
hended to make some part of our happiness or misery. But
what hath happiness or misery, joy or grief, pleasure or pain, to
do with absolute existence, or with unknown entities, abstracted
from all relation to us ? It is evident, things regard us only as
they are pleasing or displeasing: and they can please or dis-
please only so far forth as they perceived. Further therefore we
are not concerned ; and thus far you leave things as you found
them. Yet still there is something new in this doctrine. It is
plain, I do not now think with the philosophers, nor yet alto-
gether with the vulgar. I would know how the case stands in
that respect : precisely, what you have added to, or altered in my
former notions.
Phil. I do not pretend to be a setter-up of new notions. My
endeavours tend only to unite and place in a clearer light that
truth, which was before shared between the vulgar and the
philosophers : the former being of opinion, that those things they
immediately perceive are the real things : and the latter, that the
things immediately perceived are ideas ivhich exist only in the mind.
Which two notions put together, do in effect constitute the sub-
stance of what I advance.
Hyl. I have been a long time distrusting my senses ; me-
thought I saw things by a dim light, and through false glasses.
Now the glasses are removed, and a new light breaks in upon my
understanding. I am clearly convinced that I see things in their
native forms; and am no longer in pain about their unknown
natures or absolute existence. This is the state I find myself in
at present : though indeed the course that brought me to it I do
not yet thoroughly comprehend. You set out upon the same
principles that Academics, Cartesians, and the like sects, usually
do ; and for a long time it looked as if you were advancing their
philosophical scepticism; but in the end your conclusions are
directly opposite to theirs.
Phil. You see, Hylas, the water of yonder fountain, how it is
forced upwards, in a round column, to a certain height ; at which
it breaks and falls back into the bason from whence it rose : its
ascent, as well as descent, proceeding from the same uniform law
or principle of gravitation. Just so, the same principles which at
first view lead to scepticism, pursued to a certain point, bring
men back to common sense.
AN ESSAY
A NEW THEORY OF VISION
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
SIR JOHN PERCIVALE, BART.,
ONE OF HER MAJESTY'S MOST HONOURABLE PRIVY COUNCIL IN THE KINGDOA
OF IRELAND.
SIR,
I COULD not, without doing violence to myself, forbear upon this
occasion to give some public testimony of the great and well-grounded
esteem I have conceived for you, ever since I had the honour and hap-
piness of your acquaintance. The outward advantages of fortune, and
the early honours with which you are adorned, together with the repu-
tation you are known to have, amongst the best and most considerable
men, may well imprint veneration and esteem on the minds of those
who behold you from a distance. But these are not the chief motives
that inspire me with the respect I bear you. A nearer approach has
given me the view of something in your person, infinitely beyond the
external ornaments of honour and estate. I mean, an intrinsic stock of
virtue and good sense, a true concern for religion, and disinterested love
of your country. Add to these an uncommon proficiency in the best
and most useful parts of knowledge ; together with (what in my mind
is a perfection of the first rank) a surpassing goodness of nature. All
which I have collected, not from the uncertain reports of fame, but
from my own experience. Within these few months, that I have the
honour to be known unto you, the many delightful hours I have passed
in your agreeable and improving conversation, have afforded me the
opportunity of discovering in you many excellent qualities, which at once
fill me with admiration and esteem. That one at those years, and in those
circumstances of wealth and greatness, should continue proof against
the charms of luxury, and those criminal pleasures, so fashionable and
predominant in the age we live in. That he should preserve a sweet
and modest behaviour, free from that insolent and assuming air, so fa-
miliar to those who are placed above the ordinary rank of men. That
he should manage a great fortune with that prudence and inspection,
and at the same time expend it with that generosity and nobleness of
mind, as to show himself equally remote from a sordid parsimony, and
a lavish, inconsiderate profusion of the good things he is entrusted with.
This, surely, were admirable and praiseworthy. But that he should
moreover, by an impartial exercise of his reason, and constant perusal of
the sacred scriptures, endeavour to attain a right notion of the principles
of natural and revealed religion. That he should with the concern of a
true patriot have the interest of the public at heart, and omit no means
of informing himself what may be prejudicial or advantageous to his
country, in order to prevent the one, and promote the other. In fine,
that by a constant application to the most severe and useful studies, by
a strict observation of the rules of honour and virtue, by frequent and
232 DEDICATION.
serious reflections on the mistaken measures of the world, and the true
end and happiness of mankind, he should in all respects qualify himself
bravely to run the race that is set before him, to deserve the character of
great and good in this life, and be ever happy hereafter. This were
amazing, and almost incredible. Yet all this, and more than this, Sir,
might I justly say of you ; did either your modesty permit, or your cha-
racter stand in need of it. I know it might deservedly be thought a
vanity in me, to imagine that any thing coming from so obscure a hand
as mine, could add a lustre to your reputation. But I am withal sensi-
ble how far I advance the interest of my own, by laying hold on this
opportunity to make it known that I am admitted into some degree of
intimacy with a person of your exquisite judgment. And with that
view, I have ventured to make you an address of this nature, which
the goodness I have ever experienced in you inclines me to hope, will
meet with a favourable reception at your hands. Though I must own,
I have your pardon to ask, for touching on what may, possibly, be of-
fensive to a virtue you are possessed of in a very distinguishing degree.
Excuse me, Sir, if it was out of my power to mention the name of Sir
John Percivale without paying some tribute to that extraordinary and
surprising merit, whereof I have so lively and affecting an idea, and
which, I am sure, cannot be exposed in too full a light for the imitation
of others. Of late, I have been agreeably employed in considering the
most noble, pleasant, and comprehensive of all the senses. The fruit of
that (labour shall I call it or) diversion is what I now present you with,
in hopes it may give some entertainment to one who, in the midst of
business and vulgar enjoyments, preserves a relish for the more refined
pleasures of thought and reflection. My thoughts concerning vision
have led me into some notions, so far out of the common road, that it
had been improper to address them to one of a narrow and contracted
genius. But you, Sir, being master of a large and free understanding,
raised above the power of those prejudices that enslave the far greater
part of mankind, may deservedly be thought a proper patron for an at-
tempt of this kind. Add to this, that you are no less disposed to
forgive, than qualified to discern, whatever faults may occur in it. Nor
do I think you defective in any one point necessary to form an exact
judgment on the most abstract and difficult things, so much as in a just
confidence of your own abilities. And in this one instance, give me
leave to say, you show a manifest weakness of judgment. With rela-
tion to the following essay, I shall only add, that I beg your pardon for
laying a trifle of that nature in your way, at a time when you are
engaged in the important affairs of the nation, and desire you to think,
that I am with all sincerity and respect,
SIR,
Your most faithful and most humble servant,
GEORGE BERKELEY.
C 0 N T E N T S.
SECT. I. Design.
II. Distance of itself invisible.
III. Remote distance perceived rather by experience tban by sense.
IV. Near distance thought to be perceived by the angle of the optic axts.
V. Difference between this and the former manner of perceiving distance.
VI. Also by diverging rays.
VII. This depends not on experience.
VIII. These the common accounts, but not satisfactory.
IX. Some ideas perceived by the mediation of others.
X. No idea which is not itself perceived, can be the means of perceiving another.
XI. Distance perceived by means of some other idea.
XII. Those lines and angles mentioned in optics, are not themselves perceived.
XIII. Hence the mind doth not perceive distance by lines and angles.
XIV. Also because they have no real existence.
XV. And because they are insufficient to explain the phenomena.
XVI. The ideas that suggest distance are, 1st, the sensation arising from the turn
of the eyes.
XVII. Betwixt which and distance there is no necessary connexion.
XVIII. Scarce room for mistake in this matter.
XIX. No regard had to the angle of the optic axes.
XX. Judgment of distance made with both eyes, the result of experience.
XXI. 2ndly, Confusedness of appearance.
XXII. This the occasion of those judgments attributed to diverging rays.
XXIII. Objection answered.
XXIV. What deceives the writers of optics in this matter.
XXV. The cause why one idea may suggest another.
XXVI. This applied to confusion and distance.
XXVII. 3rdly, The straining of the eye.
XXVIII. The occasions which suggest distance have in their own nature no relation
to it.
XXIX. A difficult case proposed by Dr. Barrow as repugnant to all the known
theories.
XXX. This case contradicts a received principle in catoptrics.
XXXI. It is shown to agree with the principles we have laid down.
XXXII. This phenomenon illustrated.
XXXIII. It confirms the truth of the principle whereby it is explained.
XXXIV. Vision, when distinct, and when confused.
234 CONTENTS.
Sect.
XXXV. The different effects of parallel diverging and converging rays.
XXXVI. How converging and diverging rays come to suggest the same distance.
XXXVII. A person extreme purblind would judge aright in the forementioned case.
XXXVIII. Lines and angles, why useful in optics.
XXXIX. The not understanding this, a cause of mistake.
XL. A query proposed by Mr. Molyneux in his Dioptrics, considered.
XLI. One born blind would not at first have any idea of distance by sight.
XLII. This not agreeable to the common principles.
XLIII. The proper objects of sight, not without the mind, nor the images of any
thing without the mind.
XLIV. This more fully explained.
XLV. In what sense we must be understood to see distance and external things.
XLVI. Distance, and things placed at a distance, not otherwise perceived by the
eye than by the ear.
XLVII. The ideas of sight more apt to be confounded with the ideas of touch
than those of hearing are.
XL VIII. How this comes to pass.
XLIX. Strictly speaking, we never see and feel the same thing.
L. Objects of sight twofold, mediate and immediate.
LI. These hard to separate in our thoughts.
LII. The received accounts of our perceiving magnitude by sight, false.
LIU. Magnitude perceived as immediately as distance.
LIV. Two kinds of sensible extension, neither of which is infinitely divisible.
LV. The tangible magnitude of an object steady, the visible not.
LVI. By what means tangible magnitude is perceived by sight.
LVII. This further enlarged on.
LVI II. No necessary connexion between confusion or faintness'of appearance, and
small or great magnitude.
LIX. The tangible magnitude of an object more heeded than the visible, and why.
LX. An instance of this.
LXI. Men do not measure by visible feet or inches.
LXII. No necessary connexion between visible and tangible extension.
LXI 1 1. Greater visible magnitude might signify lesser tangible magnitude.
LXIV. The judgments we make of magnitude depend altogether on experience.
LXV. Distance and magnitude seen as shame or anger.
LXVI. But we are prone to think otherwise, and why.
LXVII. The moon seems greater in the horizon than in the meridian.
LXVIIL The cause of this phenomenon assigned.
LXIX. The horizontal moon, why greater at one time than another.
LXX. The account we have given proved to be true.
LXXI. And confirmed by the moon's appearing greater in a mist.
LXXII. Objection answered.
LXXIII. The way wherein faintness suggests greater magnitude illustrated.
LXXIV. Appearance of the horizontal moon, why thought difficult to explain.
LXX V. Attempts towards the solution of it made by several, but in vain.
LXXVI. The opinion of Dr. Wallis.
LXXVII. It is shown to be unsatisfactory.
LXXVIII. How lines and angles may be of use in computing apparent magnitudes.
LXXIX. One born blind, being made to see, what judgment he would make of
magnitude.
CONTENTS. 235
Sect.
LXXX. The minimum visibile the same to all creatures.
LXXXI. Objection answered.
| LXXXII. The eye at all times perceives the same number of visible points.
LXXXIII. Two imperfections in the visive faculty.
LXXXIV. Answering to which, we may conceive two perfections.
LXXXV. In neither of these two ways do microscopes improve the sight.
LXXXVI. The case of microscopical eyes, considered.
LXXXVII. The sight, admirably adapted to the ends of seeing.
LXXXVIII. Difficulty concerning erect vision.
LXXXIX. The common way of explaining it.
XC. The same shown to be false.
XCI. Not distinguishing between ideas of sight and touch, cause of mistake in
this matter.
XCII. The case of one born blind, proper to be considered.
XCIII. Such a one might by touch attain to have ideas of upper and lower.
XCI V. Which modes of situation he would attribute only to things tangible.
XCV. He would not at first sight think any thing he saw, high or low, erect
or inverted.
XCVI. This illustrated by an example.
XCVII. By what means he would come to denominate visible objects, high or
low, &c.
XCVIII. Why he should think those objects highest, which are painted on the
lowest part of his eye, and vice vend.
XCIX. How he would perceive by sight, the situation of external objects.
C. Our propension to think the contrary, no argument 'against what hath
been said.
CI. Objection.
CII. Answer.
CIII. An object could not be known at first sight by the colour.
CIV. Nor by the magnitude thereof.
CV. Nor by the figure.
CVI. In the first act of vision, no tangible thing would be suggested by sight.
CVII. Difficulty proposed concerning number.
C VIII. Number of things visible, would not at first sight suggest the like number
of things tangible.
CIX. Number the creature of the mind.
CX. One born blind would not at first sight number visible things as others do.
CXI. The situation of any object determined with respect only to objects of
the same sense.
CXII. No distance, great or small, between a visible and tangible thing.
CXIII. The not observing this, cause of difficulty in erect vision.
CXIV. Which otherwise includes nothing unaccountable.
CXV. What is meant by the picture being inverted.
CXVI. Cause of mistake in this matter.
CXVII. Images in the eye, not pictures of external objects.
CXVIII. In what sense they are pictures.
CXIX. In this affair we must carefully distinguish between ideas of sight and touch.
CXX. Difficult to explain by words the true Theory of Vision.
CXXI. The question, whether there is any idea common to sight and touch, stated.
CXXII. Abstract extension inquired into.
236 CONTENTS.
Sect.
CXXIII. It is incomprehensible.
CXXIV. Abstract extension not the object of geometry.
CXXV. The general idea of a triangle, considered.
CXXVI. Vacuum, or pure space, not common to sight and touch.
C XX VII. There is no idea, or kind of idea, common to both senses.
CXXVIII. First argument in proof hereof.
CXXIX. Second argument.
CXXX. Visible figure and extension, not distinct ideas from colour.
CXXXI. Third argument.
CXXXII. Confirmation drawn from Mr. Molyneux's problem of a sphere and a
cube, published by Mr. Locke.
CXXX1II. Which is falsely solved, if the common supposition be true.
CXXXI V. More might be said in proof of our tenet, but this suffices.
CXXXV. Further reflection on the foregoing problem.
CXXXV1. The same thing doth not affect both sight and touch.
CXXXVII. The same idea of motion not common to sight and touch.
CXXXVIII. The way wherein we apprehend motion by sight, easily collected from
what hath been said.
CXXXIX. QH. How visible and tangible ideas came to have the same name if not
of the same kind.
CXL. This accounted for without supposing them of the same kind.
CXLI. Obj. That a tangible square is liker to a visible square than to a visible
circle.
CXLTI. Ans. That a visible square is fitter than a visible circle, to represent a
tangible square.
CXLIII. But it doth not hence follow, that a visible square is like a tangible square.
CXLIV. Why we are more apt to confound visible with tangible ideas, than other
signs with the things signified.
CXLV. Several other reasons hereof, assigned.
CXLVI. Reluctancy in rejecting any opinion, no argument of its truth.
CXLV1I. Proper objects of vision the language of nature.
CXLVIII. In it there is much admirable, and deserving our attention.
CXLIX. Question proposed, concerning the object of geometry.
CL. At first view we are apt to think visible extension the object of geometry.
CLI. Visible extension shown not to be the object of geometry.
CLII. Words may as well be thought the object of geometry, as visible extension.
CLIII. It is proposed to inquire, what progress an intelligence that could see,
but not feel, might make in geometry.
CLI V. He cannot understand those j,arts which relate to solids, and their surfaces,
and lines generated by their section.
CLV. Nor even the elements of plane geometry.
CLVI. The proper objects of sight incapable of being managed as geometrical
figures.
CLVII. The opinion of those who hold plane figures to be the immediate objects
of sight, considered.
CLVIII. Planes no more the immediate objects of sight, than solids.
CLIX. Difficult to enter precisely into the thoughts of the above-mentioned in-
telligence.
CLX. The object of geometry, its not being sufficiently understood, cause of
difficulty, and useless labour in that science.
A NEW THEORY OF VISION.
I. MY design is to show the manner wherein we perceive by
sight, the distance, magnitude, and situation of objects. Also to
consider the difference there is betwixt the ideas of sight and
touch, and whether there be any idea common to both senses.
In treating of all which, it seems to me, the writers of optics
have proceeded on wrong principles.
II. It is, I think, agreed by all, that distance of itself, and
immediately, cannot be seen. For distance being a line directed
end-wise to the eye, it projects only one point in the fund of the
eye. Which point remains invariably the same, whether the dis-
tance be longer or shorter.
III. I find it also acknowledged, that the estimate we make
of the distance of objects considerably remote, is rather an act of
judgment grounded on experience than of sense. For example,
when I perceive a great number of intermediate objects, such as
houses, fields, rivers, and the like, which I have experienced to
take up a considerable space ; I thence form a judgment or con-
clusion, that the object I see beyond them is at a great distance.
Again, when an object appears faint and small, which, at a near
distance, 1 have experienced to make a vigorous and large
appearance ; I instantly conclude it to be far off. And this, it is
evident, is the result of experience ; without which, from the
faintness and littleness, I should not have inferred any thing
concerning the distance of objects.
IV. But when an object is placed at so near a distance, as that
the interval between the eyes bears any sensible proportion to it,
it is the received opinion that the two optic axes (the fancy that
we see only with one eye at once being exploded) concurring at
the object, do there make an angle, by means of which, according
as it is greater or lesser, the object is perceived to be nearer or
further off.
V. Betwixt which, and the foregoing manner of estimating
distance, there is this remarkable difference. That whereas
there was no apparent, necessary connexion between small dis-
238 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
tance and a large and strong appearance, or between great dis-
tance, and a little and faint appearance. Yet there appears a
very necessary connexion between an obtuse angle and near dis-
tance, and an acute angle and further distance. It does not in
the least depend upon experience, but may be evidently known
by any one before he had experienced it, that the nearer the
concurrence of the optic axes, the greater the angle, and the
remoter their concurrence is, the lesser will be the angle compre-
hended by them.
VI. There is another way, mentioned by the optic writers,
whereby they will have us judge of those distances, in respect of
which, the breadth of the pupil hath any sensible bigness. And
that is the greater or lesser divergency of the rays, which, issuing
from the visible point, do fall on the pupil: that point being
judged nearest, which is seen by most diverging rays ; and that
remoter, which is seen by less diverging rays. And so on, the
apparent distance still increasing, as the divergency of the rays
decreases, till at length it becomes infinite, when the rays that
fall on the pupil are to sense parallel. And after this manner it
is said we perceive distances when we look only with one eye.
VII. In this case also, it is plain we are not beholding to ex
perience : it being a certain, necessary truth, that the nearer the
direct rays falling on the eye approach to a parallelism, the fur-
ther off is the point of their intersection, or the visible point
from whence they flow.
VIII. I have here set down the common, current accounts
that are given of our perceiving near distances by sight, which,
though they are unquestionably received for true by mathema-
ticians, and accordingly made use of by them in determining the
apparent places of objects, do, nevertheless, seem to me very
unsatisfactory : and that for these following reasons : —
IX. First, It is evident that when the mind perceives any
idea, not immediately and of itself, it must be by the means of
some other idea, Thus, for instance, the passions which are in
the mind of another, are of themselves to me invisible. I may
nevertheless perceive them by sight, though not immediately,
yet by means of the colours they produce in the countenance.
We do often see shame or fear in the looks of a man, by perceiv-
ing the changes of his countenance to red or pale.
X. Moreover it is evident, that no idea which is not itself
perceived, can be to me the means of perceiving any other idea.
If I do not perceive the redness or paleness of a man's face
themselves, it is impossible I should perceive by them the
passions which are in his mind.
XL Now from Sect. II., it is plain that distance is in its own
nature imperceivable, and yet it is perceived by sight. It
remains, therefore, that it be brought into view by means of some
other idea that is itself immediately perceived in the act of vision.
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 239
XII. But those lines and angles, by means whereof mathema-
ticians pretend to explain the perception of distance, are them-
selves not at all perceived, nor are they, in truth, ever thought of
by those unskilful in optics. I appeal to any one's experience,
whether, upon sight of an object, he compute its distance by the
bigness of the angle made by the meeting of the two optic axes ?
Or whether he ever think of the greater or lesser divergency of
the rays, which arrive from any point to his pupil? Nay,
whether it be not perfectly impossible for him to perceive by
sense the various angles wherewith the rays, according to their
greater or lesser divergence, do fall on his eye. Every one is
himself the best judge of what he perceives, and what not. In
vain shall all the mathematicians in the world tell me, that I per-
ceive certain lines and angles which introduce into my mind the
various ideas of distance ; so long as I myself am conscious of no
such thing.
XIII. Since, therefore, those angles and lines are not them-
selves perceived by sight, it follows from Sect, x., that the mind
does not by them judge of the distance of objects.
XIV. Secondly, the truth of this assertion will be yet fur-
ther evident to any one that considers those lines and angles have
no real existence in nature, being only an hypothesis framed by
mathematicians, and by them introduced into optics, that they
might treat of that science in a geometrical way.
XV. The third and last reason I shall give for my rejecting
that doctrine is, that though we should grant the real existence
of those optic angles, &c., and that it was possible for the mind
to perceive them ; yet these principles would not be found suffi-
cient to explain the phenomena of distance. As shall be shown
hereafter.
XVI. Now, it being already shown that distance is suggested
to the mind by the mediation of some other idea which is itself
perceived in the act of seeing. It remains that we inquire what
ideas or sensations there be that attend vision, unto which we may
suppose the ideas of distance are connected, and by which they
are introduced into the mind. And first, it is certain by experi-
ence, that when we look at a near object with both eyes, accord-
ing as it approaches or recedes from us, we alter the disposition
of our eyes, by lessening or widening the interval between the
pupils. This disposition or turn of the eyes is attended with a
sensation, which seems to me, to be that which in this case brings
the idea of greater or lesser distance into the mind.
XVII. Not that there is any natural or necessary connexion
between the sensation we perceive by the turn of the eyes, and
greater or lesser distance. But because the mind has by constant
experience found the different sensations corresponding to the dif-
ferent dispositions of the eyes, to be attended each with a different
240 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
degree of distance in the object: there has grown an habitual
or customary connexion, between those two sorts of ideas. So
that the mind no sooner perceives the sensation arising from the
different turn it gives the eyes, in order to bring the pupils nearer
or further asunder, but it withal perceives the different idea of
distance which was wont to be connected with that sensation.
Just as upon hearing a certain sound, the idea is immediately
suggested to the understanding, which custom had united with it.
XVIII. Nor do I see, how I can easily be mistaken in this
matter. I know evidently that distance is not perceived of itself.
That by consequence, it must be perceived by means of some
other idea which is immediately perceived, and varies with the
different degrees of distance. I know also that the sensation
arising from the turn of the eyes is of itself immediately per-
ceived, and various degrees thereof are connected with different
distances : which never fail to accompany them into my mind,
when I view an object distinctly with both eyes, whose distance is
so small, that in respect of it the interval between the eyes has
any considerable magnitude.
XIX. I know it is a received opinion, that by altering the
disposition of the eyes, the mind perceives whether the angle of
the optic axes is made greater or lesser. And that accordingly
by a kind of natural geometry, it judges the point of their inter-
section to be nearer, or further off. But that this is not true, I
am convinced by my own experience. Since I am not conscious
that I make any such use of the perception I have by the turn
of my eyes. And for me to make those judgments, and draw
those conclusions from it, without knowing that I do so, seems
altogether incomprehensible.
XX. From all which it plainly follows, that the judgment we
make of the distance of an object, viewed with both eyes, is en-
tirely the result of experience. If we had not constantly found
certain sensations arising from the various disposition of the eyes,
attended with certain degrees of distance, we should never make
those sudden judgments from them, concerning the distance of
objects', no more than we would pretend to judge of a man's
thoughts, by his pronouncing words we had never heard before.
XXI. Secondly, an object placed at a certain distance from the
eye, to which the breadth of the pupil bears a considerable pro-
portion, being made to approach, is seen more confusedly. And
the nearer it is brought, the more confused appearance it makes.
And this being found constantly to be so, there arises in the
mind an habitual connexion between the several degrees of con-
fusion and distance. The greater confusion still implying the
lesser distance, and the lesser confusion, the greater distance of
the object.
XXII. This confused appearance of the object, doth therefore
A NEW THEORY OP VISION. 241
seem to me to be the medium, whereby the mind judges of dis-
tance in those cases, wherein the most approved writers of optics
will have it judge, by the different divergency with which the
rays flowing from the radiating point fall on the pupil No man,
I believe, will pretend to see or feel those imaginary angles, that
the rays are supposed to form according to their various inclina-
tions on his eye. But he cannot choose seeing whether the ob-
ject appear more or less confused. It is therefore a manifest
consequence from what has been demonstrated, that instead of
the greater or less divergency of the rays, the mind makes use
of the greater or- lesser confusedness of the appearance, thereby
to determine the apparent place of an object.
XXIII. Nor doth it avail to say, there is not any necessary
connexion between confused vision, and distance, great or small.
For I ask any man, what necessary connexion he sees between
the redness of a blush and shame ? and yet no sooner shall he
behold that colour to arise in the face of another, but it brings
into his mind the idea of that passion which has been observed to
accompany it.
XXIV. What seems to have misled the writers of optics in
this matter is, that they imagine men judge of distance, as they
do of a conclusion in mathematics : betwixt which and the pre-
mises, it is indeed absolutely requisite there be an apparent,
necessary connexion. But it is far otherwise, in the sudden
judgments men make of distance. .We are not to think that
brutes and children, or even grown reasonable men, whenever
they perceive an object to approach, or depart from them, do it by
virtue of geometry and demonstration.
XXV. That one idea may suggest another to the mind, it will
suffice that they have been observed to go together : without any
demonstration of the necessity of their coexistence, or without
so much as knowing what it is that makes them so to coexist*
Of this there are innumerable instances, of which no one can be
ignorant.
XXVI. Thus greater confusion having been constantly at-
tended with nearer distance, no sooner is the former idea perceived,
but it suggests the latter to our thoughts. And if it had been
the ordinary course of nature, that the further off" an object were
placed, the more confused it should appear; it is certain, the
very same perception that now makes us think an object ap-
proaches, would then have made us to imagine it went further off.
That perception, abstracting from custom and experience, being
equally fitted to produce the idea of great distance, or small dis-
tance, or no distance at all.
XXVII. Thirdly, an object being placed at the distance above
specified, and brought nearer to the eye, we may nevertheless
prevent, at least for some time, the appearance's growing more
VOL. i. R
242
AN ESSAY TOWARDS
confused, by straining the eye. In which case, that sensation
supplies the place of confused vision, in aiding the mind to judge
of the distance of the object. It being esteemed so much the
nearer, by how much the effort, or straining of the eye in order
to distinct vision, is greater.
XXVIII. I have here set down those sensations or ideas that
seem to me to be the constant and general occasions of introduc-
ing into the mind the different ideas of near distance. It is true
in most cases, that divers other circumstances contribute to
frame our idea of distance, viz., the particular number, size,
kind, &c., of the things seen. Concerning which, as well as all
other the forementioned occasions which suggest distance, I shall
only observe, they have none of them, in their own nature, any
relation or connexion with it: nor is it possible they should ever
signify the various degrees thereof, otherwise than as by experi-
ence they have been found to be connected with them.
XXIX. I shall proceed upon these principles to account for a
phenomenon, which has hitherto strangely puzzled the writers of
optics, and is so far from being accounted for by any of their
theories of vision, that it is, by their own confession, plainly
repugnant to them ; and of Consequence, if nothing else could
be objected, were alone sufficient to bring their credit in ques-
tion. The whole difficulty I shall lay before you in the words
of the learned Doctor Barrow, with which he concludes his optic
lectures.
" Haec sunt, qua? circa partem opticse praacipue mathematicam
dicenda mihi suggessit meditatio. Circa re-
liquas (quas rjivaiKwrtpai sunt, adeoque sae-
piuscule pro certis principiis plausibiles con-
jecturas venditare necessum habent), nihil fere
quicquam admodum verisimile succurrit, a
pervulgatis (ab iis, inquam, quas Keplerus,
Scheinerus, Cartesius, et post illos alii tradi-
derunt) alienum aut diversum. Atqui tacere
malo, quam toties oblatam cramben reponere.
Proinde receptui cano ; nee ita tamen ut
prorsus discedam, auteaquam improbam quan-
dam difficultatem (pro sinceritate quam et vo-
bis et veritati debeo minime dissimulandam)
in medium protulero, qua? doctrinfe nostra3,
hactenus inculcatse, se objicit adversam, ab ea
saltern nullam admittit solutionem. Ilia, bre-
viter, talis est : Lenti vel speculo cavo E B F
exponatur punctum visibile A, ita distans, ut
radii ex A manantes ex inflectione versus
axem A B cogantur. Sitque radiationis
limes (sou puncti A imago, qualem supra
IZ
A.
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 243
passim statuimus) punctum Z. Inter hoc autem et inflectentis
verticem B uspiam positus concipiatur oculus. Quasri jam potest,
ubi loci debeat punctum A apparere ? Retrorsum ad punctum
Z videri non fert natura (cum omnis impressio sensum afficiens
proveniat a partibus A) ac experientia reclamat. Nostris autem
e placitis consequi videtur, ipsum ad partes anticas apparens, ab
intervallo longissime dissito, (quod et maximum sensibile quodvis
intervallum quodammodo exsuperet) apparere. Cum enim quo
radiis minus divergentibus attingitur objectum, eo (seclusis
utique prasnotionibus et prsejudiciis) longius abesse sentiatur;
et quod parallelos ad oculum radios projicit, remotissime positum
asstimetur : exigere ratio videtur, ut quod convergentibus radiis
apprehenditur, adhuc magis, si fieri posset, quoad apparentiam
elongetur. Quin et circa casum hunc generatim inquiri possit,
quidnam omnino sit, quod apparentem puncti A locum deter-
min-ef, faciatque quod constant! ratione nunc propius, nunc
remotius appareat ? Cui itidem dubio nihil quicquam ex hactenus
dictorum analogia responderi posse videtur, nisi debere punctum
A perpetuo longissime semotum videri. Verum experientia secus
attestatur, illud pro di versa oculi inter puncta B, Z, positione
varie distans, nunquam fere (si unquam) longinquius ipso A
libere spectato, subinde vero multo propinquius apparere; quinimo,
quo oculum appellentes radii magis convergunt, eo speciem ob-
jecti propius accedere. Nempe, si puncto B admoveatur oculus,
suo (ad lentem) fere nativo in loco conspicitur punctum A (vel
ajque distans, ad speculum) ; ad O reductus oculus ejusce spe-
ciem appropinquantcm cernit ; ad. P adhuc vicinius ipsum exis-
timat ; ac ita sensim, donee alicubi tandem, velut ad Q, constituto
oculo objectum summe propinquum apparens, in meram confu-
sionem incipiat evanescerc. Quas sane cuncta rationibus atque
decretis nostris repugnare videntur, aut cum iis saltern parum
amice conspirant. Neque nostram tantum sententiam pulsat hoc
experimentum, at ex asquo casteras quas norim omnes : veterem
imprimis ac vulgatam, nostrae pras reliquis affinem, ita convellere
videtur, ut ejus vi coactus doctissimus A. Taequetus isti prin-
ciple (cui pene soli totam inaedificaverat Captoptricam suam) ceu
infido ac inconstanti renunciarit, adeoque suam ipse doctrinnm
labefactarit ; id tamen, opinor, minimi facturus, si rem totam
inspexisset penitius, atque difficultatis fundum attigisset. Apud
me vero non ita pollet haec, nee eousque praepollebit ulla diffi-
cultas, ut ab iis quae manifesto rationi consentanea video, disce-
dam ; prassertim quum, ut hie accidit, ejusmodi difficultas in
singularis cujuspiam casus disparitate fundetur. Nimirum in
praasente casu peculiare quiddam, naturae subtilitati involutum,
delitescit, asgre fortassis, nisi perfectius explorato videndi modo,
detegendum. Circa quod nil, fateor, hactenus excogitare potui
quod adblandiretur aiiimo meo, nedum plane satisfaceret. Yobis
R 2
244
-p
itaque nodum hunc, utinam feliciore conatu, resolvendum com-
mitto."
IN ENGLISH AS FOLLOWS:
" I have here delivered what my thoughts have suggested to me,
concerning that part of optics which is more properly mathematical.
As for the other parts of that science (which being rather phy-
sical, do consequently abound with plausible conjectures, instead
of- certain principles) there has in them scarce any thing occurred
to my observation, different from what has been already said by
Kepler, Scheinerus, Descartes, &c. And, methinks, I had better
say nothing at all, than repeat that w hich has been so often said
by others ; I think it therefore high time to take my leave of this
subject. But before I quit it for good and all, the fair and in-
genuous dealing that I owe both to you and to truth, obliges me
to acquaint you with a certain untoward difficulty, which seems
directly opposite to the doctrine I have been hitherto inculcating,
at least, admits of no solution from it. In short it is this. Be-
fore the double convex glass or concave spe-
culum E B F, let the point A be placed, at
such a distance that the rays proceeding from
A, after refraction or reflection, be brought to
unite somewhere in the ax A B. And sup-
pose the point of union (i. e. the image of
the point A, as hath been already set forth)
to be Z ; between which and B, the vertex of
the glass or speculum, conceive the eye to
be any where placed. The question now is,
where the point A ought to appear. Expe-
rience shows, that it doth not appear behind at
the point Z, and it were contrary to nature
that it should ; since all the impression which
affects the sense comes from towards A. But
from our tenets it should seem to follow, that
it would appear before the eye at a vast dis-
tance off, so great as should in some sort
surpass all sensible distance. For since, if we
exclude all anticipations and prejudices, every
object appears by so much the further off, .by
how much the rays it sends to the eye are less diverging ; and
that object is thought to be most remote, from which parallel rays
proceed unto the eye ; reason would make one think, that object
should appear at yet a greater distance, which is seen by con-
verging rays. Moreover it may in general be asked concerning
this case, what it is that determines the apparent place of the
point A, and maketh it to appear after a constant manner, some-
times nearer, at other times further off? To which doubt I see
-o
•Q
A.
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 245
nothing that can be answered agreeable to the principles we have
laid down, except only that the point A ought always to appear
extremely remote. But, on the contrary, we are assured by
experience, that the point A appears variously distant, according
to the different situations of the eye between the points B and
Z. And that it doth almost never (if at all) seem further off, than
it would if it were beheld by the naked eye ; but on the contrary,
it doth sometimes appear much nearer. Nay, it is even certain,
that by how much the rays falling on the eye do more converge,
by so much the nearer does the object seem to approach. For the
eye being placed close to the point B, the object A appears nearly
in its own natural place, if the point B is taken in the glass, or
at the same distance, if in the speculum. The eye being brought
back to O, the object seems to draw near ; and being come to P,
it beholds it still nearer: and so on by little and little, till at
length the eye being placed somewhere, suppose at Q, the object
appearing extremely near, begins to vanish into mere confusion.
All which doth seem repugnant to our principles ; at least, not
rightly to agree with them. Nor is our tenet alone struck at by
this experiment, but likewise all others that ever came to my
knowledge are every whit as much endangered by it. The an-
cient one especially (which is most commonly received, and comes
nearest to mine) seems to be so effectually overthrown thereby,
that the most learned Tacquet has been forced to reject that
principle, as false and uncertain, on which alone he had built
almost his whole Catoptrics, and consequently by taking away
the foundation, hath himself pulled down the superstructure he
had raised on it. Which nevertheless I do not believe he would
have done, had he but considered the whole matter more tho-
roughly, and examined the difficulty to the bottom. But as for
me, neither this, nor any other difficulty shall have so great an
influence on me, as to make me renounce that which I know to
be manifestly agreeable to reason. Especially when, as it here
falls out, the difficulty is founded in the peculiar nature of a cer-
tain odd and particular case. For in the present case something
peculiar lies hid, which being involved in the subtilty of nature,
will perhaps hardly be discovered till such time as the manner of
vision is more perfectly made known. Concerning which, I must
own, I have hitherto been able to find out nothing, that has the
least show of probability, not to mention certainty. I shall there-
fore leave this knot to be untied by you, wishing you may have
better success in it than I have had."
XXX. The ancient and received principle, which Dr. Barrow
here mentions as the main foundation of Tacquet's Catoptrics, is,
that ' every visible point seen by reflection from a speculum, shall
appear placed at the intersection of the reflected ray and the per-
pendicular of incidence :' which intersection in the present case
246 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
happening to be behind the eye, it greatly shakes the authority of
that principle, whereon the aforementioned author proceeds
throughout his whole catoptrics, in determining the apparent
place of objects seen by reflection from any kind of speculum.
XXXI. Let us now see how this phenomenon agrees with our
tenets. The eye the nearer it is placed to the point B in the
above figures, the more distinct is the appearance of the object :
but as it recedes to O, the appearance grows more confused ; and
at P it sees the object yet more confused ; and so on, till the eye
being brought back to Z, sees the object in the greatest confusion
of all. Wherefore by Sect. xxi. the object should seem to ap-
proach the eye gradually, as it recedes from the point B, viz. at
O it should (in consequence of the principle I have laid down in
the aforesaid section) seem nearer than it did at B, and at P
nearer than O, and at Q nearer than at P; and so on, till it
quite vanishes at Z. Which is the very matter of fact, as any
one that pleases may easily satisfy himself by experiment.
XXXII. This case is much the same, as if we should suppose
an Englishman to meet a foreigner, who used the same words
with the English, but in a direct contrary signification. The
Englishman would not fail to make a wrong judgment of the ideas
annexed to those sounds, in the mind of him that used them.
Just so in the present case, the object speaks (if I may so say)
with words that the eye is well acquainted with, viz. confusions
of appearance ; but whereas heretofore the greatest confusions
were always wont to signify nearer distances, they have in this
case a direct contrary signification, being connected with the
greater distances. Whence it follows, that the eye must una-
voidably be mistaken, since it. will take the confusions in the
sense it has. been used to, which is directly opposed to the true.
XXXIII. This phenomenon, as it entirely subverts the opinion
of those who will have us judge of distance by lines and angles,
on which supposition it is altogether inexplicable, so it seems to
me no small confirmation of the truth of that principle whereby
it is explained. But in order to a more full explication of this
point, and to show how far the hypothesis of the mind's judging
by the various divergency of rays may be of use in determining
the apparent place of an object, it will be necessary to premise
some few things, which are already well known to those who
have any skill in dioptrics.
XXXIV. First, any radiating point is then distinctly seen,
when the rays proceeding from it are, by the refractive power of
the crystalline, accurately reunited in the retina, or fund of the
eye. But if they are reunited, either before they are at retina,
or after they have past it, -then there is confused vision.
XXXV. Secondly, suppose in the adjacent figures N P re-
present an eye duly framed, and retaining its natural figure. In
A NEW THEORY OP VISIOX.
247
fig. 1, the rays falling nearly parallel on the eye, are by the
crystalline A B refracted, so as their focus, or point of union F,
falls exactly on the retina. But if the rays fall sensibly diverg-
ing on the ^ eye, as in fig. 2, then their focus falls beyond the
retina : or if the rays are made to converge by the lens Q S,
before they come at the eye, as in fig. 3, their focus F will fall
before the retina. In which two last cases, it is evident from
the foregoing section, that the appearance of the point Z is con-
fused. And by how much the greater is the convergency or
divergency of the rays falling on the pupil, by so much the
further will the point of their reunion be from the retina, either
before or behind it, and consequently the point Z will appear by
so much the more confused. And this, by the bye, may show us
the difference between confused and faint vision. Confused
vision is, when the rays proceeding from each distinct point of
the object, are not accurately re-collected in one corresponding
point of the retina, but take up some space thereon. So that
rays from different points become mixed and confused together.
This is opposed to distinct vision, and attends near objects.
Faint vision is, when by reason of the distance of the object, or
grossness of the interjacent medium, few rays arrive from the
object to the eye. This is opposed to vigorous, or clear vision,
and attends remote objects. But to return. ^
XXXVI. The eye, or (to speak truly) the mind perceiving
only the confusion itself, without ever considering the cause from
248 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
which it proceeds, doth constantly annex the same degree of
distance to the same degree of confusion. Whether that confu-
sion be occasioned by converging or by diverging rays, it matters
not. Whence it follows, that the eye viewing the object Z
through the glass Q S (which by refraction causeth the rays Z
Q, Z S, &c., to converge), should judge it to be at such a near-
ness, at which if it were placed, it would radiate on the eye with
rays diverging to that degree, as would produce the same confu-
sion which is now produced by converging rays, i. e. would cover
a portion of the retina equal to D C : vide fig. 3, supra. But
then this must be understood (to use Dr. Barrow's phrase) seclusis
prcsnotionibus et prcejudiciis, in case we abstract from all other cir-
cumstances of vision, such as the figure; size, faintness, &c., of
the visible objects ; all which do ordinarily concur to form our
idea of distance> the mind having by frequent experience ob-
served their several sorts or degrees to be connected with various
distances.
XXXVII. It plainly follows from what hath been said, that
a person perfectly purblind (i. e. that could not see an object dis-
tinctly, but when placed close to his eye) would not make the
same wrong judgment that others do, in the forementioned case.
For, to him, greater confusions constantly suggesting greater dis-
tances, he must, as he recedes from the glass, and the object
grows more confused, judge it to be at a further distance ; contrary
to what they do, who have had the perception of the objects
growing more confused, connected with the idea of approach.
XXXVIII. Hence also it doth appear, there may be good
use of computation by lines and angles in optics ; not that the
mindjudgeth of distance immediately by them, but because it
judgeth by somewhat which is connected with them, and to the
determination whereof they may be subservient. Thus the
mind judging of the distance of an object by the confusedness
of its appearance, and this confusedness being greater or lesser
to the naked eye, according as the object is seen by rays more or
less diverging, it follows that a man may make use of the diver-
gency of the rays in computing the apparent distance, though
not for its own sake, yet on account of the confusion with which
it is connected. But, so it is, the confusion itself is entirely
neglected by mathematicians, as having no necessary relation
with distance, such as the greater or lesser angles of divergency
are conceived to have. And these (especially for that they fall
under mathematical computation) are alone regarded, in deter-
mining the apparent places of objects, as though they were the
sole and immediate cause of the judgments the mind makes of
distance. Whereas, in truth, they should not at all be regarded
in themselves, or any otherwise, than as they are supposed to be
the cause of confused vision,
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 249
XXXIX. The not considering of this has been a fundamental
and perplexing oversight. For proof whereof, we need go no
further than the case before us. It having been observed, that
the most diverging rays brought into the mind the idea of nearest
distance, and that still, as the divergency decreased, the distance
increased; and it being thought, the connexion between the
various degrees of divergency and distance was immediate, this
naturally leads one to conclude, from an ill grounded analogy,
that converging rays shall make an object appear at an immense
distance : and that, as the convergency increases, the distance (if
it were possible) should do so likewise. That this was the cause
of Dr. Barrow's mistake, is evident from his own words which we
have quoted. Whereas had the learned Doctor observed, that
diverging and converging rays, how opposite soever they may
seem, do nevertheless agree in producing the same effect, to wit,
confusedness of vision, greater degrees whereof are produced
indifferently, either as the divergency or convergency of the
rays increaseth ; and that it is by this effect, which is the same
in both, that either the divergency or convergency is perceived
by the eye ; — I say had he but considered this, it is certain he
would have made a quite contrary judgment, and rightly con-
cluded, that those rays which fall on the eye with greater degrees
of convergency should make the object from whence they pro-
ceed, appear by so much the nearer. But it is plain, it was im-
possible for any man to attain to a right notion of this matter,
so long as he had regard only to lines and angles, and did not
apprehend the true nature of vision, and how far it was of
mathematical consideration.
XL. Before we dismiss this subject, it is fit we take notice of
a query relating thereto, proposed by the ingenious Mr. Moly-
ncux, in his treatise of Dioptrics,* where, speaking of this diffi-
culty, he has these words : " And so he (i. e. Dr. Barrow) leaves
this difficulty to the solution of others, which I (after so great
an example) shall do likewise; but with the resolution of the
same admirable author of not quitting the evident doctrine which
we have before laid down, for determining the locus objecti, on
account of being pressed by one difficulty, which seems inex-
plicable till a more intimate knowledge of the visive faculty be
obtained by mortals. In the mean time, I propose it to the con-
sideration of the ingenious, whether the locus apparens of an
object placed as in this 9th Section, be not as much before the
eye, as the distinct base is behind the eye," To which query we
may venture to answer in the negative. For in the present case,
the rule for determining the distance of the distinct base or re-
spective focus from the glass is this : As the difference between
the distance of the object and focus is to the focus or focal length,
* Par. I. Prop. xxxi. Sect. 9.
250 AN KSSAY TOWARDS
so the distance of the object from the glass is to the distance of
the respective focus or distinct base from the glass.* Let us
now suppose the object to be placed at the distance of the focal
length, and one half of the focal length from the glass, and the
eye close to the glass, hence it will follow by the rule, that the
distance of the distinct base behind the eye is double the true
distance of the object before the eye. If therefore Mr. Moly-*
neux's conjecture held good, it would follow that the eye should
see the object twice as far off as it really is; and in other cases
at three or four times its due distance, or more. But this mani-
festly contradicts experience, the object never appearing, at
furthest, beyond its due distance. Whatever therefore is built
on this supposition (vid. Corol. 1. Prop. Ivii. ibid.) comes to the
ground along with it.
XLI. From what hath been premised, it is a manifest conse-
quence, that a man born blind, being made to see, would, at first,
have no idea of distance by sight ; the sun and stars, the remotest
objects as well as the nearer, would all seem to be in his eye, or
rather in his mind. The objects intromitted by sight, would
seem to him (as in truth they are) no other than a new set of
thoughts or sensations, each whereof is as near to him, as the
perceptions of pain or pleasure, or the most inward passions of
his soul. For our judging objects perceived by sight to be at
any distance, or without the mind, is (vide Sect, xxvui.) entirely
the effect of experience, which one in those circumstances could
not yet have attained to.
XLII. It is indeed otherwise upon the common supposition*
that men judge of distance by the angle of the optic axes, just
as one in the dark, or a blind man by the angle comprehended by
two sticks, one whereof he held in each hand. For if this were
true, it would follow that one blind from his birth being made to
see, should stand in need of no new experience, in order to per-
ceive distance by sight. But that this is false, has, I think, been
sufficiently demonstrated.
XLIIL And perhaps upon a strict inquiry, we shall not find
that even those, who from their birth have grown up in a con-
tinued habit of seeing, are irrecoverably prejudiced on the other
side, to wit, in thinking what they see to be at a distance from
them. For at this time it seems agreed on all hands, by those
who have had any thoughts of that matter, that colours, which
are the proper and immediate object of sight, are not without
the mind. But then it will be said, by sight we have also the
ideas of extension, and figure, and motion ; all which may well
be thought without, and at some distance from the mind, though
colour should not. In answer to this, I appeal to any man's ex-
perience, whether the visible extension of any object doth not
* Molyneux Diopt. Par. I. Prop. v.
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 251
appear as near to him, as the colour of that object ; nay, whether
they do not both seem to be in the very same place. Is not the
extension we see coloured, and is it possible for us, so much as in
thought, to separate and abstract colour from extension ? Now,
where the extension is, there surely is the figure, and there the
motion too. I speak of those which are perceived by sight.
XLIV. But for a fuller explication of this point, and to show
that the immediate objects of sight are not so much as the ideas
or resemblances of things placed at a distance, it is requisite
that we look nearer into the matter, and carefully observe what
is meant in common discourse, when one says, that which he
sees is at a distance from him. Suppose, for example, that look-
ing at the moon I should say it were fifty or sixty semidiarneters
of the earth distant from me. Let us see what moon this is
spoken of: it is plain it cannot be the visible moon, or any thing
like the visible moon, or that which I see, which is only a round,
luminous plain, of about thirty visible points in diameter. For
in case I am carried from the place where I stand directly to-
wards the moon, it is manifest the object varies, still as I go on ;
and by the time that I am advanced fifty or sixty semidiameters
of the earth, I shall be so far from being near a small, round,
luminous flat, that I shall perceive nothing like it ; this object
having long since disappeared, and if I would recover it, it must
be by going back to the earth from whence I set out. Again,
suppose I perceive by sight the faint and obscure idea of some^
thing, which I doubt whether it be a man, or a tree, or a tower,
but judge it to be at the distance of about a mile. It is plain I
cannot mean, that what I see is a mile off, or that it is the image
or likeness of any thing which is a mile off, since that every step
I take towards it, the appearance alters, and from being obscure,
small, and faint, grows clear, large, and vigorous. And when I
come to the mile's end, that which I saw first is quite lost, neither
do I find any thing in the likeness of it.
XLV. In these and the like instances, the truth of the matter
stands thus: having of a long time experienced certain ideas,
perceivable by touch, as distance, tangible figure, and solidity, to
have been connected with certain ideas of sight, I do, upon per-
ceiving these ideas of sight, forthwith conclude what tangible
ideas are, by the Avonted ordinary course of nature, like to follow.
Looking at an object, I perceive a certain visible figure and colour,
with some degree of faintncss and other circumstances, which
from what I have formerly observed, determine me to think, that
if I advance forward so many paces or miles, I shall be affected
with such and such ideas of touch: so that in truth and strict-
ness of speech, I neither see distance itself, nor any thing that I
take to be at a distance. I say, neither distance, nor things
placed at a distance are themselves, or their ideas, truly perceived
252 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
by sight. This I am persuaded of,, as to what concerns myself;
and I believe whoever will look narrowly into his own thoughts,
and examine what he means by saying, he sees this or that thing
at a distance, will agree with me, that what he sees only suggests
to his understanding, that after having passed a certain distance,
to be measured by the motion of his body, which is perceivable
by touch, he shall come to perceive such and such tangible ideas
which have been usually connected with such and such visible
ideas. But that one might be deceived by these suggestions of
sense, and that there is no necessary connexion between visible
and tangible ideas suggested by them, we need go no further
than the next looking-glass or picture to be convinced. Note,
that when I speak of tangible ideas, I take the word idea for
any the immediate object of sense, or understanding, in which
large signification it is commonly used by the moderns.
XL VI. From what we have shown it is a manifest conse-
quence, that the ideas of space, outness, and things placed at a
distance, are not, strictly speaking, the object of sight ; they are
not otherwise perceived by the eye than by the ear. Sitting in
my study I hear a coach drive along the street ; I look through
the casement and see it ; I walk out and enter into it ; thus,
common speech would incline one to think, I heard, saw, and
touched the same thing, to wit, the coach. It is nevertheless
certain, the ideas intromitted by each sense are widely different,
and distinct from each other; but having been observed con-
stantly to go together, they are spoken of as one and the same
thing. By the variation of the noise I perceive the different dis-
tances of the coach, and know that it approaches before I look
out. Thus by the ear I perceive distance, just after the same
manner as I do by the eye.
XL VII. I do not nevertheless say, I hear distance in like
manner as I say that I see it, the ideas perceived by hearing not
being so apt to be confounded with the ideas of touch, as those
of sight are ; so likewise a man is easily convinced that bodies
and external things are not properly the object of hearing, but
only sounds, by the mediation whereof the idea of this or that
body or distance is suggested to his thoughts. But then one is
with more difficulty brought to discern the difference there is
betwixt the ideas of sight and touch : though it be certain, a
man no more sees or feels the same thing, than he hears and
feels the same thing.
XL VIII. One reason of which seems to be this : It is
thought a great absurdity to imagine, that one and th§ same
thing should have any more than one extension, and one figure.
But the extension and figure of a body, being let into the mind
two ways, and that indifferently, either by sight or touch, it
seems to follow that we see the same extension, and the same
figure which we feel.
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 253
XLIX. But if we take a close and accurate view of things, it
must be acknowledged that Ave never see and feel one and the
same object. That which is seen is one thing, and that which is
felt is another ; if the visible figure and extension be not the
same with the tangible figure and extension, we are not to infer
that one and the same thing has divers extensions. The true
consequence is, that the objects of sight and touch are two dis-
tinct things. It may perhaps require some thought rightly to
conceive this distinction. And the difficulty seems not a little
increased, because the combination of visible ideas hath con-
stantly the same name as the combination of tangible ideas
wherewith it is connected: which doth of necessity arise from
the use and end of language.
L. In order therefore to treat accurately and unconfusedly of
vision, we must bear in mind that there are two sorts of objects
apprehended by the eye, the one primarily and immediately, the
other secondarily and by intervention of the former. Those of
the first sort neither are, nor appear to be, without the mind, or
at any distance off; they may indeed grow greater or smaller,
more confused, or more clear, or more faint, but they do not,
cannot approach or recede from us. Whenever we say an object
is at a distance, whenever we say it draws near, or goes further
off, we must always mean it of the latter sort, which properly
belong to the touch, and are not so truly perceived, as suggested
by the eye in like manner as thoughts by the ear.
LI. No sooner do we hear the words of a familiar language
pronounced in our ears, but the ideas corresponding thereto pre-
sent themselves to our minds ; in the very same instant the
sound and the meaning enter the understanding : so closely are
they united, that it is not in our power to keep out the one,
except we exclude the other also. We even act in all respects
as if we heard the very thoughts themselves. So likewise the
secondary objects, or those which are only suggested by sight,
do often more strongly affect us, and are more regarded than the
proper objects of that sense, along with which they enter into
the mind, and with which they have a far more strict connexion,
than ideas have with words. Hence it is, we find it so difficult
to discriminate between the immediate and mediate objects of
sight, and are so prone to attribute to the former, what belongs
only to the latter. They are, as it were, most closely twisted,
blended, and incorporated together. And the prejudice is con-
firmed and riveted in our thoughts by a long .tract of time, by
the use of language and want of reflection. However, I believe
any one that shall attentively consider what we have already
said, and shall say upon this subject before we have done,
(especially if he pursue it in his own thoughts) may be able to
deliver himself from that prejudice. Sure I am, it is worth some
254 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
attention to whoever would understand the true nature of vision.
LIL I have now done with distance, and proceed to show how
it is, that we perceive by sight the magnitude of objects. It is
the opinion of some that we do it by angles, or by angles in con-
junction with distance. But neither angles nor distance being
perceivable by sight, and the things we see being in truth at no
distance from us, it follows, that as we have shown lines and
angles not to be the medium the mind makes use of in appre-
hending the apparent place, so neither are they the medium
whereby it apprehends the apparent magnitude of objects.
LIII. It is well known, that the same extension at a near dis-
tance shall subtend a greater angle, and at a further distance a
lesser angle. And by this principle, we are told, the mind esti-
mates the magnitude of an object, comparing the angle under
which it is seen with its distance, and thence inferring the mag-
nitude thereof. What inclines men to this mistake (beside the
humour of making one see by geometry) is, that the same per-
ceptions or ideas which suggest distance, do also suggest magni-
tude. But if we examine it, we shall find they suggest the
latter, as immediately as the former. I say they do not first
suggest distance, and then leave it to the judgment to use that
as a medium, whereby to collect the magnitude ; but they have
as close and immediate a connexion with the magnitude, as with
the distance ; and suggest magnitude as independently of dis-
tance, as they do distance independently of magnitude. All
which will be evident to whoever considers what hath been
already said, and what follows.
LIV. It hath been shown, there are two sorts of objects ap-
prehended by sight ; each whereof hath its distinct magnitude,
or extension. The one properly tangible, i. e. to be perceived
and measured by touch, and not immediately falling under the
sense of seeing : the other, properly and immediately visible, by
mediation of which the former is brought in view. Each of
these magnitudes are greater or lesser, according as they contain
in them more or fewer points ; they being made up of points or
minimums. For, whatever may be said of extension in abstract,
it is certain, sensible extension is not infinitely divisible. There
is a minimum tangibile, and a minimum visibile, beyond which sense
cannot perceive. This every one's experience will inform him.
LV. The magnitude of the object which exists without the
mind, and is at a distance, continues always invariably the same :
but the visible object still changing as you approach to, or recede
from the tangible object, it hath no fixed and determinate great-
ness. Whenever therefore we speak of the magnitude of any
thing, for instance a tree or a house, we must mean the tangible
magnitude ; otherwise there can be nothing steady and free from
ambiguity spoken of it. But though the tangible and visible
A NEW THEORY OP VISION. 255
magnitude in truth belong to two distinct objects, I shall never-
theless (especially since those objects are called by the same name
and are observed to coexist) to avoid tediousness and singularity
of speech, sometimes speak of them as belonging to one and the
same thing. *
L VI. Now in order to discover by what means the magnitude
of tangible objects is perceived by sight, I need only reflect on
what passes in my own mind, and observe what those things be
which introduce the ideas of greater or lesser into my thoughts,
when I look on any object. And these I find to be, first, the
magnitude or extension of the visible object, which being imme-
diately perceived by sight, is connected with that other which is
tangible, and placed at a distance; secondly, the confusion or
distinctness: and thirdly, "the vigorousness or faintness of the
aforesaid visible appearance. Ccdteris paribus, by how much the
greater or lesser the visible object is, by so much the greater or
lesser do I conclude the tangible object to be. But be the idea
immediately perceived by sight never so large, yet if it be withal
confused, I judge the magnitude of the thing to be but small : if
it be distinct and clear, I judge it greater : and if it be faint, I
apprehend it to be yet greater. What is here meant by confusion
and faintness, hath been explained in Sect. xxxv.
L VII. Moreover the j udgments we make of greatness do, in
like manner, as those of distance, depend on the disposition of
the eye ; also on the figure, number, and situation of objects, and
other circumstances that have been observed to attend great or
small tangible magnitudes. Thus, for instance, the very same
quantity of visible extension, which in the figure of a tower doth
suggest the idea of great magnitude, shall in the figure of a man
suggest the idea of much smaller magnitude. That this is owing
to the experience we have had of the usual bigness of a tower
and a man, no one, I suppose, need be told.
LVIII. It is also evident, that confusion or faintness have no
more a necessary connexion with little or great magnitude, than
they have with little or great distance. As they suggest the latter,
so they suggest the former to our mind. And by consequence,
if it were not for experience, we should no more judge a faint or
confused appearance to be connected with great or little mag-
nitude, than we should that it was connected with great or little
distance.
LIX. Nor will it be found, that great or small visible magni-
tude hath any necessary relation to great or small tangible mag-
nitude ; so that the one may certainly be inferred from the other.
But, before we come to the proof of this, it is fit we consider
the difference there is betwixt the extension and figure which is
the proper object of touch, and that other which is termed visible ;
and how the former is principally, though not immediately, taken
256 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
notice of, when we look at any object. This has been before
mentioned, but we shall here inquire into the cause thereof. We
regard the objects that environ us, in proportion as they are
adapted to benefit or injure our own bodies, and thereby produce
"in our minds the sensations of pleasure or pain. ' Now bodies
operating on our organs by an immediate application, and the
hurt or advantage arising therefrom depending altogether on the
tangible, and not at all on the visible, qualities of any object ;
this is a plain reason why those should be regarded by us much
more than these : and for this end the visive sense seems to have
been bestowed on animals, to wit, that by the perception of vi-
sible ideas (which in themselves are not capable of affecting, or
any wise altering the frame of their bodies) they may be able to
foresee (from the experience they have had, what tangible ideas
are connected with such and such visible ideas) the damage or
benefit which is like to ensue, upon the application of their own
bodies to this or that body which is at a distance : which foresight
how necessary it is to the preservation of an animal, every one's
experience can inform him. Hence it is, that when we look at
an object, the tangible figure and extension thereof are principally
attended to ; whilst there is small heed taken of the visible figure
and magnitude, which, though more immediately perceived, do
less concern us, and are not fitted to produce any alteration in
our bodies.
LX. That the matter of fact is true, will be evident to any
one, who considers that a man placed at ten foot distance, is
thought as great, as if he were placed at the distance of only
five foot : which is true, not with relation to the visible, but tan-
gible greatness of the object. The visible magnitude being far
greater at one station than it is at the other.
LXI. Inches, feet, &c., are settled, stated lengths, whereby
we measure objects, and estimate their magnitude. We say, for
example, an object appears to be six inches or six foot long.
Now, that this cannot be meant of visible inches, &c., is evident,
because a visible inch is itself no constant, determinate magnitude,
and cannot therefore serve to mark out and determine the mag-
nitude of any other thing. Take an inch marked upon a ruler ;
view it successively, at the distance of half a foot, a foot, a foot
and a half, &c., from the eye : at each of which, and at all the
intermediate distances, the inch shall have a different visible ex-
tension, i. e. there shall be more or fewer points discerned in it.
Now I ask, which of all these various extensions is that stated,
determinate one, that is agreed on for a common measure of other
magnitudes ? No reason can be assigned, why we should pitch
on one, more than another : and except there be some invariable,
determinate extension fixed on to be marked by the word inch, it
is plain, it can be used to little purpose ; and to say, a thing con-
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 257
tains this or that number of inches, shall imply no more than
that it is extended, without bringing any particular idea of that
extension into the mind. Further, an inch and a foot, from dif-
ferent distances, shall both exhibit the same visible magnitude,
and yet at the same time you shall say, that one seems several
times greater than the other. From all which it is manifest, that
the judgments we make of the magnitude of objects by sight,
are altogether in reference to their tangible extension. Whenever
we say an object is great or small, of this or that determinate
measure, I say, it must be meant of the tangible, and not the
visible extension, which, though immediately perceived, is never-
theless little taken notice of.
LXEI. Now, that there is no necessary connexion between
these two distinct extensions, is evident from hence ; because our
eyes might have been framed in such a manner, as to be able to
see nothing but what were less than the minimum tangibile. In
which case, it is not impossible we might have perceived all the
immediate objects of sight, the very same that we do now : but
unto those visible appearances, there would not be connected
those different tangible magnitudes, that are now. Which shows,
the judgments we make of the magnitude of things placed at a
distance, from the various greatness of the immediate objects of
sight, do not arise from any essential or necessary, but only a
customary tie, which has been observed between them.
LXIII. Moreover, it is not only certain, that any idea of sight
might not have been connected with this or that idea of touch,
which we now observe to accompany it ; but also, that the greater
visible magnitudes might have been connected with, and intro-
duced into our minds lesser tangible magnitudes, and the lesser
visible magnitudes greater tangible magnitudes. Nay, that it
actually is so, we have daily experience ; that object which makes
a strong and large appearance, not seeming near so great as ano-
ther, the visible magnitude whereof is much less, but more faint,
and the appearance upper, or which is the same thing painted
lower on the retina, which faintness and situation suggest both
greater magnitude and greater distance.
LXIV. From which, and from ^Sect. LVII. LVIII., it is mani-
fest, that as we do not perceive the magnitude of objects
immediately by sight, so neither do we perceive them by the
mediation of any thing which has a necessary connexion with
them. Those ideas that now suggest unto us the various magni-
tudes of external objects, before we touch them, might possibly
have suggested no such thing : or they might have signified them,
in a direct contrary manner ; so that the very same ideas, on the
perception whereof we judge an object to be small, might as
well have served to make us conclude it great. Those ideas
being in their own nature equally fitted to bring into our minds
VOL. i. s
258 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
the idea of small, or great, or no size at all of outward objects ;
just as the words of any language are in their own nature in-
different to signify this or that thing, or nothing at all.
LXV. As we see distance, so we see magnitude. And we see
both, in the same way that we see shame or anger in the looks
of a man. Those passions are themselves invisible: they are
nevertheless let in by the eye along with colours and alterations
of countenance, which are the immediate object of vision, and
which signify them for no other reason, than barely because they
have been observed to accompany them : without which experi-
ence, we should no more have taken blushing for a sign of shame,
than of gladness.
LXVI. We are nevertheless exceeding prone to imagine those
things, which are perceived only by the mediation of othei-s, to
be themselves the immediate objects of sight ; or, at least, to have
in their own nature a fitness to be suggested by them, before
ever they had been experienced to coexist with them. From
which prejudice every one, perhaps, will not find it easy to
emancipate himself, by any the clearest convictions of reason.
And there are some grounds to think, that if there was one only
invariable and universal language in the world, and that men
were born with the faculty of speaking it, it would be the
opinion of many, that the ideas in other men's minds were pro-
perly perceived by the ear, or had at least a necessary and in-
separable tie with the sounds that were affixed to them. All
which seems to arise from a want of due application of our dis*
cerning faculty, thereby to discriminate between the ideas that
are in our understandings, and consider them apart from each
other ; which would preserve us from confounding those that are
different, and make us see what ideas do, and what do not in-
clude or imply this or that other idea.
LXVII. There is a celebrated phenomenon, the solution
whereof I shall attempt to give, by the principles that have been
laid down, in reference to the manner wherein we apprehend by
sight the magnitude of objects. The apparent magnitude of the
moon, when placed in the horizon, is much greater than when it
is in the meridian ; though the angle under which the diameter
of the moon is seen, be not observed greater in the former case,
than in the latter : and the horizontal moon doth not constantly
appear of the same bigness, but at some times seemeth far greater
than at others.
LXVIII. Now in order to explain the reason of the moon's
appearing greater than ordinary in the horizon, it must be ob-
served, that the particles which compose our atmosphere inter-
cept the rays of light proceeding from any object to the eye ;
and by how much the greater is the portion of atmosphere in-
terjacent between the object and the eye, by so much the more
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 259
I,
i,
are the rays intercepted ; and by consequence, the appearance of
the object rendered more faint, every object appearing more
vigorous or more faint, in proportion as it sendethmore or fewer
rays into the eye. Now, between the eye and the moon, when
situated in the horizon, there lies a far greater quantity of at-
mosphere, than there does when the moon is in the meridian.
Whence it comes to pass, that the appearance of the horizontal
moon is fainter, and therefore by Sect. LVI. it should be thought
bigger in that situation, than in the meridian, or in any other
elevation above the horizon.
LXIX. Further, the air being variously impregnated, some-
times more and sometimes less with vapours and exhalations
fitted to retund and intercept the rays of light, it follows, that
the appearance of the horizontal moon hath not always an equal
faintness, and by consequence, that luminary, though in the very
same situation, is at one time judged greater than at another.
LXX. That we have here given the true account of the phe-
nomena of the horizontal moon, will, I suppose, be further evi-
dent to anyone from the following considerations. First, it is
plain, that which in this case suggests the idea of greater magni-
tude, must be something which is itself perceived ; for, that
which is unperceived cannot suggest to our perception any other
thing. Secondly, it must be something that does not constantly
remain the same, but is subject to some change or variation, since
the appearance of the horizontal moon varies, being at one time
greater than at another. And yet, thirdly, it cannot be the
visible figure or magnitude, since that remains the same, or is
rather lesser, by how much the moon is nearer to the horizon.
It remains therefore, that the true cause is that affection or alte-
ration of the visible appearance, which proceeds from the greater
paucity of rays arriving at the eye, and which I term faintness,
since this answers all the 'forementioned conditions, and I am not
conscious of any other perception that doth.
LXXI. Add to this, that in misty weather it is a common
observation, that the appearance of the horizontal moon is far
larger than usual, which greatly conspires with, and strengthens
our opinion. Neither would it prove, in the least, irreconcileable
with what we have said, if the horizontal moon should chance
sometimes to seem enlarged beyond its usual extent, even in
more serene weather. For we must not only have regard to the
mist which happens to be in the place where we stand ; we
ought also to take into our thoughts the whole sum of vapours
and exhalations, which lie betwixt the eye and the moon : all
which cooperating to render the appearance of the moon more
faint, and thereby increase its magnitude, it may chance to ap-
pear greater than it usually does, even in the horizontal position,
at a time when, though there be no extraordinary fog or haziness
S 2
260 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
just in the place where we stand ; yet, the air between the eye
and the moon, taken altogether, may be loaded with a greater
quantity of interspersed vapours and exhalations, than at other
times.
LXXII. It may be objected, that in consequence of our
principles, the interposition of a body in some degree opaque,
which may intercept a great part of the rays of light, should
render the appearance of the moon in the meridian as large, as
when it is viewed in the horizon. To which I answer, it is not
faintness any how applied, that suggests greater magnitude, there
being no necessary, but only an experimental connexion between
those two things : it follows, that the faintness, which enlarges
the appearance, must be applied in such sort, and with such cir-
cumstances, as have been observed to attend the vision of great
magnitudes. When from a distance we behold great objects, the
particles of the intermediate air and vapours, which are themselves
unperceivable, do interrupt the rays of light, and thereby render
the appearance less strong and vivid ; now, faintness of appear-
ance, caused in this sort, hath been experienced to coexist with
great magnitude. But when it is caused by the interposition of
an opaque sensible body, this circumstance alters the case, so that
a faint appearance this way caused, doth not suggest greater
magnitude, because it hath not been experienced to coexist
with it.
LXXIII. Faintness, as well as all other ideas of perceptions,
which suggest magnitude or distance, doth it in the same way
that words suggest the notions to which they are annexed. Now
it is known, a word pronounced with certain circumstances, or in
a certain context with other words, hath not always the same
import and signification that it hath when pronounced in some
other circumstances, or different context of words. The very
same visible appearance as to faintness and all other respects, if
placed on high, shall not suggest the same magnitude that it
would if it were seen at an equal distance, on a level with the
eye. The reason whereof is, that we are rarely accustomed to
view objects at a great height ; our concerns lie among things
situated rather before than above us ; and accordingly our eyes
are not placed on the top of our heads, but in such a position as
is most convenient for us to see distant objects standing in our
way, and this situation of them being a circumstance which
usually attends the vision of distant objects, we may from hence
account for (what is commonly observed) an object's appearing of
different magnitude, even with respect to its horizontal extension,
on the top of a steeple, for example, a hundred feet high, to one
standing below, from what it would if placed at a hundred feet
distance on a level with his eye. For it hath been shown, that
the judgment we make on the magnitude of a thing, depends not
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 261
on the visible appearance alone, but also on divers other circum-
stances, any one of which being omitted or varied may suffice to
make some alteration in our judgment. Hence, the circumstance
of viewing a distant object in such a situation as is usual, and
suits with the ordinary posture of the head and eyes, being
omitted, and instead thereof a different situation of the object
which requires a different posture of the head taking place, it is
not to be wondered at, if the magnitude be judged different ; but
it will be demanded, why a high object should constantly appear
less than an equidistant low object of the same dimensions, for so
it is observed to be ; it may indeed be granted that the variation
of some circumstances may vary the judgment, made on the mag-
nitude of high objects, which we are less used to look at: but it
does not hence appear, why they should be judged less rather
than greater ? I answer, that in case the magnitude of distant
objects was suggested by the extent of their visible appearance
alone, and thought proportional thereto, it is certain they would
then be judged much less than now they seem to be, vide Sect.
LXXIX. But several circumstances concurring to form the judg-
ment we make on the magnitude of distant objects, by means of
which they appear far larger than others, whose visible appear-
ance hath an equal or even greater extension ; it follows, that
upon the change or omission of any of those circumstances,
which are wont to attend the vision of distant objects, and so
come to influence the judgments made on their magnitude, they
shall proportionably appear less than otherwise they would. For
any of those things that caused an object to be thought greater,
than in proportion to its visible extension, being either omitted
or applied without the usual circumstances, the judgment depends
more entirely on the visible extension, and consequently the ob-
ject must be judged less. Thus in the present case, the situation
of the thing seen being different from what it usually is in those
objects we have occasion to view, and whose magnitude we ob-
serve, it follows, that the very same object, being a hundred feet
high, should seem less than if it was a hundred feet off on (or
nearly on) a level with the eye. What has been here set forth,
seems to me to have no small share in contributing to magnify
the appearance of the horizontal moon, and deserves not to be
passed over in the explication of it.
LXXIV. If we attentively consider the phenomenon before
us, we shall find the not discerning between the mediate and im-
mediate objects of sight, to be the chief cause of the difficulty
that occurs in the explication of it. The magnitude of the visible
moon, or that which is the proper and immediate object of vision,
is no greater when the moon is in the horizon, than when it is in
the meridian. How comes it, therefore, to seem greater in one
situation than the other ? What is it can put this cheat on the
262 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
understanding ? It has no other perception of the moon, than
what it gets by sight : and that which is seen, is of the same
extent, I say the visble appearance hath the same, or rather a less
magnitude, when the moon is viewed in the horizontal, than
when in the meridional position : and yet it is esteemed greater
in the former than in the latter. Herein consists the difficulty,
which doth vanish and admit of a most easy solution, if we con-
sider that as the visible moon is not greater in the horizon than in
the meridian, so neither is it thought to be so. It hath been
already shown, that in any act of vision, the visible object abso-
lutely, or in itself, is little taken notice of, the mind still carrying
its view from that to some tangible ideas, which have been ob-
served to be connected with it, and by that means come to be
suggested by it. So that when a thing is said to appear great or
small, or whatever estimate be made of the magnitude of any
thing, this is meant not of the visible, but of the tangible object.
This duly considered, it will be no hard matter to reconcile the
seeming contradiction there is, that the moon should appear of a
different bigness, the visible magnitude thereof remaining still the
same. For by Sect. LVI. the very same visible extension, with a
different faintness, shall suggest a different tangible extension.
When therefore the horizontal moon is said to appear greater
than the meridional moon, this must be understood not of a
greater visible extension, but of a greater tangible or real exten-
sion, which by reason of the more than ordinary faintness of the
visible appearance, is suggested to the mind along with it.
LXXV. Many attempts have been made by learned men, to
account for this appearance. Gassendus, Descartes, Hobbes, and
several others, have employed their thoughts on that subject ; but
how fruitless and unsatisfactory their endeavours have been, is
sufficiently shown in the Philosophical Transactions,* where you
may see their several opinions af large set forth and confuted, not
without some surprise at the gross blunders that ingenious men
have been forced into, by endeavouring to reconcile this appear-
ance with the ordinary principles of optics. Since the writing
of which, there hath been published in the Transactionsf another
paper relating to the same affair, by the celebrated Dr. Wallis,
wherein he attempts to account for that phenomena, which,
though it seems not to contain any thing new, or different from
what had been said before by others, I shall nevertheless consider
in this place.
LXXVI. His opinion, in short, is this ; we judge not of the
magnitude of an object by the visual angle alone, but by the
visual angle in conjunction with the distance. Hence, though
the angle remain the same, or even become less, yet if withal the
distance seem to have been increased, the object shall appear
* Phil. Trans. Num. 187, p. 314. f Nam. 187, p. 323.
A NEW THEORY OP YISION. 263
greater. Now, one way whereby we estimate the distance of any-
thing, is by the number and extent of the intermediate objects :
when therefore the moon is seen in the horizon, the variety of
fields, houses, &c., together with the large prospect of the wide,
extended land or sea, that lies between the eye and the utmost
limb of the horizon, suggest unto the mind the idea of greater
distance, arid consequently magnify the appearance. And this,
according to Dr. Wallis, is the true account of the extraordinary
largeness attributed by the mind to the horizontal moon, at a
time when the angle subtended by its diameter is not one jot
greater than it used to be.
L XX VI I. "With reference to this opinion, not to repeat
what hath been already said concerning distance, I shall only ob-
serve, first, that if the prospect of interjacent objects be that
which suggests the idea of further distance, and this idea of fur-
ther distance be the cause that brings into the mind the idea of
greater magnitude, it should hence follow, that if one looked at
the horizontal moon from behind a wall, it would appear no
bigger than ordinary. For in that case, the wall interposing
cuts off all that prospect of sea and land, &c., which might other-
wise increase the apparent distance, and thereby the apparent
magnitude of the moon. Nor will it suffice to say, the memory
doth even then suggest all that extent of land, £c., which lies
within the horizon ; which suggestion occasions a sudden judg-
ment of sense, that the moon is further off and larger than usual.
For ask any man, who from such a station beholding the hori-
zontal moon, shall think her greater than usual, whether he hath
at that time in his mind any idea of the intermediate objects, or
long tract of land that lies between his eye and the extreme
edge of the horizon ? And whether it be that idea which is the
cause of his making the aforementioned judgment ? He will, I
suppose, reply in the negative, and declare the horizontal moon
shall appear greater than the meridional, though he never thinks
of all or any of those things that lie between him and it. Se-
condly, it seems impossible by this hypothesis to account for the
moon's appearing in the very same situation, at one time greater
than at another; which nevertheless has been shown to be very
agreeable to the principles we have laid down, and receives a
most easy and natural explication from them. For the further
clearing up of this point, it is to be observed that what we im-
mediately and properly see are only lights and colours in sundry
situations and shades, and degrees of faintness and clearness,
confusion and distinctness. All which visible objects are only
in the mind ; nor do they suggest aught external, whether dis-
tance or magnitude, otherwise than by habitual connexion as
words do things. We are also to remark, that, beside the strain-
ing of the eyes, and beside the vivid and faint, the distinct and
264 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
confused appearances (which bearing some proportions to lines
and angles, have been substituted instead of them, in the fore-
going part of this treatise), there are other means which suggest
both distance and magnitude ; particularly, the situation of vi-
sible points, or objects, as upper or lower ; the former suggest-
ing a further distance, and greater magnitude, the latter a nearer
distance, and lesser magnitude : all which is an effect only of cus-
tom and experience ; there being really nothing intermediate in
the line of distance, between the uppermost and lowermost,
which are both equidistant, or rather at no distance from the eye,
as there is also nothing in upper or lower, which by necessary
connexion should suggest greater or lesser magnitude. Now, as
these customary, experimental means of suggesting distance, do
likewise suggest magnitude, so they suggest the one as immedi-
ately as the other. I say, they do not (vide Sect. LIII.) first
suggest distance, and then leave the mind from thence to infer
or compute magnitude, but suggest magnitude as immediately
and directly as they suggest distance.
LXXVIII. This phenomenon of the horizontal moon is a clear
instance of the insufficiency of lines and angles, for explaining
the way wherein the mind perceives and estimates the magni-
tude of outward objects. There is nevertheless a use of com-
putation by them, in order to determine the apparent magnitude
of things, so far as they have a connexion with, and are propor-
tional to those other ideas or perceptions, which are the true and
immediate occasions that suggest to the mind the apparent mag-
nitude of things. But this in general may, I think, be observed
concerning mathematical computation in optics ; that it can never
be very precise and exact, since the judgments we make of the
magnitude of external things do often depend on several circum-
stances, which are not proportionable to, or capable of being de-
fined by lines and angles.
LXXIX. From what has been said, we may safely deduce
this consequence, to wit, that a man born blind, and made to see,
would at first opening of his eyes make a very different judg-
ment of the magnitude of objects intromitted by them, from
what others do. He would not consider the ideas of sight, with
reference to, or as having any connexion with the ideas of touch :
his view of them being entirely terminated within themselves, he
can no otherwise judge them great or small, than as they contain
a greater or lesser number of visible points. Now, it being cer-
tain that any visible point can cover or exclude from view only
one other visible point, it follows, that whatever object inter-
cepts the view of another, hath an equal number of visible points
with it ; and consequently they shall both be thought by him to
have the same magnitude. Hence it is evident, one in those cir-
cumstances would judge his thumb, with which he might hide a
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 265
tower, or hinder its being seen, equal to that tower, or his hand,
the interposition whereof might conceal the firmament from his
view, equal to the firmament: how great an inequality soever
there may, in our apprehensions, seem to be betwixt those two
things, because of the customary and close connexion that has
grown up in our minds between the objects of sight and touch,
whereby the very different and distinct ideas of those two senses
are so blended and confounded together, as to be mistaken for
one and the same thing ; out of which prejudice we cannot easily
extricate ourselves.
LXXX. For the better explaining the nature of vision, and
setting the manner wherein we perceive magnitudes in a due
light, I shall proceed to make some observations concerning
matters relating thereto, whereof the want of reflection, and
duly separating between tangible and visible ideas, is apt to
create in us mistaken and confused notions. And first, I shall
observe that the minimum visibile is exactly equal in all beings
whatsoever, that are endowed with the visive faculty. No ex-
quisite formation of the eye, no peculiar sharpness of sight, can
make it less in one creature than in another ; for it not being
distinguishable into parts, nor in any wise consisting of them, it
must necessarily be the same to all. For suppose it otherwise,
and that the minimum visibile of a mite, for instance, be less than
the minimum visibile of a man ; the latter therefore may by de-
traction of some part be made equal to the former: it doth
therefore consist of parts, which is inconsistent with the notion
of a minimum visibile., or point.
LXXXI. It will perhaps be objected that the minimum visibile
of a man doth really and in itself contain parts whereby it
surpasses that of a mite, though they are not perceivable by the
man. To which I answer, the minimum visibile having (in like
manner as all other the proper and immediate objects of sight)
been shown not to have any existence without the mind of him
Avho sees it, it follows there cannot be any part of it that is not
exactly perceived, and therefore visible. Now for any object to
contain several distinct visible parts, and at the same time to be
a minimum visibile, is a manifest contradiction.
LXXXII. Of these visible points we see at all times an
equal number. It is every whit as great when our view is con-
tracted and bounded by near objects, as when it is extended to
larger and remoter. For it being impossible that one minimum
visibile should obscure or keep out of sight more than another,
it is a plain consequence, that when my view is on all sides
bounded by the walls of my study, I see just as many visible
points as I could, in case that by the removal of the study-walls,
and all other obstructions, I had a full prospect of the circum-
jacent fields, mountains, sea, and open firmament ; for so long as
266 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
I am shut up within the walls, by their interposition, every point
of the external objects is covered from my view : but each point
that is seen being able to cover or exclude from sight one only
other corresponding point, it follows, that whilst my sight is con-
fined to those narrow walls, I see as many points, or minima
visibilia, as I should were those walls away, by looking on all the
external objects, whose prospect is intercepted by them. When-
ever therefore we are said to have a greater prospect at one time
than another, this must be understood with relation not to the
proper and immediate, but the secondary and mediate objects of
vision, which, as hath been shown, properly belong to the touch.
LXXXIII. The visive faculty, considered with reference to
its immediate objects, may be found to labour of two defects :
first, in respect of the extent or number of visible points that are
at once perceivable by it, which is narrow and limited to a cer-
tain degree. It can take in at view but a certain determinate
number of minima visibilia, beyond which it cannot extend its
prospect. Secondly, our sight is defective in that its view is not
only narrow, but also for the most part confused ; of those
things that we take in at one prospect, we can see but a few
at once clearly and unconfusedly ; and the more we fix our sight
on any one object, by so much the darker and more indistinct
shall the rest appear.
LXXXIV. Corresponding to these two defects of sight, we
may imagine as many perfections, to wit, first, that of compre-
hending in one view a greater number of visible points ;
secondly, of being able to view them all equally and at once,
with the utmost clearness and distinction. That those perfec^
tions are not actually in some intelligences of a different order
and capacity from ours, it is impossible for us to know.
LXXXV. In neither of those two ways do microscopes con-
tribute to the improvement of sight ; for when we look through
a microscope, we neither see more visible points, nor are the col-
lateral points more distinct than when we look with the naked
eye, at objects placed in a due distance. A microscope brings
us as it were into a new world : it presents us with a new scene
of visible objects, quite different from what we behold with the
naked eye. But herein consists the most remarkable difference,
to wit, that whereas the objects perceived by the eye alone, have
a certain connexion with tangible objects, whereby we are
taught to foresee what will ensue upon the approach or applica-
tion of distant objects to the parts of our own body, which much
conduceth to its preservation ; there is not the like connexion
between things tangible and those visible objects that are per-
ceived by help of a fine microscope.
LXXXVI. Hence it is evident, that were our eyes turned
into the nature of microscopes, we should not be much benefited
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 267
by the change ; we should be deprived of the forementioned
advantage we at present receive by the visive faculty ; and have
left us only the empty amusement of seeing, without any other
benefit arising from it. But in that case, it will perhaps be said,
our sight would be endued with a far greater sharpness and
penetration than it now hath. But I would fain know wherein
consists that sharpness, which is esteemed so great an excellency
of sight. It is certain from what we have already shown, that
the minimum visibile is never greater or lesser, but in all cases
constantly the same : and in the case of microscopical eyes, I see
only this difference, to wit, that upon the ceasing of a certain
observable connexion betwixt the divers perceptions of sight and
touch, which before enabled us to regulate our actions by the
eye, it would now be rendered utterly unserviceable to that
purpose.
LXXXVII. Upon the whole, it seems that if we consider
the use and end of sight, together with the present state and cir-
cumstances of our being, we shall not find any great cause to
complain of any defect or imperfection in it, or easily conceive
how it could be mended. With such admirable wisdom is that
faculty contrived, both for the pleasure and convenience of life.
LXXXVIII. Having finished what I intended to say, con-
cerning the distance and magnitude of objects, I come now to
treat of the manner wherein the mind perceives by sight their
situation. Among the discoveries of the last age, it is reputed
none of the least, that the manner of vision hath been more
clearly explained than ever it had been before. There is, at this
day, no one ignorant, that the pictures of external objects are
painted on the retina, or fund of the eye. That we can see
nothing which is not so painted : and that, according as the pic-
ture is more distinct or confused, so also is the perception we
have of the object : but then in this explication of vision, there
occurs one mighty difficulty. The objects are painted in an in-
verted order on the bottom of the eye : the upper part of any
object being painted on the lower part of the eye, and the lower
part of the object on the upper part of the eye : and so also as
to right and left. Since therefore the pictures are thus inverted,
it is demanded how it comes to pass, that we see the objects
erect and in their natural posture ?
LXXXIX. In answer to this difficulty, we are told, that the
mind, perceiving an impulse of a ray of light on the upper part
of the eye, considers this ray as coming in a direct line from the
lower part of the object, and in like manner tracing the ray that
strikes on the lower part of the eye, it is directed to the upper
part of the object. Thus in the adjacent figure C the lower
point of the object A B C is projected on c the upper part of
the eye. So likewise, the highest point A is projected on a the
268
AN ESSAY TOWARDS
lowest part of the eye, which makes the representation c b a in-
verted : but the mind, considering the stroke that is made on c
as coming in the straight line C c from the lower end of the
object, and the stroke or impulse on a as coming in the line
A a from the upper end of the object, is directed to make a
right judgment of the situation of the object ABC, notwith-
standing the picture of it is inverted. This is illustrated by con-
ceiving a blind man, who, holding in his hands two sticks that
cross each other, doth with them touch the extremities of an
object, placed in a perpendicular situation. It is certain, this
man will judge that to be the upper part of the object, which he
touches with the stick held in the undermost hand, and that to
be the lower part of the object, which he touches with the stick
in his uppermost hand. This is the common explication of the
erect appearance of objects, which is generally received and ac-
quiesced in, being (as Mr. Molyneux tells us*) allowed by all
men as satisfactory.
XC. But this account to me does not seem in any degree
true. Did I perceive those impulses, decussations, and direc-
tions of the rays of light, in like manner as hath been set forth,
then, indeed, it would not at first view be altogether void of pro-
bability. And there might be some pretence for the comparison
of the blind man and his cross sticks. But the case is far other-
wise. I know very well that I perceive no such thing. And,
of consequence, I cannot thereby make an estimate of the situa-
tion of objects. I appeal to any one's experience, whether he be
conscious to himself, that he thinks on the intersection made by
the radious pencils, or pursues the impulses they give in right
lines, whenever he perceives by sight the position of any object ?
To me it seems evident, that crossing and tracing of the rays, is
never thought on by children, idiots, or in truth by any other,
save only those who have applied themselves to the study of
optics. And for the mind to judge of the situation of objects by
those things, without perceiving them, or to perceive them with-
out knowing it, is equally beyond my comprehension. Add to
this, that the explaining the manner of vision by the example of
* Diopt Par. ii. c. 7, p. 289.
A NEW THEORY OP VISION. 269
cross sticks, and hunting for the object along the axes of the
radious pencils, doth suppose the proper objects of sight to be
perceived at a distance from us, contrary to what hath been de-
monstrated.
XCI. It remains, therefore, that we look for some other ex-
plication of this difficulty : and I believe it not impossible to find
one, provided we examine it to the bottom, and carefully distin-
guish between the ideas of sight and touch; which cannot be too
oft inculcated in treating of vision : but more especially through-
out the consideration of this affair, we ought to carry that dis-
tinction in our thoughts : for that from wrant of a right under-
standing thereof, the difficulty of explaining erect vision seems
chiefly to arise.
XCIL In order to disentangle our minds from' whatever pre-
judices we may entertain with relation to the subject in h ad,
nothing seems more apposite, than the taking into our thoughts
the case of one born blind, and afterwards, when grown up, made
to see. And though perhaps it may not be an easy task to di-
vest ourselves entirely of the experience received from sight, so
as to be able to put our thoughts exactly in the posture of such
.a one's : we must nevertheless, as far as possible, endeavour to
frame true conceptions of what might reasonably be supposed
to pass in his mind.
XCIII. It is certain that a man actually blind, and who had
continued so from his birth, would by the sense of feeling attain
to have ideas of upper and lower. By the motion of his hand he
might discern the situation of any tangible object placed within
his reach. That part on which he felt himself supported, or to-
wards which he perceived his body to gravitate, he would term
lower, and the contrary to this upper ; and accordingly denomi-
nate whatsoever objects he touched.
XCIV. But then, whatever judgments he makes concerning
the situation of objects, are confined to those only that arc per-
ceivable by touch. All those things that are intangible, and of
a spiritual nature, his thoughts and desires, his passions, and in
general all the modifications of his soul, to these he would never
apply the terms upper and lower, except only in a metaphorical
sense. He may, perhaps, by way of allusion, speak of high" or
low thoughts: but those terms, in their proper signification,
would never be applied to any thing that was not conceived to
exist without the mind. For a man born blind, and remaining
in the same state, could mean nothing else by the words higher
and lower, than a greater or lesser distance from the earth : which
distance he would measure by the motion or application of his
hand, or some other part of his body. It is, therefore, evident,
that all those things \vhich, in respect of each other, would by
him be thought higher or lower, must be such as were conceived
to exist without his mind, in the ambient space.
270 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
XCV. Whence it plainly follows, that such a one, if we sup-
pose him made to see, would not at first sight think that any
thing he saw was high or low, erect or inverted : for it hath been
already demonstrated in Sect. XLI. that he would not think the
things he perceived by sight to be at any distance from him, or
without his mind. The objects to which he had hitherto been
used to apply the terms up and down, high and low, were such
only as affected, or were some way perceived by his touch ; but
the proper objects of vision make a new set of ideas, perfectly
distinct and different from the former, and which can in no sort
make themselves perceived by touch. There is, therefore, no-
thing at all that could induce him to think those terms applicable
to them : nor would he ever think it, till such time as he had ob-
served their connexion with tangible objects, and the same pre-
judice began to insinuate itself into his understanding, which
from their infancy had grown up in the understandings of other
men.
XCVI. To set this matter in a clearer light, I shall make use
of an example. Suppose the above-mentioned blind person, by
his touch, perceives a man to stand erect. Let us inquire into
the manner of this. By the application of his hand to the several
parts of a human body, he had perceived different tangible ideas,
which being collected into sundry complex ones have distinct
names annexed to them. Thus one combination of a certain
tangible figure, bulk, and consistency of parts is called the head,
another the hand, a third the foot, and so of the rest : all which
complex ideas could, in his understanding, be made up only of
ideas perceivable by touch. He had also by his touch obtained
an idea of earth or ground, towards which he perceives the parts
of his body to have a natural tendency. Now, by erect nothing
more being meant, than that perpendicular position of a man,
wherein his feet are nearest to the earth : if the blind person, by
moving his hand over the parts of the man who stands before
him, perceives the tangible ideas that compose the head, to be
furthest from, and those that compose the feet to be nearest to,
that other combination of tangible ideas which he calls earth :
he will denominate that man erect. But if we suppose him on
a sudden to receive his sight, and that he behold a man standing
before him, it is evident, in that case, he would neither judge the
man he sees to be erect nor inverted ; for he never having known
those terms applied to any other save tangible things, or which
existed in the space without him, and what he sees neither being
tangible, nor perceived as existing without, he could not know
that in propriety of language they were applicable to it.
XCVII. Afterwards, when upon turning his head or eyes up
and down to the right and left, he shall observe the visible ob-
jects to change, and shall also attain to know, that they are
A NEW THEORY OP VISION. 271
called by the same names, and connected with the objects per-
ceived by touch ; then, indeed, he will come to speak of them
and their situation, in the same terms that he has been used to
apply to tangible things : and those that he perceives by turning
up his eyes, he will call upper, and those that by turning down
his eyes, he will call lower.
XC VIII. And this seems to me the true reason why he should
think those objects uppermost -that are painted on the lower part
of his eye : for, by turning the eye up they shall be distinctly
seen ; as likewise those that are painted on the highest part of
the eye shall be distinctly seen, by turning the eye down, and
are for that reason esteemed lowest : for we have shown that to
the immediate objects of sight, considered in themselves, he would
not attribute the terms high and low. It must therefore be on
account of some circumstances which are observed to attend
them ; and these, it is plain, are the actions of turning the eye
up and down, which suggest a very obvious reason, Avhy the mind
should denominate the objects of sight accordingly high or low.
And without this motion of the eye, this turning it up and down
in order to discern different objects, doubtless, erect, inverse, and
other the like terms relating to the position of tangible objects,
would never have been transferred, or in any degree apprehended
to belong to the ideas of sight : the mere act of seeing including
nothing in it to that purpose ; whereas the different situations of
the eye naturally direct the mind to make a suitable judgment of
the situation of objects intromitted by it.
XCIX. Further, when he has by experience learned the con-
nexion there is between the several ideas of sight and touch, he
will be able, by the perception he has of the situation of visible
things in respect of one another, to make a sudden and true
estimation of the situation of outwtird, tangible things corre-
sponding to them. And thus it is, he shall perceive by sight the
situation of external objects, which do not properly fall under
that sense.
C. I know we are very prone to think, that if just made to
see, we should judge of the situation of visible things as we do
now : but, we are also as prone to think, that at first sight, we
should in the same way apprehend the distance and magnitude
of objects, as we do now : which hath been shown to be a false
and groundless persuasion. And for the like reasons, the same
censure may be passed on the positive assurance, that most men,
before they have thought sufficiently of the matter, might have
of their being able to determine by the eye, at first view, whether
objects were ei'ect or inverse.
CL It will, perhaps, be objected to our opinion, that a man,
for instance, being thought erect when his feet are next the earth,
and inverted when his head is next the earth, it doth hence
272 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
follow, that by the mere act of vision, without any experience
or altering the situation of the eye, we should have determined
whether he were erect or inverted: for both the earth itself,
and the limbs of the man who stands thereon, being equally per-
ceived by sight, one cannot choose seeing what part of the man
is nearest the earth, and what part furthest from it, i. e. whether
he be erect or inverted.
GIL To which I answer, the ideas which constitute the tangible
earth and man, are entirely different from those which constitute
the visible earth and man. Nor was it possible, by virtue of the
visive faculty alone, without superadding any experience of
touch, or altering the position of the eye, ever to have known,
or so much as suspected, there had been any relation or con-
nexion between them : hence a man at first view would not
denominate any thing he saw, earth, or head, or foot ; and con-
sequently, he could not tell by the mere act of vision, whether
the head or feet were nearest the earth : nor, indeed, would he
have thereby any thought of earth or man, erect or inverse, at
all : which will be made yet more evident if we nicely observe,
and make a particular comparison between the ideas of both
senses.
CHI. That which I see is only variety of light and colours.
That which I feel is hard or soft, hot or cold, rough or smooth.
What similitude, what connexion have those ideas with these ?
Or how is it possible, that any one should see reason to give one
and the same name to combinations of ideas so very different,
before he had experienced their coexistence ? We do not find
there is any necessary connexion betwixt this or that tangible
quality, and any colour whatsoever. And we may sometimes
perceive colours, where there is nothing to be felt. All which
doth make it manifest that no man, at first receiving of his sight,
would know there was any agreement between this or that par-
ticular object of his sight, and any object of touch he had been
already acquainted with : the colours therefore of the head,
would to him no more suggest the idea of head, than they would
the idea of foot.
CIV. Further, we have at large shown (vide Sect. LXIII. and
LXIV.) there is no discoverable, necessary connexion, between
any given visible magnitude, and any one particular tangible
magnitude ; but that it is entirely the result of custom and ex-
perience, and depends on foreign and accidental circumstances,
that we can by the perception of visible extension inform our-
selves, what may be the extension of any tangible object con-
nected with it. Hence it is certain that neither the visible
magnitude of head or foot, would bring along with them into
the mind, at first opening of the eyes, the respective tangible
magnitudes of those parts.
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 273
CV. By the foregoing section, it is plain the visible figure of
any part of the body hath no necessary connexion with the tan-
gible figure thereof, so as at first sight to suggest it to the mind :
for figure is the termination of magnitude, whence it follows,
that no visible magnitude, having in its own nature an aptness
to suggest any one particular tangible magnitude, so neither can
any visible figure be inseparably connected with its correspond-
ing tangible figure : so as of itself and in a way prior to experi-
ence, it might suggest it to the understanding. This will be
further evident, if we consider that what seems smooth and
round to the touch, may to sight, if viewed through a microscope,
seem quite otherwise.
CVI. From all which laid together and duly considered, we
may clearly deduce this inference. In the first act of vision, no
idea entering by the eye would have a perceivable connexion
with the ideas to which the names earth, man, head, foot, &c.,
were annexed in the understanding of a person blind from his
birth ; so as in any sort to introduce them into his mind, or make
themselves be called by the same names, and reputed the same
things with them, as afterwards they come to be.
CVII. There doth, nevertheless, remain one difficulty, which
perhaps may seem to press hard on our opinion, and deserve not
to be passed over: for though it be granted that neither the
colour, size, nor figure of the visible feet have any necessary
connexion with the ideas that compose the tangible feet, so as to
bring them at first sight into my mind, or make me in danger of
confounding them before I had been used to, and for some time
experienced their connexion : yet thus much seems undeniable,
namely, that the number of the visible feet, being the same with
that of the tangible feet, I may from hence, without any experi-
ence of sight, reasonably conclude, that they represent or are
connected with the feet rather than the head. I say, it seems
the idea of two visible feet will sooner suggest to the mind the
idea of two tangible feet than of one head ; so that the blind man,
upon first reception of the visive faculty, might know which
were the feet or two, and which the head or one.
CVIII. In order to get clear of this seeming difficulty, we
need only observe, that diversity of visible objects doth not
necessarily infer diversity of tangible objects corresponding to
them. A picture painted with great variety of colours affects
the touch in one uniform manner ; it is therefore evident, that I
do not by any necessary consecution, independent of experience,
judge of the number of things tangible, from the number of
things visible. I should not therefore at first opening my eyes
conclude, that because I see two I shall feel two. How, there-
fore can I, before experience teaches me, know that the visible
legs, because two, are connected with the tangible legs, or the
VOL. i. T
274 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
visible head, because one, is connected with the tangible head ?
The truth is, the things I see are so very different and hetero-
geneous from the things I feel, that the perception of the one
would never have suggested the other to my thoughts, or enabled
me to pass the least judgment thereon, until I had experienced
their connexion.
CIX. But for a fuller illustration of this matter, it ought to
be considered that number (however some may reckon it amongst
the primary qualities) is nothing fixed and settled, really existing
in things themselves. It is entirely the creature of the mind,
considering, either an idea by itself, or any combination of ideas
to which it gives one name, and so makes it pass for a unit.
According as the mind variously combines its ideas, the unit
varies ; and as the unit, so the number, which is only a collec-
tion of units, doth also vary. We call a window one, a chim-
ney one, and yet a house in which there are many windows, and
many chimnies, hath an equal right to be called one, and many
houses go to the making of one city. In these and the like
instances, it is evident the unit constantly relates to the par-
ticular draughts the mind makes of its ideas, to which it affixes
names, and wherein it includes more or less, as best suits its own
ends and purposes. Whatever therefore the mind considers as
one, that is a unit. Every combination of ideas is considered
as one thing by the mind, and in token thereof is marked by
one name. Now, this naming and combining together of ideas
is perfectly arbitrary, and done by the mind in such sort, as ex-
perience shows it to be most convenient : without which, our
ideas had never been collected into such sundry distinct combi-
nations as they now are.
CX. Hence it follows, that a man born blind, and afterwards,
when grown up, made to see, would not, in the first act of vision,
parcel out the ideas of sight into the same distinct collections
that others do, who have experienced which do regularly coexist
and are proper to be bundled up together under one name. He
would not, for example, make into one complex idea, and thereby
esteem and unite all those particular ideas, which constitute the
visible head or foot. For there can be no reason assigned why
he should do so, barely upon his seeing a man stand upright
before him : there crowd into his mind the ideas which compose
the visible man, in company with all the other ideas of sight per-
ceived at the same time : but all these ideas offered at once to
his view, he would not distribute into sundry distinct combina-
tions, till such time as, by observing the motion of the parts of
the man and other experiences, he comes to know which are to
be separated, and which to be collected together.
CXI. From what hath been premised, it is plain the objects
of sight and touch make, if I may so say, two sets of ideas
A NEW THEORY OP VISION. 275
which are widely different from each other. To objects of either
kind, we indifferently attribute the terms high and low, right
and left, and such like, denoting the position or situation of
things : but then we must well observe that the position of any
object is determined with respect only to objects of the same
sense. We say any object of touch is high or low, according
as it is more or less distant from the tangible earth : and in like
manner we denominate any object of sight high or low, in pro-
portion as it is more or less distant from the visible earth : but
to define the situation of visible things, with relation to the dis-
tance they bear from any tangible thing, or vice versa, this were
absurd and perfectly unintelligible. For all visible things are
equally in the mind, and take up no part of the external space :
and consequently are equidistant from any tangible thing, which
exists without the mind.
CXII. Or rather to speak truly, the proper objects of sight are
at no distance, neither near nor far from any tangible thing. For
if we inquire narrowly into the matter, we shall find that those
things only are compared together in respect of distance, which
exist after the same manner, or appertain unto the same sense.
For by the distance between any two points, nothing more is
meant than • the number of intermediate points : if the given
points are visible, the distance between them is marked out by
the number of the interjacent visible points : if they are tangi-
ble, the distance between them is a line consisting of tangible
points; but if they are one tangible, and the other visible, the
distance between them doth neither consist of points perceivable
by sight nor by touch, i. e. it is utterly inconceivable. This, per-
haps, will not find an easy admission into all men's understanding :
however, I should gladly be informed whether it be not true, by
any one who will be at the pains to reflect a little, and apply it
home to his thoughts.
CXIII. The not observing what has been delivered in the two
last sections, seems to have occasioned no small part of the
difficulty that occurs in the business of erect appearances. The
head, which is painted nearest the earth, seems to be furthest
from it; and on the other hand, the feet, which are painted
furthest from the earth, are thought nearest to it. Herein lies the
difficulty, which vanishes if we express the thing more clearly
and free from ambiguity, thus : how comes it that, to the eye,
the visible head, which is nearest the tangible earth, seems furthest
from the earth, and the visible feet, which are furthest from the
tangible earth, seem nearest the earth. The question being thus
proposed, who sees not the difficulty is founded on a supposition,
that the eye, or visive faculty, or rather the soul by means
thereof, should judge of the situation of visible objects, with
reference to their distance from the tangible earth ? Whereas it
T 2
276 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
is evident the tangible earth is not perceived by sight : and it
hath been shown in the two last preceding sections, that the lo-
cation of visible objects is determined only by the distance they
bear from one another ; and that it is nonsense to talk of distance,
far or near, between a visible and tangible thing.
CXIV. If we confine our thoughts to the proper objects of
sight, the whole is plain and easy. The head is painted furthest
from, and the feet nearest to the visible earth ; and so they ap-
pear to be. What is there strange or unaccountable in this ?
Let us suppose the pictures in the fund of the eye, to be the
immediate objects of the sight. The consequence is, that things
should appear in the same posture they are painted in ; and is it
not so ? The head which is seen, seems furthest from the earth
which is seen ; and the feet which are seen, seem nearest to the
earth which is seen ? and just so they are painted.
CXV. But, say you, the picture of the man is inverted, and
yet the appearance is erect : I ask, what mean you by the picture
of the man, or, which is the same thing, the visible man's being
inverted ? You tell me it is inverted, because the heels are
uppermost, and the head undermost? Explain me this. You
say, that by the head's being undermost, you mean that it is
nearest to the earth ; and by the heels being uppermost, that
they are furthest from the earth. I ask again, what earth you
mean? You cannot mean the earth that is painted on the eye,
or the visible earth : for the picture of the head is furthest from
the picture of the earth, and the picture of the feet nearest to
the picture of the earth; and accordingly the visible head is
furthest from the visible earth, and the visible feet nearest to it.
It remains, therefore, that you mean the tangible earth, and so
determine the situation of visible things with respect to tangible
things : contrary to what hath been demonstrated in Sect. CXI.
and cxn. The two distinct provinces of sight and touch should
be considered apart, and as if their objects had no intercourse,
no manner of relation to one another, in point of distance or
position.
CXVI. Further, what greatly contributes to make us mistake
in this matter is, that when we think of the pictures in the fund
of the eye, we imagine ourselves looking on the fund of another's
eye, or another looking on the fund of our own eye, and behold-
ing the pictures painted thereon. Suppose two eyes A and B :
A from some distance looking on the pictures in B sees them in-
verted, and for that reason concludes they are inverted in B : but
this is wrong. There are projected in little on the bottom of A,
the images of the pictures of, suppose man, earth, &c., which are
painted on B. And besides these, the eye B itself, and the ob-
jects which environ it, together with another earth, are projected
in a larger size on A. Now, by the eye A, these larger images
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 277
are deemed the true objects, and the lesser only pictures in
miniature. And it is with respect to those greater images, that
it determines the situation of the smaller images: so that com-
paring the little man with the great earth, A judges him inverted,
or that the feet are furthest from, and the head nearest to the
great earth. Whereas, if A compare the little man with the
little earth, then he will appear erect, i. e. his head shall seem
furthest from, and his feet nearest to the little earth. But we
must consider that B does not see two earths as A does : it sees
only what is represented by the little pictures in A, and conse-
quently shall judge the man erect : for, in truth, the man in B is
not inverted, for there the feet are next the earth ; but it is the
representation of it in A which is inverted, for there the head of
the representation of the picture of the man in B is next the
earth, and the feet furthest from the earth, meaning the earth
which is without the representation of the pictures in B. For if
you take the little images of the pictures in B, and consider
them by themselves, and with respect only to one another, they
are all erect and in their natural posture.
CXVII. Further, there lies a mistake in our imagining that
the pictures of external objects are painted on the bottom of the
eye. It hath been shown, there is no resemblance between the
ideas of sight, and things tangible. It hath likewise been de-
monstrated, that the proper objects of sight do not exist without
the mind. Whence it clearly follows, that the pictures painted
on the bottom of the eye, are not the pictures of external ob-
jgcts. Let any one consult his own thoughts, and then say what
affinity, what likeness there is between that certain variety and
disposition of colours, which constitute the visible man, or pic-
ture of a man, and that other combination of far different ideas,
sensible by touch, which compose the tangible man. But if this
be the case, how come they to be accounted pictures or images,
since that supposes them to copy or represent some originals or
other?
CXYIII. To which I answer : in the forementioned instance,
the eye A takes the little images, included within the represen-
tation of the other eye B, to be pictures or copies, whereof the
archetypes are not things existing without, but the larger pic-
tures projected on its own fund : and which by A are not thought
pictures, but the originals, or true things themselves. Though if
we suppose a third eye C, from a due distance to behold the fund
of A, then indeed the things projected thereon, shall to C seem
pictures or images, in the same sense that those projected on B
do to A.
CXIX. Rightly to conceive this point, we must carefully dis-
tinguish between the ideas of sight and touch, between the visible
and tangible eye : for certainly on the tangible eye, nothing either
278 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
is or seems to be painted. Again, the visible eye, as well as all
other visible objects, hath been shown to exist only in the mind,
which perceiving its own ideas, and comparing them together,
calls some pictures in respect of others. What hath been said,
being rightly comprehended and laid together, doth, I think,
afford a full and genuine explication of the erect appearance of
objects : which phenomenon, I must confess, I do not see how it
can be explained by any theories of vision hitherto made public.
CXX. In treating of these things, the use of language is apt
to occasion some obscurity and confusion, and create in us wrong
ideas : for language being accommodated to the common notions
and prejudices of men, it is scarce possible to deliver the naked
and precise truth, without great circumlocution, impropriety, and
(to an unwary reader) seeming contradictions : I do, therefore,
once for all desire whoever shall think it worth his while to un-
derstand what I have written concerning vision, that he would
not stick in this or that phrase, or manner of expression, but
candidly collect my meaning from the whole sum and tenor of my
discourse, and laying aside the words as much as possible, con-
sider the bare notions themselves, and then judge whether they
are agreeable to truth and his own experience, or no.
CXXI. We have shown the way wherein the mind by medi-
ation of visible ideas doth perceive or apprehend the distance,
magnitude, and situation of tangible objects. I come now to
inquire more particularly concerning the difference between the
ideas of sight and touch, which are called by the same names, and
see whether there be any idea common to both senses. From
what we have at large set forth and demonstrated in the fore*-
going parts of this treatise, it is plain there is no one selfsame
numerical extension, perceived both by sight and touch ; but that
the particular figures and extensions perceived by sight, however
they may be called by the same names, and reputed the same
things, with those perceived by touch, are nevertheless different,
and have an existence distinct and separate from them : so that
the question is not now concerning the same numerical ideas, but
whether there be any one and the same sort or species of ideas
equally perceivable to both senses ? or, in other words, whether
^extension, figure, or motion perceived by sight, are not specifically
distinct from extension, figure, and motion perceived by touch ?
CXXII. But before I come more particularly to discuss this
matter, I find it proper to consider extension in abstract : for of
this there is much talk, and I am apt to think, that when men
speak of extension, as being an idea common to two senses, it is
with a secret supposition, that we can single out extension from
all other tangible and visible qualities, and form thereof an ab-
stract idea, which idea they will have common both to sight and
touch. We are therefore to understand by extension in abstract,
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 279
an idea of extension ; for instance, a line or surface, entirely
stripped of all other sensible qualities and circumstances that
might determine it to any particular existence ; it is neither black,
nor white, nor red, nor hath it any colour at all, or any tangible
quality whatsoever, and consequently it is of no finite deter-
minate magnitude : for that which bounds or distinguishes one
extension from another, is some quality or circumstance wherein
they disagree.
CXXIII. Now I do not find that I can perceive, imagine, or
any Avise frame in my mind such an abstract idea, as is here
spoken of. A line or surface, which is neither black, nor white,
nor blue, nor yellow, &c., nor long, nor short, nor rough, nor
smooth, nor square, nor round, &c., is perfectly incomprehensible.
This I am sure of as to myself: how far the faculties of other
men may reach, they best can tell.
CXXIV. It is commonly said, that the object of geometry is
abstract extension ; but geometry contemplates figures : now,
figure is the termination of magnitude, but we have shown that
extension in abstract hath no finite determinate magnitude,
whence it clearly follows that it can have no figure, and conse-
quently is not the object of geometry. It is indeed a tenet as
well of the modern as of the ancient philosophers, that all general
truths are concerning universal abstract ideas ; without which, we
are told, there could be no science, no demonstration of any
general proposition in geometry. But it were no hard matter,
did I think it necessary to my present purpose, to show that pro-
positions and demonstrations in geometry might be universal,
though they who make them never think of abstract general ideas
of triangles or circles.
CXXV. After reiterated endeavours to apprehend the ge-
neral idea of a triangle, I have found it altogether incomprehen-
sible. And surely if an^ one were able to introduce that idea
into my mind, it must be the author of the Essay concerning
Human Understanding ; he, who has so far distinguished him-
self from the generality of writers, by the clearness and signifi-
cancy of what he says. Let us therefore see how this celebrated
author describes the general, or abstract idea of a triangle. " It
must be (says he) neither oblique, nor rectangular, neither equi-
lateral, equicrural, nor scalenum ; but all and none of these at
once. In effect it is somewhat imperfect that cannot exist ; an
idea, wherein some parts of several different and inconsistent
ideas are put together." Essay on Human Understanding, b. iv.
c. vii. § 9. This is the idea, Avhich he thinks needful for the
enlargement of knowledge, which is the subject of mathematical
demonstration, and without which we could never come to know
any general proposition concerning triangles. That author
acknowledges it doth " require some pains and skill to form this
280 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
general idea of a triangle," ibid. But had he called to mind
what he says in another place, to wit, " that ideas of mixed
modes, wherein any inconsistent ideas are put together, cannot so
much as exist in the mind, i. e. be conceived." Vide b. iii. c. x.
§ 33, ibid. I say, had this occurred to his thoughts, it is not
improbable he would have owned it above all the pains and skill
he was master of, to form the above-mentioned idea of a triangle,
which is made up of manifest, staring contradictions. That a
man who thought so much, and laid so great a stress on clear
and determinate ideas, should nevertheless talk at this rate,
seems very surprising. But the wonder will lessen if it be con-
sidered, that the source whence this opinion flows, is the prolific
womb which has brought forth innumerable errors and difficul-
ties, in all parts of philosophy, and in all the sciences. But this
matter, taken in its full extent, were a subject too vast and com-
prehensive to be insisted on in this place. And so much for
extension in abstract,
CXXVI. Some, perhaps, may think pure space, vacuum, or
trine dimension to be equally the object of sight and touch : but
though we«have a very great propension, to think the ideas of
outness and space to be the immediate object of sight ; yet if I
mistake not, in the foregoing parts of this essay, that hath been
clearly demonstrated to be a mere delusion, arising from the
quick and sudden suggestion of fancy, which so closely connects
the idea of distance with those of sight, that we are apt to think
it is itself a proper and immediate object of that sense, till reason
corrects the mistake.
CXXVII. It having been shown, that there are no abstract
ideas of figure, and that it is impossible for us, by any precision
of thought, to frame an idea of extension separate from all other
visible and tangible qualities, which shall be common both to
sight and touch : the question now remaining is, whether the
particular extensions, figures, and motions, perceived by sight be
of the same kind, with the particular extensions, figures, and
motions, perceived by touch. In answer to which, I shall ven-
ture to lay down the following proposition : The extension,
figures, and motions, perceived by sight are specifically distinct from
the ideas of touch, called by the same names, nor is there any such
thing as one idea or kind of idea common to both senses. This pro-
position may, without much difficulty, be collected from what
hath been said in several places of this essay. But because it
seems so remote from, and contrary to, the received notions and
settled opinion of mankind, I shall attempt to demonstrate it
more particularly, and at large, by the following arguments : —
CXXVIII. When, upon perception of an idea, I range it
under this or that sort ; it is because it is perceived after the
same manner, or because it has a likeness or conformity with, or
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 281
affects me in the same way as the ideas of the sort I rank it
under. In short, it must not be entirely new, but have some-
thing in it old, and already perceived by me : it must, I say,
have so much at least, in common with the ideas I have before
known and named, as to make me give it the same name with
them. But it has been, if I mistake not, clearly made out, that
a man born blind would not, at first reception of his sight, think
the things he saw were of the same nature with the objects of
touch, or had any thing in common with them ; but that they
were a new set of ideas, perceived in a new manner, and entirely
different from all he had ever perceived before : so that he would
not call them by the same name, nor repute them to be of the
same sort, with any thing he had hitherto known.
CXXIX. Secondly, light and colours are allowed by all to
constitute a sort or species entirely different from the ideas of
touch : nor will any man, I presume, say they can make them-
selves perceived by that sense : but there is no other immediate
object of sight besides light and colours. It is therefore a direct
consequence, that there is no idea common to both senses.
CXXX. It is a prevailing opinion, even amongst those who
have thought and writ most accurately concerning our ideas, and
the ways whereby they enter into the understanding, that some-
thing more is perceived by sight, than barely light and colours
with their variations. Mr. Locke termeth sight, " The most
comprehensive of all our senses, conveying to our minds the
ideas of light and colours, which are peculiar only to that sense ;
and also the far different ideas of space, figure, and motion."
Essay on Human1 Understanding, b. ii. c. ix. § 9. Space or dis-
tance, we have shown, is no otherwise the object of sight than of
hearing. Vide Sect. XLVI. And as for figure and extension, I
leave it to any one, that shall calmly attend to his own clear and
distinct ideas, to decide, whether he has any idea intromitted im-
mediately and properly by sight, save only light and colours : or
whether it be possible for him to frame in his mind a distinct
abstract idea of visible extension, or figure, exclusive of all
colour ; and, on the other hand, whether he can conceive colour
without visible extension ? For my own part, I must confess, I
am not able to attain so great a nicety of abstraction ; in a strict
sense, I see nothing but light and colours, with their several
shades and variations. He who beside these doth also perceive
by sight ideas far different and distinct from them, hath that
faculty in a degree more perfect and comprehensive than I can
pretend to. It must be owned, that by the mediation of light
and colours, other far different ideas are suggested to my mind :
but so they are by hearing, which, beside sounds, which are pe-
culiar to that sense, doth by their mediation suggest not only
space, figure, and motion, but also all other ideas whatsoever
that can be signified by words.
282 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
CXXXI. Thirdly, it is, I think, an axiom universally re-
ceived, that quantities of the same kind may be added together,
and make one entire sum. Mathematicians add lines together,
but they do not add a line to a solid, or conceive it as making
one sum with a surface : these three kinds of quantity being
thought incapable of any such mutual addition, and consequently
of being compared together, in the several ways of proportion,
are by them esteemed entirely disparate and heterogeneous.
Now let any one try in his thoughts to add a visible line or sur-
face to a tangible line or surface, so as to conceive them making
one continued sum or whole. He that can do this, may think
them homogeneous ; but he that cannot must, by the foregoing
axiom, think them heterogeneous : a blue and a red line I can
conceive added together into one sum, and making one continued
line ; but to make, in my thoughts, one continued line of a
visible and tangible line added together is, I find, a task far more
difficult, and even insurmountable ; and I leave it to the reflec-
tion and experience of every particular person to determine for
himself.
CXXXII. A further confirmation of our tenet may be
drawn from the solution of Mr. Molyneux's problem, published
by Mr. Locke in his Essay : which I shall set down as it there
lies, together with Mr. Locke's opinion of it, " Suppose a man
born blind, and now adult, and taught by his touch to distinguish
between a cube and a sphere of the same metal, and nighly of
the same bigness, so as to tell when he felt one and the other,
which is the cube and which the sphere. Suppose then the cube
and sphere placed on a table, and the blind man to be made to
see : Qua3re, Whether by his sight, before he touched them, he
could now distinguish, and tell, which is the globe, which is the
cube. To which the acute and judicious proposer answers : Not.
For though he has obtained the experience of how a globe, how
a cube affects his touch ; yet he has not yet attained the expe-
rience, that what affects his touch so or so must affect his sight
so or so : or that a protuberant angle in the cube, that pressed
his hand unequally, shall appear to his eye, as it doth in the
cube. I agree with this thinking gentleman, whom I am proud
to call my friend, in his answer to this his problem ; and am of
opinion, that the blind man, at first sight, would not be able
with certainty to say, which was the globe, which the cube, whilst
he only saw them." Essay on Human Understanding, b. ii. c. ix. § 8.
C XXXIII. Now, if a square surface perceived by touch be
of the same sort with a square surface perceived by sight ; it is
certain the blind man here mentioned might know a square sur-
face, as soon as he saw it : it is no more but introduced into his
mind, by a new inlet, an idea he has been already well acquainted
with. Since therefore he is supposed to have known by his
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 283
touch, that a cube is a body terminated by square surfaces, and
that a sphere is not terminated by square surfaces ; upon the
supposition that a visible and tangible square differ only in
numero, it follows, that he might know, by the unerring mark of
the square surfaces, which was the cube, and which not, while he
only saw them, We must therefore allow, either that visible
extension and figures are specifically distinct from tangible exten-
sion and figures, or else, that the solution of this problem, given
by those two thoughtful and ingenious men, is wrong.
CXXXIV. Much more might be laid together in proof of
the proposition I have advanced : but what has been said is, if I
mistake not, sufficient to convince any one that shall yield a rea-
sonable attention : and as for those that will not be at the pains
of a little thought, no multiplication of words will ever suffice to
make them understand the truth, or rightly conceive my meaning.
CXXXV. I cannot let go the above-mentioned problem with-
out some reflection on it. It hath been made evident, that 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, vide Sect. cvi. Cube, sphere, table, are words he
has known applied to things perceivable by touch, but to things
perfectly intangible he never knew them applied. Those words,
in their wonted application, always marked out to his mind
bodies, or solid things which were perceived by the resistance
they gave : but there is no solidity, no resistance or protrusion
perceived by sight. In short, the ideas of sight are all new per-
ceptions, to which there be no names annexed in his mind ; he
cannot therefore understand what is said to him concerning them :
and to ask of the two bodies he saw placed on the table, which
was the sphere, which the cube, were to him a question down-
right bantering and unintelligible ; 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.
CXXXVI. It is a mistake, to think the same^thing affects
both sight and touch. If the same angle or square, which is the
object of touch, be also the object of vision, what should hinder
the blind man, at first sight, from knowing it ? For though the
manner wherein it affects the sight, be different from that
wherein it affected his touch ; yet, there being, beside this manner
or circumstance, which is new and unknown, the angle or figure,
which is old and known, he cannot choose but discern it.
CXXXVII. Visible figure and extension having been demon-
strated to be of a nature entirely different and heterogeneous
from tangible figure and extension, it remains that we inquire
concerning motion. Now that visible motion is not of the same
sort with tangible motion, seems to need no further proof, it
being an evident corollary from what we have shown concerning
284 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
the difference there is between visible and tangible extension :
but for a more full and express proof hereof, we need only ob-
serve, that one who had not yet experienced vision, would not
at first sight know motion. Whence it clearly follows, that
motion perceivable by sight is of a sort distinct from motion
perceivable by touch. The antecedent I prove thus : by touch
he could not perceive any motion, but what was up or down, to
the right or left, nearer or further from him ; besides these, and
their several varieties or complications, it is impossible he should
have any idea of motion. He would not therefore think any
thing to be motion, or give the name motion to any idea, which
he could not range under some or other of those particular kinds
thereof. But from Sect, xcv., it is plain that by the mere act
of vision, he could not know motion upwards or downwards, to
the right or left, or in any other possible direction. From which
I conclude, he would not know motion at all at first sight. As
for the idea of motion in abstract, I shall not waste paper about
it, but leave it to my reader to make the best he can of it. To
me it is perfectly unintelligible.
CXXXVIII. The consideration of motion may furnish a new
field for inquiry : but since the manner wherein the mind appre-
hends by sight the motion of tangible objects, with the various
degrees thereof, may be easily collected, from what hath been
said concerning the manner wherein that sense doth suggest
the various distances, magnitudes, and situations, I shall not en-
large any further on this subject, but proceed to inquire what
may be alleged with greatest appearance of reason, against the
proposition we have shown to be true: for where there is so
much prejudice to be encountered, a bare and naked demonstra-
tion of the truth will scarce suffice. We must also satisfy the
scruples that men may raise in favour of their preconceived
notions, show whence the mistake arises, how it came to spread,
and carefully disclose and root out those false persuasions that
an early prejudice might have implanted in the mindi
CXXXIX. First, therefore, it will be demanded, how visible
extension and figures come to be called by the same name with
tangible extension and figures, if they are not of the same kind
with them ? It must be something more than humour or acci-
dent, that could occasion a custom so constant and universal as
this, which has obtained in all ages and nations of the world, and
amongst all ranks of men, the learned as well as the illiterate.
CXL. To which I answer, we can no more argue a visible
and tangible square to be of the same species, from their being
called by the same name, than we can, that a tangible square
and the monosyllable consisting of six letters, whereby it is
marked, are of the same species because they are both called by
the same name. It is customary to call written words, and the
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 285
things they signify, by the same name : for words not being re-
garded in their own nature, or otherwise than as they are marks
of things, it had been superfluous, and beside the design of lan-
guage, to have given them names distinct from those of the things
marked by them. The same reason holds here also. Visible
figures are the marks of tangible figures, and from Sect. Lix.
it is plain, that in themselves they are little regarded, or upon
any other score than for their connexion with tangible figures,
which by nature they are ordained to signify. And because this
language of nature does not vary in different ages or nations,
hence it is, that in all times and places, visible figures are called
by the same names as the respective tangible figures suggested
by them, and not because they are alike, or of the same sort with
them.
CXLI. But, say you, surely a tangible square is liker to a
visible square, than to a visible circle : it has four angles, and as
many sides ; so also has the visible square, but the visible circle
has no such thing, being bounded by one uniform curve, without
right lines or angles, which makes it unfit to represent the tan-
gible square, but very fit to represent the tangible circle.
Whence it clearly follows, that visible figures are patterns of,
or of the same species with the respective tangible figures re-
presented by them ; that they are like unto them, and of their
own nature fitted to represent them, as being of the same sort ;
and that they are in no respect arbitrary signs, as words.
CXLII. I answer, it must be acknowledged, the visible
square is fitter than the visible circle, to represent the tangible
square, but then it is not because it is liker, or more of a species
with it ; but because the visible square contains in it several dis-
tinct parts, whereby to mark the several distinct, corresponding
parts of a tangible square, whereas the visible circle doth not.
The square perceived by touch, hath four distinct, equal sides, so
also htith it four distinct, equal angles. It is therefore necessary,
that the visible figures which shall be most proper to mark it,
contain four distinct, equal parts corresponding to the four sides
of the tangible square ; as likewise four other distinct and equal
parts, whereby to denote the four equal angles of the tangible
square. And accordingly we see the visible figures contain in
them distinct visible parts, answering to the distinct tangible
parts of the figures signified or suggested by them.
CXLIII. But it will not hence follow, that any visible figure
is like unto, or of the same species with its corresponding tangi-
ble figure, unless it be also shown, that not only the number,
but also the kind of the parts be the same in both. To illustrate
this, I observe that visible figures represent tangible figures,
much after the same manner that written words do sounds.
Now in this respect words are not arbitrary, it not being indif-
286 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
ferent, what written word stands for any sound : but it is requi-
site, that each word contain in it so many distinct characters, as
there are variations in the sound it stands for. Thus the single
letter a is proper to mark one simple uniform sound ; and the
word adultery is accommodated to represent the sound annexed
to it, in the formation whereof, there being eight different colli-
sions, or modifications of the air by the organs of speech, each of
which produces a difference of sound, it was fit the word repre-
senting it should consist of as many distinct characters, thereby
to mark each particular difference or part of the whole sound :
and yet nobody, I presume, will say, the single letter a, or the
word adultery, are like unto, or of the same species with the
respective sounds by them represented. It is indeed arbitrary
that, in general, letters of any language represent sounds at all ;
but when that is once agreed, it is not arbitrary what combina-
tion of letters shall represent this or that particular sound. I
leave this with the reader to pursue, and apply it in his own
thoughts.
CXLIV. It must be confessed that we are not so apt to con-
found other signs with the things signified, or to think them of
the same species, as we are visible and tangible ideas. But a
little consideration will show us how this may be, without our
supposing them of a like nature. These signs are constant and
universal ; their connexion with tangible ideas has been learnt at
our first entrance into the world ; and ever since, almost every
moment of our lives, it has been occurring to our thoughts, and
fastening and striking deeper on our minds. When we .observe
that signs are variable, and of human institution ; when we
remember, there was a time they were not connected in our
minds, with those things they now so readily suggest ; but that
their signification was learned by the slow steps of experience ;
this preserves us from confounding them. But when we find
the same signs suggest the same things all over the world; when
we know they are not of human institution, and cannot remem-
ber that we ever learned their signification, but think that at
first sight they would have suggested to us the same things they
do now : all this persuades us they are of the same species as the
things respectively represented by them, and that it is by a na-
tural resemblance they suggest them to our minds.
CXLV. Add to this, that whenever we make a nice survey
of any object, successively directing the optic axis to each point
thereof; there are certain lines and figures described by the mo-
tion of the head or eye, which being in truth perceived by feel-
ing, do nevertheless so mix themselves, as it were, with the ideas
of sight, that we can scarce think but they appertain to that
sense. Again, the ideas of sight enter into the mind, several at
once, more distinct and unmingled, than is usual in the other
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 287
senses beside the touch. Sounds, for example, perceived at the
same instant, are apt to coalesce, if I may so say, into one sound,
but we can perceive at the same time great variety of visible
objects, very separate and distinct from each other. Now tangible
extension being made up of several distinct coexistent parts, we
may hence gather another reason, that may dispose us to imagine
a likeness or analogy between the immediate objects of sight and
touch. But nothing, certainly, doth more contribute to blend
and confound them together, than the strict and close connexion
they have with each other. We cannot open our eyes, but the
ideas of distance, bodies, and tangible figures are suggested by
them. So swift, and sudden, and unpcrceived is the transition
from visible to tangible ideas, that AVC can scarce forbear think-
ing them equally the immediate object of vision.
CXLVI. The prejudice, which is grounded on these, and
whatever other causes may be assigned thereof, sticks so fast,
that it is impossible, without obstinate striving and labour of the
mind, to get entirely clear of it. But then the reluctancy we
find, in rejecting any opinion, can be no argument of its truth,
to whoever considers what has been already shown, with regard
to the prejudices we entertain concerning the distance, magnitude,
and situation of objects ; prejudices so familiar to our minds, so
confirmed and inveterate, as they will hardly give way to the*
clearest demonstration.
CXLVIT. Upon the whole, I think we may fairly conclude,
that the proper objects of vision constitute a universal language
of the Author of nature, whereby we are instructed how to regu-
late our actions, in order to attain those things that are necessary
to the preservation and well-being of our bodies, as also to avoid
whatever may be hurtful and destructive of them. It is by their
information that we are principally guided in all the transactions
and concerns of life. And the manner wherein they signify, and
mark unto us the objects which are at a distance, is the same
with that of languages and signs of human appointment, which
do not suggest the things signified, by any likeness or identity
of nature, but only by an habitual connexion, that experience
has made us to observe between them.
CXLVIII, Suppose one who had always continued blind, be
told by his guide, that after he has advanced so many steps, he
shall come to the brink of a precipice, or be stopped by a wall ;
must not this to him seem very admirable and surprising ? He
cannot conceive how it is possible for mortals to frame such pre-
dictions as these, which to him would seem as strange and unac-
countable, as prophecy doth to others. Even they who are blessed
with the visive faculty, may (though familiarity make it less ob-
served) find therein sufficient cause of admiration. The won-
derful art and contrivance wherewith it is adjusted to those ends
288
AN ESSAY TOWARDS
and purposes for which it was apparently designed, the vast ex-
tent, number, and variety of objects that are at once with so
much ease, and quickness, and pleasure suggested by it : all these
afford subject for much and pleasing speculation, and may, if any
thing, give us some glimmering, analogous prenotion of things,
which are placed beyond the certain discovery and comprehension
of our present state.
CXLIX. I do not design to trouble myself with drawing
corollaries from the doctrines I have hitherto laid down. If it
bears the test, others may, so far as they shall think convenient,
employ their thoughts in extending it further, and applying it to
whatever purposes it may be subservient to : only, I cannot for-
bear making some inquiry concerning the object of geometry,
which the subject we have been upon doth naturally lead one to.
We have shown there is no such idea as that of extension in ab-
stract, and that there are two kinds of sensible extension and
figures, which are entirely distinct and heterogeneous from each
other. Now, it is natural to inquire which of these is the object
of geometry.
CL. Some things there are, which at first sight incline one to
think geometry conversant about visible extension. The con-
stant use of the eyes, both in the practical and speculative parts
«f that science, doth very much induce us thereto. It would,
without doubt, seem odd to a mathematician to go about to con-
vince him, the diagrams he saw upon paper were not the figures,
or even the likeness of the figures, which make the subject of the
demonstration. The contrary being held an unquestionable truth,
not only by mathematicians, but also by those who apply them-
selves more particularly to the study of logic ; I mean, who con-
sider the nature of science, certainty, and demonstration : it being
by them assigned as one reason of the extraordinary clearness
and evidence of geometry, that in this science the reasonings are
free from those inconveniencies which attend the use of arbitrary
signs, the very ideas themselves being copied out, and exposed to
view upon paper. But, by the bye, how well this agrees with
what they likewise assert of abstract ideas, being the object of
geometrical demonstration, I leave to be considered.
CLL To come to a resolution in this point, we need only ob-
serve what hath been said in Sect. LIX., LX., LXI., where it is
shown that visible extensions in themselves are little regarded,
and have no settled determinate greatness, and that men measure
altogether by the application of tangible extension to tangible
extension. All which makes it evident, that visible extension
and figiu'es are not the object of geometry.
CLII. It is therefore plain that visible figures are of the same
use in geometry, that words are ; and the one may as well be ac-
counted the object of that science, as the other ; neither of them
A NEW THEORY OF VISION. 289
being any otherwise concerned therein, than as they represent or
suggest to the mind the particular tangible figures connected with
them. There is indeed this difference between the signification
of tangible figures by visible figures, and of ideas by words : that
whereas the latter is variable and uncertain, depending altogether
on the arbitrary appointment of men, the former is fixed and
immutably the same in all times and places. A visible square,
for instance, suggests to the mind the same tangible figure in
Europe, that it doth in America. Hence it is that the voice of
the Author of nature, which speaks to our eyes, is not liable to
that misinterpretation and ambiguity, that languages of human
contrivance are unavoidably subject to.
CLIII. Though what has been said may suffice to show what
ought to be determined, with relation to the object of geometry ;
I shall nevertheless, for the fuller illustration thereof, consider
the case of an intelligence, or unbodied spirit, which is supposed
to see perfectly well, i. e. to have a clear perception of the proper
and immediate objects of sight, but to have no sense of touch.
Whether there be any such being in nature or no, is beside my
purpose to inquire. It sufficeth, that the supposition contains
no contradiction in it. Let us now examine, what proficiency
such a one may be able to make in geometry. Which specula-
tion will lead us more clearly to see, whether the ideas of sight
can possibly be the object of that science.
CLIV. First, then, it is certain the aforesaid intelligence
could have no idea of a solid, or quantity of three dimensions,
which followeth from its not having any idea of distance. We in-
deed are prone to think, that we have by sight the ideas of space
and solids, which ariseth from our imagining that we do, strictly
speaking, see distance, and some parts of an object at a greater
distance than others, wyhich hath been demonstrated to be the
effect of the experience we have had, what ideas of touch are
connected with such and such ideas attending vision : but the
intelligence here spoken of is supposed to have no experience of
touch. He would not, therefore, judge as we do, nor have any
idea of distance, outness, or profundity, nor consequently of
space or body, either immediately or by suggestion. Whence it
is plain, he can have no notion of those parts of geometry which
relate to the mensuration of solids, and their convex or concave
surfaces, and contemplate the properties of lines generated by
the section of a solid ; the conceiving of any part whereof, is
beyond the reach of his faculties.
CLV. Further, he cannot comprehend the manner wherein
geometers describe a right line or circle ; the rule and compass,
with their use, being things of which it is impossible he should
have any notion : nor is it an easier matter for him to conceive
the placing of one plane or angle on another, in order to prove
VOL. i. u
290 AN ESSAY TOWARDS
their equality : since that supposeth some idea of distance, or
external space. All which makes it evident, our pure intelligence
could never attain to know so much as the first elements of plane
geometry. And perhaps, upon a nice inquiry, it will be found,
he cannot even have an idea of plane figures any more than he
can of solids ; since some idea of distance is necessary, to form
the idea of a geometrical plane, as will appear to whoever shall
reflect a little on it.
CLVI. All that is properly perceived by the visive faculty
amounts to no more than colours with their variations, and dif-
ferent proportions of light and shade : but the perpetual muta-
bility and fleetingness of those immediate objects of sight, render
them incapable of being managed after the manner of geometrical
figures ; nor is it in any degree useful that they should. It is
true, there are divers of them perceived at once ; and more of
some, and less of others: but accurately to compute their mag-
nitude, and assign precise determinate proportions, between things
so variable and inconstant, if we suppose it possible to be done,
must yet be a very trifling and insignificant labour.
CLVII. I must confess, it seems to be the opinion of some
ingenious men, that flat or plane figures are immediate objects of
sight, though they acknowledge solids are not. And this opinion
of theirs is grounded on what is observed in painting, wherein
(say they) the ideas immediately imprinted on the mind are only
of planes variously coloured, which by a sudden act of the judg-
ment are changed into solids : but, with a little attention we shall
find the planes here mentioned, as the immediate objects of sight,
are not visible, but tangible planes. For when we say that pic-
tures are planes, we mean thereby, that they appear to the touch
smooth and uniform. But then this smoothness and uniformity,
or, in other words, this planeness of the picture, is not perceived
immediately by vision : for it appeareth to the eye various and
multiform.
CLVIII. From all which we may conclude, that planes are no
more the immediate object of sight than solids. What we strictly
see are not solids, nor yet planes variously coloured ; they are
only diversity of colours. And some of these suggest to the
mind solids, and others plane figures ; just as they have been ex-
perienced to be connected with the one, or the other : so that we
see planes in the same way that we see solids ; both being equally
suggested by the immediate objects of sight, which accordingly
are themselves denominated planes and solids : but though they
are called by the same names with the things marked by them,
they are nevertheless of a nature entirely different, as hath been
demonstrated.
CLIX. What hath been said is, if I mistake not, sufficient to
decide the question we propose to- examine concerning the ability
A NEW THEORY OP VISION. 291
of a pure spirit, such as we have described, to know geometry.
It is, indeed, no easy matter for us to enter precisely into the
thoughts of such an intelligence ; because we cannot, without
great pains, cleverly separate and disentangle in our thoughts the
proper objects of sight from those of touch which are connected
with them. This, indeed, in a complete degree, seems scarce
possible to be performed ; which will not seem strange to us, if
we consider how hard it is, for any one to hear the words of his
native language pronounced in his ears without understanding
them. Though he endeavour to disunite the meaning from the
sound, it will nevertheless intrude into his thoughts, and he shall
find it extreme difficult, if not impossible, to put himself exactly
in the posture of a foreigner, that never learned the language, so
as to be affected barely with the sounds themselves, and not per-
ceive the signification annexed to them.
CLX. By this time, I suppose, it is clear that neither abstract
nor visible extension makes the object of geometry; the not
discerning of which may, perhaps, have created some difficulty
and useless labour in mathematics. Sure I am, that somewhat
relating thereto has occurred to my thoughts, which, though after
the most anxious and repeated examination I am forced to think
it true, doth, nevertheless, seem so far out of the common road
of geometry, that I know not whether it may not be thought
presumption, if I should make it public in an age, wherein that
science hath received such mighty improvements by new me-
thods ; great part whereof, as well as of the ancient discoveries,
may perhaps lose their reputation, and much of that ardour with
which men study the abstruse and fine geometry be abated, if
what to me, and those few to whom I have imparted it, seems
evidently true, should really prove to be so.
u 2
ALCIPHRON:
OR
THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER:
IN SEVEN DIALOGUES;
CONTAINING
AN APOLOGY FOB THE CHRISTIAN RELIGION, AGAINST THOSE WHO ARE
CALLED FREE-THINKERS.
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE author's design being to consider the free-thinker in the various
lights of atheist, libertine, enthusiast, scorner, critic, metaphysician,
fatalist, and sceptic, it must not therefore be imagined, that every one
of these characters agrees with every individual free-thinker ; no more
being implied, than that each part agrees with some or other of the sect.
There may possibly be a reader who shall think the character of atheist
agrees with none ; but though it hath been often said, there is no such
thing as a speculative atheist ; yet we must allow, there are several
atheists who pretend to speculation. This the author knows to be true ;
and is well assured, that one of the most noted writers against Chris-
tianity in our times, declared, he had found out a demonstration against
the being of a God. And he doubts not, whoever will be at the pains
to inform himself, by a general conversation, as well as books, of the
principles and tenets of our modern free-thinkers, will see too much
cause to be persuaded, that nothing in the ensuing characters is beyond
the life.
THE FIRST DIALOGUE.
SECT. I. Introduction.
II. Aim and endeavours of free-thinkers.
III. Opposed by the clergy.
IV. Liberty of free-thinking.
V. Further account of the views of free-thinkers.
VI. The progress of a free-thinker towards atheism.
VII. Joint imposture of the priest and magistrate.
VIII. The free-thinkers' method in making converts and discoveries.
IX. The atheist alone free. His sense of natural good and evil.
X. Modern free-thinkers more properly named minute philosophers.
XI. Minute philosophers, what sort of men, and how educated.
XII. Their numbers, progress, and tenets.
XIII. Compared with other philosophers.
XIV. What things and notions to be esteemed natural.
XV. Truth the same, notwithstanding diversity of opinions.
XVI. Rule and measure of moral truths.
THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
SECT. I. Vulgar error, that vice is hurtful.
II. The benefit of drunkenness, gaming, and whoring.
III. Prejudice against vice wearing off.
IV. Its usefulness illustrated in the instances of Callicles and Tellesilla.
V. The reasoning of Lysicles in behalf of vice, examined.
VI. Wrong to punish actions, when the doctrines whence they flow are tolerated.
VII. Hazardous experiment of the minute philosophers.
VIII. Their doctrine of circulation and revolution.
IX. Their sense of a reformation.
X. Riches alone not the public weal.
XI. Authority of minute philosophers : their prejudice against religion.
XII. Effects of luxury : virtue, whether notional.
XIII. Pleasure of sense.
XIV. What sort of pleasure most natural to man.
XV. Dignity of human nature.
XVI. Pleasure mistaken.
XVII. Amusements, misery, and cowardice of minute philosophers.
XVIII. Rakes cannot reckon.
XIX. Abilities and success of minute philosophers.
XX. Happy effects of the minute philosophy in particular instances.
XXI. Their free notions about government.
XXII. England the proper soil for minute philosophy.
XXIII. The policy and address of its professors.
XXIV. Merit of minute philosophers towards the public.
XXV. Their notions and character.
XXVI. Their tendency towards popery and slavery.
296 CONTENTS.
THE THIRD DIALOGUE.
SECT. I. Alciphrorfs account of honour.
II. Character and conduct of men of honour.
III. Sense of moral beauty.
IV. The honestum or TO KaXbv of the ancients.
V. Taste for moral beauty, whether a sure guide or rule.
VI. Minute philosophers ravished with the abstract beauty of virtue.
VII. Their virtue alone disinterested and heroic.
VIII. Beauty of sensible objects, what, and how perceived.
IX. The idea of beauty explained by painting and architecture.
X. Beauty of the moral system, wherein it consists.
XI. It supposeth a providence.
XII. Influence of TO KaXov and TO Trokirov.
XIII. Enthusiasm of Cratylus compared with the sentiments of Aristotle.
XIV. Compared with the Stoical principles.
XV. Minute philosophers, their talent for raillery and ridicule.
XVI. The wisdom of those who make virtue alone its own reward.
THE FOURTH DIALOGUE.
SECT. I. Prejudices concerning a deity. .
II. Rules laid down by Alciphron to be observed in proving a God.
III. What sort of proof he expects.
IV. Whence we collect the being of other thinking individuals.
Ar. The same method a fortiori proves the being of God.
VI. Alciphron's second thoughts on this point.
VII. God speaks to men.
VIII. How distance is perceived by sight.
IX. The proper objects of sight at no i istance.
X. Lights, shades, and colours, variously combined, form a language.
XI. The signification of this language learned by experience.
XII. God explaineth himself to the eyes of men by the arbitrary use of sensible signs.
XIII. The prejudice and twofold aspect of a minute philosopher.
XIV. God present to mankind, informs, admonishes, and directs them in a sensible
manner.
XV. Admirable nature and use of this visual language.
XVI. Minute philosophers content to admit a God in certain senses.
XVII. Opinion of some who hold that knowledge and wisdom are not properly in God.
XVIII. Dangerous tendency of this notion.
XIX. Its original.
XX. The sense of schoolmen upon it.
XXI. Scholastic use of the terms analogy and analogical explained : analogical
perfections of God misunderstood.
XXII. God intelligent, wise, and good in the proper sense of the words.
XXIII. Objection from moral evil considered.
XXIV. Men argue from their own defects against a deity.
XXV. Religious worship reasonable and expedient.
THE FIFTH DIALOGUE.
SECT. I. Minute philosophers join in the cry, and follow the scent of others.
II. Worship prescribed by the Christian religion suitable to God and man.
III. Power and influence of the Druids.
IV. Excellency and usefulness of the Christian religion.
CONTENTS. 297
Sect.
V. It ennobles mankind, and makes them happy.
VI. Religion neither bigotry nor superstition.
VII. Physicians and physic for the soul.
VIII. Character of the clergy.
IX. Natural religion and human reason not to be disparaged.
X. Tendency and use of the Gentile religion.
XI. Good effects of Christianity.
XII. Englishmen compared with ancient Greeks and Romans.
XIII. The modern practice of duelling.
XIV. Character of the old Romans, how to be formed.
XV. Genuine fruits of the gospel.
XVI. Wars and factions not an effect of the Christian religion.
XVII. Civil rage and massacres in Greece and Rome.
XVIII. Virtue of ancient Greeks.
XIX. Quarrels of polemical divines.
XX. Tyranny, usurpation, sophistry of ecclesiastics.
XXI. The universities censured.
XXII. Divine writings of a certain modern critic.
XXIII. Learning the effect of religion.
XXIV. Barbarism of the schools.
XXV. Restoration of learning and polite arts, to whom owing.
XXVI. Prejudice and ingratitude of minute philosophers.
XXVII. Their pretensions and conduct inconsistent.
XXVIII. Men and brutes compared with respect to religion.
XXIX. Christianity the only means to establish natural religion.
XXX. Free-thinkers mistake their talents ; have a strong imagination.
XXXI. Tithes and church lands.
XXXII. Men distinguished from human creatures.
XXXIII. Distribution of mankind into birds, beasts, and fishes.
XXXIV. Plea for reason allowed, but unfairness taxed.
XXXV. Freedom a blessing, or a curse, as it is used.
XXXVI. Priestcraft not the reigning evil.
THE SIXTH DIALOGUE.
I. Points agreed.
II. Sundry pretences to revelation.
III. Uncertainty of tradition.
IV. Object and ground of faith.
V. Some books disputed, others evidently spurious.
VI. Style and composition of holy scripture.
VII. Difficulties occurring therein.
VIII. Obscurity not always a defect.
IX. Inspiration neither impossible nor absurd.
X. Objections from the form and matter of divine revelation, considered.
XI. Infidelity an effect of narrowness and prejudice.
XII. Articles of Christian faith not unreasonable.
XIII. Guilt the natural parent of fear.
XIV. Things unknown reduced to the standard of what men know.
XV. Prejudices against the incarnation of the Son of God.
XVI. Ignorance of the divine economy, a source of difficulties.
XVII. Wisdom of God, foolishness to man.
XVIII. Reason, no blind guide.
298 CONTENTS.
Sect.
XIX. Usefulness of divine revelation.
XX. Prophecies, whence obscure.
XXI. Eastern accounts of time older than the Mosaic.
XXII. The humour of Egyptians, Assyrians, Chaldeans, and other nations extend-
ing their antiquity beyond truth, accounted for.
XXIII. Reasons confirming the Mosaic account.
XXIV. Profane historians inconsistent.
XXV. Celsus, Porphyry, and Julian.
XXVI. The testimony of Josephus considered.
XXVII. Attestation of Jews and Gentiles to Christianity.
XXVIII. Forgeries and heresies.
XXIX. Judgment and attention of minute philosophers .
XXX. Faith and miracles.
XXXI. Probable arguments, a sufficient ground of faith.
XXXII. The Christian religion able to stand the test of rational inquiry.
THE SEVENTH DIALOGUE.
I. Christian faith impossible.
II. Words stand for ideas.
III. No knowledge or faith without ideas.
IV. Grace, no idea of it.
V. Abstract ideas what, and how made.
VI. Abstract general ideas impossible.
VII. In what sense there may be general ideas.
VIII. Suggesting ideas not the only use of words.
IX. Force as difficult to form an idea of, as grace.
X. Notwithstanding which, useful propositions may be formed concerning it.
XI. Belief of the Trinity and other mysteries not absurd.
XII. Mistakes about faith an occasion of profane raillery.
XIII. Faith, its true nature and effects.
XIV. Illustrated by science.
XV. By arithmetic in particular.
XVI. Sciences conversant about signs.
XVII. The true end of speech, reason, science, and faith.
XVIII. Metaphysical objections as strong against human science as articles of faith.
XIX. No religion, because no human liberty.
XX. Further proof against human liberty.
XXI. Fatalism a consequence of erroneous suppositions.
XXII. Man an accountable agent.
XXIII. Inconsistency, singularity, and credulity of minute philosophers.
XXIV. Untrodden paths and new light of the minute philosophers.
XXV. Sophistry of the minute philosophers.
XXVI. Minute philosophers ambiguous, enigmatical, unfathomable.
XXVII. Scepticism of the minute philosophers.
XXVIII. How a sceptic ought to behave.
XXIX. Minute philosophers, why difficult to convince.
XXX. Thinking not the epidemical evil of these times.
XXXI. Infidelity, not an effect of reason or thought : its true motives assigned.
XXXII. Variety of opinions about religion, effects thereof.
XXXIII. Method for proceeding with minute philosophers.
XXXIV. Want of thought, and want of education, defects of the present age.
THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER.
THE FIKST DIALOGUE.
I. Introduction. II. Aim and endeavours of free-thinkers. III. Opposed by the clergy.
IV. Liberty of free-thinking. V. Further account of the views of free-thinkera. VI.
The progress of a free-thinker towards atheism. VII. Joint imposture of the priest
and magistrate. VIII. The free-thinkers' method in making converts and discoveries.
IX. The atheist alone free. His sense of natural good and evil. X. Modern free-
thinkers more properly named minute philosophers. XI. Minute philosophers, what
sort of men, and how educated. XII. Their numbers, progress, and tenets. XIII.
Compared with other philosophers. XIV. What things and notions to be esteemed
natural. XV. Truth the same, notwithstanding diversity of opinions. XVI. Rule
and measure of moral truths.
I. I flattered himself, Theages, that before this time I might
have been able to have sent you an agreeable account of the
success of the affair, which brought me into this remote corner
of the country. But instead of this, I should now give you the
detail of its miscarriage, if I did not rather choose to entertain
you with some amusing incidents, which have helped to make
me easy under a circumstance I could neither obviate nor fore-
see. Events are not in our power ; but it always is, to make a
good use even of the very worst. And I must needs own, the
the course and event of this affair gave opportunity for reflec-
tions, that make me some amends for a great loss of time, pains,
and expense. A life of action, which takes its issue from the
counsels, passions, and views of other men, if it doth not draw a
man to imitate, will at least teach him to observe. And a mind
at liberty to reflect on its own observations, if it produce nothing
useful to the world, seldom fails of entertainment to itself. For
several months past I have enjoyed such liberty and leisure in
this distant retreat, far beyond the verge of that great whirlpool
of business, faction, and pleasure, which is called the world.
And a retreat in itself agreeable, after a long scene of trouble
and disquiet, was made much more so by the conversation and
good qualities of my host Euphranor, who unites in his own
person the philosopher and the farmer, two characters not so in-
consistent in nature as by custom they seem to be. Euphranor,
from the time he left the university, hath lived in this small
town, where he is possessed of a convenient house with a hundred
acres of land adjoining to it ; which being improved by his own
labour, yield him a plentiful subsistence. He hath a good col-
300 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. \JOIAL. 1.
lection, chiefly of old books, left him by a clergyman his uncle,
under whose care he was brought up. And the business of his
farm doth not hinder him from making good use of it. He hath
read much, and thought more ; his health and strength of body
enabling him the better to bear fatigue of mind. He is of
opinion that he could not carry on his studies with more advan-
tage in the closet than the field, where his mind is seldom idle
while he prunes the trees, follows the plough, or looks after his
flocks. In the house of this honest friend I became acquainted
with Crito, a neighbouring gentleman of distinguished merit, and
estate, who lives in great friendship with Euphranor. Last
summer, Crito, whose parish church is in our town, dining on a
Sunday at Euphranor's, I happened to inquire after his guests,
whom we had seen at church with him the Sunday before. They
are both well, said Crito, but, having once occasionally conformed,
to see what sort of assembly our parish could afford, they had
no further curiosity to gratify at church, and so chose to stay at
home. How, said Euphranor, are they then dissenters ? No,
replied Crito, they are free-thinkers. Euphranor, who had never
met with any of this species or sect of men, and but little of their
writings, showed a great desire to know their principles or system.
That is more, said Crito, than I will undertake to tell you.
Their writers are of different opinions. Some go further, and
explain themselves more freely than others. But the current
general notions of the sect are best learned from conversation
with those who profess themselves of it. Your curiosity may
now be satisfied, if you and Dion would spend a week at my
house with these gentlemen, who seem very ready to declare and
propagate their opinions. Alciphron is above forty, and no
stranger either to men or books. I knew him first at the Tem-
ple, which, upon an estate's falling to him, he quitted, to travel
through the polite parts of Europe. Since his return he hath
lived in the amusements of the town, which, being grown stale
and tasteless to his palate, have flung him into a sort of splenetic
indolence. The young gentleman, Lysicles, is a near kinsman
of mine, one of lively parts, and a general insight into letters,
who, after having passed the forms of education, and seen a little
of the world, fell into an intimacy with men of pleasure, and
free-thinkers, I am afraid much to the damage of his constitu-
tion and his fortune. But what I most regret, is the corruption
of his mind by a set of pernicious principles, which, having been
observed to survive the passions of youth, forestal even the
remote hopes of amendment. They are both men of fashion,
and would be agreeable enough, if they did not fancy themselves
free-thinkers. But this, to speak the truth, has given them a
certain air and manner, which a little too visibly declare they
think themselves wiser than the rest of the world. I should
DIAL. I.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 301
therefore be not at all displeased if my guests met with their
match, where they least expected it, in a country farmer. I
shall not, replied Euphranor, pretend to any more than barely to
inform myself of their principles and opinions. For this end I
propose to-morrow to set a week's task to my labourers, and
accept your invitation, if Dion thinks good. To which I gave
consent. Meanwhile, said Crito, I shall prepare my guests, and
let them know that an honest neighbour hath a mind to discourse
them on the subject of their free- thinking. And if I am not
much mistaken, they will please themselves with the prospect of
leaving a convert behind them, even in a country village. Next
morning Euphranor rose early, and spent the forenoon in order-
ing his affairs. After dinner we took our walk to Crito's, which
lay through half a dozen pleasant fields planted round with
plane-trees, that are very common in this part of the country.
We walked under the delicious shade of these trees for about an
hour before we came to Crito's house, which stands in the middle
of a small park, beautified with two fine groves of oak and wal-
nut, and a winding stream of sweet and clear water. We met a
servant at the door with a small basket of fruit which he was
carrying into a grove, where he said his master was with the
two strangers. We found them all three sitting under a shade.
And after the usual forms at first meeting, Euphranor and I sat
down by them. Our conversation began upon the beauty of
this rural scene, the fine season of the year, and some late im-
provements which had been made in the adjacent country by
new methods of agriculture. Whence Alciphron took occasion
to observe, that the most valuable improvements came latest. I
should have small temptation, said he, to live where men have
neither polished manners nor improved minds, though the face
of the country were ever so well improved. But I have long
observed, that there is a gradual progress in human affairs. The
first care of mankind is to supply the cravings of nature ; in the
next place they study the conveniences and comforts of life.
But the subduing prejudices, and acquiring true knowledge,
that Herculean labour is the last, being what demands the most
perfect abilities, and to which all other advantages are prepara-
tive. Right, said Euphranor, Alciphron hath touched our true
defect. It was always my opinion, that as soon as we had pro-
vided subsistence for the body, our next care should be to improve
the mind. But the desire of wealth steps between and engrosseth
men's thoughts.
II. Ale. Thought is that which we are told distinguished man
from beast ; and freedom of thought makes as great a difference
between man and man. It is to the noble assertors of this privi-
lege and perfection of human kind, the free-thinkers I mean, who
have sprung up and multiplied of late years, that we are indebted
302 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. I.
for all those important discoveries, that ocean of light which
hath broke in and made its way, in spite of slavery and supersti-
tion. Euphranor, who is a sincere enemy to both, testified a
great esteem for those worthies who had preserved their country
from being ruined by them, having spread so much light and
knowledge over the land. He added, that he liked the name
and character of a free-thinker : but in his sense of the word,
every honest inquirer after truth in any age or country was en-
titled to it. He therefore desired to know what this sect was
that Alciphron had spoken of as newly sprung up ; what were
their tenets; what were their discoveries; and wherein they
employed themselves, for the benefit of mankind. Of all which,
he should think himself obliged, if Alciphron would inform him.
That I shall very easily, replied Alciphron, for I profess myself
one of the number, and my most intimate friends are some of
the most considerable among them. And perceiving that Eu-
phranor heard him with respect, he proceeded very fluently.
You. must know, said he, that the mind of man may be fitly
compared to a piece of land. What stubbing, ploughing, dig-
ging, and harrowing is to the one, that thinking, reflecting,
examining is to the other. Each hath its proper culture ; and as
land that is suffered to lie waste and wild for a long tract of time
will be overspread with brushwood, brambles, thorns, and such
vegetables which have neither use nor beauty; even so there
will not fail to sprout up in a neglected, uncultivated mind, a
great number of prejudices and absurd opinions, which owe their
origin partly to the soil itself, the passions and imperfections of
the mind of man, and partly to those seeds which chance to be
scattered in it by every wind of doctrine, which the cunning of
statesmen, the singularity of pedants, the superstition of fools,
or the imposture of priests shall raise. Represent to your-
self the man of mind, or human nature in general, that for so
many ages had lain obnoxious to the frauds of designing, and the
follies of weak men ; how it must be overrun with prejudices
and errors, what firm and deep roots they must have taken, and
consequently how difficult a task it must be to extirpate them.
And yet this work, no less difficult than glorious, is the employ-
ment of the modern free-thinkers. Alciphron having said this
made a pause, and looked round on the company. Truly, said I,
a very laudable undertaking ! We think, said Euphranor, that
it is praiseworthy to clear and subdue the earth, to tame brute
animals, to fashion the outsides of men, provide sustenance for
their bodies, and cure their maladies. But what is all this in
comparison of that most excellent and useful undertaking to free
mankind from their errors, and to improve and adorn their minds?
For things of less merit towards the world, altars have been
raised, and temples built, in ancient times. Too many in our
DIAL. I.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 303
days, replied Alciphron, are such fools as not to know their best
benefactors from their worst enemies. They have a blind respect
for those who enslave them, and look upon their deliverers as a
dangerous sort of men that would undermine received principles
and opinions. Euph. It were a great pity such worthy inge-
nious men should meet with any discouragement. For my part
I should think a man, who spent his time in such a painful, im-
partial search after truth, a better friend to mankind than the
greatest statesman or hero, the advantage of whose labours is
confined to a little part of the world, and a short space of time,
whereas a ray of truth may enlighten the whole world and
extend to future ages. Ale. It will be some time, I fear, before
the common herd think as you do. But the better sort, the
men of parts and polite education, pay a due regard to the patrons
of light and truth.
III. Euph. The clergy, no doubt, are on all occasions ready
to forward and applaud your worthy endeavours. Upon hearing
this Lysicles could hardly refrain from laughing. "And Alciphron
with an air of pity told Euphranor, that he perceived he was
unacquainted with the real character of those men. For, saith
he, you must know that of all men living they are our greatest
enemies. If it were possible, they would extinguish the very
light of nature, turn the world into a dungeon, and keep man-
kind for ever in chains and darkness. Euph. I never imagined
any thing like this of our protestant clergy, particularly those of
the established church, whom, if I may be allowed to judge by
what I have seen of them and their writings, I should have
thought lovers of learning and useful knowledge. Ale. Take my
word for it, priests of all religions are the same : wherever there
are priests there will be priestcraft ; and wherever there is priest-
craft, there will be a persecuting spirit, which they never fail to
exert to the utmost of their power against all those who have
the courage to think for themselves, and will not submit to be
hoodwinked and manacled by their reverend leaders. Those
great masters of pedantry and jargon have coined several systems,
which are all equally true, and of equal importance to the
world. The contending sects are each alike fond of their own,
and alike prone to discharge their fury upon all who dissent from
them. Cruelty and ambition being the darling vices of priests
and churchmen all the world over, they endeavour in all coun-
tries to get an ascendant over the rest of mankind; and the.
magistrate having a joint interest with the priest in subduing,
amusing, and scaring the people, too often lends a hand to the
hierarchy, who never think their authority and possessions
secure, so long as those who differ from them in opinion are
allowed to partake even in the common rights belonging to their
birth or species. To represent the matter in a true light, figure
304 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. I.
to yourselves a monster or spectre made up of superstition and
enthusiasm, the joint issue of statecraft and priestcraft, rattling
chains in one hand, and with the other brandishing a flaming
sword over the land, and menacing destruction to all who shall
dare to follow the dictates of reason and common sense. Do but
consider this, and then say if there was not danger as well as
difficulty in our undertaking. Yet, such is the generous ardour
that truth inspires, our free-thinkers are neither overcome by the
one nor daunted by the other. In spite of both we have already
made so many proselytes among the better sort, and their num-
bers increase so fast, that we hope we shall be able to carry all
before us, beat down the bulwarks of all tyranny, secular or
ecclesiastical, break the fetters and chains of our countrymen,
and restore the original inherent rights, liberties, and preroga-
tives of mankind. Euphranor heard this discourse with his
mouth open and his eyes fixed upon Alciphron, who, having
uttered it with no small emotion, stopped to draw breath and
recover himself; but, finding that nobody made answer, he
resumed the thread of his discourse, and, turning to Euphranor,
spoke in a lower note what follows. The more innocent and
honest a man is, the more liable is he to be imposed on by the
specious pretences of other men. You have probably met with
certain writings of our divines that treat of grace, virtue, good-
ness, and such matters fit to amuse and deceive a simple, honest
mind. But believe me when I tell you, they are all at bottom
(however they may gild their designs) united by one common
principle in the same interest. I will not deny there may be
here and there a poor half-witted man that means no mischief;
but this I will be bold to say, that all the men of sense among
them are true at bottom to these three pursuits of ambition,
avarice, and revenge.
IV. While Alciphron was speaking, a servant came to tell
him and Lysicles, that some men who were going to London
waited to receive their orders. Whereupon they both rose up,
and went towards the house. They were no sooner gone, but
Euphranor, addressing himself to Crito, said, he believed that
poor gentleman had been a great sufferer for his free-thinking,
for that he seemed to express himself with the passion and re-
sentment natural to men who have received very bad usage. I
believe no such thing, answered Crito, but have often observed
those of his sect run into two faults of conversation, declaiming
and bantering, just as the tragic or the comic humour prevails.
Sometimes they work themselves into high passions, and are
frightened at spectres of their own raising. In those fits every
country curate passes for an inquisitor. At other times they
affect a sly, facetious manner, making use of hints and allusions,
expressing little, insinuating much, and upon the whole seeming
DIAL. I.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 305
to divert themselves with the subject and their adversaries. But
if you would know their opinions, you must make them speak
out and keep close to the point. Persecution for free-thinking is
a topic they are apt to enlarge on, though without any just cause,
every one being at full liberty to think what he pleases, there
being no such thing in England that I know as persecution for
opinion, sentiment, or thought. But in every country, I sup-
pose, some care is taken to restrain petulant speech, and, what-
ever men's inward thoughts may be, to discourage an outward
contempt of what the public esteemeth sacred. Whether this
care in England hath of late been so excessive, as to distress the
subjects of this once free and easy government, whether the
free-thinkers can truly complain of any hardship upon the score
of conscience or opinion, you will better be able to judge, when
you hear from themselves an account of the numbers, progress,
and notions of their sect ; which I doubt not they will commu-
nicate fully and freely, provided nobody present seem shocked or
offended : for in that case it is possible good manners may put
them upon some reserve. Oh! said Euphranor, I am never
angry with any man for his opinion ; whether he be Jew, Turk,
or idolater, he -may speak his mind freely to me without fear of
offending. I should even be glad to hear what he hath to say,
provided he saith it in an ingenuous, candid manner. Whoever
digs in the mine of truth I look on as my fellow-labourer: but
if, while I am taking true pains, he diverts himself with teasing
me and flinging dust in mine eyes, I shall soon be tired of him.
V. In the meantime Alciphron and Lysicles, having despatched
what they went about, returned to us. Lysicles sat down
where he had been before. But Alciphron stood over against us,
with his arms folded across, and his head reclined on the left
shoulder, in the posture of a man meditating. We sat silent,
not to disturb his thoughts ; and after two or three minutes he
uttered these words, " Oh truth ! oh liberty ! " after which he
remained musing as before. Upon this Euphranor took the free-
dom to interrupt him. Alciphron, said he, it is not fair to spend
your time in soliloquies. The conversation of learned and
knowing men is rarely to be met with in this corner, and the
opportunity you have put into my hands I value too much not
to make the best use of it. Ale. Are you then in earnest a
votary of truth, and is it possible you should bear the liberty of
a fair inquiry ? Euph. It is what I desire of all things. Ale.
What ! upon every subject ? upon the notions you first sucked
in with your milk, and which have been ever since nursed by
parents, pastors, tutors, religious assemblies, books of devotion,
and such methods of prepossessing men's minds. Euph. I love
information upon all subjects that come in my way, and especially
upon those that are most important. Ale. If then you are in
VOL, i. x
306 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [JDIAL. I.
earnest, hold fair and stand firm, while I probe your prejudices
and extirpate your principles.
Dum veteres avias tibi de pulmone revello.
Having said thus, Alciphron knit his brows and made a short
pause, after which he proceeded in the following manner. If we
are at the pains to dive and penetrate into the bottom of things,
and analyze opinions into their first principles, we shall find that
those opinions which are thought of greatest consequence have
the slightest original, being derived either from the casual customs
of the country where we live, or from early instruction instilled
into our tender minds, before we are able to discern between
right and wrong, true and false. The vulgar (by whom I under-
stand all those who do not make a free use of their reason) are
apt to take these prejudices for things sacred and unquestionable,
believing them to be imprinted on the hearts of men by God
himself, or conveyed by revelation from heaven, or to carry with
them so great light and evidence as must force an assent without
any inquiry or examination. Thus the shallow vulgar have
their heads furnished with sundry conceits, principles, and doc-
trines, religious, moral, and political, all which they maintain
with a zeal proportionable to their want of reason. On the other
hand, those who duly employ their faculties in the search of
truth, take especial care to weed out of their minds, and extir-
pate all such notions or prejudices as were planted in them before
they arrived at the free and entire use of reason. This difficult
task hath been successfully performed by our modern free-thinkers,
who have not only dissected with great sagacity the received
systems, and traced every established prejudice to the fountain-
head, the true and genuine motives of assent : but also, having
been able to embrace in one comprehensive view the several
parts and ages of the \vorld, they observed a wonderful variety
of customs and rites, of institutions religious and civil, of notions
and opinions very unlike and even contrary one to another: a
certain sign they cannot all be true. And yet they are all
maintained by their several partizans with the same positive air
and warm zeal, and, if examined, will be found to bottom on one
and the same foundation, the strength of prejudice. By the help
of these remarks and discoveries, they have broken through the
bands of popular custom, and, having freed themselves from im-
posture, do now generously lend a hand to their fellow- subjects,
to lead them into the same paths of light and liberty. Thus,
gentlemen, I have given you a summary account of the views
and endeavours of those men who are called free-thinkers. If in
the course of what I have said or shall say hereafter, there be
some things contrary to your preconceived opinions, and therefore
shocking and disagreeable, you will pardon the freedom and plain-
DIAL. I.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 307
ness of a philosopher, and consider that, whatever displeasure I give
you of that kind, I do it in strict regard to truth and obedience
to your own commands. I am very sensible, that eyes long kept
in the dark cannot bear a sudden view of noon-day light, but
must be brought to it by degrees. It is for this reason, the in-
genious gentlemen of our profession are accustomed to proceed
gradually, beginning with those prejudices to which men have
the least attachment, and 'thence proceeding to undermine the
rest by slow and insensible degrees, till they have demolished
the whole fabric of human folly and superstition. But the little
time I can propose to spend here obligeth me to take a shorter
course, and be more direct and plain than possibly may be thought
to suit with prudence and good manners. Upon this, we assured
him he was at full liberty to speak his mind of things, persons,
and opinions, without the least reserve. It is a liberty, replied
Alciphron, that we free-thinkers are equally willing to give and
take. We love to call things by their right names, and cannot
endure that truth should suffer through complaisance. Let us
therefore lay it down for a preliminary, that no offence be taken
at any thing whatsoever shall be said on either side. To which
we all agreed.
VI. In order then, said Alciphron, to find out the truth, we
will suppose that I am bred up, for instance, in the church of
England. When I come to maturity of judgment and reflect
on the particular worship and opinions of this church, I do not
remember when or by what means they first took possession of
my mind, but there I find them from time immemorial. Then
casting an eye on the education of children, from whence I can
make a judgment of my own, I observe they are instructed in re-
ligious matters before they can reason about them, and conse-
quently that all such instruction is nothing else but filling the
tender mind of a child with prejudices. I do therefore reject all
those religious notions, which I consider as the other follies of
my childhood. I am confirmed in this way of thinking, when I
look abroad into the world, where I observe papists, and several
sects of dissenters, which do all agree in a general profession of
belief in Christ, but differ vastly one from another in the par-
ticulars of faith and worship. I then enlarge my view so as to
take in Jews and Mahometans, between whom and the Christians
I perceive indeed some small agreement in the belief of one God ;
but then they have each their distinct laws and revelations, for
which they express the same regard. But extending my view
still further to heathenish and idolatrous nations, I discover an
endless variety, not only in particular opinions and modes of
worship, but even in the very notion of a deity, Vherein they
widely differ one from another, and from all the forementioned
sects. Upon the whole, instead of truth simple and uniform, I
x 2
308 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j>IAL. I.
perceive nothing but discord, opposition, and wild pretensions,
all springing from the same source, to wit, the prejudice of edu-
cation. From such reasonings and reflections as these, thinking
men have concluded that all religions are alike false and fabulous.
One is a Christian, another a Jew, a third a Mahometan, a
fourth an idolatrous Gentile, but all from one and the same rea-
son, because they happen to be bred up each in his respective
sect. In the same manner, therefore, as each of these contend-
ing parties condemns the rest, so an unprejudiced stander-by will
condemn and reject them all together, observing that they all
draw their origin from the same fallacious principle, and are
carried on by the same artifice to answer the same ends of the
priest and the magistrate.
VII. Euph. You hold then, that the magistrate concurs with
the priest in imposing on the people. Ale. I do ; and so must
every one who considers things in a true light. For you must
know, the magistrate's principal aim is to keep the people under
him in awe. Now the public eye restrains men from open
offences against the laws and government. But to prevent secret
transgressions, a magistrate finds it expedient, that men should
believe there is an eye of providence watching over their private
actions and designs. And, to intimidate those who might other-
wise be drawn into crimes by the prospect of pleasure and pro-
fit, he gives them to understand, that whoever escapes punish-
ment in this life will be sure to find it in the next ; and that so
heavy and lasting, as infinitely to overbalance the pleasure and
profit accruing from his crimes. Hence the belief of a God, the
immortality of the soul, and a future state of rewards and pun-
ishments have been esteemed useful engines of government.
And to the end that these notional airy doctrines might make a
sensible impression, and be retained on the minds of men, skilful
rulers have in the several civilized nations of the earth devised
temples, sacrifices, churches, rites, ceremonies, habits, music,
prayer, preaching, and the like spiritual trumpery, whereby the
priest maketh temporal gains, and the magistrate findeth his
account in frightening and subduing the people. This is the
original of the combination between church and state, of religion
by law established, of rights, immunities, and incomes of priests
all over the world : there being no government but would have
you fear God, that you may honour the king or civil power.
And you will ever observe that politic princes keep up a good
understanding with their clergy, to the end that they in return,
by inculcating religion and loyalty into the minds of the people,
may render them tame, timorous, and slavish. Crito and I heard
this discourse of Alciphron with the utmost attention, though
without any appearance of surprise, there being indeed nothing
in it to us new or unexpected. But Euphranor, who had never
DIAL. I.]j THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 309
before been present at such conversation, could not help showing
some astonishment; Avhich Lysicles observing, asked him with
a lively air, how he liked Alciphron's lecture. It is, said he,
the first I believe that you ever heard of the kind, and reqnireth
a strong stomach to digest it. Euph. I will own to you that
my digestion is none of the quickest ; but it hath sometimes, by
degrees, been able to master things which at first appeared indi-
gestible. At present I admire the free spirit and eloquence of
Alciphron : but, to speak the truth, I am rather astonished, than
convinced of the truth of his opinions. How (said he, turning
to Alciphron), is it then possible you should not believe the being
of a God ? Ale. To be plain with you, I do not.
VIII. But this is what I foresaw, a flood of light let in at
once upon the mind being apt to dazzle and disorder, rather than
enlighten it. Was I not pinched in time, the regular way would
be to have begun with the circumstantials of religion ; next to
have attacked the mysteries of Christianity ; after that proceeded
to the practical doctrines ; and in the last place to have extir-
pated that which, of all other religious prejudices, being the first
taught, and basis of the rest, hath taken the deepest root in our
minds, I mean the belief of a God. I do not wonder it sticks
with you, having known several very ingenious men who found
it difficult to free themselves from this prejudice. Euph. All
men have not the same alacrity and vigour in thinking : for my
own part, I find it a hard matter to keep pace with you. Ale.
To help you, I will go a little way back, and resume the thread
of my reasoning. First, I must acquaint you, that having ap-
plied my mind to contemplate the idea of truth, I discovered it
to be of a stable, permanent, and uniform nature ; not various
and changeable, like modes or fashions, and things depending on
fancy. In the next place, having observed several sects and sub-
divisions of sects espousing very different and contrary opinions,
and yet all professing Christianity, I rejected those points wherein
they differed, retaining only that which was agreed to by all ;
and so became latitudinarian. Having afterwards, upon a more
enlarged view of things, perceived that Christians, Jews, and
Mahometans had each their different systems of faith, agreeing
only in the belief of one God, I became a deist. Lastly, ex-
tending my view to all the other various nations which inhabit
this globe, and finding they agreed in no one point of faith, but
differed one from another, as well as from the forementioned
sects, even in the notion of a God, in which there is as great
diversity as in the methods of worship, I thereupon became an
atheist : it being my opinion that a man of courage and sense
should follow his argument wherever it leads him, and that nothing
is more ridiculous than to be a free-thinker by halves. I ap-
prove the man who makes thorough work, and, not content with
310 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. f^DIAL. I.
lopping off the branches, extirpates the very root from which
they sprung.
IX. Atheism therefore, that bugbear of women and fools, is
the very top and perfection of free-thinking. It is the grand
arcanum to which a true genius naturally riseth, by a certain
climax or gradation of thought, and without wThich he can never
possess his soul in absolute liberty and repose. For your
thorough conviction in this main article, do but examine the
notion of a God with the same freedom that you would other
prejudices. Trace it to the fountain-head, and you shall not find
that you had it by any of your senses, the only true means of
discovering what is real and substantial in nature : you will find
it lying amongst other old lumber in some obscure corner of the
imagination, the proper receptacle of visions, fancies, and preju-
dices of all kinds ; and if you are more attached to this than the
rest, it is only because it is the oldest. This is all, take my
word for it, and not mine only, but that of many more the most
ingenious men of the age, who, I can assure you, think as I do
on the subject of a deity. Though some of them hold it proper
to proceed with more reserve in declaring to the world their
opinion in this particular, than in most others. And it must be
owned, there are Btill too many in England who retain a foolish
prejudice against the name of atheist. But it lessens every day
among the better sort : and when it is quite worn out, our free-
thinkers may then (and not till then) be said to have given the
finishing stroke to religion ; it being evident that so long as the
existence of God is believed, religion must subsist in some shape
or other. But the root being once plucked up, the scions which
shot from it will of course wither and decay. Such are all those
whimsical notions of conscience, duty, principle, and the like,
which fill a man's head with scruples, awe him with fears, and
make him a more thorough slave than the horse he rides. A
man had better a thousand things be hunted by bailiifs or mes-
sengers than haunted by these spectres, which embarrass and
embitter all his* pleasures, creating the most real and sore servi-
tude upon earth. But the free-thinker, with a vigorous flight of
thought, breaks through those airy springes, and asserts his
original independency. Others indeed may talk, and write, and
fight about liberty, and make an outward pretence to it ; but the
free-thinker alone is truly free. Alciphron having ended this
discourse with an air of triumph, Euphranor spoke to him in the
following manner : You make clear work. The gentlemen of
your profession are, it seems, admirable weeders. You have
rooted up a world of notions : I should be glad to see what fine
things you have planted in their stead. Ale. Have patience,
good Euphranor. I will show you in the first place, that what-
ever was sound and good we leave untouched, and encourage it
DIAL. 1.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 311
to grow in the mind of man. And secondly, I will show you
what excellent things we have planted in it. You must know
then, that pursuing our close and severe scrutiny, we do at last
arrive at something solid and real, in which all mankind agree, to
wit, the appetites, passions, and senses : these are founded in
nature, are real, have real objects, and are attended with real and
substantial pleasures ; food, drink, sleep, and the like animal en-
joyments being what all men like and love. And if we extend
our view to other kinds of animals, we shall find them all agree
in this, that they have certain natural appetites and senses, in the
gratifying and satisfying of which they are constantly employed.
Now these real natural good things, which include nothing of
notion or fancy, we are so far from destroying, that we do all we
can to cherish and improve them. According to us, every wise
man looks upon himself, or his own bodily existence in this pre-
sent world, as the centre and ultimate end of all his actions and
regards. He considers his appetites as natural guides directing
to his proper good, his passions and senses as the natural, true
means of enjoying this good. Hence he endeavours to keep his
appetites in high relish, his passions and senses strong and lively,
and to provide the greatest quantity and variety of real objects
suited to them, which he studieth to enjoy by all possible means,
and in the highest perfection imaginable. And the man who can
do this without restraint, remorse, or fear, is as happy as any
other animal whatsoever, or as his nature is capable of being.
Thus I have given you a succinct view of the principles, dis-
coveries, and tenets of the select spirits of this enlightened age.
X. Crito remarked, that Alciphron had spoken his mind with
great clearness. Yes, replied Euphranor, we are obliged to the
gentleman for letting us at once into the tenets of his sect. But,
if I may be allowed to speak my mind, Alciphron, though in
compliance with my own request, hath given me no small un-
easiness. You need, said Alciphron, make no apology for speak-
ing freely what you think to one who professeth himself a free-
thinker. I should be sorry to make one whom I meant to oblige
uneasy. Pray let me know wherein I have offended. I am half
ashamed, replied Euphranor, to own that I, who am no great ge-
nius,.have a weakness incidental to little ones. I would say that
I have favourite opinions, which you represent to be errors and
prejudices. For instance, the immortality of the soul is a notion
I am fond of, as what supports the mind with a very pleasing
prospect. And if it be an error, I should perhaps be of Tully's
mind, who in that case professed he should be sorry to know the
truth, acknowledging no sort of obligation to certain philosophers
in his days, who taught the soul of man was mortal. They were,
it seems, predecessors to those who are now called free-thinkers ;
which name being too general and indefinite, inasmuch as it com-
312 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. I.
prehends all those who think for themselves, whether they agree
in opinion with these gentlemen or no, it should not seem amiss
to assign them a specific appellation or peculiar name, whereby
to distinguish them from other philosophers, at least in our present
conference. For I cannot bear to argue against free-thinking
and free-thinkers. Ale. In the eyes of a wise man words are of
small moment. We do not think truth attached to a name.
Euph. If you please then, to avoid confusion, let us call your
sect by the same name that Tully (who understood the force of
language) bestowed upon them. Ale. With all my heart. Pray
what might that name be? Euph. Why he calls them minute
philosophers. Right, said Crito, the modern free-thinkers are
the very same with those Cicero called minute philosophers,
which name admirably suits them, they being a sort of sect
which diminish all the most valuable things, the thoughts, views,
and hopes of men : all the knowledge, notions, and theories of
the mind they reduce to sense ; human nature they contract and
degrade to the narrow, low standard of animal life, and assign us
only a small pittance of time instead of immortality. Alciphron
very gravely remarked, that the gentlemen of his sect had done
no injury to man, and that if he be a little, short-lived, contemp-
tible animal, it was not their saying it made him so : and they
were no more to blame for whatever defects they discover, than
a faithful glass for making the wrinkles which it only shows. As
to what you observe, said he, of those we now call free-thinkers
having been anciently termed minute philosophers, it is my
opinion this appellation might be derived from their considering
things minutely, and not swallowing them in the gross, as other
men are used to do. Besides, we all know the best eyes are
necessary to discern the minutest objects ; it seems therefore, that
minute philosophers might have been so called from their dis-
tinguished perspicacity. Euph. O Alciphron ! these minute
philosophers (since that is their true name) are a sort of pirates
who plunder all that come in their way. I consider myself as a
man left stripped and desolate on a bleak beach.
XI. But who are these profound and learned men that of late
years have demolished the whole fabric which lawgivers, philo-
sophers, and divines had been erecting for so many ages ? Lysi-
cles hearing these words smiled, and said he believed Euphranor
had figured to himself philosophers in square caps and long
gowns : but, thanks to these happy times, the reign of pedantry
was over. Our philosophers, said he, are of a very different kind
from those awkward students, who think to come at knowledge by
poring on dead languages, and old authors, or by sequestering
themselves from the cares of the world to meditate in solitude
and retirement. They are the best bred men of the age, men
who know the world, men of pleasure, men of fashion, and fine
DIAL. 1-3 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 313
gentlemen. Euph. I have some small notion of the people you
mention, but should never have taken them for philosophers.
Cri. Nor would any one else till of late. The world, it seems,
was long under a mistake about the way to knowledge, thinking-
it lay through a tedious course of academical education and
study. But among the discoveries of the present age, one of the
principal is the finding out that such a method doth rather retard
and obstruct, than promote knowledge. Ale. Academical study
may be comprised in two points, reading and meditation, Their
reading is chiefly employed on ancient authors in dead languages :
so that a great part of their time is spent in learning words ;
which, when they have mastered with infinite pains, what do they
get by it but old and obsolete notions, that are now quite ex-
ploded and out of use ? Then, as to their meditations, what can
they possibly be good for ? He that wants the proper materials
of thought, may think and meditate for ever to no purpose:
those cobwebs spun by scholars out of their own brains being
alike unserviceable, either for use or ornament. Proper ideas or
materials are only to be got by frequenting good company. I
know several gentlemen, who, since their appearance in the
world, have spent as much time in rubbing off* the rust and pe-
dantry of a college education, as they had done before in acquir-
ing it. Lys. I'll undertake, a lad of fourteen, bred in the
modern way, shall make a better figure, and be more considered in
any drawing-room or assembly of polite people, than one of four
and twenty, who hath lain by a long time at school and college.
He shall say better things, in a better manner, and be more liked
by good judges. Euph. Where doth he pick up all this improve-
ment ? Cri. Where our grave ancestors would never have looked
for it, in a drawing-room, a coffee-house, a chocolate-house, at the
tavern, or groom-porter's. In these and the like fashionable
places of resort, it is the custom for polite persons to speak freely
on all subjects, religious, moral, or political. So that a young
gentleman who frequents them is in the way of hearing many
instructive lectures, seasoned with wit and raillery, and uttered
with spirit. Three or four sentences from a man of quality spoken
with a good air, make more impression, and convey more know-
ledge, than a dozen dissertations in a dry academical way.
Euph. There is then no method or course of studies in those
places. Lys. None but an easy free conversation, which takes
in every thing that offers, without any rule or design. Euph.
I always thought that some order was necessary to attain
any useful degree of knowledge ; that haste and confusion
begat a conceited ignorance ; that to make our advances sure,
they should be gradual, and those points first learned \vhich might
cast a light on Avhat was to follow. Ale. So long as learning
was to be obtained only by that slow formal course of study, few
314 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. QoiAL. I.
of the better sort knew much of it: but now it is grown an
amusement, our young gentry and nobility imbibe it insensibly
amidst their diversions, and make a considerable progress. Euph.
Hence probably the great number of minute philosophers. Cri.
I. is to this that sect is owing for so many ingenious proficients
of both sexes. You may now commonly see (what no former
age ever saw) a young lady or a petit maitre nonplus a divine
or an old-fashioned gentleman, who hath read many a Greek and
Latin author, and spent much time in hard methodical study.
Euph. It should seem then that method, exactness, and industry
are a disadvantage. Here Alciphron, turning to Lysicles, said
he could make the point very clear, if Euphranor had any notion
of painting. Euph. I never saw a first-rate picture in my life,
but have a tolerable collection of prints, and have seen some good
drawings. Ale. You know then the difference between the
Dutch and the Italian manner. Euph. I have some notion of
it. Ale. Suppose now a drawing finished by the nice and labo-
rious touches of a Dutch pencil, and another off hand scratched
out in the free manner of a great Italian master. The Dutch
piece, which hath cost so much pains and time, will be exact in-
deed, but without that force, spirit, or grace, which appear in the
other, and are the effects of an easy, free pencil. Do but apply
this, and the point will be clear. Euph. Pray inform me, did
those great Italian masters begin and proceed in their art without
any choice of method or subject, and always draw with the same
ease and freedom ? Or did they observe some method, beginning
with simple and elementary parts, an eye, a nose, a finger, which
they drew with great pains and care, often drawing the same
thing, in order to draw it correctly, and so proceeding with pa-
tience and industry, till after a considerable length of time they
arrived at the free masterly manner you speak of? If this were
the case, I leave you to make the application. Ale. You may
dispute the matter if you please. But a man of parts is one
thing, and a pedant another. Pains and method may do for some
sort of people. A man must be a long time kindling wet straw
into a vile smothering flame, but spirits blaze out at once.
Euph. The minute philosophers have, it seems, better parts than
other men, which qualifies them for a different education. Ate.
Tell me, Euphranor, what is it that gives one man a better mien
than another ; more politeness in dress, speech, and motion ?
Nothing but frequenting good company. By the same means men
get insensibly a delicate taste, a refined judgment, a certain po-
liteness in thinking and expressing one's self. No wonder if you
countrymen are strangers to the advantage of polite conversation,
which constantly keeps the mind awake and active, exercising its
faculties, and calling forth all its strength and spirit on a thousand
different occasions and subjects, that never came in the way of a
DIAL. I.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 315
book-worm in a college, no more than of a ploughman. Cri.
Hence those lively faculties, that quickness of apprehension, that
slyness of ridicule, that egregious talent of wit. and humour
which distinguish the gentlemen of your profession. JEuph. It
should seem then that your sect is made up of what you call fine
gentlemen. Lys. Not altogether, for we have among us some
contemplative spirits of a coarser education, who, from observing
the behaviour and proceedings of apprentices, watermen, porters,
and the assemblies of rabble in the streets, have arrived at a pro-
found knowledge of human nature, and made great discoveries
about the principles, springs, and motives of moral actions.
These have demolished the received systems, and done a world
of good in the city. Ale. I tell you we have men of all sorts
and professions, plodding citizens, thriving stockjobbers, skilful
men in business, polite courtiers, gallant men of the army ; but
our chief strength and flower of the flock are those promising
young men who have the advantage of a modern education.
These are the growing hopes of our sect, by whose credit and in-
fluence in a few years we expect to see those great things accom-
plished that we have in view. Eupli. I could never have
imagined your sect so considerable. Ale. There are in England
many honest folk as much in the dark about these matters as
yourselves.
XII. To judge of the prevailing opinion among people of
fashion, by what a senator saith in the house, a judge upon the
bench, or a priest in the pulpit, who all speak according to law,
that is, to the reverend prejudices of our forefathers, would be
wrong. You should go into good company, and mind what men
of parts and breeding say, those who are best heard and most
admired, as well in public places of resort as in private visits.
He only who hath these opportunities, can know our real
strength, our numbers, and the figure that we make. Eupli. By
your account there must be many minute philosophers among
the men of rank and fortune. Ale. Take my word for it, not a
few, and they do much contribute to the spreading our notions.
For he who knows the world must observe, that fashions con-
stantly descend. It is therefore the right way to propagate an
opinion from the upper end. Not to say, that the patronage of
such men is an encouragement to our authors. Euph. It seems
then you have authors among you. Lys. That we have, several,
and those very great men, who have obliged the world with
many useful and profound discoveries. Cri. Moschon, for in-
stance, hath proved that man and beast are really of the same
nature : that consequently a man need only indulge his senses
and appetites to be as happy as a brute. Gorgias hath .gone fur-
ther, demonstrating man to be a piece of clock-work or machine ;
and that thought or reason are the same thing as the impulse of
316 'THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. EDIAL. i.
one ball against another. Cimon hath made noble use of these
discoveries, proving as clearly as any proposition in mathematics,
that conscience is a whim, and morality a prejudice ; and that a
man is no more accountable for his actions than a clock is for
striking. Tryphon hath written irrefragably on the usefulness
of vice. Thrasenor hath confuted the foolish prejudice men had
against atheism, showing that a republic of atheists might live
very happily together. Demylus hath made a jest of loyalty,
and convinced the world there is nothing in it : to him and
another philosopher of the same stamp, this age is indebted for
discovering, that public spirit is an idle enthusiasm which seizeth
only on weak minds. It would be endless to recount the dis-
coveries made by writers of this sect. Lys. But the master-
B'ece and finishing stroke is a learned anecdote of our great
iagoras, containing a demonstration against the being of God ;
which, it is conceived, the public is not yet ripe for. But I am
assured by some judicious friends who have seen it, that it is as
clear as day-light, and will do a world of good, at one blow
demolishing the whole system of religion. These discoveries are
published by our philosophers, sometimes in just volumes, but
often in pamphlets and loose papers, for their readier conveyance
through the kingdom. And to them must be ascribed that abso-
lute and independent freedom, which groweth so fast to the
terror of all bigots. Even the dull and ignorant begin to open
their eyes, and be influenced by the example and authority of so
many ingenious men. Euph. It should seem by this account,
that your sect extend their discoveries beyond religion ; and that
loyalty to his prince, or reverence for the laws, are but mean
things in the eye of a minute philosopher. Lys. Very mean :
we are too wise to think there is any thing sacred either in king
or constitution, or indeed in any thing else. A man of sense
may perhaps seem to pay an occasional regard to his prince ; but
this is no more at bottom than what he pays to God, when he
kneels at the sacrament to qualify himself for an office. Fear
God, and honour the king, are a pair of slavish maxims, which
had for a long time cramped human nature, and awed, not only
weak minds, but even men of good understanding, till their
eyes, as I observed before, were opened by our philosophers.
Euph. Methinks I can easily comprehend that, when the fear of
God is quite extinguished, the mind must be very easy with
respect to other duties, which become outward pretences and
formalities, from the moment .that they quit their hold upon the
conscience, and conscience always supposeth the being of a God.
But I still thought that Englishmen of all denominations (how
widely soever they differ as to some particular points) agreed in
the belief of a God, and of so much at least as is called natural
religion. Ale. I have already told you my own opinion of those
DIAL. I."] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 317
matters, and what I know to be the opinion of many more.
Cri. Probably, Euphranor, by the title of deists, which is some-
times given to minute philosophers, you have been misled to
imagine they believe and worship a God according to the light
of nature : but by living among them, you may soon be con-
vinced of the contrary. They have neither time, nor place, nor
form of divine worship ; they offer neither prayers nor praises to
God in public ; and in their private practice show a contempt or
dislike even of the duties of natural religion. For instance, the
saying grace before and after meals is a plain point of natural
worship, and was once universally practised ; but in proportion
as this sect prevailed it hath been laid aside, not only by the
minute philosophers themselves, who would be infinitely ashamed
of such a weakness as to beg God's blessing, or give God thanks
for their daily food ; but also by others who are afraid of being
thought fools by the riiinute philosophers. JEuph. Is it possible
that men, who really believe a God, should yet decline paying
so easy and reasonable a duty for fear of incurring the contempt
of atheists ? Cri. I tell you there are many, who believing in
their hearts the truth of religion, are yet afraid or ashamed to
own it, lest they should forfeit their reputation with those who
have the good luck to pass for great wits and men of genius.
Ale. O Euphranor, we must make allowance for Crito's preju-
dice : he is a worthy gentleman, and means well. But doth it
not look like prejudice to ascribe the respect that is paid our
ingenious free-thinkers rather to good luck than to merit?
Euph. I acknowledge their merit to be very wonderful, and that
those authors must needs be great men who are able to prove
such paradoxes : for example, that so knowing a man as a
minute philosopher should be a mere machine, or at best no
better than a brute. Ale. It is a true maxim, that a man should
think with the learned and speak with the vulgar. I should be
loath to place a gentleman of merit in such a light, before preju-
diced and ignorant men. The tenets of our philosophy have this
in common with many other truths, in metaphysics, geometry,
astronomy, and natural philosophy, that vulgar ears cannot bear
them. All our discoveries and notions are in themselves true
and certain ; but they are at present known only to the better
sort, and would sound strange and odd among the vulgar. But
this, it is to be hoped, will wear off with time. Euph. I do not
wonder that vulgar minds should be startled at the notions of
your philosophy. Cri. Truly a very curious sort of philosophy,
and much to be admired.
XIII. The profound thinkers of this way have taken a direct
contrary course to all the great philosophers of former ages, who
made it their endeavour to raise and refine human kind, and
remove it as far as possible from the brute ; to moderate and
318 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER.
subdue men's appetites ; to remind them of the dignity of their
nature ; to awaken and improve their superior faculties and direct
them to the noblest objects ; to possess men's minds with a high
sense of the Divinity, of the supreme good, and the immortality
of the soul. They took great pains to strengthen the obligations
to virtue, and upon all those subjects have wrought out noble
theories, and treated with singular force of reason. But it seems
our minute philosophers act the reverse of all other wise and
thinking men ; it being their end and aim to erase the principles
of all that is great and good from the mind of man, to unhinge
all order of civil life, to undermine the foundations of morality,
and, instead of improving and ennobling our natures, to bring us
down to the maxims and way of thinking of the most unedu-
cated and barbarous nations, and even to degrade human kind to
a level with brute beasts. And all the while they would pass
upon the world for men of deep knowledge. But in effect what
is all this negative knowledge better than downright savage
ignorance ? That there is no Providence, no spirit, no future
state, no moral duty : truly a fine system for an honest man to
own, or an ingenious man to value himself upon ! Alciphron,
who heard this discourse with some uneasiness, very gravely re-
plied : Disputes are not to be decided by the weight of authority,
but by the force of reason. You may pass, indeed, general
reflections on our notions, and call them brutal and barbarous if
you please : but it is such brutality and such barbarism as few
could have attained to if men of the greatest genius had not
broken the ice, there being nothing more difficult than to get the
better of education, and conquer old prejudices. To remove and
cast off a heap of rubbish that has been gathering upon the soul
from our very infancy, requires great courage and great strength
of faculties. Our philosophers, therefore, do well deserve the
name of esprits forts, men of strong heads, free-thinkers, and such
like appellations betokening great force and liberty of mind. It
is very possible, the heroic labours of these men may be repre-
sented (for what is not capable of misrepresentation ?) as a pi-
ratical plundering and stripping the mind of its wealth and
ornaments, when it is in truth the divesting it only of its pre-
judices, and reducing it to its untainted original state of nature.
Oh nature ! the genuine beauty of pure nature ! Euph. You
seem very much taken with the beauty of nature. Be pleased
to tell me, Alciphron, what those tilings are which you esteem
natural, or by what mark I may know them.
XIV. Ale. For a thing to be natural, for instance to the mind
of man, it must appear originally therein, it must be universally
in all men, it must be invariably the same in all nations and
ages. These limitations of original, universal, and invariable,
exclude all those notions found in the human mind, which are the
DIAL. I.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 319
effect of custom and education. The case is the same with respect
to all other species of beings. A cat, for example, hath a na-
tural inclination to pursue a mouse, because it agrees with the
forementioned marks. But if a cat be taught to play tricks, you
will not say those tricks are natural. For the same reason, if
upon a plum-tree peaches and apricots are engrafted, nobody
will say they are the natural growth of the plum-tree. Euph.
But to return to man : it seems you allow those things alone to
be natural to him, which show themselves upon his first entrance
into the world ; to wit the senses and such passions and appe-
tites as are discovered upon the first application of their respec-
tive objects. Ale. That is my opinion. Euph. Tell me, Alci-
phron, if from a young apple-tree after a certain period of time
there should shoot forth leaves, blossoms, and apples ; would you
deny these things to be natural, because they did not discover
and display themselves in the tender bud ? Ale. I would not.
Euph. And suppose that in a man, after a certain season, the
appetite of lust or the faculty of reason shall shoot forth, open,
and display themselves as leaves and blossoms do in a tree ;
would you therefore deny them to be natural to him, because
they did not appear in his original infancy ? Ale. I acknowledge
I would not. Euph. It seems therefore, that the first mark of a
thing's being natural to the mind was not warily laid down by
you ; to wit, that it should appear originally in it. Ale. It
seems so. Euph. Again, inform me, Alciphron, whether you do
not think it natural for an orange-plant to produce oranges?
Ale. I do. Euph. But plant it in the north end of Great Bri-
tain, and it shall with care produce, perhaps, a good sallad ; in
the southern parts of the same island, it may with much pains
and culture thrive and produce indifferent fruit ; but in Portugal
or Naples it will produce much better with little or no pains. Is
this true or not ? Ale. It is true. Euph. The plant being the
same in all places doth not produce the same fruit, sun, soil, and
cultivation making a difference. Ale. I grant it. Euph. And
since the case is, you say, the same with respect to all species,
why may we not conclude by a parity of reason that things may
be natural to human kind, and yet neither found in all men, nor
invariably the same where they are found ? Ale, Hold, Eu-
phranor, you must explain yourself further. I shall not be over
hasty in my concessions. Lys. You are in the right, Alciphron,
to stand upon your guard. I do not like these ensnaring ques-
tions. Euph. I desire you to make no concessions in com-
plaisance to me, but only to tell me your opinion upon each
particular, that we may understand one another, know wherein
we agree, and proceed jointly in finding out the truth. But
(added Euphranor, turning to Crito and me) if the gentlemen are
against a free and fair inquiry, I shall give them no further
320 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. Q>IAL. 'I.
trouble. Ale. Our opinions will stand the test. We fear no
trial: proceed as you please. Euph. It seems then that from
what you have granted it should follow, things may be natural to
men, although they do not actually show themselves in all men,
nor in equal perfection ; there being as great difference of culture
and every other advantage with respect to human nature, as is to
be found with respect to the vegetable nature of plants, to use
your own similitude : is it so or not ? Ale. It is. Euph. Answer
me, Alciphron, do not men in all times and places, when they
arrive at a certain age, express their thoughts by speech ? Ale.
They do. Euph. Should it not seem then that language is na-
tural ? Ale. It should. Euph. And yet there is a great variety
of languages. Ale. I acknowledge there is. Euph. From all
this will it not follow, a thing may be natural and yet admit of
variety ? Ale. I grant it will. Euph. Should it not seem there-
fore to follow, that a thing may be natural to mankind, though it
have not those marks or conditions assigned ; though it be not
original, universal, and invariable ? Ale. It should. Euph. And
that consequently religious worship and civil government may be
natural to man, notwithstanding they admit of sundry forms and
different degrees of perfection ? Ale. It seems so. Euph. You
have granted already that reason is natural to mankind. Ale. I
have. Euph. Whatever therefore is agreeable to reason is
agreeable to the nature of man. Ale. It is. Euph. Will it not
follow from hence that truth and virtue are natural to man ?
Ale. Whatever is reasonable I admit to be natural. Euph. And
as those fruits which grow from the most generous and mature
stock, in the choicest soil, and with the best culture, are most
esteemed ; even so ought we not to think, those sublime truths
which are the fruits of mature thought, and have been rationally
deduced by men of the best and most improved understandings,
to be the choicest productions of the rational nature of man ?
And if so, being in fact reasonable, natural, and true, they ought
not to be esteemed unnatural whims, errors of education, and
groundless prejudices, because they are raised and forwarded by
manuring and cultivating our tender minds, because they take
early root and sprout forth betimes by the care and diligence of
our instructors. Ale. Agreed, provided still they may be rationally
deduced : but to take this for granted of what men vulgarly call
the truths of morality and religion, would be begging the ques-
tion. Euph. You are in the right : I do not, therefore, take for
granted that they are rationally deduced. I only suppose that,
if they are, they must be allowed natural to man, or in other
words agreeable to, and growing from, the most excellent and
peculiar part of human nature. Ale. I have nothing to object to
this. Euph. What shall we think then of your former asser-
tions ; that nothing is natural to man but what may be found in
DIAL. I.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 321
all men, in all nations and ages of the world ; that to obtain a
genuine view of human nature, we must extirpate all the effects
of education and instruction, and regard only the senses, appe-
tites, and passions which are to be found originally in all man-
kind ; that, therefore, the notion of a God can have no foundation
in nature, as not being originally in the mind, nor the same in all
men ? Be pleased to reconcile these things with your late con-
cessions, which the force of truth seems to have extorted from
you.
XV. Ale. Tell me, Euphranor, whether truth be not one and
the same uniform, invariable thing : and, if so, whether the many
different and inconsistent notions which men entertain of God
and duty be not a plain proof there is no truth in them ? Euph.
That truth is constant and uniform I freely own, and that con-
sequently opinions repugnant to each other cannot be true : but
I think it will not hence follow they are all alike false. If
among various opinions about the same thing, one be grounded
on clear and evident reasons, that is to be thought true, and
others only so far as they consist with it. Reason is the same,
and rightly applied will lead to the same conclusions in all times
and places. Socrates two thousand years ago seems to have
reasoned himself into the same notion of a God, which is enter-
tained by the philosophers of our days, if you will allow that
name to any who are not atheists. And the remark of Confu-
cius, that a man should guard in his youth against lust, in] man-
hood against faction, and in old age against covetousness, is as
current morality in Europe as in China. Ale. But still it would
be a satisfaction if all men thought the same way, difference of
opinions implying uncertainty. Euph. Tell me, Alciphron, what
you take to be the cause of a lunar eclipse. Ale. The shadow
of the earth interposing between the sun and moon. Euph.
Are you assured of this? Ale. Undoubtedly. Euph. Are all
mankind agreed in this truth? Ale. By no means. Ignorant
and barbarous people assign different ridiculous- causes of this
appearance. Euph. It seems then there are different opinions
about the nature of an eclipse. Ale. There are. Euph. And
nevertheless one of these opinions is true. Ale. It is. Euph.
Diversity therefore of opinions about a thing doth not hinder
but that the thing may be, and one of the opinions concerning it
may be true. Ale. I acknowledge it. Euph. It should seem,
therefore, that your argument against the belief of a God from
the variety of opinions about his nature is not conclusive. Nor
do I see how you can conclude against the truth of any moral or
religious tenet, from the various opinions of men upon the same
subject. Might not a man as well argue, that no historical
account of a matter of fact can be true, when different relations
are given of it ? Or may we not as well infer, that because the
VOL. I. Y
322 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER.
several sects of philosophy maintain different opinions, none of
them can be in the right, not even the minute philosophers them-
selves? During this conversation Lysicles seemed uneasy, like
one that wished in his heart there was no God. Alciphron, said
he, methinks you sit by very tamely, while Euphranor saps the
foundation of your tenets. Be of good courage, replied Alci-
phron : a skilful gamester has been known to ruin his adversary
by yielding him some advantage at first. I am glad, said he,
turning to Euphranor, that you are drawn in to argue and make
your appeals to reason. For my part, wherever reason leads I
shall not be afraid to follow. Know then, Euphranor, that I
freely give up what you now contend for. I do not value the
success of a few crude notions thrown out in a loose discourse,
any more than the Turks do the loss of that vile infantry they
place in the front of their armies, for no other end but to waste
the powder and blunt the swords of their enemies. Be assured
I have in reserve a body of other-guess arguments, which I am
ready to produce. I will undertake to prove — Euph. O
Alciphron ! I do not doubt your faculty of proving. But before
I put you to the trouble of any further proofs, I should be glad
to know whether the notions of your minute philosophy are
worth proving. I mean, whether they are of use and service to
mankind ?
XVI. Ale. As to that, give me leave to tell you, a thing may
be useful to one man's views, and not to another's : but truth is
truth, whether useful or not, and must not be measured by the
convenience of this or that man, or party of men. Euph. But
is not the general good of mankind to be regarded as a rule and
measure of moral truths, of all such truths as direct or influence
the moral actions of men ? Ale. That point is not clear to me.
I know, indeed, that legislators, and divines, and politicians have
always alleged, that it is necessary to the well-being of mankind,
that they should be kept in awe by the slavish notions of religion
and morality. But granting all this, how will it prove these
notions to be true ? Convenience 'is one thing, and truth is another.
A genuine philosopher, therefore, will overlook all advantages
and consider only truth itself, as such. Eph. Tell me, Alci-
phron, is your genuine philosopher a wise man, or a fool ? Ale.
Without question, the wisest of men. Euph. Which is to be
thought the wise man, he who acts with design, or he who acts
at random ? Ale. He who acts with design. Euph. Whoever
acts with design, acts for some end : doth he not ? Ale. He doth.
Euph. And a wise man for a good end? Ale. True. Euph.
And he showeth his wisdom in making choice of fit means to
obtain his end. Ale. I acknowledge it. Euph. By ho\v much
therefore the end proposed is more excellent, and by how much
fitter the means employed are to obtain it, so much the wiser is
DIAL. I.} THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 323
the agent to be esteemed. Ale. This seems to be true. Euph.
Can a rational agent propose a more excellent end than happi-
ness? Ale. He cannot. Euph. Of good things, the greater
good is most excellent. Ale. Doubtless. Euph. Is not the
general happiness of mankind a greater good than the private
happiness of one man, or of some certain men? Ale. It is,
Euph. Is it not therefore the most excellent end ? Ale. It
seems so. Euph. Are not then those who pursue this end by
the properest methods to be thought the wisest men? Ale. I
grant they are. Euph. Which is a wise man governed by, wise
or foolish notions ? Ale. By wise, doubtless. Euph. It seems
then to follow, that he who promotes the general well-being of
mankind by the proper necessary means, is truly wise, and acts
upon wise grounds. Ale. It should seem so. Euph. And is not
folly of an opposite nature to wisdom? Ale. It is. Euph.
Might it not therefore be inferred, that those men are foolish
who go about to unhinge such principles as have a necessary
connexion with the general good of mankind? Ale. Perhaps
this might be granted: but at the same time I must observe,
that it is in my power to deny it. Euph. How ! you will not
surely deny the conclusion, when you admit the premises. Ale.
I would fain know upon what terms we argue ; whether in this
progress of question and answer, if a man makes a slip, it be
utterly irretrievable. For if you are on the catch to lay hold of
every advantage, without allowing for surprise or inattention, I
must tell you this is not the way to convince my judgment.
Euph. O Alciphron ! I aim not at triumph, but at truth. You
are therefore at full liberty to unravel all that hath been said,
and to recover or correct any slip you have made. But then
you must distinctly point it out : otherwise it will be impossible
ever to arrive at any conclusion. Ale. I agree with you upon
these terms jointly to proceed in search of truth, for to that I
am sincerely devoted. In the progress of our present inquiry I
was, it seems, guilty of an oversight, in acknowledging the gene-
ral happiness of mankind to be a greater good than the particular
happiness of one man. For in fact, the individual happiness of
every man alone, constitutes his own entire good. The happi-
ness of other men making no part of mine, is not with respect to
me a good : I mean a true natural good. It cannot therefore be
a reasonable end to be proposed by me in truth and nature (for
I do not speak of political pretences), since no wise man will pur-
sue an end which doth not concern him. This is the voice of
nature. O nature ! thou art the fountain, original, and pattern
of all that is good and wise. Euph. You would like then to
follow nature, and propose her as a guide and pattern. for your
imitation. Ale. Of all things. Euph. Whence do you gather
this respect for nature ? Ale. From the excellency of her pro-
Y 2
324 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. I.
ductions. Euph. In a vegetable, for instance, you say there is
use and excellency, because the several parts of it are so con-
nected and fitted to each other, as to protect and nourish the
whole, make the individual grow, and propagate the kind, and
because in its fruits or qualities it is adapted to please the sense,
or contribute to the benefit of man. Ale. Even so. Euph. In
like manner, do you not infer the excellency of animal bodies from
observing the frame and fitness of their several parts, by which
they mutually conspire to the well-being of each other as well as
of the whole ? Do you not also observe a natural union and con-
sent between animals of the same kind, and that even different
kinds of animals have certain qualities and instincts whereby they
contribute to the exercise, nourishment, and delight of each
other ? Even the inanimate, unorganized elements seem to have
an excellence relative to each other. Where was the excellency
of water, if it did not cause herbs and vegetables to spring from
the earth, and put forth flowers and fruits ? And what would
become of the beauty of the earth, if it was not warmed by the
sun, moistened by water, and fanned by air ? Throughout the
whole system of the visible and natural world, do you not per-
ceive a mutual connexion and correspondence of parts ? And is
it not from hence that you frame an idea of the perfection, and
order, and beauty of nature ? Ale. All this I grant. Euph.
And have not the Stoics heretofore said (who were no more
bigots than you are), and did you not yourself say, this pattern
of order was worthy the imitation of rational agents? Ale. I
do not deny this to be true. Euph. Ought we not therefore to
infer the same union, order, and regularity in the moral world
that we perceive to be in the natural ? Ale. We ought. Euph.
Should it not therefore seem to follow that reasonable creatures
were, as the philosophical emperor* observes, made one for
another : and consequently that man ought not to consider him-
self as an independent individual, whose happiness is not con-
nected with that of other men ; but rather as the part of a
whole, to the common good of which he ought to conspire, and
order his ways and actions suitably, if he would live according
to nature ? Ale. Supposing this to be true, what then ? Euph.
Will it not follow that a wise man should consider and pursue
his private good, with regard to, and in conjunction with, that of
other men ? in granting of which, you thought yourself guilty
of an oversight. Though, indeed, the sympathy of pain and
pleasure, and the mutual affections by which mankind are knit
together, have been always allowed a plain proof of this point :
and though it was the constant doctrine of those, who were
esteemed the wisest and most thinking men among the ancients,
as the Platonists, Peripatetics, and Stoics; to say nothing of
* M. Antonin. 1. 4.
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 325
»
Christians, whom you pronounce to be an unthinking, prejudiced
sort of people. Ale. I shall not dispute this point with you.
Euph. Since therefore we are so far agreed, should it not seem
to follow from the premises, that the belief of a God, of a future
state, and of moral duties, are the only wise, right, and genuine
principles of human conduct, in case they have a necessary con-
nexion with the well-being of mankind? This conclusion you
have been led to by your own concessions and by the analogy of
nature. Ale. I have been drawn into it step by step through
several preliminaries, which I cannot well call to mind : but one
thing I observe, that you build on the necessary connexion those
principles have with the well-being of mankind, which is a point
neither proved nor granted. Lys. This I take to be a grand
fundamental prejudice, as I doubt not, if I had time, I could
make appear. But it is noAV late, and we will, if you think fit,
defer this subject till to-morrow. Upon which motion of Ly sides,
we put an end to our conversation for that evening.
THE SECOND DIALOGUE.
I. Vulgar error, that vice is hurtful. II. The benefit of drunkenness, gaming, and
whoring. III. Prejudice against vice wearing off. IV. Its usefulness illustrated in
the instances of Callicles and Tclesilla. V. The reasoning of Lysicles in behalf of
vice, examined. VI. Wrong to punish actions, when the doctrines whence they flow
are tolerated. VII. Hazardous experiment of the minute philosophers. VIII. Their
doctrine of circulation and revolution. IX. Their sense of a reformation. X. Riches
alone not the public weal. XI. Authority of minute philosophers: their prejudice
against religion. XII. Effects of luxury : virtue, whether notional. XIII. Plea-
sure of sense. XIV. What sort of pleasure most natural to man. XV. Dignity of
human nature. XVI. Pleasure mistaken. XVII. Amusements, misery, and cow-
ardice of minute philosophers. XVIII. Rakes cannot reckon. XIX. Abilities and
success of minute philosophers. XX. Happy effects of the minute philosophy in
particular instances. XXI. Their free notions about government. XXII. England
the proper soil for minute philosophy. XXIII. The policy and address of its pro-
fessors. XXIV. Merit of minute philosophers towards the public. XXV. Their
notions and character. XXVI. Their tendency towards popery and slavery.
I. Next morning, Alciphron and Lysicles said the weather was
so fine they had a mind to spend the day abroad, and take a cold
dinner under a shade in some pleasant part of the country.
Whereupon, after breakfast, we went down to a beach about half a
mile off ; where we walked on the smooth sand, with the ocean on
one hand, and on the other wild broken rocks, intermixed with
shady trees and springs of water, till the sun began to be uneasy.
We then withdrew into a hollow glade, between two rocks,
where AVC had no sooner seated ourselves but Lysicles addressing
himself to Euphranor, said : I am now ready to perform what I
undertook last evening, which was to show, there is nothing in
326 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [^DIAL. II.
m
that necessary connexion which some men imagine between those
principles you contend for, and the public good. I freely own,
that if this question was to be decided by the authority of legis-
lators or philosophers, it must go against us. For those men
generally take it for granted, that vice is pernicious to the public ;
and that men cannot be kept from vice but by the fear of God,
and the sense of a future state ; whence they are induced to
think the belief of such things necessary to the well-being of
human kind. This false notion hath prevailed for many ages in
the world, and done an infinite deal of mischief, being in truth
the cause of religious establishments, and gaining the protection
and encouragement of laws and magistrates to the clergy and
their superstitions. Even some of the wisest among the ancients,
who agreed with our sect in denying a providence and the im-
mortality of the soul, had nevertheless the weakness to lie under
the common prejudice that vice was hurtful to societies of men.
But England hath of late produced great philosophers who have
undeceived the world, and proved to a demonstration that private
vices are public benefits. This discovery was reserved to our
times, and our sect hath the glory of it. Cri. It is possible
some men of fine understanding might in former ages have had
a glimpse of this important truth ; but it may be presumed they
lived in ignorant times and bigoted countries, which were not
ripe for .such a discovery. Lys. Men of narrow capacities and
short sight, being able to see no further than one link in a chain
of consequences, are shocked at small evils which attend upon
vice. But those who can enlarge their view, and look through a
long series of events, may behold happiness resulting from vice,
and good springing out of evil in a thousand instances. To
prove my point I shall not trouble you with authorities or far-
fetched arguments, but bring you to plain matter of fact. Do
but take a view of each particular vice, and trace it through its
effects and consequences, and then you will clearly perceive the
advantage it brings to the public.
II. Drunkenness, for instance, is by your sober moralists
thought a pernicious vice ; but it is for want of considering the
good effects that flow from it. For in the first place, it increases
the malt-tax, a principal branch of his majesty's revenue, and
thereby promotes the safety, strength, and glory of the nation.
Secondly, it employs a great number of hands, the brewer, the
maltster, the ploughman, the dealer in hops, the smith, the car-
penter, the brazier, the joiner, with all other artificers necessary
to supply those enumerated with their respective instruments and
utensils. All which advantages are procured from drunkenness in
the vulgar way, by strong beer. This point is so clear it wrill
admit of no dispute. But while you are forced to allow thus
much, I foresee you are ready to object against drunkenness
DIAL. I!.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 327
occasioned by wine and spirits, as exporting wealth into foreign
countries. But you do not reflect upon the number of hands
which even this sets on work at home : the distillers, the vint-
ners, the merchants, the sailors, the shipwrights, with all those
who are employed towards victualling and fitting out ships,
which upon a nice computation will be found to include an in-
credible variety of trades and callings. Then for freighting our
ships to answer these foreign importations, all our manufacturers
throughout the kingdom are employed, the spinners, the weavers,
the dyers, the wool-combers, the carriers, the packers. And the
same may be said of many other manufactures, as well as the
woollen. And if it be further considered, how many men are
enriched by all the forementioned ways of trade and business, and
the expenses of -these men and their families, in all the several
articles of convenient and fashionable living, whereby all sorts of
trades and callings, not only at home, but throughout all parts
wherever our commerce reaches, are kept in employment ; 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. With as
much judgment your half-witted folk are accustomed to censure
gaming. And indeed (such is the ignorance and folly of man-
kind) a gamester and a drunkard are thought no better than
public nuisances, when in truth they do each in their way greatly
conduce to the public benefit. If you look only on the surface
and first appearance of things, you will no doubt think playing
at cards a very idle and fruitless occupation. But dive deeper,
and you shall perceive this idle amusement employs the card-
maker, and he sets the paper-mills at work, by which the poor
rag-man is supported ; not to mention the builders and workers
in wood and iron that arc employed in erecting and furnishing
those mills. Look still deeper, and you shall find that candles
and chair-hire employ the industrious and the poor, who by these
means come to be relieved by sharpers and gentlemen, who
would not give one penny in charity. But you will say that
many gentlemen and ladies are ruined by play, without consi-
dering that what one man loses another gets, and that conse-
quently as many are made as ruined : money changeth hands,
and in this circulation the life of business and commerce consists.
When money is spent, it is all one to the public who spends it.
Suppose a fool of quality becomes the dupe of a man of mean
birth and circumstances, who has more wit : in this case what
harm doth the public sustain ? Poverty is relieved, ingenuity is
rewarded, the money stays at home, and has a lively circulation,
the ingenious sharper being enabled to set up an equipage and
spend handsomely, which cannot be done without employing a
world of people. But you will perhaps object, that a man re-
328 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. II.
duccd by play may be put upon desperate courses, hurtful to the
public. Suppose the worst, and that he turns highwayman;
such men have a short life and a merry. While he lives, he
spends, and for one that he robs makes twenty the better for his
expense. And when his time is come, a poor family may be re-
lieved by fifty or a hundred pounds set upon his head. A vulgar
eye looks on many a man as an idle or mischievous fellow, whom
a true philosopher, viewing in another light, considers as a man
of pleasant occupation who diverts himself, and benefits the
public ; and that with so much ease, that he employs a multitude
of men, and sets an infinite machine in motion, without knowing
the good he does, or even intending to do any : which is peculiar
to the gentleman-like way of doing good by vice. I was consi-
dering play, and that insensibly led me to the advantages which
attend robbing on the high-way. Oh the beautiful and never
enough admired connexion of vices ! It would take too much
time to show how they all hang together, and what an infinite
deal of good takes its rise from every one of them. One word
for a favourite vice, and I shall leave you to make out the rest
yourself, by applying the same way of reasoning to all other
vices. A poor girl, who might not have the spending of half a
crown a week in what you call an honest way, no sooner hath the
good fortune to be a kept mistress, but she employs milliners,
laundresses, tire-women, mercers, and a number of other trades,
to the benefit of her country. It would be endless to trace and
pursue every particular vice through its consequences and effects,
and show the vast advantage they all are of to the public. The
true springs that actuate the great machine of commerce, and
make a flourishing state, have been hitherto little understood.
Your moralists and divines have for so many ages been cor-
rupting the genuine sense of mankind, and filling their heads
with such absurd principles, that it is in the power of few men
to contemplate real life with an unprejudiced eye. And fewer
still have sufficient parts and sagacity to pursue a long train of
consequences, relations, and dependencies, which must be done iu
order to form a just and entire notion of the public weal. But,
as I said before, our sect hath produced men capable of these dis-
coveries, who have displayed them in full light, and made them
public for the benefit of their country.
III. Oh ! said Euphranor, who heard this discourse with great
attention, you, Lysicles, are the very man I wanted, eloquent
and ingenious, knowing in the principles of your sect, and willing
to impart them. Pray tell me, do these principles find an easy
admission in the world ? Lys. They do among ingenious men
and people of fashion, though you will sometimes meet with
strong prejudices against them in the middle sort, an effect of
ordinary talents and mean breeding. Euph. I should wonder if
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 329
men were not shocked at notions of such a surprising nature, so
contrary to all laws, education, and religion. Lys. They would
be shocked much more if it had not been for the skilful address
of our philosophers, who, considering that most men are influ-
enced by names rather than things, have introduced a certain po-
lite way of speaking, which lessens much of the abhorrence and
prejudice towards vice. Euph. Explain me this. Lys. Thus in
our dialect a vicious man is a man of pleasure, a sharper is one
that plays the whole game, a lady is said to have an affair, a gen-
tleman to be a gallant, a rogue in business to be one that knows
the world. By this means we have no such things as sots, de-
bauchees, whores, rogues, or the like in the beau monde, who
may enjoy their vices without incurring disagreeable appellations.
Euph. Vice then is, it seems, a fine thing with an ugly name.
Lys. Be assured it is. Euph. It should seem then, that Plato's
fearing lest youth might be corrupted by those fables which re-
presented the gods vicious, was an effect of his weakness and
ignorance. Lys. It was, take my word for it. Euph. And yet -
Plato had kept good company and lived in a court. And Cicero,
who knew the world well, had a profound esteem for him. Cri.
I tell you, Euphranor, that Plato and Tully might perhaps make
a figure in Athens or Rome : but were they to revive in our
days, they would pass but for underbred pedants, there being at
most coffee-houses in London, several able men who could con-
vince them they knew nothing in — what they are valued so much
for — morals and politics. Lys. How many long-headed men do
I know both in the court-end and the city with five times Plato's
sense, who care not one straw what notions their sons have of
God or virtue.
IV. Cri. I can illustrate this doctrine of Lysicles by examples
that will make you perceive its force. Cleophon, a minute phi-
losopher, took strict care of his son's education, and entered him
betimes in the principles of his sect. Callicles (that was his son's
name) being a youth of parts, made a notable progress : insomuch
that before he became of age he killed his old covetous father
with vexation, and ruined the estate he left behind him ; or, in
other words, made a present of it to the public, spreading the
dunghill collected by his ancestors over the face of the nation,
and making out of one overgrown estate several pretty fortunes
for ingenious men, who live by the vices of the great. Telesilla,
though a woman of quality and spirit, made no figure in the
world, till she was instructed by her husband in the tenets of
minute philosophy, which she wisely thought would prevent, her
giving any thing in charity. From that time she took a turn
towards expensive diversions, particularly deep play, by Avhich
means she soon transferred a considerable share of his fortune to
several acute men skilled in that mystery, who wanted it more,
330 THE MfNUTE PHILOSOPHER. {J3TAL. II.
and circulate it quicker than her husband would have done, who
in return hath got an heir to his estate, having never had a child
before. That same Telesilla, who was good for nothing as long
as she believed her catechism, now shines in all public places, is
a lady of gallantry and fashion, and has by her extravagant pa-
rade in lace and fine clothes raised a spirit of expense in other
ladies, very much to the public benefit, though it must be owned
to the mortification of many frugal husbands. While Crito re-
lated these facts with a grave face, I could not forbear smiling,
which Lysicles observing — Superficial minds, said he, may per-
haps find something to ridicule in these accounts ; but all who
are masters of a just way of thinking must needs see that those
maxims, the benefit whereof is universal, and the damage only
particular to private persons or families, ought to be encouraged
in a wise commomvealth. For my part, said Euphranor, I confess
myself to be rather dazzled and confounded than convinced by
your reasoning ; which, as you observed yourself, taking in the
connexion of many distant points, requires great extent of thought
to comprehend it. I must therefore entreat you to bear with my
defects, suffer me to take to pieces what is too big to be received
at once ; and where I cannot keep pace with you, permit me to
follow you step by step, as fast as I can. Lys. There is reason
in what you say. Every one cannot suddenly take a long con-
catenation of arguments.
Euph. Your several arguments seem to centre in this, that
vice circulates money and promotes industry, which causeth a
people to flourish : is it not so ? Lys. It is. Euph. And the
reason that vice produceth this effect is, because it causeth an
extravagant consumption which is the most beneficial to the
manufacturers, their encouragement consisting in a quick demand
and high price. Lys. True. Euph. Hence you think a drunk-
ard most beneficial to the brewer and the vintner, as causing a
quick consumption of liquor, inasmuch as he drinks more than
other men. Lys. Without doubt. Euph. Say, Lysicles, who
drinks most, a sick man or a healthy ? Lys. A healthy. Euph.
And which is healthiest, a sober man or a drunkard ? Lys. A
sober man. ' Euph. A sober man therefore in health may drink
more than a drunkard when he is sick. Lys. He may. Euph.
What think you, will a man consume more meat and drink in a
long life or a short one? Lys. In a long. Euph. A sober,
healthy man, therefore, in a long life may circulate more money
by eating and drinking, than a glutton or drunkard in a short
one. Lys. What then ? Euph. Why then it should seem, that
he may be more beneficial to the public even in this way of eat-
ing and drinking. Lys. I shall never own that temperance is
the way to promote drinking. Euph. But you will own that
sickness lessens, and death puts an end to all drinking. The
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 331
same argument will hold, for aught I can see, with respect to all
other vices that impair men's health and shorten their lives.
And if we admit this, it will not be so clear a point that vice
hath merit towards the public. Lys. But admitting that some
artificers or traders might be as well encouraged by the sober men
as the vicious ; what shall we say of those who subsist altogether
by vice and vanity ? Euph. If such there are, may they not be
otherwise employed without loss to the public ? Tell me, Lysi-
cles, is there any thing in the nature of vice, as such, that renders
it a public blessing, or is it only the consumption it occasions ?
Lys. I have already shown how it benefits the nation by the con-
sumption of its manufactures. Euph. And you have granted
that a long and healthy life consumes more than a short and sickly
one ; and you will not deny that many consume more than one.
Upon the whole then compute and say, which is most likely to
promote the industry of his countrymen, a virtuous married man
with a healthy, numerous offspring, and who feeds and clothes the
orphans in his neighbourhood, or a fashionable rake about town.
I would fain know whether money spent innocently, doth not
circulate as well as that spent upon vice. And if so, whether
by your own rule it doth not benefit the public as much ? Lys.
What I have proved I proved plainly, and there is no need of more
words about it. Euph. You seem to me to have proved nothing,
unless you can make it out that it is impossible to spend a fortune
innocently. I should think the public Aveal of a nation consists in
the number and good condition of its inhabitants ; have you any
thing to object to this ? Lys. I think not. Euph. To this end
which would most conduce, the employing men in open air and
manly exercise, or in sedentary business within doors ? Lys. The
former I suppose. Euph. Should it not seem therefore, that
building, gardening, and agriculture would employ men more
usefully to the public, than if tailors, barbers, perfumers, distillers,
and such arts were multiplied. Lys. All this I grant ; but it
makes against you. For what moves men to build and plant but
vanity, and what is vanity but vice ? Euph. But if a man should
do those things for his convenience or pleasure, and in proportion
to his fortune, without a foolish ostentation or over-rating them
beyond their due value, they would not then be the effect of
vice ; and how do you know but this may be the case ? Cri.
One thing I know, that the readiest way to quicken that sort of
industry, and employ carpenters, masons, smiths, and all such
trades, would be to put in practice the happy hint of a celebrated
minute philosopher, who by profound thinking has discovered
that burning the city of London would be no such bad action, as
silly prejudiced people might possibly imagine : inasmuch as it
would produce a quick circulation of property, transferring it
from the rich to the poor, and employing a great number of
332 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. II.
artificers of all kinds. This at least cannot be denied, that it hath
opened a new way of thinking to our incendiaries, of which the
public hath of late begun to reap the benefit. Euph. I cannot
sufficiently admire this ingenious thought.
VI. But methinks it would be dangerous to make it public.
Cri. Dangerous to whom ? Euph. In the first place to the pub-
lisher. Cri. That is a mistake ; for the notion hath been pub-
lished, and met with due applause in this most wise and happy
age of free-thinking, free speaking, free writing, and free acting.
Euph. How ! may a man then publish and practise such things
with impunity ? Cri. To speak the truth, I am not so clear as
to the practic part. An unlucky accident now and then befalls
an ingenious man. The minute philosopher Magirus, being
desirous to benefit the public, by circulating an estate possessed
by' a near relation who had not the heart to spend it, soon con-
vinced himself, upon these principles, that it would be a very
Avorthy action to despatch out of the way such a useless fellow,
to whom he was next heir. But for this laudable attempt, he
had the misfortune to be hanged by an underbred judge and
jury. Could any thing be more unjust ? Euph. Why unjust ?
Cri. Is it not unjust to punish actions, when the principles from
which they directly follow are tolerated and applauded by the
public ? Can any thing be more inconsistent than to condemn
in practice what is approved in speculation ? Truth is one and
the same, it being impossible a thing should be practically Avrong
and speculatively right. Thus much is certain, Magirus was
perfect master of all this theory, and argued most acutely about
it with a friend of mine, a little before he did the fact for which
he died. Lys. The best of it is, the world every day grows
wiser. Cri. You mistake, Euphranor, if you think the minute
philosophers idle theorists ; they are men of practical views.
Euph. As much as I love liberty, I should be afraid to live
among such people ; it would be, as Seneca somewhere express-
eth it, in libertate bellis ac tyrannis sceviore. Lys. What do you
mean by quoting Plato and Seneca ? Can you imagine a free-
thinker is to be influenced by the authority of such old-fashioned
writers? Euph. You, Lysicles, and your friend have often
quoted to me ingenious moderns, profound fine gentlemen, with
new names of authors in the minute philosophy, to whose merits
I am a perfect stranger. Suffer me in my turn to cite such
authorities as I know, and have passed for many ages upon the
world.
VII. But, authority apart, what do you say to experience ?
My observation can reach as far as a private family ; and some
wise men have thought, a family may be considered as a small
kingdom, or a kingdom as a great family. Do you admit this to
be true ? Lys. If I say yes, you will make an inference, and if
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 333
I say no, you will demand a reason. The best way is to say
nothing at all. There is, I see, no end of answering. Euph. If
you give up the point you undertook to prove, there is an end at
once : but if you hope to convince me you must answer my
questions, and allow me the liberty to argue and infer. Lys.
Well, suppose I admit that a kingdom may be considered as a
great family. Euph. I shall ask you then, whether ever you
knew private families thrive by those vices you think so bene-
ficial to the public ? Lys. Suppose I have not. Euph. Might
not a man therefore by a parity of reason suspect their being of
that benefit to the public ? Lys. Fear not ; the next age will
thrive and flourish. Euph. Pray tell me, Lysicles ; suppose you
saw a fruit of a new, untried kind, would you recommend it to
your own family to make a full meal of? Lys. I would not.
"Euph. Why then would you try upon your own country these
maxims which were never admitted in any other? Lys. The
experiment must begin somewhere; and we are resolved our
own country shall have the honour and advantage of it. Euph.
0 Lysicles, hath not old England subsisted for many ages with-
out the help of your notions ? Lys. She has. Euph. And made
some figure. Lys. I grant it. Euph. Why then should you
make her run the risk of a new experiment, when it is certain
she may do without it? Lys. But we would make her do
better. We would produce a change in her that never was seen
in any nation. Euph. Sallust observes, that a little before the
downfall of the Roman empire, avarice (the effect of luxury) had
erased the good old principles of probity and justice ; had pro-
duced a contempt for religion, and made every thing venal, while
ambition bred dissimulation, and caused men to unite in clubs
and parties, not from honourable motives, but narrow and in-
terested views. The same historian observes of that great free-
thinker Catiline, that he made it his business to insinuate
himself into the acquaintance of young men, whose minds, unim-
proved by years and experience, were more easily seduced. I
know not how it happens, but these passages have occurred to
my thoughts more than once during this conversation. Lys.
Sallust was a sententious pedant. Euph. But consult any his-
torian, look into any writer. See, for instance, what Xenophon
and Livy say of Sparta and Rome, and then tell me if vice be
not the likeliest way to ruin and enslave a people. Lys. When
a point is clear by its own evidence, I never think it worth while
to consult old authors about it. Cri. It requires much thought
and delicate observation to go to the bottom of things. But one
who hath come at truth with difficulty can impart it with ease.
1 will, therefore, Euphranor, explain to you in three words
(what none of your old writers ever dreamt of) the true cause
of ruin to those states. You must know that vice and virtue,
334 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [jDIAL. II.
being opposite and contradictory principles, both working at
once in a state, will produce contrary effects, which intestine
discord must needs tend to the dissolution and ruin of the whole.
But it is the design of our minute philosophers, by making men
wicked upon principle, a thing unknown to the ancients, so to
weaken and destroy the force of virtue, that its effects shall not
be felt in the public. In which case, vice being uncontrolled
without let or impediment of principle, pure and genuine with-
out allay of virtue, the nation must doubtless be very flourishing
and triumphant. Euph. Truly, a noble scheme ! Cri. And in
a fair way to take effect. For our young proficients in the
minute philosophy, having, by a rare felicity of education, no
tincture of bigotry or prejudice, do far outgo the old standers
and professors of the sect ; who, though men of admirable parts,
yet having had the misfortune to be imbued in their childhood
with some religious notions, could never after get entirely rid of
them ; but still retain some small grains of conscience and super-
stition, which are a check upon the noblest genius. In proof of
this, I remember that the famous minute philosopher, old De-
modicus, came one day, from conversation upon business with
Timander, a young gentleman of the same sect, full of astonish-
ment. I am surprised, said he, to see so young, and withal so
complete a villain ; and, such was the force of prejudice, spoke of
Timander with abhorrence, not considering that he was only the
more egregious and profound philosopher of the two.
VIII. Euph. Though much may be hoped from the unpre-
judiced education of young gentlemen, yet it seems we are not
to expect a settled and entire happiness, before vice reigns pure
and unmixed : till then, much is to be feared from the dangerous
struggle between vice and virtue, which may perchance overturn
and dissolve this government, as it hath done others. Lys. No
matter for that, if a better comes in its place. We have cleared
the land of all prejudices towards government or constitution,
and made them fly like other phantasms before the light of
reason and good sense. Men who think deeply cannot see any
reason why power should not change hands as well as property ;
or why the fashion of a government should not be changed as
easy as that of a garment. The perpetual circulating and re-
volving of wealth and power, no matter through what or whose
hands, is that which keeps up life and spirit in a state. Those
who are even slightly read in our philosophy, know that of all
prejudices the silliest is an attachment to forms. Cri. To say no
more upon so clear a point, the overturning a government may
be justified upon the same principles as the burning a town,
would produce parallel effects, and equally contribute to the
public good. In both cases, the natural springs of action are
forcibly exerted: and in this general industry what one loses
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PinLOSOrnER, 335
another gets, a quick circulation of wealth and power making
the sum total to flourish. Euph. And do the minute philosophers
publish these things to the world ? Lys. It must be confessed
our writers proceed in politics with greater caution than they
think necessary with regard to religion. Cri. But those things
plainly follow from their principles, and are to be admitted for
the genuine doctrine of the sect, expressed perhaps Avith more
freedom and perspicuity than might be thought prudent by those
who would manage the public, or not offend weak brethren.
Euph. And pray, is there not need of caution, a rebel or incen-
diary being characters that many men have a prejudice against ?
Lys, Weak people of all ranks have a world of absurd prejudices.
Euph. But the better sort, such as statesmen and legislators;
do you think they have not the same indisposition towards
admitting your principles ? Lys. Perhaps they may ; but
the reason is plain. Cri. This puts me in mind of that in-
genious philosopher, the gamester, Glaucus, who used to say,
that statesmen and lawgivers may keep a stir about right and
wrong, just and unjust, but that in truth, property of every kind
had so often passed from the right owners by fraud and violence,
that it was now to be considered as lying on the common, and
with equal right belonged to every one that could seize it.
Euph. What are we to think then of laws and regulations relat-
ing to right and Avrong, crimes and duties ? Lys. They serve to
bind Aveak minds, and keep the vulgar in aAve : but no sooner
doth a true genius arise, but he breaks his Avay to greatness
through all the trammels of duty, conscience, religion, law; to
all which he showeth himself infinitely superior.
IX. Euph. You are, it seems, for bringing about a thorough
reformation. Lys. As to Avhat is commonly called the reforma-
tion, I could never see hoAV or Avherein the Avorld Avas the better
for it. It is much the same as popery, Avith this difference, that
it is the more prude-like and disagreeable thing of the tAvo. A
noted Avriter of ours makes it too great a compliment, when he
computes the benefit of hooped petticoats to be nearly equal to
that of the reformation. Thorough reformation is thorough
liberty. Leave nature at full freedom to Avork her own way,
and all Avill be well. This is what AVC aim at, and nothing short
of this can come up to our principles. Crito, Avho is a zealous
protestant, hearing these Avords, could not refrain. The \vorst
effect of the reformation, said he, Avas the rescuing wicked men
from a darkness which kept them in aAve. This, as it hath proved,
Avas holding out light to robbers and murderers. Light in itself
is good, and the same light Avhich shoAvs a man the folly of super-
stition, might show him the truth of religion, and the madness
of atheism. But to make use of light, only to see the evils on
one side, and never to see, but to run blindly upon the Avorse
336 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. II.
extreme, this is to make the best of things produce evil, in the
same sense that you prove the worst of things to produce good,
to wit, accidentally or indirectly : and by the same method of
arguing, you may prove that even diseases are useful : but what-
ever benefit seems to accrue to the public, either from disease of
mind or body, is not their genuine offspring, and may be obtained
without them. Lysicles was a little disconcerted by the affirm-
ative air of Crito ; but after a short pause replied briskly, that to
contemplate the public good was not every one's talent. True,
said Euphranor, I question whether every one can frame a notion
of the public good, much less judge of the means to promote it.
X. But you, Lysicles, who ace master of this subject, will be
pleased to inform me, whether the public good of a nation doth
not imply the particular good of its individuals ? Lys. It doth.
Euph. And doth not the good or happiness of a man consist in
having both soul and body sound and in good condition, enjoying
those things which their respective natures require, and free
from those things which are odious or hurtful to them. Lys. I
do not deny all this to be true. Euph. Now it should seem
worth while to consider, whether the regular, decent life of a vir-
tuous man may not as much conduce to this end, as the mad
sallies of intemperance and debauchery. Lys. I will acknow-
ledge that a nation may merely subsist, or be kept alive, but it
is impossible it should flourish without the aid of vice. To pro-
duce a quick circulation of traffic and wealth in a statCj there
must be exorbitant and irregular motions in the appetites and
passions. Euph. The more people a nation contains, and the
happier those people are, the more that nation may be said to
flourish. I think we are agreed in this point. Lys. We are.
Euph. You allow then that riches are not an ultimate end, but
should only be considered as the means to procure happiness.
Lys. I do. Euph. It seems, that means cannot be of use with-
out our knowing the end, and how to apply them to it. Lys. It
seems so. Euph. Will it not follow, that in order to niake a
nation flourish, it is not sufficient to make it wealthy, without
knowing the true end and happiness of mankind, and how to
apply wealth towards attaining that end ? In proportion as these
points are known and practised, I think the nation should be
likely to flourish. But for a people who neither know nor prac-
tise them, to gain riches, seems to me the same advantage that
it would be for a sick man to come at plenty of meat and drink,
which he could not use but to his hurt. Lys. This is mere so-
phistry ; it is arguing without persuading. Look into common
life ; examine the pursuits of man ; have a due respect for the
consent of the world ; and you will soon be convinced, that riches
alone are sufficient to make a nation flourishing and happy.
Give them riches and they will make themselves happy without
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 337
that political invention, that trick of statesmen and philosophers,
called virtue.
XL Euph. Virtue then, in your account, is a trick of states-
men. Lys. It is. Euph. Why then do your sagacious sect be-
tray and divulge that trick or secret of state, which wise men
have judged necessary for the good government of the world ?
Lysicles hesitating, Crito made answer, that he presumed it was
because their sect, being wiser than all other wise men, disdained
to see the world governed by wrong maxims, and would set all
things on a right bottom. Euph. Thus much is certain. If we
look into all institutions of government, and the political writings
of such as have heretofore passed for wise men, we shall find a
great regard for virtue. Lys. You shall find a strong tincture
of prejudice : but, as I said before, consult the multitude if you
would find nature and truth. Euph. But, among country gen-
tlemen and farmers, and the better sort of tradesmen, is not vir-
tue a reputable thing? Lys. You pick up authorities among
men of low life and vile education. Euph. Perhaps we ought to
pay a decent respect to the authority of minute philosophers,
Lys. And I would fain know whose authority should be more
considered, than that of those gentlemen who are alone above
prejudice, and think for themselves. Euph. How doth it appear
that you are the only unprejudiced part of mankind? May not
a minute philosopher, as well as another man, be prejudiced in
favour of the leaders of his sect ? May not an atheistical educa-
tion prejudice towards atheism ? "What should hinder a man's
being prejudiced against religion, as well as for it ? Or can you
assign any reason why an attachment to pleasure, interest, vice,
or vanity, may not be supposed to prejudice men against virtue?
Lys. This is pleasant. What ? suppose those very men influenced
by prejudice, who are always disputing against it, whose constant
aim it is to detect and demolish prejudices of all kinds ! Except
their own, replied Crito, for you must pardon me if I cannot
help thinking they have some small prejudice, though not in
favour of virtue.
XII. I observe, Lysicles, that you allowed to Euphranor, the
greater number of happy people are in a state, the more that
state may be said to flourish; it follows therefore, that such
methods as multiply inhabitants are good, and such as diminish
them are bad for the public. And one would think nobody
need be told, that the strength of a state consists more in the
number and sort of people, than in any thing else. But in pro-
portion as vice and luxury, those public blessings encouraged by
this minute philosophy, prevail among us, fewer are disposed to
marry, too many being diverted by pleasure, disabled by disease,
or frightened by expense. Nor doth vice only thin a nation, but
also debaseth it by a puny degenerate race. I might add, that
VOL. i. z
338 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. II.
it Is ruinous to our manufacturers, both as it makes labour dear,
and thereby enables our more frugal neighbours to undersell us ;
and also as it diverts the lower sort of people from honest callings
to wicked projects. If these and such considerations were taken
into the account, I believe it would be evident to any man in his
senses, that the imaginary benefits of vice bear no proportion to
the solid, real woes that attend it. Lysicles, upon this, shook his
head, and smiled at Crito, without vouchsafing any other answer.
After which, addressing himself to Euphranor, there cannot, said
he, be a stronger instance of prejudice, than that a man should
at this time of day preserve a reverence for that idol virtue, a
thing so effectually exposed and exploded by the most knowing
men of the age, who have shown, that a man is a mere engine,
played upon and driven about by sensible objects ; and that moral
virtue is only a name, a notion, a chimera, an enthusiasm, or at
best a fashion, uncertain and unchangeable, like all other fashions.
Euph. What do you think, Lysicles, of health ; doth it depend
on fancy and caprice, or is it something real in the bodily compo-
sition of a man ? Lys. Health is something real, which results
from the right constitution and temperature of the organs and
the fluids circulating through them. Euph. This you say is
health of body. Lys. It is. Euph. And may we not suppose
an healthy constitution of soul, when the notions are right, the
judgments true, the will regular, the passions and appetites
directed to their proper objects, and confined within due bounds ?
This, in regard to the soul, seems what health is to the body.
And the man whose mind is so constituted, is he not properly
called virtuous ? And to produce this healthy disposition in the
minds of his countrymen, should not every good man employ his
endeavours ? If these things have any appearance of truth, as to
me they seem to have, it will not then be so clear a point that
virtue is a mere whim or fashion, as you are pleased to represent
it: I must own something unexpectedly, after what had been
discoursed in last evening's conference, which if you would call
to mind, it might perhaps save both of us some trouble. Lys.
Would you know the truth, Euphranor ? I must own I have
quite forgot all your discourse about virtue, duty, and all such
points, which, being of an airy, notional nature, are apt to vanish,
and leave no trace on a mind accustomed only to receive impres-
sion from realities.
XIIL Having heard these words, Euphranor looked at Crito
and me, and said smiling, I have mistaken my part ; it was mine
to learn, and his to instruct. Then addressing himself to Lysi-
cles, Deal faithfully, said he, and let me know whether the public
benefit of vice be in truth that which makes you plead for it ?
Lys. I love to speak frankly what I think. Know then, that
private interest is the first and principal consideration with phi-
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 339
losophers of our sect. Now of all interests pleasure is that
which hath the strongest charms, and no pleasures like those
which are heightened and enlivened by license. Herein consists
the peculiar excellency of our principles, that they show people
how to serve their country by diverting themselves, causing the
two streams of public spirit and self-love to unite and run in the
same channel. I have told you already, that I admit a nation
might subsist by the rules of virtue. But give me leave to say,
it will barely subsist, in a dull, joyless, insipid state, whereas the
sprightly excesses of vice inspire men with joy : and where par-
ticulars rejoice, the public, which is made up of particulars, must
do so too ; that is, the public must be happy. This I take to be
an irrefragable argument. But to give you its full force, and
make it as plain as possible, I will trace things from their original.
Happiness is the end to which created beings naturally tend, but
we find that all animals, whether men or brutes, do naturally and
principally pursue real pleasure of sense, which is therefore to
be thought their supreme good, their true end and happiness. It
is for this men live, and whoever understands life must allow
that man to enjoy the top and flower of it, who hath a quick
sense of pleasure, and withal spirit, skill, and fortune sufficient to
gratify every appetite and every taste. Niggards and fools will
envy or traduce such a one because they cannot equal him.
Hence all that sober trifling in disparagement of what every
one would be master of if he could, a full freedom and unlimited
scope of pleasure. Euph. Let me see whether I understand
you. Pleasure of sense, you say, is the chief pleasure. Lys. I
do. Euph. And this would be cramped and diminished by virtue.
Lys. It would. Euph. Tell me, Lysicles, is pleasure then at
the height when the appetites are satisfied? Lys. There is
then only an indolence, the lively sense of pleasure being past.
Euph. It should seem therefore, that the appetites must be
always craving to preserve pleasure alive. Lys. That is our
sense of the matter. Euph. The Greek philosopher therefore
was in the right, who considered the body of a man of pleasure
as a leaky vessel, always filling and never full. Lys. You may
divert yourself with allegories, if you please. But all the while
ours is literally the true taste of nature. Look throughout the
universe, and you shall find birds and fishes, beasts and insects,
all kinds of animals, with which the creation swarms, constantly
engaged by instinct in the pursuit of sensible pleasure. And
shall man alone be the grave fool who thwarts, and crosses, and
subdues his appetites, whilst his fellow creatures do all most
joyfully and freely indulge them ? Euph. How ! Lysicles. I
thought that being governed by the senses, appetites, and pas-
sions, was the most grievous slavery ; and that the proper business
of free-thinkers, or philosophers, had been to set men free from
z 2
340 THE MIKUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. II.
the power of ambition, avarice, and sensuality. Lys. You
mistake the point. We make men relish the world, attentive to
their interests, lively and luxurious in their pleasures, without
fear or restraint either from God or man. We despise those
preaching writers, who used to disturb or cramp the pleasures
and amusements of human life. We hold, that a wise man who
meddles with business, doth it altogether for his interest, and
refers his interest to his pleasure. With us it is a maxim, that
a man should sieze the moments as they fly. Without love, and
wine, and play, and late hours, we hold life not to be worth
living. I grant, indeed, that there is something gross and ill-bred
in the vices of mean men, which the genteel philosopher abhors.
Cri. But to cheat, whore, betray, get drunk, do all these things
decently, this is true wisdom, and elegance of taste.
XIV. Euph. To me, who have been used to another way of
thinking, this new philosophy seems difficult to digest. I must
therefore beg leave to examine its principles, with the same free-
dom that you do those of other sects. Lys. Agreed. Eupk.
You say, if I mistake not, that a wise man pursues only his pri-
vate interest, and that this consists in sensual pleasure, for proof
whereof you appeal to nature. Is not this what you advance ?
Lys. It is. Euph, You conclude therefore, that as other animals
are guided by natural instinct, man too ought to follow the dic-
tates of sense and appetite. Lys. I do. Euph. But in this, do you
not argue as if man had only sense and appetite for his guides,
on which supposition there might be truth in what you say ? But
what if he hath intellect, reason, a higher instinct, and a nobler
life ? If this be the case, and you being man, live like a brute,
is it not the way to be defrauded of your true happiness — to be
mortified and disappointed ? Consider most sorts of brutes ; you
shall perhaps find them have a greater share of sensual happiness
than man. Lys. To our sorrow we do. This hath made several
gentlemen of our sect envy brutes, and lament the lot of human
kind. Cri. It was a consideration of this sort which inspired
Erotylus with the laudable ambition of wishing himself a snail,
upon hearing of certain particularities discovered in that animal
by a modern virtuoso. Euph. Tell me, Lysicles, if you had an
inexhaustible fund of gold and silver, should you envy another
for having a little more copper than you ? Lys. I should not.
Euph. Are not reason, imagination, and sense faculties differing
in kind, and in rank higher one than another. Lys. I do not
deny it. Euph. Their acts therefore differ in kind. Lys. They
do. Euph. Consequently the pleasures perfective of those acts
are also different. Lys. They are. Euph. You admit therefore
three sorts of pleasure ; pleasure of reason, pleasure of imagina-
tion, and pleasure of sense. Lys. I do. Euph. And, as it is
reasonable to think, the operation of the highest and noblest fa-
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 341
culty to be attended with the highest pleasure, may we not sup-
pose the two former to be as gold or silver, and the latter only as
copper? whence it should seem to follow, that man need not
envy or imitate a brute. Lys. And nevertheless there are very
ingenious men who do. And surely every one may be allowed
to know what he wants, and wherein his true happiness consists.
Euph. Is it not plain that different animals have different plea-
sures ? Take a hog from his ditch or dunghill, lay him on a
rich bed, treat him with sweetmeats, and music, and perfumes.
All these things will be no entertainment to him. Do not a
bird, a beast, a fish, amuse themselves in various manners, inso-
much that what is pleasing to one may be death to another ? Is
it ever seen that one of those animals quits its own element or
way of living, to adopt that of another ? And shall man quit
his own nature to imitate a brute? Lys. But sense is not only
natural to brutes ; is it not also natural to man ? Euph. It is,
but with this difference, it maketh the whole of a brute, but is
the lowest part or faculty of a human soul. The nature of any
thing is peculiarly that which doth distinguish it from other
things, not what it hath in common with them. Do you allow
this to be true? Lys. I do. Euph. And is not reason that
which makes the principal difference between man and other
animals ? Lys. It is. Euph. Reason therefore being the prin-
cipal part of our nature, whatever is most reasonable should seem
most natural to man. Must we not therefore think rational
pleasures more agreeable to human kind, than those of sense ?
Man and beast, having different natures, seem to have different
faculties, different enjoyments, and different sorts of happiness.
You can easily conceive, that the sort of life which makes the
happiness of a mole or a bat, would be a very wretched one for
an eagle. And may you not as well conceive that the happiness
of a brute can never constitute the true happiness of a man ? A
beast, without reflection or remorse, without foresight, or appe-
tite of immortality, without notion of vice, or virtue, or order,
or reason, or knowledge ! What motive, what grounds can there
be for bringing down man, in whom are all these things, to a
level with such a creature ? What merit, what ambition in the
minute philosopher to make such an animal a guide or rule for
human life !
XV. Lys. It is strange, Euphranor, that one who admits free-
dom of thought, as you do, should yet be such a slave to pre-
judice. You still talk of order and virtue, as of real things, as
if our philosophers had never demonstrated, that they have no
foundation in nature, and are only the effects of education. I
know, said Crito, how the minute philosophers are accustomed to
demonstrate this point. They consider the animal nature of
man, or man so far forth as he is animal ^ and it must be owned
342 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. II.
that, considered in that light, he hath no sense of duty, no notion
of virtue. He, therefore, who should look for virtue among
mere animals, or human kind as such, would look in the wrong
place. But that philosopher who is attentive only to the
animal part of his being, and raiseth his theories from the very
dregs of our species, might probably upon second thoughts find
himself mistaken. , Look you, Crito, said Lysicles, my argument
is with Euphranor ; to whom addressing his discourse — I observe,
said he, that you stand much on the dignity of human nature.
This thing of dignity is an old worn-out notion, which depends
on other notions old, and stale, and worn out, such as an imma-
terial spirit, and a ray derived from the Divinity. But in these
days men of sense make a jest of all this grandeur and dignity ;
and many there are would gladly exchange their share of it for
the repose, and freedom, and sensuality of a brute. But com-
parisons are odious: waving therefore all inquiry concerning the
respective excellencies of man and beast, and whether it is be-
neath a man to follow or imitate brute animals, in judging of the
chief good and conduct of life and manners, I shall be content to
appeal to the authority of men themselves, for the truth of my
notions. Do but look abroad into the world, and ask the
common run of men whether pleasure of sense be not the only
true, solid, substantial good of their kind ? Euph. But might
not the same vulgar sort of men prefer a piece of sign-post
painting to one of Raphael's, or a Grub-street ballad to an ode of
Horace ? Is there not a real difference between good and bad
writing ? Lys. There is. Euph. And yet you will allow there
must be a maturity and improvement of understanding to discern
this difference, which doth not make it therefore less real. Lys.
I will. Euph. In the same manner what should hinder, but
there may be in nature a true difference between vice and virtue,
although it require some degree of reflection and judgment to
observe it ? In order to know whether a thing be agreeable to
the rational nature of man, it seems one should rather observe
and consult those who have most employed or improved their
reason. Lys. Well, I shall not insist on consulting the common
herd of mankind. From the ignorant and gross vulgar, I might
myself appeal in many cases to men of rank and fashion. Euph.
They are a sort of men I have not the honour to know much of
by my own observation. But I remember a remark of Aristotle,
who was himself a courtier and knew them well. " Virtue,"
saith he,* " and good sense are not the property of high birth or a
great estate. Nor if they who possess these advantages, wanting
a taste for rational pleasures, betake themselves to those of
sense ; ought we therefore to esteem them eligible, any more than
we should the toys and pastimes of children, because they seem
* Ethic, ad Nicom. lib. x. c. 6.
DIAL. 11.3 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 343
1.
so to them?" And indeed one may be allowed to question,
whether the truest estimate of things was to be expected from a
mind intoxicated with luxury, and dazzled with the splendour of
high living.
Cum stupet insanis acies fulgoribus, et cum
Acclinis falsis animus meliora recusat. Hon.
Crito upon this observed, that he knew an English nobleman,
who in the prime of life professeth a liberal art ; and is the first
man of his profession in the world ; and that he was very sure he
had more pleasure from the exercise of that elegant art, than
from any sensual enjoyment within the power of one of the
largest fortunes and most bountiful spirits in Great Britain.
XVI. Lys. But why need we have recourse to the judgment
of other men in so plain a case ? I appeal to your own breast,
consult that, and then say if sensible pleasure be not the chief
good of man. Euph. I, for my part, have often thought those
pleasures which are highest in the esteem of sensualists, so far
from being the chiefest good, that it seemed doubtful upon the
whole, whether they were any good at all, any more than the
mere removal of pain. Are not our wants and appetites uneasy ?
Lys. They are. Euph. Doth not sensual pleasure consist in
satisfying them? Lys. It doth. Euph. But the cravings are
tedious, the satisfaction momentary. Is it not so? Lys. It is,
but what then ? Euph. Why then it should seem that sensual
pleasure is but a short deliverance from long pain. A long
avenue of uneasiness leads to a point of pleasure, which ends in
disgust or remorse. Cri. And he who pursues this ignis fatuus
imagines himself a philosopher and free-thinker. Lys. Pedants
are governed by words and notions, while the wiser men of
pleasure follow fact, nature, and sense. Cri. But what if no-
tional pleasures should in fact prove the most real and lasting?
Pure pleasures of reason and imagination neither hurt the health,
nor waste the fortune, nor gall the conscience. By them the
mind is long entertained without loathing or satiety. On the
other hand a notion (which with you it seems passeth for no-
thing) often embitters the most lively sensual pleasures, which
at bottom will be found also to depend upon notion more than
perhaps you imagine, it being a vulgar remark, that those things
arc more enjoyed by hope and foretaste of the soul than by pos-
session. Thus much is yielded, that the actual enjoyment is
very short, and the alternative of appetite and disgust long as
well as uneasy. So that, upon the whole, it should seem those
gentlemen, who are called men of pleasure from their eager pur-
suit of it, do in reality, with great expense of fortune, ease, and
health, purchase pain. Lys, You may spin out plausible argu-
ments, but will after all find it a difficult matter to convince me
THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. II.
that so many ingenious men should not be able to distinguish
between things so directly opposite as pain and pleasure. How
is it possible to account for this ? Cri. I believe a reason may
be assigned for it, but to men of pleasure no truth is so palatable
as a fable. Jove once upon a time having ordered, that pleasure
and pain should be mixed in equal proportions in every dose of
human life, upon a complaint that some men endeavoured to
separate what he had joined, and taking more than their share of
the sweet, would leave all the sour for others, commanded Mer-
cury to put a stop to this evil, by fixing on each delinquent a
pair of invisible spectacles, which should change the appearance
of things, making pain look like pleasure, and pleasure like pain,
labour like recreation, and recreation like labour. From that
time the men of pleasure are eternally mistaking and repenting.
Lys. If your doctrine takes place I would fain know what can
be the advantage of a great fortune, which all mankind so eagerly
pursue? Cri. It is a common saying with Eucrates, that a
great fortune is an edged tool, which a hundred may come at,
for one who knows how to use it ; so much easier is the art of
getting than that of spending. What its advantage is I will not
say, but I will venture to declare what it is not. I am sure that
where abundance excludes want, and enjoyment prevents appe-
tites, there is not the quickest sense of those pleasures we have
been speaking of, in which the footman hath often a greater
share than his lord, who cannot enlarge his stomach in proportion
to his estate.
XVII. Reasonable and well educated men of all ranks have,
I believe, pretty much the same amusements, notwithstanding
the difference of their fortunes : but those who are particularly
distinguished as men of pleasure seem to possess it in a very
small degree. Euph. I have heard that among persons of that
character, a game of cards is esteemed a chief diversion. Lys.
Without cards there could be no living for people of fashion. It
is the most delightful way of passing an evening when gentle-
men and ladies are got together, who would otherwise be at a
loss what to say or do with themselves. But a pack of cards is
so engaging, that it doth not only employ them when they are
met, but serves to draw them together. Quadrille gives them
• pleasure in prospect during the dull hours of the day ; they reflect
on it with delight, and it furnishes discourse when it is over.
Cri. One would be apt to suspect these people of condition pass
their time but heavily, and are but little the better for their for-
tunes, whose chief amusement is a thing in the power of every
porter or footman, who is as well qualified to receive pleasure
from cards as a peer. I can easily conceive that when people of
a certain turn are got together, they should prefer doing anything
to the ennui of their own conversation; but it is not easy to
DIAL. II.]] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 345
conceive there is any great pleasure in this. What a card-table
can afford requires neither parts nor fortune to judge of. Lys.
Play is a serious amusement that comes to the relief of a man of
pleasure, after the more lively and affecting enjoyments of sense.
It kills time beyond any thing, and is a most admirable anodyne
to divert or prevent thought, which might otherwise prey upon
the mind. Cri. I can easily comprehend, that no man upon
earth ought to prize anodynes for the spleen, more than a man of
fashion and pleasure. An ancient sage, speaking of one of that
character, saith he is made wretched by disappointments and
appetites, AvTrctrat airorvy^avivv KOI tTriBv^v. And if this was
true of the Greeks who lived in the sun, and had so much spirit,
I am apt to think it is still more so of our modern English.
Something there is in our climate and complexion, that makes
idleness nowhere so much its own punishment as in England,
where an uneducated fine gentleman pays for his momentary
pleasures, with long and cruel intervals of spleen ; for relief of
which he is driven into sensual excesses, that produce a proportion-
able depression of spirits, which, as it createth a greater want of
pleasures, so it lessens the ability to enjoy them. There is a cast
of thought in the complexion of an Englishman, which renders
him the most unsuccessful rake in the world. He is (as Aristo-
tle expresseth it) at variance with himself. He is neither brute
enough to enjoy his appetites, nor man enough to govern them.
He knows and feels that what he pursues is not his true good,
his reflection serving only to show him that misery which his
habitual sloth and indolence will not suffer him to remedy. At
length being grown odious to himself, and abhorring his own
company, he runs into every idle assembly, not from the hopes
of pleasure, but merely to respite the pain of his own mind.
Listless and uneasy at the present, he hath no delight in reflect- .
ing on what is past, or in the prospect of any thing to come.
This man of pleasure, when, after a wretched scene of vanity
and woe, his animal nature is worn to the stumps, wishes and
dreads death by turns, and is sick of living, without having ever
tried or known the true life of man. Euph. It is well this sort
of life, which is of so little benefit to the owner, conduceth so
much to that of the public. But pray tell me, do these gentle-
men set up for minute philosophers ? Cri. That sect, you must
know, contains two sorts of philosophers, the wet and the dry.
Those I have been describing are of the former kind. They
differ rather in practice than in theory. As an older, graver, or
duller man from one that is younger, and more capable or fond
of pleasure. The dry philosopher passeth his time but drily.
He has the honour of pimping for the vices of more sprightly
men, who in return offer some small incense to his vanity. Upon
this encouragement, and to make his own mind easy when it is
346 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. II.
past being pleased, he employs himself in justifying those excesses
he cannot partake in. But to return to your question, those
miserable folk are mighty men for the minute philosophy.
Euph. What hinders them then from putting an end to their
lives? Cri. Their not being persuaded of the truth of what
they profess. Some, indeed, in a fit of despair do now and then
lay violent hands on themselves. And as the minute philosophy
prevails, we daily see more examples of suicide. But they bear
no proportion to those who would put an end to their lives if
they durst. My friend Clinias, who had been one of them, and
a philosopher of rank, let me into the secret history of their
doubts, and fears, and irresolute resolutions of making away with
themselves, which last he assures me is a frequent topic with
men of pleasure, when they have drunk themselves into a little
spirit. It was by virtue of this mechanical valour the renowned
philosopher Hermocrates shot himself through the head. The
same thing hath since been practised by several others to the
great relief of their friends. Splenetic, worried, and frightened
out of their wits, they run upon their doom, with the same
courage as a bird runs into the mouth of a rattlesnake, not be-
cause they are bold to die, but because they are afraid to live.
Clinias endeavoured to fortify his irreligion by the discourse and
opinion of other minute philosophers, who were mutually strength-
ened in their own unbelief by his. After this manner, authority
working in a circle, they endeavoured to atheize one another.
But though he pretended even to a demonstration against the
being of a God, yet he could not inwardly conquer his own belief.
He fell sick, and acknowledged this truth, is now a sober man
and a good Christian ; owns he was never so happy as since he
became such, nor so wretched as while he was a minute philoso-
pher. And he who has tried both conditions may be allowed a
proper judge of both. Lys. Truly a fine account of the brightest
and bravest men of the age. Cri. Bright and brave are fine
attributes. But our curate is of opinion that all your free-think-
ing rakes are either fools or cowards. Thus he argues ; if such
a man doth not see his true interest he wants sense, if he doth
but dare not pursue it, he wants courage. In this manner, from
the defect of sense and courage, he deduceth that whole species
of men, who are so apt to value themselves upon both those
qualities. Lys. As for their courage they are at all times ready
to give proof of it ; and for their understanding, thanks to nature,
it is of a size not to be measured by country parsons.
XVIII. Euph. But Socrates, who was no country parson,
suspected your men of pleasure were such through ignorance.
Lys. Ignorance of what ? Euph. Of the art of computing. It
was his opinion that rakes cannot reckon.* And that for want
* Plato in Protag.
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 347
of this skill they make wrong judgments about pleasure, on the
right choice of which their happiness depends. Lys. I do not
understand you. Euph. Do you grant that sense perceiveth only
sensible things? Lys. I do. Euph. Sense perceiveth only
things present. Lys. This too I grant. Euph. Future pleasures,
therefore, and pleasures of the understanding, are not to be
judged of by actual sense. Lys. They are not. Euph. Those
therefore who judge of pleasure by sense, may find themselves
mistaken at the foot of the account.
Ciim lapidosa chiragra
Contudit articulos veteris ramalia fagi,
Turn crassos transisse dies lucemque palustrem,
Et sibi jam seri vitam ingemuere relictam.*
To make a right computation, should you not consider all the
faculties and all the kinds of pleasure, taking into your account
the future as well as the present, and rating them all according
to their true value ? Cri. The Epicureans themselves allowed,
that pleasure which procures a greater pain, or hinders a greater
pleasure, should be regarded as a pain: and, that pain which
procures a greater pleasure, or prevents a greater pain, is to be
accounted a pleasure. In order therefore to make a true estimate
of pleasure, the great spring of action, and that from whence
the conduct of life takes its bias, we ought to compute intellec-
tual pleasures and future pleasures, as well as present and sensi-
ble : we ought to make allowance, in the valuation of each par-
ticular pleasure, for all the pains and evils, for all the disgust,
remorse, and shame that attend it : we ought to regard both kind
and quantity, the sincerity, the intenseness, and the duration of
pleasures. Euph. And all these points duly considered, will not
Socrates seem to have had reason of his side, when he thought
ignorance made rakes, and particularly their being ignorant of
what he calls the science of more and less, greater and smaller,
equality and comparison, that is to say of the art of computing ?
Lys. All this discourse seems notional. For real abilities of
every kind, it is well known, we have the brightest men of the
age among us. But all those who know the world do calculate
that what you call a good Christian, who hath neither a large con-
science, nor unprejudiced mind, must be unfit for the affairs of
it. Thus you see, while you compute youselves out of pleasure,
others compute you out of business. What then are you good
for with all your computation ? Euph. I have all imaginable
respect for the abilities of free-thinkers. My only fear was,
their parts might be too lively for such slow talents as forecast
and computation, the gifts of ordinary men.
XIX. Cri. I cannot make them the same compliment that
Euphranor does. For though I shall not pretend to characterize
* Persius, Sat. 5,
348 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. II.
the whole sect, yet thus much I may truly affirm, that those who
have fallen in my way have been mostly raw men of pleasure,
old sharpers in business, or a third sort of lazy sciolists, who are
neither men of business, nor men of speculation, but set up for
judges or critics in all kinds, without having made a progress in
any. These among men of the world pass for profound theorists,
and among speculative men would seem to know the world ; a
conceited race, equally useless to the affairs and studies of man-
kind. Such as these, for the most part, seem to be sectaries of
the minute philosophy. I will not deny that now and then you
may meet with a man of easy manners, that, without those faults
and affectations, is carried into the party by the mere stream of
education, fashion, or company ; all which do in this age preju-
dice men against religion, even those who mechanically rail at
prejudice. I must not forget that the minute philosophers have
also a strong party among the beaux and fine ladies ; and, as af-
fectations out of character are often the strongest, there is nothing
so dogmatical and inconvincible as one of these fine things, when
it sets up for free-thinking. But, be these professors of the sect
never so dogmatical, their authority must needs be small with
men of sense : for who would choose for his guide in the search
for truth a man whose thoughts and time are taken up with dress,
visits, and diversions? or whose education hath been behind a
counter, or in an office? or whose speculations have been employed
on the forms of business, who are only well read in the ways and
commerce of mankind in stock-jobbing, purloining, supplanting,
bribing? Or would any man in his senses give a fig for meditations
and discoveries made over a bottle ? And yet it is certain, that
instead of thought, books, and study, most free-thinkers are the
proselytes of a drinking club. Their principles are often settled,
and decisions on the deepest points made, when they are not fit
to make a bargain. Lys. You forget our writers, Crito. They
make a world of proselytes. Cri. So would worse writers in
such a cause. Alas ! how few read ! and of these, how few are
able to judge ! How many wish your notions true ! How many
had rather be diverted than instructed ! How many are convinced
by a title ! I may allow your reasons to be effectual, without
allowing them to be good. Arguments, in themselves of small
weight, have great effect, when they are recommended by a mis-
taken interest, when they are pleaded for by passion, when they
are countenanced by the humour of the age ; and above all, with
some sort of men, when they are against law, government, and
established opinions, things which, as a wise or good man would
not depart from without clear evidence, a weak or a bad man will
affect to disparage on the slightest grounds. Lys. And yet the
arguments of our philosophers alarm. Cri. The force of their
reasoning is not what alarms ; their contempt of laws and govern-
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 349
ment is alarming, their application to the young and ignorant is
dangerous. Euph. But without disputing or disparaging their
talent at ratiocination, it seems very possible their success might
not be owing to that alone. May it not in some measure be
ascribed to the defects of others, as well as to their own perfec-
tions ? My friend Eucrates used to say, that the church would
thrive and flourish beyond all opposition, if some certain persons
minded piety more than politics, practics than polemics, funda-
mentals than consectaries, substance than circumstance, things
than notions, and notions than words. Lys. Whatever may be
the cause, the effects are too plain to be denied. And when a
considering man observes that our notions do, in this most learned
and knowing age, spread and multiply, in opposition to established
laws, and every day gain ground against a body so numerous, so
learned, so well supported, protected, encouraged for the service
and defence of religion : I say, when a man observes and considers
all this, he will be apt to ascribe it to the force of truth, and the
merits of our cause ; which, had it been supported with the re-
venues and establishments of the church and universities, you
may guess what a figure it would make, by the figure that it
makes without them. .Euph. It is much to be pitied, that the
learned professors of your sect do not meet with the encourage-
ment they deserve. Lys. All in due time. People begin to
open their eyes. It is not impossible but those revenues that in ig-
norant times were applied to a wrong use, may hereafter, in a
more enlightened age, be applied to a better. Cri. But why
professors and encouragement for what needs no teaching ? An
acquaintance of mine has a most ingenious footman that can nei-
ther write nor read, Avho learned your whole system in half an
hour: he knows when and how to nod, shake his head, smile, and
give a hint as well as the ablest sceptic, and is in fact a very
minute philosopher. Lys. Pardon me, it takes time to unlearn
religious prejudices, and requires a strong head. Cri. I do not
know how it might have been once upon a time. But in the
present laudable education, I know several who have been im-
bued with no religious notions at all ; and others who have had
them so very slight, that they rubbed off without the least pains.
XX. Panope young and beautiful, under the care of her aunt,
and admirer of the minute philosophy, was kept from learning
the principles of religion, that she might not be accustomed to
believe without a reason, nor assent to what she did not compre-
hend. Panope was not indeed prejudiced with religious notions,
but got a notion of intriguing, and a notion of play, which ruined
her reputation by fourteen, and her fortune by four and twenty.
I have often reflected on the different fate of two brothers in my
neighbourhood. Cleon, the elder, being designed an accomplished
gentleman, was sent to town, and had the first part of his education
350 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [JDIAL. II.
in a great school : what religion he learned there was soon un-
learned in a certain celebrated society, which, till we have a
better, may pass for a nursery of minute philosophers. Cleon
dressed well, could cheat at cards, had a nice palate, understood
the mystery of the die, was a mighty man in the minute philoso-
phy : and having shined a few years in these accomplishments,
he died before thirty, childless and rotten, expressing the utmost
indignation that he could not outlive that old dog his father ;
who having a great notion of polite manners, and knowledge of
the world, had purchased them to his favourite son with much
expense, but had been more frugal in the education of Chasre-
phon, the younger son, who was brought up at a country-school,
and entered a commoner in the university, where he qualified
himself for a parsonage in his father's gift, which he is now pos-
sessed of, together with the estate of the family, and a numerous
offspring. Jf/ys. A pack of unpolished cubs, I warrant. Cri.
Less polished, perhaps, but more sound, more honest, and more
useful than many who pass for fine gentlemen. Crates, a worthy
justice of the peace in this county, having had a son miscarry at
at London, by the conversation of a minute philosopher, used to
say with a great air of complaint, If a man spoils my corn, or
hurts my cattle, I have a remedy against him ; but if he spoils
my children, I have none. Lys. I warrant you, he was for penal
methods: he would have had a law to persecute tender con-
sciences. Cri. The tender conscience of a minute philosopher !
He who tutored the son of Crates, soon after did justice on him-
self. For he taught Lycidas, a modest young man, the principles
of his sect. Lycidas, in return, debauched his daughter, an only
child : upon which, Channides (that was the minute philosopher's
name) hanged himself. Old Bubalion in the city is carking, and
starving, and cheating, that his son may drink and game, keep
mistresses, hounds, horses, and die in a jail. Bubalion neverthe-
less thinks himself wise, and passeth for one that minds the main
chance. He is a minute philosopher, which learning he acquired
behind the counter from the works of Prodicus and Tryphon.
This same Bubalion was one night at supper, talking against the
immortality of the soul with two or three grave citizens, one of
whom the next day declared himself bankrupt, with five thousand
pounds of Bubalion's in his hands ; and the night following he
received a note from a servant, who had during his lecture waited
at table, demanding the sum of fifty guineas to be laid under a
stone, and concluding with most terrible threats and imprecations.
Lys. Not to repeat what had been already demonstrated, that
the public is at bottom no sufferer by such accidents, which in
truth are inconvenient only to private persons, who in their turn
too may reap the benefit of them ; I say, not to repeat all that
hath been demonstrated on that head, I shall only ask you
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 351
whether there would not be rakes and rogues, although we did
not make them ? Believe me, the world always was, and always
will be the same, as long as men are men. Cri. I deny that the
world is always the same. Human nature, to use Alciphron's
comparison, is like land, better or worse, as it is improved, and
according to the seeds or principles sown in it. Though nobody
held your tenets, I grant there might be bad men by the force of
corrupt appetites and irregular passions : but where men, to the
force of appetite and passion, add that of opinion, and are wicked
from principle, there will be more men wicked, and those more
incurably and outrageously so. The error of a lively rake lies
in his passions, and may be reformed : but the dry rogue, who
sets up for judgment, is incorrigible. It is an observation of
Aristotle's, that there are two sort of debauchees, the a(cpar?'/c
and the aKoXaarog, of which the one is so against his judgment,
the other with it, and that there may be hopes of the former, but
none of the latter. And in fact I have always observed, that a
rake who is a minute philosopher, when grown old, becomes a
sharper in business. Lys. I could name you several such who
have grown most noted patriots. Cri. Patriots ? such patriots
as Catiline and Marc Antony. Lys. And what then? Those
famous Romans were brave though unsuccessful. They wanted
neither sense nor courage, and if their schemes had taken effect,
the brisker part of their countrymen had been much the better
for them.
XXI. The wheels of government go on, though wound up by
different hands ; if not in the same form, yet in some other,
perhaps a better. There is an endless variety in nature : weak
men, indeed, are prejudiced towards rules and systems in life and
government ; and think if these are gone all is gone : but a man
of a great soul and free spirit delights in the noble experiment
of blowing up systems and dissolving governments, to mould them
anew upon other principles and in another shape. Take my
word for it ; there is a plastic nature in things that seeks its own
end. Pull a state to pieces, jumble, confound, and shake to-
gether the particles of human society, and then let them stand
awhile, and you shall soon see them settle of themselves in some
convenient order, where heavy heads are lowest, and men of
genius uppermost. Euph. Lysicles speaks his mind freely. Lys.
Where was the advantage of free-thinking if it were not at-
tended with free speaking, or of free speaking if it did not produce
free acting ? We are for absolute, independent, original freedom
in thought, word, and deed. Inward freedom, without outward,
is good for nothing but to set a man's judgment at variance with
his practice. -Cri. This free way of Lysicles may seem new to
you ; it is not so to me. As the minute philosophers lay it down
for a maxim, that there is nothing sacred of any kind, nothing
352 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. II.
but what may be made a jest of, exploded, and changed like the
fashion of their clothes, so nothing is more frequent than for them
to utter their schemes and principles, not only in select compa-
nies, but even in public. In a certain part of the world, where
ingenious men are wont to retail their speculations, I remember
to have seen a valetudinarian in a long wig and cloak sitting at
the upper end of a table, with half a dozen of disciples about
him. After he had talked about religion in a manner and with
an air that would make one think atheism established by law,
and religion only tolerated, he entered upon civil government,
and observed to his audience, that the natural world was in a
perpetual circulation: animals, said he, who draw their suste-
nance from the earth, mix with that same earth, and in their
turn become food for vegetables, which again nourish the animal
kind : the vapours that ascend from this globe descend back
upon it in showers : the elements alternately prey upon each
other : that which one part of nature loseth another gains, the
sum total remaining always the same, being neither bigger nor
lesser, better nor worse for all these intestine changes. Even so,
said this learned professor, the revolutions in the civil world are
no detriment to human kind, one part whereof rises as the other
falls, and wins by another's loss. A man therefore who thinks
deeply, and hath an eye on the whole system, is no more a bigot
to government than to religion. He knows how to suit himself
to occasions, and make the best of every event : for the rest, he
looks on all translations of power and property from one hand to
another with a philosophic indifference. Our lecturer concluded
his discourse with a most ingenious analysis of all political and
moral virtues into their first principles and causes, showing them
to be mere fashions, tricks of state, and illusions on the vulgar.
Lys. We have been often told of the good effects of religion and
learning, churches and universities: but I dare affirm, that a
dozen or two ingenious men of our sect have done more towards
advancing real knowledge, by extemporaneous lectures, in the
compass of a few years, than all the ecclesiastics put together for
as many centuries. Euph. And the nation no doubt thrives ac-
cordingly : but it seems, Crito, you have heard them discourse.
Cri. Upon hearing this and other lectures of the same tendency,
methought it was needless to establish professors for the minute
philosophy in either university, while there are so many spon-
taneous lecturers in every corner of the streets, ready to open
men's eyes, and rub off their prejudices about religion, loyalty,
and public spirit. Lys. If wishing was to any purpose, I could
wish for a telescope that might draw into my view things future
in time, as well as distant in place. Oh 1 that I could but look
into the next age,, and behold what it is that we are preparing to
be, the glorious harvest of our principles, the spreading of which
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 353
hath produced a visible tendency in the nation towards something
great and new. Cri. One thing I dare say you would expect to
see, be the changes and agitations of the public what they will,
that is, every free-thinker upon his legs. You are all sons of
nature, who cheerfully follow the fortunes of the common mass.
Lys. And it must be owned we have a maxim, that each should
take care of one. Cri Alas, Ly sides, you wrong your own
character. You would fain pass upon the world and upon your-
selves for interested cunning men : but can any thing be more
disinterested than to sacrifice all regards to the abstracted specu-
lation of truth ? Or can any thing be more void of all cunning
than to publish your discoveries to the world, teach others to play
the whole game, and arm mankind against yourselves ?
XXII. If a man may venture to suggest so mean a thought
as the love of their country, to souls fired with the love of truth
and the love of liberty, and grasping the whole extent of nature,
I would humbly propose it to you, gentlemen, to observe the
caution practised by all other discoverers, projectors, and makers
of experiments, who never hazard all on the first trial. Would
it not be prudent to try the success of your principles on a small
model in some remote corner ? For instance, set up a colony of
atheists in Monomotapa, and see how it prospers before you pro-
ceed any further at home : half a dozen ship-load of minute
philosophers might easily be spared upon so good a design. In
the mean time you, gentlemen, who have found out that there is
nothing to be hoped or feared in another life, that conscience is
a bugbear, that the bands of government and the cement of
human society are rotten things, to be dissolved and crumbled
into nothing by the argumentation of every minute philosopher,
be so good as to keep these sublime discoveries to yourselves :
suffer us, our wives, our children, our servants, and our neigh-
bours, to continue in the belief and way of thinking established
by the laws of our country. In good earnest, I wish you would
go try your experiments among the Hottentots or Turks. Lys.
The Hottentots we think well of, believing them to be an un-
prejudiced people : but it is to be feared their diet and customs
would not agree with our philosophers. As for the Turks, they
are bigots, who have a notion of God and a respect for Jesus
Christ : I question whether it might be safe to venture among
them. Cri. Make your experiment then in some other part of
Christendom. Lys. We hold all other Christian nations to be
much under the power of prejudice : even our neighbours the
Dutch are too much prejudiced in favour of their religion by law
established, for a prudent man to attempt innovations under
their government. Upon the whole it seems, we can execute
our schemes no where with so much security and such prospect
of success as at home. Not to say that we have already made a
VOL. I. 2 A
354 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j>IAL. IT.
good progress. Oh ! that we could but once see a parliament
of true, staunch, libertine free-thinkers ! Cri. God forbid ! I
should be sorry to have such men for my servants, not to say,
for my masters. Lys. In that we differ.
XXIII. But you will agree with me, that the right way to
come at this, was to begin with extirpating the prejudices of
particular persons. We have carried on this work for many
years with much art and industry, and at first with secresy,
working like moles under ground, concealing our progress from
the public, and our ultimate views from many, even of our own
proselytes, blowing the coals between polemical divines, laying
hold on and improving every incident, which the passions and
folly of churchmen afforded, to the advantage of our sect. As
our principles obtained, we still proceeded to further inferences ;
and as our numbers multiplied, we gradually disclosed ourselves
and our opinions : where we are now I need not say. We have
stubbed, and weeded, and cleared human nature to that degree,
that in a little time, leaving it alone without any labouring or
teaching, you shall see natural and just ideas sprout forth of
themselves. Cri. But I have heard a man, who had lived long
and observed much, remark, that the worst and most unwhole-
some weed was this same minute philosophy. We have had, said
he, divers epidemical distempers in the state, but this hath pro-
duced of all others the most destructive plague. Enthusiasm
had its day, its effects were violent and soon over : this infects
more quietly, but spreads widely : the former bred a fever in the
state, this breeds a consumption and final decay. A rebellion or
an invasion alarms, and puts the public upon its defence ; but a
corruption of principles works its ruin more slowly perhaps, but
more surely. This may be illustrated by a fable I somewhere
met with in the writings of a Swiss philosopher, setting forth
the original of brandy and gunpowder. The government of the
north being once upon a time vacant, the prince of the power of
the air convened a council in hell, wherein upon competition
between two demons of rank, it was determined they should
both make trial of their abilities, and he should succeed who did
most mischief. One made his appearance in the shape of gun-
powder, the other in that of brandy : the former was a declared
enemy, and roared with a terrible noise, which made folks afraid,
and put them on their guard : the other passed as a friend and a
physician through the world, disguised himself with sweets, and
perfumes, and drugs, made his way into the ladies' cabinets, and
the apothecaries' shops, and under the notion of helping diges-
tion, comforting the spirits, and cheering the heart, produced
direct contrary effects ; and having insensibly thrown great num-
bers of human kind into a lingering but fatal decay, was found
to people hell and the grave so fast, as to merit the government
which he still possesses.
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 355
XXIV. Lys. Those who please may amuse themselves with
fables and allegories. This is plain English : liberty is a good
thing, and we are the support of liberty. Cri. To me it seems
that liberty and virtue were made for each other. If any man
wish to enslave his country, nothing is a fitter preparative than
vice ; and nothing leads to vice so surely as irreligion. For my
part, I cannot comprehend or find out, after having considered it
in all lights, how this crying down religion should be the effect
of honest views towards a just and legal liberty. Some seem to
propose an indulgence in vice. Others may have in prospect the
advantages which needy and ambitious men are used to make in
the ruin of a state : one may indulge a pert, petulant spirit ; an-
other hope to be esteemed among libertines, when he wants wit
to please or abilities to be useful. But, be men's views what
they will, let us examine what good your principles have done ;
who has been the better for the instructions of these minute
philosophers ? Let us compare what we are in respect of learn-
ing, loyalty, honesty, wealth, power, and public spirit, with what
we have been. Free-thinking (as it is called) hath wonderfully
grown of late years. Let us see what hath grown up with it, or
what effects it hath produced. To make a catalogue of ills is
disagreeable ; and the only blessing it can pretend to is luxury :
that same blessing which revenged the world upon old Rome :
that same luxury that makes a nation, like a diseased, pampered
body, look full and fat with one foot in the grave. Lys. You
mistake the matter. There are no people who think and argue
better about the public good of a state than our sect ; who have
also invented many things tending to that end, which we cannot
as yet conveniently put in practice. Cri. But one point there is
from which it must be owned the public hath already received
some advantage, which is the effect of your principles flowing
from them, and spreading as they do : I mean that old Roman
practice of self-murder, which at once puts an end to all distress,
ridding the world and themselves of the miserable. Lys. You
were pleased before to make some reflections on this custom, and
laugh at the irresolution of our free-thinkers : but I can aver for
matter of fact, that they have often recommended it by their
example as well as arguments, and that it is solely owing to them
that a practice, so useful and magnanimous, hath been taken out
of the hands of lunatics, and restored to that credit among men
of sense, which it anciently had. In whatever light you may
consider it, this is in fact a solid benefit : but the best effect of
our principles is that light and truth so visibly shed abroad
in the world. From how many prejudices, errors, perplexities,
and contradictions have we freed the minds of our fellow-sub-
jects ! How many hard words and intricate, absurd notions had
possessed the minds of men before our philosophers appeared in,
2 A 2
356 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [^DIAL. II.
the world ! But now even women and children have right and
sound notions of things. What say you to this, Crito ? Cri.
I say with respect to these great advantages of destroying men
and notions, that I question whether the public gains as much by
the latter as it loseth by the former. For my own part, I had
rather my wife and children all believed what they had no notion
of, and daily pronounced words without a meaning, than that
any one of them should cut his throat, or leap out of a window.
Errors and nonsense, as such, are of small concern in the eyes of
the public, which considers not the metaphysical truth of notions,
so much as the tendency they have to produce good or evil.
Truth itself is valued by the public, as it hath an influence, and
is felt in the course of life. You may confute a whole shelf of
schoolmen, and discover many speculative truths, without any
great merit towards your country. But if I am not mistaken,
the minute philosophers are not the men to whom we are most
beholden for discoveries of that kind : this I say must be allowed,
supposing, what I by no means grant, your notions to be true.
For, to say plainly what I think, the tendency of your opinions is
so bad, that no good man can endure them, and your arguments
for them so weak, that no wise man will admit them. Lys. Has
it not been proved as clear as the meridian sun, that the politer
sort of men lead much happier lives, and swim in pleasure, since
the spreading of our principles? But not to repeat or insist
further on what has been so amply deduced, I shall only add that
the advantages flowing from them extend to the tenderest age
and the softer sex : our principles deliver children from terrors
by night, and ladies from splenetic hours by day. Instead of
these old-fashioned things, prayers and the bible, the grateful
amusements of drams, dice, and billets-doux have succeeded.
The fair sex have now nothing to do but dress and paint, drink
and game, adorn and divert themselves, and enter into all the
sweet society of life. Cri. I thought, Lysicles, the argument
from pleasure had been exhausted : but since you have not done
with that point, let us once more by Euphranor's rule cast up
the account of pleasure and pain, as credit and debt, under dis-
tinct articles. We will set down in the life of your fine lady
rich clothes, dice, cordials, scandal, late hours, against vapours,
distaste, remorse, losses at play, and the terrible distress of ill
spent age increasing every day : suppose no cruel accident of
jealousy, no madness or infamy of love, yet at the foot of the
account you shall find that empty, giddy, gaudy, fluttering thing,
not half so happy as a butterfly or a grasshopper on a summer's
day : and for a rake or man of pleasure, the reckoning will be
much the same, if you place listlessness, ignorance, rottenness,
loathing, craving, quarrelling, and such qualities or accomplish-
ments, over against his little circle of fleeting amusements, long
DIAL. II.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 357
woe against momentary pleasure ; and if it be considered that,
when sense and appetite go off, though he seek refuge from his
conscience in the minute philosophy, yet in this you will find, if
you sift him to the bottom, that he affects much, believes little,
knows nothing. Upon which Lysicles turning to me, observed,
that Crito might dispute against fact if he pleased, but that
every one must see the nation was the merrier for their prin-
ciples. True, answered Crito, we are a merry nation indeed :
young men laugh at the old ; children despise their parents ; and
subjects make a jest of the government: happy effects of the
minute philosophy !
XXV. Lys. Infer what effects you please: that will not
make our principles less true. Cri. Their truth is not what I
am now considering. The point at present is the usefulness of
your principles ; and to decide this point we need only take a
short view of them fairly proposed and laid together : that there
is no God or providence ; that man is as the beasts that perish ;
that his happiness, as theirs, consists in obeying animal instincts,
appetites, and passions ; that all stings of conscience and sense of
guilt are prejudices and errors of education ; that religion is a
state trick ; that vice is beneficial to the public ; that the soul of
man is corporeal, and dissolveth like a flame or vapour ; that man
is a machine actuated according to the laws of motion; that
consequently he is no agent, or subject of guilt; that a wise man
will make his own particular individual interest in this present
life the rule and measure of all his actions : these and such
opinions are, it seems, the tenets of a minute philosopher, who is
himself according to his own principles an organ played on by
sensible objects, a ball bandied about by appetites and passions ;
so subtle is he as to be able to maintain all this by artful rea-
sonings ; so sharp-sighted and penetrating to the very bottom of
things as to find out, that the most interested occult cunning is
the only true wisdom. To complete his character, this curious
piece of clock-work, having no principle of action within itself,
and denying that it hath or can have any one free thought or
motion, sets up for the patron of liberty, and earnestly contends
for free-thinking. Crito had no sooner made an end, but Lysicles
addressed himself to Euphranor and me; Crito, said he, has
taken a world of pains, but convinced me only of one single
point, to wit, that I must despair of convincing him. Never did
I in the whole course of my life meet with a man so deeply im-
mersed in prejudice : let who will pull him out for me. But I
entertain better hopes of you. I can answer, said I, for myself,
that my eyes and ears are always open to conviction : I am
attentive to all that passes, and upon the whole shall form, whe-
ther right or wrong, a very impartial judgment. Crito, said
Euphranor, is a more enterprising man than I, thus to rate and
358 TIIE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [JDIAL. II.
lecture a philosopher. For my part, I always find it easier to
learn than to teach. I shall therefore beg your assistance to rid
me of some scruples about the tendency of your opinions, which
I find myself unable to master, though never so willing. This
done, though we should not tread exactly in the same steps, nor
perhaps go the same road : yet we shall not run in all points
diametrically opposite one to another.
XXVI. Tell me now, Lysicles, you who are a minute ob-
server of things, whether a shade be more agreeable at morning,
or evening, or noon-day. Lys. Doubtless at noon-day. Euph.
And what disposeth men to rest ? Lys. Exercise. Euph. When
do men make the greatest fires ? Lys. In the coldest weather.
Euph. And what creates a love for icy liquors ? Lys. Excessive
heat. Euph. What if you raise a pendulum to a great height on
one side ? Lys. It will, when left to itself, ascend so much the
higher on the other. Euph. It should seem therefore, that dark-
ness ensues from light, rest from motion, heat from cold, and in
general that one extreme is the consequence of another. Lys.
It should seem so. Euph. And doth not this observation hold in
the civil as well as natural world? Doth not power produce
license, and license power ? Do not whigs make tories, and
tories whigs : bigots make atheists, and atheists bigots ? Lys.
Granting this to be true. Euph. Will it not hence follow, that
as we abhor slavish principles, we should avoid running into
licentious ones ? I am, and always was a sincere lover of liberty,
legal English liberty ; which I esteem a chief blessing, ornament,
and comfort of life, and the great prerogative of an Englishman.
But is it not to be feared, that upon the nation's running into a
licentiousness which hath never been endured in any civilized
country, men feeling the intolerable evils of one extreme may
naturally fall into the other ? You must allow, the bulk of man-
kind are not philosophers, like you and Alciphron. Lys. This I
readily acknowledge. Euph. I have another scruple about the
tendency of your opinions. Suppose you should prevail, and de-
stroy this protestant church and clergy : how could you come at
the popish ? I am credibly informed there is a great number of
emissaries of the church of Rome disguised in England: who
can tell what harvest a clergy so numerous, so subtle, and so well
furnished with arguments to work on vulgar and uneducated
minds, may be able to make in a country despoiled of all religion
and feeling the want of it ? Who can tell whether the spirit of
free-thinking ending with the opposition, and the vanity with the
distinction, when the whole nation are alike infidels, who can tell,
I say, whether in such a juncture the men of genius themselves
may not affect a new distinction, and be the first converts to
popery ? Lys. And suppose they should. Between friends it
would be no great matter. These are our maxims. In the first
DIAL. II.^ THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 359
place we hold it would be best to have no religion at all. Se-
condly, we hold that all religions are indifferent. If therefore
upon trial we find the country cannot do without a religion, why
not popery as well as another? I know several ingenious men
of our sect, who, if we had a popish prince on the throne, would
turn papists to-morrow. This is a paradox, but I shall explain
it. A prince whom we compliment with our religion, to be sure
must be grateful. Euph. I understand you. JBut what becomes
of free-thinking all the while ? Lys. Oh ! we should have more
than ever of that, for we should keep it all to ourselves. As for
the amusement of retailing it, the want of this would be largely
compensated by solid advantages of another kind. Euph. It
seems then, by this account, the tendency you observed in the
nation towards something great and new proves a tendency
towards popery and slavery. Lys. Mistake us not, good Euphra-
nor. The thing first in our intention is consummate liberty ; but
if this will not do, and there must after all be such things tole-
rated as religion and government, we are wisely willing to make
the best of both. Cri. "This puts me in mind of a thought I
have often had, that the minute philosophers are dupes of the
Jesuits. The two most avowed, professed, busy propagators of
infidelity in all companies, and upon all occasions, that I ever met
with, were both bigoted papists, and being both men of consider-
able estates, suffered considerably on that score ; which it is won-
derful their thinking disciples should never reflect upon. Hegemon,
a most distinguished writer among the minute philosophers, and
hero of the sect, I am well assured, was once a papist, and never
heard that he professed any other religion. I know that many
of the' church of Rome abroad, are pleased with the growth of
infidelity among us, as hoping it may make way for them. The
emissaries of Rome are known to have personated several other
sects, which from time to time have sprung up amongst us, and
why not this of the minute philosophers, of all others the best
calculated to ruin both church and state? I myself have known
a Jesuit abroad talk among English gentlemen like a free-thinker.
I arn credibly informed, that Jesuits, known to be such by the
minute philosophers at home, are admitted into their clubs : and
I have observed them to approve, and speak better of the Jesuits,
than of any other clergy whatsoever. Those who are not ac-
quainted with the subtle spirit, the refined politics, and wonderful
economy of that renowned society, need only read the account
given of them by the Jesuit Inchofer, in his book De Monarchia
Sollpsorum ; and those who are, will not, be surprised they should
be able to make dupes of our minute philosophers : dupes, I say,
for I can never think they suspect they are only tools- to serve
the ends of cunninger men than themselves. They seem to me
drunk and giddy with a false notion of liberty, and, spurred on
360 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. III.
by this principle to make mad experiments on their country, they
agree only in pulling down all that stands in their way ; without
any concerted scheme, and without caring or knowing what to erect
in its stead. To hear them, as I have often done, descant on the
moral virtues, resolve them into shame, then laugh at shame as a
Aveakness, admire the unconfined lives of savages, despise all order
and decency of education, one would think the intention of these
philosophers was, when they had pruned and weeded the notions
of their fellow-subjects, and divested them of their prejudices, to
strip them of their clothes, and fill the country with naked fol-
lowers of nature, enjoying all the privileges of brutality. Here
Crito made a pause, and fixed his eyes on Alciphron, who during
this whole conversation had sat thoughtful and attentive, without
saying a word, and with an air, one while dissatisfied at what
Lysicles advanced, another, serene and pleased, seeming to ap-
prove some better thought of his own. But the day being now
far spent, Alciphron proposed to adjourn the argument to the fol-
lowing ; when, said he, I shall set matters on a new foundation,
and in so full and clear a light, as, I doubt not, will give entire
satisfaction. So we changed the discourse, and after a repast
upon cold provisions, took a walk on the strand, and in the cool
of the evening returned to Crito's.
THE THIKD DIALOGUE.
I. Alciphron's account of honour. II. Character and conduct of men of honour.
III. Sense of moral beauty. IV. The honestum or TO Ka\bv of the ancients. V.
Taste for moral beauty, whether a sure guide or rule. VI. Minute philosophers
ravished with the abstract beauty of virtue. VII. Their virtue alone disinterested
and heroic. VIII. Beauty of sensible objects, what, and how perceived. IX. The
idea of beauty explained by painting and architecture. X. Beauty of the moral sys-
tem, wherein it consists. XL It supposeth a providence. XII. Influence of TO
KaXov and TO irpsirov. XIII. Enthusiasm of Cratylus compared with the sentiments
of Aristotle. XIV. Compared with the Stoical principles. XV. Minute philoso-
phers, their talent for raillery and ridicule. XVI. The wisdom of those who make
virtue alone its own reward.
I. THE following day, as we sat round the tea-table, in a sum-
mer parlour which looks into the garden, Alciphron after the first
dish turned down his cup, and reclining back in his chair pro-
ceeded as follows : — Above all the sects upon earth it is the
peculiar privilege of ours, not to be tied down by any principles.
While other philosophers profess a servile adherence to certain
tenets, ours assert a noble freedom, differing not only one from
another, but very often the same man from himself. Which
method of proceeding, beside other advantages, hath this annexed
to it, that we are of all men the hardest to confute. You may,
perhaps, confute a particular tenet, but then this affects only
DIAL. III.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 361
him who maintains it, and so long only as he maintains it. Some
of our sect dogmatize more than others, and in some more than
other points. The doctrine of the usefulness of vice is a point
wherein we are not all agreed. Some of us are great admirers
of virtue. With others the points of vice and virtue are proble-
matical. For my own part, though I think the doctrine main-
tained yesterday by Lysicles an ingenious speculation ; yet, upon
the whole, there are divers reasons which incline me to depart
from it, and rather to espouse the virtuous side of the question ;
with the smallest, perhaps, but the most contemplative and laud-
able part of our sect. It seemeth, I say, after a nice inquiry and
balancing on both sides, that we ought to prefer virtue to vice ;
and that such preference would contribute both to the public
weal, and the reputation of our philosophers. You are to know
then, we have among us several that, without one grain of re-
ligion, are men of the nicest honour, and therefore men of virtue
because men of honour. Honour is a noble, unpolluted source of
virtue, without the least mixture of fear, interest, or superstition.
It hath all the advantages without the evils which attend religion.
It is the mark of a great and fine soul, and is to be found among
persons of rank and breeding. It affects the court, the senate,
and the camp, and in general every rendezvous of people of
fashion, Euph. You say then that honour is the source of
virtue. Ale. I do. Euph. Can a thing be the source of itself?
Ale. It cannot. Euph. The source, therefore, is distinguished
from that of which it is the source. Ale. Doubtless. Euph.
Honour then is one thing and virtue another. Ale. I grant it.
Virtuous actions are the effect, and honour is the source or cause
of that effect. Euph. Tell me, is honour the will producing
those actions, or the final cause for which they are produced, or
right reason which is their rule and limit, or the object about
which they are conversant ? or do you by the word honour un-
derstand a faculty or appetite ? All which are supposed, in one
sense or other, to be the source of human actions. Ale. Nothing
of all this. Euph. Be pleased then to give me some notion
or definition of it. Alciphron having mused a while answered,
that he defined honour to be a principle of virtuous actions. To
which Euphranor replied : If I understand it rightly the word
principle is variously taken. Sometimes by principles we mean
the parts of which a whole is composed, and into Avhich it may
be resolved. Thus the elements are said to be principles of com-
pound bodies. And thus words, . syllables, and letters are the
principles of speech. Sometimes by principle we mean a small
particular seed, the growth or gradual unfolding of which doth
produce an organized body, animal or vegetable, in its proper
size and shape. Principles at other times are supposed to be
certain fundamental theorems in arts and sciences, in religion and
362 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. III.
politics. Let me know in which of these senses, or whether it
be in some other sense that you understand this word, when you
say, honour is a principle of virtue. To this Alciphron replied,
that for his part he meant it in none of those senses, but defined
honour to be a certain ardour or enthusiasm that glowed in the
breast of a gallant man. Upon this, Euphranor observed, it was
always admitted to put the definition in place of the thing de-
fined. Is this allowed, said he, or not? Ale. It is. Euph.
May we not therefore say, that a man of honour is a warm man,
or an enthusiast? Alciphron hearing this, declared that such
exactness was to no purpose ; that pedants, indeed, may dispute
and define, but could never reach that high sense of honour,
which distinguished the fine gentleman, and was a thing rather
to be felt than explained.
II. Crito perceiving that Alciphron could not bear being
pressed any further on that article, and willing to give some
satisfaction to Euphranor, said that of himself indeed he should
not undertake to explain so nice a point, but he would retail to
them part of a conversation he once heard between Nicander a
minute philosopher, and Menecles a Christian, upon the same
subject, which was for substance as follows: — M. From what
principle are you gentlemen virtuous ? N. From honour. We
are men of honour. M. May not a man of honour debauch
another's wife, or get drunk, or sell a vote, or refuse to pay his
debts, without lessening or tainting his honour? N. He may
have the vices and faults of a gentleman : but is obliged to pay
debts of honour, that is, all such as are contracted by play. M.
Is not your man of honour always ready to resent affronts and
engage in duels ? N. He is ready to demand and give gentle-
man's satisfaction upon all proper occasions. M. It should seem
by this account, that to ruin tradesmen, break faith to one's own
wife, corrupt another man's, take bribes, cheat the public, cut a
man's throat for a word, are all points consistent with your prin-
ciple of honour. N. It cannot be denied that we are men of
gallantry, men of fire, men who know the world, and all that. M.
It seems therefore that honour among infidels is like honesty among
pirates : something confined to themselves, and which the fraternity
perhaps may find their account in, but every one else should be
constantly on his guard against. By this dialogue, continued
Crito, a man who lives out of the grand monde, may be enabled
to form some notion of what the world calls honour and men of
honour. Euph. I must entreat you not to put me off with Ni-
cander's opinion, whom I know nothing of, but rather give me
your own judgment, drawn from your own observation upon men
of honour. Cri. If I must pronounce, I can very sincerely
assure you that by all I have heard or seen, I could never find,
that honour, considered as a principle distinct from conscience,
DIAL. III.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 363
religion, reason, and virtue, was more than an empty name. And
I do verily believe, that those who build upon that notion have
less virtue than other men, and that what they have or seem to
have is owing to fashion (being of the reputable kind), if not to
a conscience early imbued Avith religious principles, and after-
wards retaining a tincture from them without knowing it. These
two principles seem to account for all that looks like virtue in
those gentlemen. Your men of fashion in whom animal life
abounds, a sort of bullies in morality, who disdain to have it
thought they are afraid of conscience ; these descant much upon
honour, and affect to be called men of honour, rather than con-
scientious or honest men. But, by all that I could ever observe,
this specious character, where there is nothing of conscience or
religion underneath, to give it life and substance, is no better
than a meteor or painted cloud. Euph. I had a confused notion
that honour was something nearly connected with truth, and that
men of honour were the greatest enemies to all hypocrisy, fallacy,
and disguise. Cri. So far from that, an infidel who sets up for
the nicest honour shall, without the least grain of faith or religion,
pretend himself a Christian, take any test, join in any act of
worship, kneel, pray, receive the sacrament to serve an interest.
The same person, without any impeachment of his honour, shall
most solemnly declare and promise in the face of God and the
world, that he will love his wife, and forsaking all others keep
only to her, when at the same time it is certain, he intends never
to perform one tittle of his vow ; and convinceth the whole world
of this as soon as he gets her in his power, and her fortune, for
the sake of which this man of untainted honour makes no scruple
to cheat and lie. Euph. We have a notion here in the country,
that it was of all things most odious, and a matter of much risk
and hazard, to give the lie to a man of honour. Cri. It is very
true. He abhors to take the lie, but not to tell it.
III. Alciphron, having heard all this with great composure of
mind and countenance, spake as follows. You are not to think
that our greatest strength lies in our greatest number, libertines,
and mere men of honour. No : we have among us philosophers
of a very different character, men of curious contemplation, not
governed by such gross things as sense and custom, but of an
abstracted virtue and sublime morals : and the less religious the
more virtuous. For virtue of the high and disinterested kind
no man is so well qualified as an infidel, it being a mean and
selfish thing to be virtuous through fear or hope. The notion of
a Providence and future state of rewards and punishments, may
indeed tempt or scare men of abject spirit into practices contrary
to the natural bent of their souls, but will never produce a true
and genuine virtue. To go to the bottom of things, to analyze
virtue into its first principles, and fix a scheme of duty on its
364 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. III.
true basis, you must understand that there is an idea of beauty
natural to the mind of man. This all men desire, this they are
pleased and delighted with for its own sake, purely from an in-
stinct of nature. A man needs no arguments to make him dis-
cern and approve what is beautiful : it strikes at first sight, and
attracts without a reason. And as this beauty is found in the
shape and form of corporeal things, so also is there analogous to
it a beauty of another kind, an order, a symmetry, and comeli-
ness in the moral world. And as the eye perceiveth the one, so
the mind doth by a certain interior sense perceive the other,
which sense, talent, or faculty, is ever quickest and purest in the
noblest minds. Thus as by sight I discern the beauty of a plant
or an animal, even so the mind apprehends the moral excellence,
the beauty, and decorum of justice and temperance. And as we
readily pronounce a dress becoming, or an attitude graceful, we
can, with the same free untutored judgment, at once declare,
whether this or that conduct or action be comely and beautiful.
To relish this kind of beauty, there must be a delicate and fine
taste : but where there is this natural taste nothing further is
wanting, either as a principle to convince, or as a motive to induce
men to the love of virtue. And more or less there is of this
taste or sense in every creature that hath reason. All ra-
tional beings are by nature social. They are drawn one towards
another by natural affections : they unite and incorporate into
families, clubs, parties, and commonwealths by mutual sympathy.
As by means of the sensitive soul, our several distinct parts and
members do consent towards the animal functions, and are con-
nected in one whole : even so the several parts of these rational
systems or bodies politic, by virtue of this moral or interior
sense, are held together, have a fellow-feeling, do succour and
protect each other, and jointly co-operate towards the same end.
Hence that joy in society, that propension towards doing good
to our kind, that gratulation and delight in beholding the vir-
tuous deeds of other men, or in reflecting on our own. By con-
templation of the fitness and order of the parts of a moral system,
regularly operating, and knit together by benevolent affections,
the mind of man attaineth to the highest notion of beauty, ex-
cellence, and perfection : seized and rapt with this sublime idea,
our philosophers do infinitely despise and pity whoever shall
propose or accept any other motive to virtue. Interest is a mean,
ungenerous thing, destroying the merit of virtue, and falsehood
of every kind is inconsistent with the genuine spirit of philoso-
phy. Cri. The love therefore that you bear to moral beauty,
and your passion for abstracted truth, will not suffer you to
think with patience of those fraudulent impositions upon man-
kind, Providence, the immortality of the soul, and a future retri-
bution of rewards and punishments ; which, under the notion of
DIAL. III.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 365
promoting, do, it seems, destroy all true virtue, and at the same
time contradict and disparage your noble theories, manifestly
tending to the perturbation and disquiet of men's minds, and
filling them with fruitless hopes and vain terrors. Ale. Men's
first thoughts and natural notions are the best in moral matters.
And there is no need that mankind should be preached, or rea-
soned, or frightened into virtue, a thing so natural and congenial
to every human soul. Now if this be the case, as it certainly is,
it follows that all the ends of society are secured without religion,
and that an infidel bids fair to be the most virtuous man, in a
true, sublime, and heroic sense.
IV. Euph. O Alciphron, while you talk, I feel an affection
in my soul like the trembling of one lute, upon striking the uni-
son strings of another. Doubtless there is a beauty of the mind,
a charm in virtue, a symmetry and proportion in the moral
world. This moral beauty was known to the ancients by the
name of honestum or TO KaXbv. And in order to know its force
and influence, it may not be amiss to inquire what it was under-
stood to be, and what light it was placed in by those who first
considei'ed it, and gave it a name : TO icaAov, according to Aris-
totle, is the £7ratv£rov, or laudable ; according to Plato it is the
•h$i>, or w(j)i\i/uLov, pleasant or profitable, which is meant with
respect to a reasonable mind and its true interest. Now I would
fain know whether a mind, which considers an action as laudable,
be not carried beyond the bare action itself, to regard the opinion
of others concerning it ? Ale. It is. Euph. And whether this
be a sufficient ground or principle of virtue, for a man to act
upon, when he thinks himself removed from the eye and observ-
ation of every other intelligent being? Ale. It seems not.
Euph. Again, I ask whether a man who doth a thing pleasant or
profitable, as such, might not be supposed to forbear doing it, or
even to do the contrary, upon the prospect of greater pleasure or
profit ? Ale. He might. Euph. Doth it not follow from hence,
that the beauty of virtue or TO icaXov, in either Aristotle's or
Plato's sense, is not a sufficient principle or ground to engage
sensual and worldly-minded men in the practice of it? Ale.
What then ? Euph. Why then, it will follow that hope of reward
and fear of punishment are highly expedient, to cast the balance
of pleasant and profitable on the side of virtue, and thereby very
much conduce to the benefit of human society. Alciphron, upon
this, appealed ; Gentlemen, said he, you are witnesses of this
unfair proceeding of Euphranor, who argues against us, from
explications given by Plato and Aristotle of the beauty of vir-
tue, which are things we have nothing to say to ; the philosophers
of our sect abstracting from all praise, pleasure, and interest,
when they are enamoured and transported with that sublime
idea. I beg pardon, replied Euphranor, for supposing the minute
366 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j>IAL. III.
philosophers of our days think like those ancient sages. But you
must tell me, Alciphron, since you do not think fit to adopt the
sense of Plato or Aristotle, what sense it is in which you under-
stand the beauty of virtue? Define it, explain it, make me to
understand your meaning, that so we may argue about the same
thing, without which we can never come to a conclusion.
V. Ale. Some things are better understood by definitions and
descriptions, but I have always observed that those who would
define, explain, and dispute about this point, make the least of
it. Moral beauty is of so peculiar and abstracted a nature,
something so subtile, fine, and fugacious, that it will not bear
being handled and inspected, like every gross and common sub-
ject. You will, therefore, pardon me, if I stand upon my philo-
sophic liberty ; and choose rather to intrench myself within the
general and indefinite sense, rather than by entering into a pre-
cise and particular explication of this beauty, perchance lose
sight of it, or give you some hold whereon to cavil, and infer,
and raise doubts, queries, and difficulties, about a point as clear
as the sun, when nobody reasons upon it. Euph. How say you,
Alciphron, is that notion clearest when it is not considered?
Ale. I say it is rather to be felt than understood, a certain je
ne sais quoi. An object, not of the discursive faculty, but of a
peculiar sense, which is properly called the moral sense, being
adapted to the perception of moral beauty, as the eye to colours,
or the ear to sounds. Euph. That men have certain instinctive
sensations or passions from nature, which make them amiable
and useful to each other, I am clearly convinced. Such are a
fellow-feeling with the distressed, a tenderness for our offspring,
an affection towards our friends, our neighbours, and our coun-
try ; an indignation against things base, cruel, or unjust. These
passions are implanted in the human soul, with several other
fears and appetites, aversions and desires, some of which are
strongest and uppermost in one mind, others in another. Should
it not, therefore, seem a very uncertain guide in morals, for a
man to follow his passion or inward feeling ? and would not this
rule infallibly lead different men different ways, according to the
prevalency of this or that appetite or passion ? Ale. I do not
deny it. Euph. And will it not follow from hence, that duty
and virtue are in a fairer way of being practised, if men are led
by reason and judgment, balancing low and sensual pleasures
with those of a higher kind, comparing present losses with
future gains, and the uneasiness and disgust of every vice with
the delightful practice of the opposite virtue, and the pleasing
reflections and hopes which attend it? Or can there be a
stronger motive to virtue, than the showing that considered in
all lights it is every man's true interest ?
VI. Ale. I tell you, Euphranor, we contemn the virtue of
DIAL. 111-3 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 367
that man who computes and deliberates, and must have a reason
for being virtuous. The refined moralists of our sect are
ravished and transported with the abstract beauty of virtue.
They disdain all forensical motives to it, and love virtue only
for virtue's sake. Oh rapture ! oh enthusiasm ! oh the quintes-
sence of beauty ! methinks I could dwell for ever on this con-
templation : but rather than entertain myself, I must endeavour
to convince you. Make an experiment on the first man you
meet. Propose a villanous or unjust action. Take his first
sense of the matter, and you shall find he detests it. He may,
indeed, be afterwards misled by arguments, or overpowered by
temptation, but his original, unpremeditated, and genuine
thoughts, are just and orthodox. How can we account for this
but by a moral sense, which, left to itself, hath as quick and true
a perception of the beauty and deformity, of human actions, as
the eye hath of colours ? Eupk. May not this be sufficiently
accounted for by conscience, affection, passion, education, reason,
custom, religion, which principles and habits, for aught I know,
may be what you metaphorically call a moral sense. Ale. What
I call a moral sense is strictly, properly, and truly such, and in
kind different from all those things you enumerate. It is what
all men have, though all may not observe it. Upon this
Euphranor smiled, and said, Alciphron has made discoveries
where I least expected it. For, said he, in regard to every other
point, I should hope to learn from him, but for the knowledge of
myself, or the faculties and powers of my own mind, I should
have looked at home. And there I might have looked long
enough, without finding this new talent, which even now, after
being tutored, I cannot comprehend. For Alciphron, I must
needs say, is too sublime and enigmatical upon a point which,
of all others, ought to be most clearly understood. I have often
heard that your deepest adepts and oldest professors in science
are the obscurest. Lysicles is young and speaks plain. Would
he but favour us with his sense of this point, it might perhaps
prove more upon a level with my apprehension.
VII. Lysicles shook his head, and in a grave and earnest
manner addressed the company. Gentlemen, said he, Alciphron
stands upon his own legs. I have no part in these refined no-
tions he is at present engaged to defend. If I must subdue my
passions, abstract, contemplate, be enamoured of virtue; in a
word, if I must be an enthusiast, I owe so much deference to the
laws of my country, as to choose being an enthusiast in their
way. Besides, it is better being so for some end than for none.
This doctrine hath all the solid inconveniencies, without the
amusing hopes and prospects of the Christian. Ale. I never
counted on Lysicles for my second in this point ; which after all
doth not need his assistance or explication. All subjects ought
not to be treated in the same manner. The way of definition
368 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. in.
and division is dry and pedantic. Besides, the subject is some-
times too obscure, sometimes too simple for this method. One
while we know too little of a point, another too much, to make
it plainer by discourse. Cri. To hear Alciphron talk, puts me
in mind of that ingenious Greek, who having wrapped a man's
brother up in a cloak, asked him whether he knew that person ?
being ready, either by keeping on, or pulling off the cloak, to
confute his answer whatever it should be. For my part I be-
lieve, if matters were fairly stated, that rational satisfaction, that
peace of mind, that inward comfort, and conscientious joy, which
a good Christian finds in good actions, would not be found to fall
short of all the ecstasy, rapture, and enthusiasm supposed to be
the effect of that high and undescribed principle. In earnest, can
any ecstasy be higher, any rapture more affecting, than that
which springs from the love of God and man, from a conscience
void of offence, and an inward discharge of duty, with the secret
delight, trust, and hope that attends it ? Ale. O Euphranor, we
votaries of truth do not envy, but pity, the groundless joys and
mistaken hopes of a Christian. And, as for conscience and ra-
tional pleasure, how can we allow a conscience without allowing
a vindictive Providence ? Or how can we suppose the charm of
virtue consists in any pleasure or benefit attending virtuous ac-
tions, without giving great advantages to the Christian religion,
which, it seems, excites its believers to virtue by the highest in-
terests and pleasures in reversion ? Alas ! should we grant this,
there would be a door opened to all those rusty declaimers upon
the necessity and usefulness of the great points of faith, the im-
mortality of the soul, a future state, rewards and punishments,
and the like exploded conceits ; which, according to our system
and princples, may perhaps produce a low, popular, interested
kind of virtue, but must absolutely destroy and extinguish it in
the sublime and heroic sense.
VIII. Euph. What you now say is very intelligible : I Avish
I understood your main principle as well. Ale. And are you
then in earnest at a loss ? Is it possible you should have no no-
tion of beauty, or that having it you should not know it to be
amiable, amiable I say in itself, and for itself? Euph. Pray tell
me, Alciphron, are all mankind agreed in the notion of a beau-
teous face ? Ale. Beauty in human kind seems to be of a more
mixed and various nature ; forasmuch as the passions, sentiments,
and qualities of the soul being seen through and blending with
the features, work differently on different minds, as the sympathy
is more or less. But with regard to other things is there no
steady principle of beauty ? Is there upon earth a human mind
without the idea of order, harmony, and proportion ? Euph. O
Alciphron, it is my weakness that I am apt to be lost and bewil-
dered in abstractions and generalities, but a particular thing is
better suited to my faculties. I find it easy to consider and keep
DIAL. III.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 309
in view the objects of sense, let us therefore try to discover what
their beauty is, or wherein it consists : and so, by the help of
these sensible things, as a scale or ladder, ascend to moral and
intellectual beauty. Be pleased then to inform me, what it is we
call beauty in the objects of sense? Ale. Every one knows,
beauty is that which pleases. Euph. There is then beauty in the
smell of a rose, or the taste of an apple. Ale. By no means.
Beauty is, to speak properly, perceived only by the eye. Euph.
It cannot therefore be defined in general that which pleaseth.
Ale. I grant it cannot. Euph. How then shall we limit or de-
fine it ? Alciphron, after a short pause, said, that beauty con-
sisted in a certain symmetry or proportion pleasing to the eye.
Euph. Is this proportion one and the same in all things, or is it
different in different kinds of things ? Ale. Different doubtless :
the proportions of an ox would not be beautiful in a horse.
And we may observe also in things inanimate, that the beauty of
a table, a chair, a door, consists in different proportions. Euph.
Doth not this proportion imply the relation of one thing to an-
other ? Ale. It doth. Euph. And are not these relations founded
in size and shape? Ale. They are. Euph. And to make the
proportions just, must not those mutual relations of size and
shape in the parts be such, as shall make the whole complete and
perfect in its kind? Ale. I grant they must. Euph. Is not a
thing said to be perfect in its kind, when it answers the end for
which it was made ? Ale. It is. Euph. The parts, therefore, in
true proportions must be so related and adjusted to one another,
as that they may best conspire to the use and operation of the
whole. Ale. It seems so. Euph. But the comparing parts one
with another, the considering them as belonging to one whole,
and the referring this whole to its use or end, should seem the
work of reason: should it not? Ale. It should. Euph. Pro-
portions therefore are not, strictly speaking, perceived by the
sense of sight, but only by reason through the means of sight.
Ale. This I grant. Euph. Consequently beauty, in your sense
of it, is an object, not of the eye, but of the mind. Ale. It is.
Euph. The eye, therefore, alone cannot see that a chair is hand-
some, or a door well proportioned. Ale. It seems to follow; but
I am not clear as to this point. Euph. Let us see if there be
any difficulty in it. Could the chair you sit on, think you, be
reckoned well proportioned or handsome, if it had not such a
height, breadth, wideness, and was not so far reclined as to afford
a convenient seat? Ale. It could not. Euph. The beauty,
therefore, or symmetry of a chair cannot be apprehended but by
knowing its use, and comparing its figure with that use, which
cannot be done by the eye alone, but is the effect of judgment.
It is therefore one thing to see an object, and another to discern
its beauty. Ale. I admit this to be true.
VOL. i. 2 B
370 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j)IAL. III.
IX. Euph. The architects judge a door to be of a beautiful
proportion, when its height is double of the breadth. But if
you should invert a well-proportioned door, making its breadth
become the height, and its height the breadth, the figure would
still be the same, but without that beauty in one situation, Avhich
it had in another. What can be the cause of this, but that in the
forementioned supposition, the door would not yield a convenient
entrance to creatures of a human figure ? But, if in any other
part of the universe, there should be supposed rational animals
of an inverted stature, they must be supposed to invert the rule
for proportion of doors ; and to them that would appear beautiful,
which to us was disagreeable. Ale. Against this I have no ob-
jection. Euph. Tell me, Alciphron, is there not something truly
decent and beautiful in dress ? Ale. Doubtless there is. Euph.
Are any likelier to give us an idea of this beauty in dress, than
painters and sculptors, whose proper business and study it is, to
aim at graceful representations? Ale. I believe not. Euph.
Let us then examine the draperies of the great masters in these
arts : how, for instance, they use to clothe a matron or a man of
rank. Cast an eye on those figures (said he, pointing to some
prints after Raphael and Guido, that hung upon the wall) ; what
appearance, do you think, an English courtier or magistrate, with
his Gothic, succinct, plaited garment, and his full-bottomed wig,
or one of our ladies in her unnatural dress, pinched, and stiffened,
and enlarged with hoops, and whale-bone, and buckram, must
make, among those figures so decently clad in draperies that fall
into such a variety of natural, easy, and ample folds, that appear
with so much dignity and simplicity, that cover the body without
encumbering it, and adorn without altering the shape ? Ale.
Truly I think they must make a very ridiculous appearance.
Euph. And what do you think this proceeds from ? Whence is
it that the Eastern nations, the Greeks, and the Romans, na-
turally ran into the most becoming dresses, while our Gothic
gentry, after so many centuries racking their inventions, mending,
and altering, and improving, and whirling about in a perpetual
rotation of fashions, have never yet had the luck to stumble on
any that was not absurd and ridiculous ? Is it not from hence,
that instead of consulting use, reason, and convenience, they
abandon themselves to irregular fancy, the unnatural parent
of monsters? Whereas the ancients, considering the use and
end of dress, made it subservient to the freedom, ease, and
convenience of the body, and having no notion of mending or
changing the natural shape, they aimed only at showing it with
decency and advantage. And if this be so, are we not to con-
clude that the beauty of dress depends on its subserviency to
certain ends and uses ? Ale. This appears to be true. Euph.
This subordinate relative nature of beauty perhaps will be yet
DIAL. HI.] THK MINUTE PHILOSOPHKR. 371
plainer, if we examine the respective beauties of a horse and a
pillar. Virgil's description of the former is,
'- llli ardua cervix,
Argutumque caput, brevis alvus, pbesaque terga,
Luxuriatque toris animosum pectus.
Now I would fain know, whether the perfections and uses of a
horse may not be reduced to these three points, courage, strength,
and speed ; and whether each of the beauties enumerated doth
not occasion, or betoken, one of these perfections? After the
same manner, if we inquire into the parts and proportions of a
beautiful pillar, we shall perhaps find them answer to the same
idea. Those who have considered the theory of architecture tell
us,* the proportions of the three Grecian orders were taken from
the human body, as the most beautiful and perfect production of
nature. Hence were derived those graceful ideas of columns,
which had a character of strength without clumsiness, or of deli-
cacy without weakness. Those beautiful proportions were, I
say, taken originally from nature, which, in her creatures, as
hath been already observed, referreth them to some end, use, or
design. The yonfiezza also, or swelling, and the diminution of
a pillar, is it not in such proportion as to make it appear strong
and light at the same time ? In the same manner, must not the
whole entablature, with its projections, be so proportioned, as to
seem great but not heavy, light but not little, inasmuch as a de-
viation into either extreme Avould thwart that reason and use of
things, wherein their beauty is founded, and to which it is sub-
ordinate ? The entablature and all its parts and ornaments, ar-
chitrave, frieze, cornice, triglyphs, metopes, modiglions, and the
rest, have each a use or appearance of use, in giving firmness
and union to the building, in protecting it from the weather, and
casting off the rain, in representing the ends of beams with their
intervals, the production of rafters, and so forth. And if we
consider the graceful angles in frontispieces, the spaces between
the columns, or the ornaments of their capitals, shall we not find,
that their beauty riseth from the appearance of use, or the imita-
tion of natural things, whose beauty is originally founded on the
same principle ? which is, indeed, the grand distinction between
Grecian and Gothic architecture, the latter being fantastical, and
for the most part founded neither in nature nor in reason, in
necessity nor use, the appearance of which accounts for all the
beauty, grace, and ornament of the other. Cri. What Euphra-
nor has said confirms the opinion I always entertained, that the
rules of architecture were founded, as all other arts which flou-
rished among the Greeks, in truth, and nature, and good sense.
But the ancients, who, from a thorough consideration of the
* See the learned Patriarch of Aquileia's Commentary on Vitruvius, lib. iv. c. 1.
2 B 2
372 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [^DIAL. III.
grounds and principles of art, formed their idea of beauty, did
not always confine themselves strictly to the same rules and pro-
portions : but, whenever the particular distance, position, eleva-
tion, or dimension of the fabric or its parts seemed to require it,
made no scruple to depart from them, without deserting the ori-
ginal principles of beauty, which governed whatever deviations
they made. This latitude or license might not, perhaps, be
safely trusted with most modern architects, who in their bold
sallies seem to act without aim or design, and to be governed by
no idea, no reason or principle of art, but pure caprice, joined
with a thorough contempt of that noble simplicity of the ancients,
without which there can be no unity, gracefulness, or grandeur
in their works; which of consequence must serve only to disfi-
gure and dishonour the nation, being so many monuments to
future ages of the opulence and ill taste of the present ; which,
it is to be feared, would succeed as wretchedly, and make as mad
work in other affairs, were men to follow, instead of rules, pre-
cepts, and models, their own taste and first thoughts of beauty.
Ale. I should now, methinks, be glad to see a little more dis-
tinctly the use and tendency of this digression upon architec-
ture. Euph. Was not beauty the very thing we inquired after ?
Ale. It was. Euph. What think you, Alciphron, can the appear-
ance of a thing please at this time, and in this place, which pleased
two thousand years ago, and two thousand miles off, without
some real principle of beauty ? Ale. It cannot. Euph. And is
not this the case with respect to a just piece of architecture?
Ale. Nobody denies it. Euph. Architecture, the noble offspring
of judgment and fancy, was gradually formed in the most polite
and knowing countries of Asia, Egypt, Greece, and Italy. It
was cherished and esteemed by the most flourishing states, and
most renowned princes, who, with vast expense, improved and
brought it to perfection. It seems, above all other arts, peculiarly
conversant about order, proportion, and symmetry. May it not
therefore be supposed, on all accounts, most likely to help us to
some rational notion of the je ne sais quoi, in beauty ? And, in
effect, have we not learned from this digression, that as there is
no beauty without proportion, so proportions are to be esteemed
just and true, only as they are relative to some certain use or
end, their aptitude and subordination to which end is, at bottom,
that which makes them please and charm ? Ale. I admit all
this to be true.
X. Euph. According to this doctrine, I would fain know what
beauty can be found in a moral system, formed, connected, and
governed by chance, fate, or any other blind, unthinking princi-
ple ; forasmuch as without thought there can be no end or design,
and without an end there can be no use, and without use there
is no aptitude or fitness of proportion, from whence beauty
DIAL. III-3 T1IE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 3J3
springs ? Ale. May we not suppose a certain vital principle of
beauty, order, and harmony, diffused throughout the world,
without supposing a providence inspecting, punishing, and re-
warding the moral actions of men ; without supposing the im-
mortality of the soul, or a life to come ; in a word, without ad-
mitting any part of what is commonly called faith, worship, and
religion ? Cri. Either you suppose this principle intelligent or
not intelligent : if the latter, it is all one with chance or fate,
which was just now argued against : if the former, let me entreat
Alciphrou to explain to me wherein consists the beauty of a
moral system, with a supreme intelligence at the head of it,
which neither protects the innocent, punishes the wicked, nor
rewards the virtuous ? To suppose indeed a society of rational
agents acting under the eye of Providence, concurring in one
design to promote the common benefit of the whole, and con-
forming their actions to the established laws and order of the
divine parental wisdom : wherein each particular agent shall not
consider himself apart, but as the member of a great city, whose
author and founder is God : in which the civil laws are no other
than the rules of virtue and the duties of religion : and where
every one's true interest is combined with his duty : to suppose
this would be delightful : on this supposition a man need be no
Stoic or knight-errant, to account for his virtue. In such a
system vice is madness, cunning is folly, wisdom and virtue are
the same thing, where, notwithstanding all the crooked paths and
bye-roads, the wayward appetites and inclinations of men, sove-
reign reason is sure to reform whatever seems amiss, to reduce
that which is devious, make straight that which is crooked, and
in the last act wind up the whole plot according to the exactest
rules of wisdom and justice. In such a system or society, governed
by the wisest precepts, enforced by the highest rewards and dis-
couragements, it is delightful to consider how the regulation of
laws, the distribution of good and evil, the aim of moral agents,
do all conspire in due subordination to promote the noblest end,
to wit, the complete happiness or well-being of the whole. In
contemplating the beauty of such a moral system we may cry
out with the Psalmist, " Very excellent things are spoken of
thee, thou city of God."
XL In a system of spirits, subordinate to the will, and under
the direction, of the Father of spirits, governing them by laws,
and conducting them by methods, suitable to wise and good
ends, there will be great beauty. But in an incoherent, fortui-
tous system governed by chance, or in a blind system governed
by fate, or in any system where Providence doth not preside,
how can beauty be, which cannot be without order, which cannot
be without design ? When a man is conscious that his will is
inwardly conformed to the divine will, producing order and bar-
374 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. Q)IAL. III.
mony in the universe, and conducting the whole by the justest
methods to the best end : this gives a beautiful idea. But on
the other hand, a consciousness of virtue overlooked, neglected,
distressed by men, and not regarded or rewarded by God, ill-
used in this world, without hope or prospect of being better used
in another, I would fain know where is the pleasure of this re-
flection, where is the beauty of this scene ? or how could any
man, in his senses, think the spreading such notions the way to
spread or propagate virtue in the world? Is it not, I beseech
you, an ugly system in which you can suppose no law and prove
no duty, wherein men thrive by wickedness, and suffer by vir-
tue? Would it not be a disagreeable sight to see an honest
man peeled by sharpers, to see virtuous men injured and despised
while vice triumphed? An enthusiast may entertain himself
with visions and fine talk about such a system ; but when it comes
to be considered by men of cool heads, and close reason, I believe
they will find no beauty nor perfection in it ; nor will it appear,
that such a moral system can possibly come from the same hand,
or be of a piece with the natural, throughout which there shines
so much order, harmony, and proportion. Ale. Your discourse
serves to confirm me in my opinion. You may remember, I de-
clared that, touching this beauty of morality in the high sense, a
man's first thoughts are best ; and that, if we pretend to examine,
and inspect, and reason, we are in danger to lose sight of it. That
in fact there is such a thing cannot be doubted, when we consi-
der that in these days some of our philosophers have a higli sense
of virtue, without the least notion of religion, a clear proof of
the usefulness and efficacy of our principles !
XII. Cri. Not to dispute the virtue of minute philosophers,
we may venture to call its cause in question, and make a doubt
whether it be an inexplicable enthusiastic notion of moral beauty,
or rather, as to me it seems, what was already assigned by Eu-
phranor, complexion, custom, and religious education? But,
allowing what beauty you please to virtue in an irreligious sys-
tem, it cannot be less in a religious, unless you will suppose that
her charms diminish as her dowry increaseth. The truth is, a
believer hath all the motives from the beauty of virtue in any
sense whatsoever that an unbeliever can possibly have, besides
other motives which an unbeliever hath not. Hence it is plain,
those of your sect, who have moral virtue, owe it not to their
peculiar tenets, which serve only to lessen the motives to virtue.
Those, therefore, who are good are less good, and those who are
bad are more bad, than they would have been were they be-
lievers. Euph. To me it seems, those heroic infidel inamoratos
of abstracted beauty are much to be pitied, and much to be ad-
mired. Lysicles, hearing this, said with some impatience, Gen-
tlemen, you shall have my whole thoughts upon this point plain
DIAL. III.^ THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 375
and frank. All that is said about a moral sense, or moral beauty,
in any signification, either of Alciphron or Euphranor, or any
other, I take to be at bottom mere bubble and pretence. The
KaXbv and the TrptTrov, the beautiful and decent, are things out-
ward, relative, and superficial, which have no effect in the dark,
but are specious topics to discourse and expatiate upon, as some
formal pretenders of our sect, though in other points very ortho-
dox, are used to do. But should one of them get into power,
you would find him no such fool as Euphranor imagines. He
would soon show he had found out, that the love of one's country
is a prejudice : that mankind are rogues and hypocrites, and that
it were folly to sacrifice one's self for the sake of such : that all
regards centre in this life, and that, as this life is to every man
his own life, it clearly follows that charity begins at home,
Benevolence to mankind is perhaps pretended, but benevolence
to himself is practised by the wise. The livelier sort of our
philosophers do not scruple to own these maxims ; and as for the
graver, if they are true to their principles, one may guess what
they must think at the bottom. Cri. Whatever may be the
effect of pure theory upon certain select spirits of a peculiar
make, or in some other parts of the world, I do verily think that
in this country of ours, reason, religion, law, are all together
little enough to subdue the outward to the inner man ; and that
it must argue a wrong head and weak judgment to suppose, that
without them men will be enamoured of the golden mean. To
which my countrymen, perhaps, are less inclined than others,
there being in the make of an English mind a certain gloom and
eagerness, which carries to the sad extreme ; religion to fanati-
cism ; free-thinking to atheism ; liberty to rebellion : nor should
we venture to be governed by taste, even in matters of less con-
sequence. The beautiful in dress, furniture, and building, is, as
Euphranor hath observed, something real and well-grounded:
and yet our English do not find it out of themselves. What
wretched work do they and other northern people make, when
they follow their own taste of beauty in any of these particulars,
instead of acquiring the true, which is to be got from ancient
models and the principles of art, as in the case of virtue from
great models and meditation, so far as natural means can go.
But in no case is it to be hoped, that TO KcrAov will be the lead-
ing idea of the many, who have quick senses, strong passions,
and gross intellects.
XIII. Ale. The fewer they are the more ought we to esteem
and admire such philosophers, whose souls are touched and trans-
ported with this sutttime idea. Cri. But then one might expect
from such philosophers so much good sense and philanthropy as
to keep their tenets to themselves, and consider their weak bre-
thren, who are more strongly affected by certain senses and
376 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. III.
notions of another kind, than that of the beauty of pure, disinte-
rested virtue. Cratylus, a man prejudiced against the Christian
religion, of a crazy constitution, of a rank above most men's am-
bition, and a fortune equal to his rank, had little capacity for
sensual vices, or temptation to dishonest ones. Cratylus having
talked himself, or imagined that he had talked himself, into a
Stoical enthusiasm about the beauty of virtue, did, under the
pretence of making men heroically virtuous, endeavour to destroy
the means of making them reasonably and humanly so : a clear
instance, that neither birth, nor books, nor conversation, can
introduce a knowledge of the world into a conceited mind, which
will ever be its own object, and contemplate mankind in its own
mirror! Ale. Cratylus was a lover of liberty, and of his coun-
try, and had a mind to make men incorrupt and virtuous, upon
the purest and most disinterested principles. Cri. His conduct
seems just as wise as if a monarch should give out that there
was neither jail nor executioner in his kingdom to enforce the
laws, but that it would be beautiful to observe them, and that in
so doing men would taste the pure delight which results from
order and decorum. Ale. After all, is it not true that certain
ancient philosophers of great note held the same opinion with
Cratylus, declaring that he did not come up to the character, or
deserve the title of a good man, who practised virtue for the sake
of any thing but its own beauty? Cri. I believe, indeed, that
some of the ancients said such things as gave occasion for this
opinion. Aristotle* distinguisheth between two characters of a
good man, the one he calleth ayaO(><?, or simply good, the other
KaXoc KyyaObg, from whence the compound term KoXoKayaBia,
which cannot, perhaps, be rendered by any one word in our lan-
guage. But his sense is plainly this : ajadbg he defineth to be
that man to whom the good things of nature are good; for,
according to him, those things which are vulgarly esteemed the
greatest goods, as riches, honours, power, and bodily perfections,
are indeed good by nature, but they happen, nevertheless, to be
hurtful and bad to some persons, upon the account of evil habits :
inasmuch as neither a fool, nor an unjust man, nor an intempe-
rate, can be at all the better for the use of them, any more than
a sick man for using the nourishment proper for those who are
in health. But /coXo? KqyaBbc is that man in whom are to be
found all things worthy and decent and laudable, purely as such,
and for their own sake, and who practiseth virtue from no other
motive but the sole love of her own innate beauty. That philo-
sopher observes likewise, that there is a certain political habit,
such as the Spartans and others had, who thought virtue was to
be valued and practised on account of the natural advantages
that attend it. For which reason he adds, they are indeed good
* Ethif. ad Eiulemuni, lib. vii, cap. ull.
DIAL, lll.^ Tllli MINUTE PlIILOSOPIIKK. 377
men, but they have not the KaXoicqyadia, or supreme, consum-
mate virtue. From hence it is plain, that, according to Aristotle,
a man may be a good man without believing virtue its own
reward, or being only moved to virtue by the sense of moral
beauty. It is also plain, that he distinguished the political vir-
tues of nations, which the public is every where concerned to
maintain, from this sublime and speculative kind. It might also
be observed, that his exalted idea did consist with supposing a
providence which inspects and rewards the virtues of the best
men. For, saith he, in another place,* if the gods have any care
of human affairs, as it appears they have, it should seem reason-
able to suppose, they are most delighted with the most excellent
nature, and most approaching their own, which is the mind, and
that they will reward those who chiefly love and cultivate what
is most dear to them. The same philosopher observes,! that the
bulk of mankind are not naturally disposed to be awed by
shame, but by fear ; nor to abstain from vicious practices, on
account of their deformity, but only of the punishment which
attends them. And again, ^ he tells us that youth, being of itself
averse from abstinence and sobriety, should be under the re-
straint of laws, regulating their education and employment, and
that the same discipline should be continued even after they
became men. For which, saith he, we want laws, and, in one
word, for the whole ordering of life, inasmuch as the generality
of mankind obey rather force than reason, and are influenced
rather by penalties than the beauty of virtue; fa/n'iatc; $ rio
Ko\q. From all which it is very plain, what Aristotle would
have thought of those, wrho should go about to lessen or destroy
the hopes and fears of mankind, in order to make them virtuous
on this sole principle of the beauty of virtue.
XIV. Ale. But, whatever the Stagirite and his Peripatetics
might think, is it not certain that the Stoics maintained this doc-
trine in its highest sense, asserting the beauty of virtue to be all-
sufficient, that virtue was her own reward, that this alone could
make a man happy, in spite of all those things Avhich are vul-
garly esteemed the greatest woes and miseries of human life ?
And all this they held at the same time that they believed the
soul of man to be of a corporeal nature, and in death dissipated
like a flame or vapour. Cri. It must be owned, the Stoics some-
times talk as if they believed the mortality of the soul. Seneca,
in a letter of his to Lucilius, speaks much like a minute philoso-
pher in this particular. But in several other places he declares
himself of a clear contrary opinion, affirming that the souls of
men after death mount aloft into the heavens, look down upon
earth, entertain themselves with the theory of celestial bodies,
"• Ad Xirom. lib. \. c. 8. t Jl'ii'- c. !». J Ibid.
378 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. (^DIAL. III.
the course of nature, and the conversation of wise and excellent
men, who, having lived in distant ages and countries upon earth,
make one society in the other world. It must also be acknow-
ledged, that Marcus Antoninus sometimes speaks of the soul as
perishing, or dissolving into its elementary parts : but it is to be
noted, that he distinguisheth three principles in the composition
of human nature, the o-w^ua, ^v^n, vovg,* body, soul, mind, or as he
otherwise expresseth himself, <rapic£a, Trvev/mariov, and ifyejuovttcov,
flesh, spirit, and governing principle. What he calls the $v%ri,
or soul, containing the brutal part of our nature, is, indeed,
represented as a compound dissoluble, and actually dissolved by
death : but the vovc or TO iry£|uovticov, the mind or ruling prin-
ciple, he held to be of a pure celestial nature, Qeov aiToa-iraa/ma, a
particle of God, which he sends back entire to the stars and the
divinity. Besides, among all his magnificent lessons and splen-
did sentiments, upon the force and beauty of virtue, he is positive
as to the being of God, and that not merely as a plastic nature,
or soul of the world, but in the strict sense of a providence,
inspecting and taking care of human affairs, f The Stoics, there-
fore, though their style was high, and often above truth and
. nature, yet it cannot be said that they so resolved every motive
to a virtuous life into the sole beauty of virtue, as to endeavour
to destroy the belief of the immortality of the soul and a distri-
butive providence. After all, allowing the disinterested Stoics
(therein not unlike our modern quietists) to have made virtue its
own sole reward, in the most rigid and absolute sense, yet what
is this to those who are no Stoics ? If we adopt the whole prin-
ciples of that sect, admitting their notions of good and evil, their
celebrated apathy, and, in one word, setting up for complete
Stoics, we may possibly maintain this doctrine with a better
grace ; at least it will be of a piece and consistent with the
whole. But he who shall borrow this splendid patch from the
Stoics, and hope to make a figure by inserting it into a piece of
modern composition, seasoned with the wit and notions of these
times, will indeed make a figure, but perhaps it may not be in
the eyes of a wise man the figure he intended.
XV. Though it must be owned, the present age is very indul-
gent to every thing that aims at profane raillery ; which is alone
sufficient to recommend any fantastical composition to the pub-
lic. You may behold the tinsel of a modern author pass upon
this knowing and learned age for good writing ; affected strains
for wit ; pedantry for politeness ; obscurity for depths ; ram-
blings for flights ; the most awkward imitation for original
humour ; and all this upon the sole merit of a little artful pro-
faneness. Ale. Every one is not alike pleased with writings of
* Lib. iii. c. 16. t Marc. Antoain. lib. ii. $ 11.
DIAL. III.] TUE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 379
humour, nor alike capable of them. It is the fine irony of a man
of quality, " that certain reverend authors, who can condescend
to lay-wit, are nicely qualified to hit the air of breeding and
gentility, and that they Avill, in time, no doubt, refine their man-
ner to the edification of the polite world ; who have been so long
seduced by the way of raillery and wit." The truth is, the
various taste of readers requireth various kinds of writers. Our
sect hath provided for this with great judgment. To proselyte
the graver sort we have certain profound men at reason and
argument. For the coffee-houses and populace, we have de-
claimers of a copious vein. Of such a writer it is no reproach to
say, fluit lutulentus ; he is the fitter for his readers. Then, for
men of rank and politeness we have the finest and wittiest
railleurs in the world, whose ridicule is the surest test of truth.
Euph. Tell me, Alciphron, are those ingenious railleurs men of
knowledge ? Ale. Very knowing. Euph. Do they know for
instance the Copernican system, or the circulation of the blood ?
Ale. One would think you judged of our sect by your country
neighbours : there is nobody in town but knows all those points.
Euph. You believe then antipodes, mountains in the moon, and
the motion of the earth. Ale. We do. Euph. Suppose, five
or six centuries ago, a man had maintained these notions among
the beaux esprits of an English court ; how do you think they
would have been received? Ale. With great ridicule. Euph.
And now it would be ridiculous to ridicule them. Ale. It would.
Euph. But truth was the same then and now. Ale. It was.
Euph. It should seem, therefore, that ridicule is no such sove-
reign touchstone and test of truth as you gentlemen imagine.
Ale. One thing we know : our raillery and sarcasms gall the
black tribe, and that is our comfort. Cri. There is another thing
it may be worth your while to know : that men in a laughing
fit may applaud a ridicule, which shall appear contemptible when
they come to themselves ; witness the ridicule of Socrates by
the comic poet, the humour and reception it met with no more
proving that, than the same will yours, to be just, when calmly
considered by men of sense. Ale. After all, thus much is cer-
tain, our ingenious men make converts by deriding the principles
of religion. And, take my word, it is the most successful and
pleasing method of conviction. These authors laugh men out of
their religion, as Horace did out of their vices ; admissi circum
prcecordia ludunt. But a bigot cannot relish or find out their wit.
XVI. Cri. Wit without wisdom, if there be such a thing, is
hardly worth finding. And as for the wisdom of these men, it
is of a kind so peculiar, one may well suspect it. Cicero was a
man of sense, and no bigot, nevertheless he makes Scipio own
himself much more vigilant and vigorous in the race of virtue,
from supposing heaven the prize.* And he introduceth Cato,
* Somn. Scipionis.
380 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [l)l\L. III.
declaring, he would never have undergone those virtuous toils for
the service of the public, if he had thought his being was to end
with this life.* Ale. I acknowledge Cato, Scipio, and Cicero
were very well for their times, but you must pardon me, if I do
not think they arrived at the high, consummate virtue of our mo-
dern free-thinkers. Euph. It should seem then that virtue flou-
risheth more than ever among us. Ale. It should. Euph. And
this abundant virtue is owing to the method taken by your pro-
found writers to recommend it. Ale. This I grant. Euph. But
you have acknowledged, that the enthusiastic lovers of virtue are
not the many of your sect, but only a few select spirits. To
which Alciphron making no answer, Crito addressed himself to
Euphranor : To make, said he, a true estimate of the worth and
growth of modern virtue, you are not to count the virtuous men,
but rather to consider the quality of their virtue. Now you
must know, the virtue of these refined theorists is something so
pure and genuine, that a very little goes far, and is in truth in-
valuable. To which that reasonable interested virtue, of the old
English or Spartan kind, can bear no proportion. Euph. Tell
me, Alciphron, are there not diseases of the soul, as well as of the
body ? Ale. Without doubt. Euph. And are not those diseases
vicious habits ? Ale. They are. Euph. And, as bodily distem-
pers are cured by physic, those of the mind are cured by philoso-
phy ; are they not? Ale. I acknowledge it. Euph. It seems,
therefore, that philosophy is a medicine for the soul of man.
Ale. It is. Euph. How shall we be able to judge of medicines,
or know which to prefer ? Is it not from the effects wrought by
them ? Ale. Doubtless. Euph. Where an epidemical distemper
rages, suppose a new physician should condemn the known
established practice, and recommend another method of cure,
would you not, in proportion as the bills of mortality increased,
be tempted to suspect this new method, notwithstanding all the
plausible discourse of its abettors ? Ale. This serves only to
amuse and lead us from the question. Cri. It puts me in mind
of my friend Lamprocles, who needed but one argument against
infidels. I observed, said he, that, as infidelity grew, there grew
corruption of every kind, and new vices. This simple observation
on matter of fact was sufficient to make him, notwithstanding
the remonstrance of several ingenious men, imbue and season the
minds of his children betimes with the principles of religion.
The new theories, which our acute moderns have endeavoured to
substitute in place of religion, have had their full course in the
present age, and produced their effect on the minds and manners
of men. That men are men is a sure maxim : but it is as sure
that Englishmen are not the same men they were ; whether better
or worse, more or less virtuous, I need not say. Every one may
* Do Senectute.
RIAL. III.] TIIK MINUTE PIIILOSOPHKH. 381
see and judge. Though, indeed, after Aristides had been banished,
and Socrates put to death at Athens, a man, without being a con-
jurer, might guess what the beauty of virtue could do in England.
But there is now neither room nor occasion for guessing. We
have our own experience to open our eyes ; which yet if we con-
tinue to keep shut, till the remains of religious education are
quite worn off from the minds of men, it is to be feared we shall
then open them wide, not to avoid, but to behold and lament our
ruin. Ale. Be the consequences what they will, I can never
bring myself to be of a mind with those who measure truth by
convenience. Truth is the only divinity that I adore. Wherever
truth leads I shall follow. Euph. You have then a passion for
truth? Ale. Undoubtedly. Euph. For all truths? Ale. For
all. Euph. To know or to publish them ? Ale. Both. Euph.
What ! would you undeceive a child that was taking physic ?
Would you officiously set an enemy right, that was making a
wrong attack ? Would you help an enraged man to his sword ?
Ale. In such cases, common sense directs one how to behave.
Euph. Common sense, it seems then, must be consulted whether
a truth be salutary or hurtful, fit to be declared or concealed.
Ale. How ! you would have me conceal and stifle the truth, and
keep it to myself? Is this what you aim at? Euph. I only
make a plain inference from what you grant. As for myself, I
do not believe your opinions true. And although you do, you
should not therefore, if you would appear consistent with your-
self, think it necessary or wise to publish hurtful truths. What
service can it do mankind to lessen the motives to virtue, or what
damage to increase them ? Ale. None in the world. But I must
needs say, I cannot reconcile the received notions of a God and
Providence to my understanding, and my nature abhors the base-
ness of conniving at a falsehood. Euph. Shall we therefore ap-
peal to truth, and examine the reasons by which you are withheld
from believing these points? Ale. With all my heart, but
enough for the present. We will make this the subject of our
next conference.
382 THE MINUTK PHILOSOPHER. £oiAL. IV.
THE FOUKTH DIALOGUE.
[. Prejudices concerning a Deity. II. Rules laid down by Alciphron to be observed in
proving a God. III. What sort of proof he expects. IV. Whence we collect the
being of other thinking individuals. V. The same method a fortiori proves the being
of God. VI. Alciphron's second thoughts on this point. VII. God speaks to men.
VIII. How distance is perceived by sight. IX. The proper objects of sight at no
distance. X. Lights, shades, and colours, variously combined, form a language.
XI. The signification of this language learned by experience. XII. God explaineth
himselfto theeyesof men by the arbitrary use of sensible signs. XIII. The prejudice
and twofold aspect of a minute philosopher. XIV. God present to mankind, informs,
admonishes, and directs them in a sensible manner. XV. Admirable nature and use
of this visual Lmguage. XVI. Minute philosophers content to admit a God in cer-
tain senses. XVII. Opinion of some who hold that knowledge and wisdom are not
properly in God. XVIII. Dangerous tendency of this notion. XIX. Its original.
XX. The sense of schoolmen upon it. XXI. Scholastic use of the terms analogy
and analogical explained : analogical perfections of God misunderstood. XXII. God
intelligent^ wise, and good in the proper sense of the words. XXIII. Objection from
moral evil considered. XXIV. Men argue from their own defects against a Deity.
XXV. Religious worship reasonable and expedient.
I. EARLY the next morning, as I looked out of my window, I
saw Alciphron walking in the garden with all the signs of a man
in deep thought. Upon which I went down to him. Alciphron,
said I, this early and profound meditation puts me in no small
fright. How so? Because I should be sorry to be convinced
there was no God. The thought of anarchy in nature is to me
more shocking than in civil life ; inasmuch as natural concerns are
more important than civil, and the basis of all others. I grant,
replied Alciphron, that some inconvenience may possibly follow
from disproving a God ; but as to what you say of fright and
shocking, all that is nothing but mere prejudice. Men frame an
idea or chimera in their own minds, and then fall down and wor-
ship it. Notions govern mankind ; but of all notions, that of
God's governing the world hath taken the deepest root and spread
the furthest : it is therefore in philosophy an heroical achievement
to dispossess this imaginary monarch of his government, and
banish all those fears and spectres which the light of reason alone
can dispel.
Non radii solis, non lucida tela diei
Discutiunt, sed naturae species ratioque.*
My part, said I, shall be to stand by, as I have hitherto done, and
take notes of all that passeth during this memorable event, while
a minute philosopher not six foot high attempts to dethrone the
monarch of the universe. Alas ! replied Alciphron, arguments
are not to be measured by feet and inches. One man may see
more than a million ; and a short argument, managed by a free-
* Lucretius.
DIAL. IV.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 383
thinker, may be sufficient to overthrow the most gigantic chimera.
As we were engaged in this discourse, Crito and Euphranor joined
us. I find you have been beforehand with us to-day, said Crito
to Alciphron, and taken the advantage of solitude and early hours,
while Euphranor and I were asleep in our beds. We may there-
fore expect to see atheism placed in the best light, and supported
by the strongest arguments.
II. Ale. The being of a God is a subject upon which there has
been a world of common-place, which it is needless to repeat.
Give me leave therefore to lay down certain rules and limitations,
in order to shorten our present conference. For as the end of
debating is to persuade, all those things which are foreign to this
end should be left out of our debate. First then, let me tell
you, I am not to be persuaded by metaphysical arguments ; such,
for instance, as are drawn from the idea of an all-perfect being,
or the absurdity of an infinite progression of causes. This sort
of arguments I have always found dry and jejune ; and, as they
are not suited to my way of thinking, they may perhaps puzzle
but never will convince me. Secondly, I am not to be per-
suaded by the authority either of past or present ages, of man-
kind in general, or of particular wise men, all which passeth for
little or nothing with a man of sound argument and free thought.
Thirdly, all proofs drawn from utility or convenience are foreign
to the purpose. They may prove indeed the usefulness of the
notion, but not the existence of the thing. Whatever legislators
or statesmen may think, truth and convenience are very different
things to the rigorous eyes of a philosopher. And now, that I
may not seem partial, I will limit myself also not to object, in
the first place, from any thing that may seem irregular or unac-
countable in the works of nature, against a cause of infinite
power and wisdom ; because I already know the answer you
would make, to wit, that no one can judge of the symmetry and
use of the parts of an infinite machine, Avhich are all relative to
each other, and to the whole, without being able to comprehend
the entire machine or the whole universe. And in the second
place, I shall engage myself not to object against the justice and
providence of a supreme being, from the evil that befalls good
men, and the prosperity which is often the portion of wicked men
in this life ; because I know that, instead of admitting this to be
an objection against a Deity, you would make it an argument for
a future state, in which there shall be such a retribution of re-
wards and punishments, as may vindicate the divine attributes,
and set all things right in the end. Now these answers, though
they should be admitted for good ones, are in truth no proofs of
the being of God, but only solutions of certain difficulties which
might be objected, supposing it already proved by proper argu-
ments. Thus much I thought fit to premise, in order to save
384 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j>IAL. IV.
time and trouble both to you and myself. Cri. I think that, as
the proper end of our conference ought to be supposed the dis-
covery and defence of truth, so truth may be justified, not only
by persuading its adversaries, but, where that cannot be done, by
showing them to be unreasonable. Arguments therefore, which
carry light, have their effect, even against an opponent who shuts
his eyes, because they show him to be obstinate and prejudiced.
Besides, this distinction between arguments that puzzle and that
convince, is least of all observed by minute philosophers, and
need not therefore be observed by others in their favour. But
perhaps Euphranor may be willing to encounter you on your
own terms, in which case I have nothing further to say.
III. Euph. Alciphron acts like a skilful general, who is bent
upon gaining the advantage of the ground, and alluring the
enemy out of their trenches. We, who believe a God, are in-
trenched within tradition, custom, authority, and law. And
nevertheless, instead of attempting to force us, he proposes that
we should voluntarily abandon these intrenchments, and make
the attack, when we may act on the defensive with much security
and ease, leaving him the trouble to dispossess us of what we
need not resign. Those reasons (continued he, addressing him-
self to Alciphron) which you have mustered up in this morning's
meditation, if they do not weaken, must establish our belief of a
God ; for the utmost is to be expected from so great a master in
his profession, when he sets his strength to a point. Ale. I hold
the confused notion of a Deity, or some invisible power, to be of
all prejudices the most unconquerable. When half a dozen in-
genious men are got together over a glass of wine, by a cheerful
fire, in a room well lighted, we banish with ease all the spectres
of fancy or education, and are very clear in our decisions. But,
as I was taking a solitary walk before it was broad day-light in
yonder grove, methought the point was not quite so clear ; nor
could I readily recollect the force of those arguments, which
used to appear so conclusive at other times. I had I know not
what awe upon my mind, and seemed haunted by a sort of panic,
which I cannot otherwise account for, than by supposing it the
effect of prejudice : for you must know, that I, like the rest of
the world, was once upon a time catechised and tutored into the
belief of a God or Spirit. There is no surer mark of prejudice,
than the believing a thing without reason. What necessity then
can there be that I should set myself the difficult task of proving
a negative, when it is sufficient to observe that there is no proof
of the affirmative, and that the admitting it without proof is un-
reasonable ? Prove therefore your opinion ; or, if you cannot,
you may indeed remain in possession of it, but you will only be
possessed of a prejudice. Euph. O Alciphron, to content you
we must prove, it seems, and we must prove upon your own
DIAL. IV.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 385
terms. But, in the first place, let us see what sort of proof you
expect. Ale. Perhaps I may not expect it, but I will tell you
what sort of proof I would have : and that is in short, such
proof as every man of sense requires of a matter of fact, or the
existence of any other particular thing. For instance, should a
man ask why I believe there is a king of Great Britain ? I
might answer, because I had seen him ; or a king of Spain ? be-
cause I had seen those who saw him. But as for this King of
kings, I neither saw him myself, nor any one else that did ever see
him. Surely if there be such a thing as God, it is very strange
that he should leave himself without a witness ; that men should
still dispute his being ; and that there should be no one evident,
sensible, plain proof of it, without recourse to philosophy or
metaphysics. A matter of fact is not to be proved by notions,
but by facts. This is clear and full to the point. You see what
I would be at. Upon these principles I defy superstition. Euph.
You believe then as far as you can see. Ale. That is my rule
of faith. Euph. How ! will you not believe the existence of
things which you hear, unless you also see them? Ale. I will
not say so neither. When I insisted on seeing, I would be un-
derstood to mean perceiving in general : outward objects make
very different impressions upon the animal spirits, all which are
comprised under the common name of sense. And whatever we
can perceive by any sense, we may be sure of.
IV, Euph. What ! do you believe then there are such things
as animal spirits ? Ale. Doubtless. Euph. By what sense do
you perceive them ? Ale. I do not perceive them immediately
by any of my senses. I am nevertheless persuaded of their
existence, because I can collect it from their effects and opera-
tions. They are the messengers, which, running to and fro in
the nerves, preserve a communication between the soul and out-
ward objects. Euph. You admit then the being of a soul.
Ale. Provided I do not admit an immaterial substance, I see no
inconvenience in admitting there may be such a thing as a soul.
And this may be no more than a thin, fine texture of subtle
parts or spirits residing in the brain. Euph. I do not ask about
its nature. I only ask whether you admit that there is a prin-
ciple of thought and action, and whether it be perceivable by
sense. Ale. I grant that there is such a principle, and that it is
not the object of sense itself, but inferred from appearances
which are perceived by sense. Euph. If I understand you
rightly, from animal functions and motions you infer the exist-
ence of animal spirits, and from reasonable acts you infer the
existence of a reasonable soul. Is it not so ? Ale. It is. Euph.
It should seem therefore, that the being of things imperceptible
to sense may be collected from effects and signs, or sensible
tokens. Ale. It may. Euph. Tell me, Alciphron, is not the
VOL. i. 2 c
386 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j)TAL. IV.
soul that which makes the principal distinction between a real
person and a shadow, a living man and a carcass ? Ale. I grant
it is. Euph. I cannot, therefore, know that you for instance are
a distinct thinking individual, or a living real man, by surer or
other signs than those from which it can be inferred that you
have a soul. Ale. You cannot. Euph. Pray tell me, are not
all acts immediately and properly perceived by sense reducible to
motion? Ale. They 'are. Euph. From motions therefore you
infer a mover or cause ; and from reasonable motions (or such as
appear calculated for a reasonable end) a rational cause, soul, or
spirit. Ale. Even so.
V. Euph. The soul of man actuates but a small body, an in-
significant particle, in respect of the great masses of nature, the
elements, and heavenly bodies, and system of the world. And
the wisdom that appears in those motions, which are the effect of
human reason, is incomparably less than that which discovers
itself in the structure and use of organized natural bodies,
animal or vegetable. A man with his hand can make no machine
so admirable as the hand itself: nor can any of those motions,
by which we trace out human reason, approach the skill and
contrivance of those wonderful motions of the heart, and brain,
and other vital parts, which do not depend on the will of man.
Ale. All this is true. Euph. Doth it not follow then that from
natural motions, independent of man's will, may be inferred both
power and wisdom incomparably greater than that of the human
soul ? Ale. It should seem so. Euph. Further, is there not in
natural productions and effects a visible unity of counsel and
design ? Are not the rules fixed and immoveable ? Do not the
same laws of motion obtain throughout ? The same in China
and here, the same two thousand years ago and at this day?
Ale. All this I do not deny. Euph. Is there not also a con-
nexion or relation between animals and vegetables, beween both
and the elements, between the elements and heavenly bodies ; so
that from their mutual respects, influences, subordinations, and
uses, they may be collected to be parts of one whole, conspiring
to one and the same end, and fulfilling the same design ? Ale.
Supposing all this to be true. Euph. Will it not then follow, that
this vastly great or infinite power and wisdom must be supposed
in one and the same agent, spirit, or mind ; and that we have, at
least, as clear, full, and immediate certainty of the being of this
infinitely wise and powerful spirit, as of any one human soul
whatsoever besides our own ? Ale. Let me consider ; I sus-
pect we proceed too hastily. What ! do you pretend you can
have the same assurance of the being of a God, that you can
have of mine, whom you actually see stand before you and talk
to you ? Euph. The very same, if not greater. Ale. How do
you make this appear? Euph. By the person Alciphron is
DIAL. IV.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 387
meant an individual thinking thing, and not the hair, sjdn, or
visible surface, or any part of the outward form, colour, or shape
of Alciphron. Ale. This I grant. Euph. And in granting this,
you grant that, in a strict sense, I do not see Alciphron, i. e.
that individual thinking thing, but only such visible signs and
tokens, as suggest and infer the being of that invisible thinking
principle or soul. Even so, in the selfsame manner, it seems to
me, that though I cannot with eyes of flesh behold the invisible
God, yet I do in the strictest sense behold and perceive by all
my senses such signs and tokens, such effects and operations, as
suggest, indicate, and demonstrate an invisible God, as certainly
and with the same evidence, at least, as any other signs, per-
ceived by sense, do suggest to me the existence of your soul,
spirit, or thinking principle ; which I am convinced of only by
a few signs or effects, and the motions of one small organized
body : whereas I do, at all times and in all places, perceive sen-
sible signs, which evince the being of God. The point, there-
fore, doubted, or denied by you at the beginning, now seems
manifestly to follow from the premises. Throughout this whole
inquiry, have we not considered every step with care, and made
not the least advance without clear evidence? You and I
examined and assented singly to each foregoing proposition :
what shall we do then with the conclusion? For my part, if
you do not help me out, I find myself under an absolute neces-
sity of admitting it for true. You must therefore be content
henceforward to bear the blame, if I live and die in the belief of
a God.
VI. Ale. It must be confessed, I do not readily find an answer.
There seems to be some foundation for what you say. But on
the other hand, if the point was so clear as you pretend, I cannot
conceive how so many sagacious men of our sect should be so
much in the dark, as not to know or believe one syllable of it.
Euph. O Alciphron ! it is not our present business to account
for the oversights, or vindicate the honour of those great men
the free-thinkers, when their very existence is in danger of being
called in question. Ale. How so ? Euph. Be pleased to recol-
lect the concessions you have, made, and then show me, if the
arguments for a Deity be not conclusive, by what better argument
you can prove the existence of that thinking thing, which in
strictness constitutes the free-thinker. As soon as Euphranor
had uttered these words, Alciphron stopped short, and stood in a
posture of meditation, while the rest of us continued onr walk,
and took two or three turns ; after which he joined us again with
a smiling countenance, like one who had made some discovery.
I have found, said he, what may clear up the point in dispute,
and give Euphranor entire satisfaction ; I would say an argument
which will prove the existence of a free-thinker, the like whereof
388 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. (jDIAL.'lT.
cannot be applied to prove the existence of a God. You must
know then, that your notion of our perceiving the existence of
God, as certainly and immediately as we do that of a human
person, I could by no means digest, though I must own it puz-
zled me, till I had considered the matter. At first methought,
a particular structure, shape, or motion was the most certain
proof of a thinking, reasonable soul. But a little attention
satisfied me, that these things have no necessary connexion with
reason, knowledge, and wisdom ; and that allowing them to be
certain proofs of a living soul, they cannot be so of a thinking
and reasonable one. Upon second thoughts, therefore, and a
minute examination of this point, I have found that nothing so
much convinces me of the existence of another person as his
speaking to me. It is my hearing you talk that, in strict and
philosophical truth, is to me the best argument for your being.
And this is a peculiar argument inapplicable to your purpose :
for you will not, I suppose, pretend that God speaks to man in
the same clear and sensible manner, as one man doth to another.
VII. Euph. How ! is then the impression of sound so much
more evident than that of other senses ? Or, if it be, is the voice
of man louder than that of thunder ? Ale. Alas ! you mistake
the point. What I mean is not the sound of speech merely as such,
but the arbitrary use of sensible signs, which have no similitude
or necessary connexion with the things signified, so as by the
apposite management of them, to suggest and exhibit to my mind
an endless variety of things, differing in nature, time, and place,
thereby informing me, entertaining me, and directing me how to
act, not only with regard to things near and present, but also
with regard to things distant and future. No matter whether
these signs are pronounced or written ; whether they enter by
the eye or ear : they have the same use, and are equally proofs
of an intelligent, thinking, designing cause. Euph. But what if
it should appear that God really speaks to man ; would this con-
tent you ? Ale. I am for admitting no inward speech, no holy
instincts, or suggestions of light or spirit. All that, you must
know, passeth with men of sense for nothing. If you do not
make it plain to me, that God speaks to men by outward sensi-
ble signs, of such sort and in such manner as I have defined,
you do nothing. Euph. But if it shall appear plainly, that God
epeaks to men by the intervention and use of arbitrary, outward,
sensible signs, having no resemblance or necessary connexion
with the things they stand for and suggest : if it shall appear,
that by innumerable combinations of these signs, an endless
variety of things is discovered and made known to us ; and that
we are thereby instructed or informed in their different natures ;
that we are taught and admonished what to shun, and what to
pursue ; and are directed how to regulate our motions, and how
DIAL. 1V-3 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 389
to act with respect to things distant from us, as well in time as
place ; will this content you ? Ale. It is the very thing I would
have you make out ; for therein consists the force, and use, and
nature of language.
VIII. Euph. Look, Alciphron, do you not see the castle upon
yonder hill? Ale. I do. Euph. Is it not at a great distance
from you? Ale. It is. Euph. Tell me, Alciphron, is not
distance a line turned end-wise to the eye? Ale. Doubtless.
Euph. And can a line, in that situation, project more than one
single point on the bottom of the eye ? Ale. It cannot. Euph.
Therefore the appearance of a long and of a short distance is of
the same magnitude, or rather of no magnitude at all, being in
all cases one single point. Ale. It seems so. Euph. Should it
not follow from hence, that distance is not immediately perceived
by the eye ? Ale. It should. Euph. Must it not then be per-
ceived by the mediation of some other thing ? Ale. It must.
Euph. To discover what this is, let us examine what alteration
there may be in the appearance of the same object, placed at
different distances from the eye. Now I find by experience,
that when an object is removed still further and further off, in a
direct line from the eye, its visible appearance still grows lesser
and fainter, and this change of appearance, being proportional
and universal, seems to me to be that by which we apprehend
the various degrees of distance. Ale. I have nothing to object
to this. Euph. But littleness or faintness, in their own nature,
seem to have no necessary connexion with greater length of dis-
tance. Ale. I admit this to be true. Euph. Will it not follow
then, that they could never sugggest it but from experience?
Ale. It will. Euph. That is to say, we perceive distance, not
immediately, but by mediation of a sign, which hath no likeness
to it, or necessary connexion with it, but only suggests it from
repeated experience as words do things. Ale. Hold, Euphranor ;
now I think of it, the writers in optics tell us of an angle made
by the two optic axes, where they meet in the visible point or
object ; which angle the obtuser it is the nearer it shows the ob-
ject to be, and by how much the acuter by so much the further
off; and this by a necessary demonstrable connexion. Euph.
The mind then finds out the distance of things by geometry.
Ale. It doth. Euph. Should it not follow therefore that nobody
could see but those who had learned geometry, and knew some-
thing of lines and angles ? Ale. There is a sort of natural geo-
metry which is got without learning. Euph. Pray inform me,
Alciphron, in order to frame a proof of any kind, or deduce one
point from another, is it not necessary, that I perceive the con-
nexion of the terms in the premises, and the connexion of the
premises with the conclusion ; and, in general, to know one thing
by means of another, must I not first know that other thing?
390 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [^DIAL. IV.
when I perceive your meaning by your words, must I not first
perceive the words themselves ? and must I not know the pre-
mises before I infer the conclusion ? Ale. All this is true.
Euph. Whoever therefore collects a nearer distance from a wider
angle, or a further distance from an acuter angle, must first per-
ceive the angles themselves. And he who doth not perceive those
angles, can infer nothing from them. Is it so or not ? Ale. It
is as you say. Euph. Ask now the first man you meet, whether
he perceives or knows any thing of those optic angles ? or whe-
ther he ever thinks about them, or makes any inferences from
them, either by natural or artificial geometry ? What answer do
you think he would make? Ale. To speak the truth, I believe
his answer would be, that he knew nothing of those matters.
Euph. It cannot therefore v be, that men judge of distance by
angles : nor consequently can there be any force in the argument
you drew from thence, to prove that distance is perceived by
means of something which hath a necessary connexion with it.
Ale. I agree with you.
IX. Euph. To me it seems, that a man may know whether he
perceives a thing or no ; and if he perceives it, whether it be im-
mediately or mediately : and if mediately, whether by means of
something like or unlike, necessarily or arbitrarily connected with
it. Ale. It seems so. Euph. And is it not certain, that distance is
perceived only by experience, if it be neither perceived immediately
by itself, nor by means of any image, nor of any lines and angles,
which are like it, or have a necessary connexion with it ? Ale.
It is. Euph. Doth it not seem to follow from what hath been said
and allowed by you that before all experience a man would not
imagine the things he saw were at any distance from him ? Ale.
How ! let me see. Euph, The littleness or faintness of appear-
ance, or any other idea or sensation not necessarily connected
with, or resembling distance, can no more suggest different
degrees of distance, or any distance at all, to the mind, which
hath not experienced a connexion of the things signifying and
signified, than words can suggest notions before a man hath
learned the language. Ale. I allow this to be true. Euph. Will
it not thence follow, that a man born blind, and made to see,
would upon first receiving his sight, take the things he saw, not
to be at any distance from him, but in his eye, or rather in his
mind ? Ale. I must own it seems so ; and yet, on the other
hand, I can hardly persuade myself, that, if I were in such a
state, I should think those objects, which I now see at so great
distance, to be at no distance at all. Euph. It seems then, that
you now think the objects of sight are at a distance from you,
Ale. Doubtless I do. Can any one question but yonder castle is
at a great distance ? Euph. Tell me, Alciphron, can you discern
the doors, windows, and battlements of that same castle ? Ale.
DIAL. IV.] THE -MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 391
I cannot. At this distance it seems only a small round tower.
Euph. But I, who have been at it, know that it is no small round
tower, but a large square building with battlements and turrets,
which it seems you do not see. Ale. What will you infer from
thence ? Euph. I would infer, that the very object, which you
strictly and properly perceive by sight, is not that thing which
is several miles distant. Ale. Why so ? Euph. Because a little
round object is one thing, and a great square object is another.
Is it not ? Ale. 1 cannot deny it. Euph. Tell me, is not the
visible appearance alone the proper object of sight ? Ale. It is.
What think you now (said Euphranor, pointing towards the
heavens) of the visible appearance of yonder planet ? Is it not
a round luminous flat, no bigger than a sixpence ? Ale. What
then ? Euph. Tell me then, what you think of the planet itself.
Do you not conceive it to be a vast opaque globe, with several
unequal risings and vallies? Ale. I do. Euph. How can you
therefore conclude, that the proper object of your sight exists at
a distance? Ale. I confess I know not. Euph. For your
further conviction, do but consider that crimson cloud. Think
you that if you were in the very place where it is, you would
perceive any thing like what you now see? Ale. By no means.
I should perceive only a dark mist. Euph. Is it not plain, there-
fore, that neither the castle, the planet, nor the cloud, which
you see here, are those real ones which you suppose exist at a
distance.
X. Ale. What am I to think then ? Do we see any thing at
all, or is it altogether fancy and illusion ? Euph. Upon the
whole, it seems the proper objects of sight are light and colours,
with their several shades and degrees, all which, being infinitely
diversified and combined, do form a language wonderfully adapted
to suggest and exhibit to us the distances, figures, situations,
dimensions, and various qualities of tangible objects; not by
similitude, nor yet by inference of necessary connexion, but by
the arbitrary imposition of Providence, just as words suggest the
things signified by them. Ale. How ! do we not, strictly speaking,
perceive by sight such things as trees, houses, men, rivers, and the
like ? Euph. We do, indeed, perceive or apprehend those things
by the faculty of sight ; but will it follow from thence, that they
are the proper and immediate objects of sight, any more than that
all those things are the proper and immediate objects of hearing,
which are signified by the help of words or sounds ? Ale. You
would have us think then, that light, shades, and colours, variously
combined, answer to the several articulations of sound in language,
and that, by means thereof, all sorts of objects are suggested to
the mind through the eye, in the same manner as they are
suggested by words or sounds through the ear ; that is, neither
from necessary deduction to the judgment, nor from similitude to
392 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. IV
the fancy, but purely and solely from experience, custom, and
habit. Euph. I would not have you think any thing more than
the nature of things obligeth you to think, nor submit in the
least to my judgment, but only to the force of truth, which is an
imposition that I suppose the freest thinkers will not pretend to
be exempt from. Ale. You have led me, it seems, step by step,
till I am got I know not where. But I shall try to get out
again, if not by the way I came, yet by some other of my own
finding. Here Alciphron, having made a short pause, proceeded
as follows.
XL Answer me, Euphranor, should it not follow from these
principles, that a man born blind, and made to see, would at first
sight, not only not perceive their distance, but also not so much
as know the very things themselves which he saw, for instance,
men or trees ? which surely to suppose must be absurd. Euph.
I grant, in consequence of those principles, which both you and
I have admitted, that such a one would never think of men, trees,
or any other objects that he had been accustomed to perceive by
touch, upon having his mind filled with new sensations of light
and colours, whose various combinations he doth not yet under-
stand, or know the meaning of, no more than a Chinese, upon
first hearing the words man and tree, would think of the things
signified by them. In both cases, there must be time and expe-
rience, by repeated acts, to acquire a habit of knowing the con-
nexion between the signs and things signified, that is to say, of
understanding the language, whether of the eyes or of the ears.
And I conceive no absurdity in all this. Ale. I see therefore, in
strict philosophical truth, that rock only in the same sense that I
may be said to hear it, when the word rock is pronounced.
Euph. In the very same. Ale. How comes it to pass then, that
every one shall say he sees, for instance, a rock or a house, when
those things are before his eyes : but nobody will say he hears a
rock or a house, but only the words or sounds themselves, by
which those things are said to be signified or suggested, but not
heard ? besides, if vision be only a language speaking to the eyes,
it may be asked, when did men learn this language ? To acquire
the knowledge of so many signs, as go to the making up a lan-
fuage, is a work of some difficulty. But will any man say he
ath spent time, or been at pains, to learn this language of vision ?
Euph. No wonder, we cannot assign a time beyond our remotest
memory. If we have been all practising this language, ever since
our first entrance into the world : if the Author of nature con-
stantly speaks to the eyes of all mankind, even in their earliest
infancy, whenever the eyes are open in the light, whether alone
or in company : it doth not seem to me at all strange, that men
should not be aware they had ever learned a language, begun so
early, and practised so constantly as this of vision. And, if we
DIAL. IV.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 393
also consider that it is the same throughout the whole world, and
not, like other languages, differing in different places, it will not
seem unaccountable, that men should mistake the connexion be-
tween the proper objects of sight and the things signified by them,
to be founded in necessary relation, or likeness, or that they should
even take them for the same things. Hence it seems easy to con-
ceive, why men, who do not think, should confound in this lan-
guage of vision the signs with the things signified, otherwise than
they are wont to do, in the various particular languages formed
by the several nations of men.
XII. It may be also worth while to observe, that signs being
little considered in themselves, or for their own sake, but only in
their relative capacity, and for the sake of those things whereof
they are signs, it comes to pass, that the mind often overlooks
them, so as to carry its attention immediately on to the things
signified. Thus, for example, in reading we run over the charac-
ters with the slightest regard, and pass on to the meaning. Hence
it is frequent for men to say, they see words, and notions, and
things, in reading of a book ; whereas in strictness they see only
the characters, which suggest words, notions, and things. And
by parity of reason, may we not suppose, that men, not resting
in, but overlooking, the immediate and proper objects of sight, as
in their own nature of small moment, carry their attention on-
ward to the very things signified, and talk as if they saw the
secondary objects, which, in truth and strictness, are not seen but
only suggested and apprehended by means of the proper objects
of sight, which alone are seen ? Ale. To speak my mind freely,
this dissertation grows tedious, and runs into points too dry and
minute for a gentleman's attention. I thought, said Crito, we
had been told, that minute philosophers loved to consider things
closely and minutely. Ale. That is true, but in so polite an age
who would be a mere philosopher? There is a certain scholastic
accuracy, which ill suits the freedom and ease of a well-bred man.
But, to cut short this chicane, I propound it fairly to your own
conscience, whether you really think, that God himself speaks
every day and in every place to the eyes of all men. Euph.
That is really and in truth my opinion ; and it should be yours
too, if you are consistent with yourself, and abide by your own
definition of language. Since you cannot deny, that the great
mover and author of nature constantly explaineth himself to the
eyes of men by the sensible intervention of arbitrary signs,
which have no similitude or connexion with the things signified ;
so as by compounding and disposing them, to suggest and exhibit
an endless variety of objects differing in nature, time, and place,
thereby informing and directing men how to act with respect to
things distant and future, as well as near and present. In con-
sequence, I say, of your own sentiments and concessions, you
394 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j)IAL. IV.
have as much reason to think, the universal agent or God speaks
to your eyes, as you can have for thinking any .particular person
speaks to your ears. Ale. I cannot help thinking, that some
fallacy runs throughout this whole ratiocination, though perhaps
I may not readily point it out. Hold ! let me see. In language
the signs are arbitrary, are they not ? Euph. They are. Ale.
And consequently, they do not always suggest real matters of
fact. Whereas this natural language, as you call it, or these
visible signs, do always suggest things in the same uniform way,
and have the same constant, regular connexion with matters of
fact : whence it should seem, the connexion was necessary ; and
therefore, according to the definition premised, it can be no lan-
guage. How do you solve this objection? Euph. You may
solve it yourself, by the help of a picture or looking-glass. Ale.
You are in the right. I see there is nothing in it. I know not
what else to say to this opinion, more than it is so odd and con-
trary to my way of thinking, that I shall never assent to it.
XIII. Euph. Be pleased to recollect your own lectures upon
prejudice, and apply them in the present case. Perhaps they
may help you to follow where reason leads, and to suspect no-
tions which are strongly riveted, without having been ever exa-
mined. Ale. I disdain the suspicion of prejudice. And I do
not speak only for myself. I know a club of most ingenious
men, the freest from prejudice of any men alive, who abhor the
notion of a God, and I doubt not would be very able to untie
this knot. Upon which words of Alciphron, I, who had acted
the part of an indifferent stander-by, observed to him, that it
misbecame his character and repeated professions, to own an
attachment to the judgment, or build upon the presumed abilities
of other men, how ingenious soever; and that this proceeding
might encourage his adversaries to have recourse to authority, in
which perhaps they would find their account more than he. Oh !
said Crito, I have often observed the conduct of minute philoso-
phers. When one of them has got a ring of disciples round
him, his method is to exclaim against prejudice, and recommend
thinking and reasoning, giving to understand that himself is a
man of deep researches and close argument, one who examines
impartially and concludes warily. The same man in other com-
pany, if he chance to be pressed with reason, shall laugh at logic,
and assume the lazy, supine airs of a fine gentleman, a wit, a
railleur, to avoid the dryness of a regular and exact inquiry.
This double face of the minute philosopher is of no small use to
propagate and maintain his notions. Though to me it seems a
plain case, that if a fine gentleman will shake off authority, and
appeal from religion to reason, unto reason he must go : and if
he cannot go without leading strings, surely he had better be led
by the authority of the public, than by that of any knot of
DIAL. IV. ^ THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 395
minute philosophers. Ale. Gentlemen, this discourse is very
irksome and needless. For my part, I am a friend to inquiry.
I am willing reason should have its full and free scope. 1 build
on no man's authority. For my part, I have no interest in de-
nying a God. Any man may believe or not believe a God, as he
pleases, for me. But after all, Euphranor must allow me to
stare a little at his conclusions. JEupli. The conclusions are
yours as much as mine, for you were led to them by your own
concessions.
XIV. You, it seems, stare to find, that God is not far from
every one of us, and that in him we live, and move, and have
our being. You, who in the beginning of this morningrs confer-
ence thought it strange, that God should leave himself without
a witness, do now think it strange the witness should be so full
and clear. Ale. I must own I do. I was aware, indeed, of a
certain metaphysical hypothesis, of our seeing all things in God
by the union of the human soul with the intelligible substance
of the Deity, which neither I nor any one else could make sense
of. But I never imagined it could be pretended, that we saw
God with our fleshly eyes as plain as we see any human person
whatsoever, and that he daily speaks to our senses in a manifest
and clear dialect. CrL This language hath a necessary con-
nexion with knowledge, wisdom, and goodness. It is equivalent
to a constant creation, betokening an immediate act of power
and providence. It cannot be accounted for by mechanical prin-
ciples, by atoms, attractions, or effluvia. The instantaneous
production and reproduction of so many signs combined, dis-
solved, transposed, diversified, and adapted to such an endless
variety of purposes, ever shifting with the occasions and suited
to them, being utterly inexplicable and unaccountable by the
laws of motion, by chance, by fate, or the like blind principles,
doth set forth and testify the immediate operation of a spirit or
thinking being ; and not merely of a spirit, which every motion
or gravitation may possibly infer, but of one wise, good, and
provident Spirit, who directs, and rules, and governs the world.
Some philosophers, being convinced of the wisdom and power of
the Creator, from the make and contrivance of organized bodies
and orderly system of the world, did nevertheless imagine that
he left this system, with all its parts and contents well adjusted
and put in motion, as an artist leaves a clock, to go thencefor-
ward of itself for a certain period. But this visual language
proves, not a Creator merely, but a provident governor, actually
and intimately present and attentive to all our interests and
motions, who watches over our conduct, and takes care of our
minutest actions and designs, throughout the whole course of
our lives, informing, admonishing, and directing incessantly, in a
most evident and sensible manner. This is trulv wonderful.
396 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. ^DIAL. IV.
Euph. And is it not so, that men should be encompassed by
such a wonder, without reflecting on it ?
XV. Something there is of divine and admirable in this lan-
guage, addressed to our eyes, that may well awaken the mind,
and deserve its utmost attention : it is learned with so little
pains; it expresseth the differences of things so clearly and
aptly ; it instructs with such facility and despatch, by one glance
of the eye conveying a greater variety of advices, and a more
distinct knowledge of things than could be got by a discourse of
several hours: and, while it informs, it amuses and entertains
the mind with such singular pleasure and delight : it is of such
excellent use in giving a stability and permanency to human
discourse, in recording sounds and bestowing life on dead lan-
guages, enabling us to converse with men of remote ages and
countries : and it answers so apposite to the uses and necessities
of mankind, informing us more distinctly of those objects, whose
nearness and magnitude qualify them to be of greatest detriment
or benefit to our bodies, and less exactly, in proportion as their
littleness or distance make them of less concern to us. Ale. And
yet these strange things affect men but little. Euph. But they
are not strange, they are familiar, and that makes them be over-
looked. Things which rarely happen strike ; whereas frequency
lessens the admiration of things, though in themselves ever so
admirable. Hence a common man, who is not used to think and
make reflections, would probably be more convinced of the being
of a God, by one single sentence heard once in his life from the
sky, than by all the experience he has had of this visual lan-
guage, contrived with such exquisite skill, so constantly ad-
dressed to his eyes, and so plainly declaring the nearness,
wisdom, and providence, of him with whom we have to do. Ale.
After all, I cannot satisfy myself, how men should be so little
surprised or amazed about this visive faculty, if it was really of
a nature so surprising and amazing. Euph. But let us suppose
a nation of men blind from their infancy, among whom a stranger
arrives, the only man who can see in all the country : let us
suppose this stranger travelling with some of the natives, and
that while he foretells to them, that in case they walk
straight forward, in half an hour they shall meet men or cattle,
or come to a house ; that if they turn to the right and proceed,
they shall, in a few minutes, be in danger of falling down a pre-
cipice ; that shaping their course to the left they will, in such a
time, arrive at a river, a wood, or a mountain. What think
you ? must they not be infinitely surprised that one, who had
never been in their country before, should know it so much bet-
ter than themselves ? And would not those predictions seem to
them as unaccountable and incredible, as prophecy to a minute
philosopher? Ale. I cannot deny it. Euph. But it seems to
DIAL. IV.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 397
require intense thought, to be able to unravel a prejudice that
has been so long forming, to get over the vulgar error of ideas
common to both senses, and so to distinguish between the objects
of sight and touch,* which have grown (if I may so say) blended
together in our fancy, as to be able to suppose ourselves exactly
in the state that one of those men would be in, if he were made
to see. And yet this I believe is possible, and might seem
wortlj the pains of a little thinking, especially to those men
whose proper employment and profession it is to think, and
unravel prejudices, and confute mistakes. Ale. I frankly own I
cannot find my way out of this maze, and should gladly be set
right by those who see better than myself. Cri. The pursuing
this subject in their own thoughts would possibly open a new
scene to those speculative gentlemen of the minute philosophy.
It puts me in mind of a passage in the psalmist, where he repre-
sents God to be covered with light as with a garment, and
would, methinks, be no ill comment on that ancient notion of
some eastern sages, that God had light for his body, and truth
for his soul. This conversation lasted till a servant came to tell
us the tea was ready : upon which we walked in, and found
Lysicles at the tea-table.
XVI. As soon as we sat down, I am glad, said Alciphron,
that I have here found my second, a fresh man to maintain our
common cause, which, I doubt, Lysicles will think hath suffered
by his absence. Lys. Why so ? Ale. I have been drawn into
some concessions you will not like. Lys. Let me know what
they are. Ale. Why, that there is such a thing as a God, and
that his existence is very certain. Lys. Bless me ! how came
you to entertain so wild a notion ? Ale. You know we profess
to follow reason wherever it leads. And, in short, I have been
reasoned into it. Lys. Reasoned ! you should say amused with
words, bewildered with sophistry. Euph. Have you a mind to
hear the same reasoning that led Alciphron and me step by step,
that we may examine whether it be sophistry or no ? Lys. As
to that I am very easy. I guess all that can be said on that
head. It shall be my business to help my friend out, whatever
arguments drew him in. Euph. Will you admit the premises
and deny the conclusions? Lys. What if I admit the con-
clusion ? Euph. How ! will you grant there is a God. Lys.
Perhaps I may. Euph. Then we are agreed. Lys. Perhaps
not. Euph. O Lysicles, you are a subtle adversary. I know
not what you would be at. Lys. You must know then, that at
bottom the being of a God is a point in itself of small conse-
quence, and a man may make this concession without yielding
much. The great point is, what sense the word God is to be
* See the foregoing Treatise, wherein this point and the whole theory of vision are
more fully explained.
398 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. IV.
taken in. The very Epicureans allowed the being of gods : but
then they were indolent gods, unconcerned with human affairs.
Hobbes allowed a corporeal God, and Spinosa held the universe
to be God. And yet nobody doubts they were staunch free-
thinkers. I could wish indeed the word God were quite omitted,
because, in most minds, it is coupled with a sort of superstitious
awe, the very root of all religion. I shall not, nevertheless, be
much disturbed, though the name be retained, and the beijig of
God allowed in any sense but in that of a mind, which knows
all things, and beholds human actions, like some judge or magis-
trate, with infinite observation and intelligence. The belief of a
God in this sense fills a man's mind with scruples, lays him
under constraints, and embitters his very being : but in another
sense, it may be attended with no great ill consequence, This
I know was the opinion of our great Diagoras, who told me he
would never have been at the pains to find out a demonstration
that there was no God, if the received notion of God had been
the same with that of some fathers and schoolmen. Euph. Pray
what was that?
XVII. Lys. You must know, Diagoras, a man of much
reading and inquiry, had discovered that once upon a time, the
most profound and speculative divines, finding it impossible to
reconcile the attributes of God, taken in the common sense, or in
any known sense, with human reason, and the appearance of
things, taught that the words knowledge, wisdom, goodness, and
such like, when spoken of the Deity, must be understood in a
quite different sense, from what they signify in the vulgar accep-
tation, or from any thing that we can form a notion of, Or con-
ceive. Hence, whatever objections might be made against the
attributes of God they easily solved, by denying those attributes
belonged to God, in this or that or any known particular sense or
notion ; which was the same thing as to deny they belonged to
him at all. And thus denying the attributes of God they in
effect denied his being, though perhaps they were not aware of
it. Suppose, for instance, a man should object, that future con-
tingencies' were inconsistent with the foreknowledge of God,
because it is repugnant that certain knowledge should be of an
uncertain thing : it was a ready and an easy answer to say, that
this may be true, with respect to knowledge taken in the common
sense, or in any sense that we can possibly form any notion of;
but that there would not appear the same inconsistency, between
the contingent nature of things and divine foreknowledge, taken
to signify somewhat that we know nothing of, which in God
supplies the place of what we understand by knowledge ; from
which it differs not in quantity or degree of perfection, but alto-
gether, and in kind, as light doth from sound ; and even more,
since these agree in that they are both sensations : whereas
DIAL. IV.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 399
knowledge in God hath no sort of resemblance or agreement
with any notion that man can frame of knowledge. The like
may be said of all the other attributes, which indeed may by this
means be equally reconciled with every thing or with nothing.
But all men who think must needs see, this is cutting knots and
not untying them. For how are things reconciled with the di-
vine attributes, when these attributes themselves are in every
intelligible sense denied ; and consequently the very notion of
God taken away, and nothing left but the name, without any
meaning annexed to it ? In short, the belief that there is an
unknown subject of attributes absolutely unknown is a very in-
nocent doctrine ; which the acute Diagoras well saw,, and was
therefore wonderfully delighted with this system.
XVIII. For, said he, if this could once make its way and obtain
in the world, there would be an end of all natural or rational reli-
gion, which is the basis both of the Jewish and the Christian : for
he who comes to God, or enters himself in the church of God,
must first believe that there is a God in some intelligible sense; and
not only that there is something in general without any proper
notion, though never so inadequate, of any of its qualities or
attributes ; for this may be fate, or chaos, or plastic nature, or
any thing else as Avell as God. Nor will it avail to say, there is
something in this unknown being analogous to knowledge and
goodness ; that is to say, which produceth those effects which we
could not conceive to be produced by men in any degree, with-
out knowledge and goodness. For this is in fact to give up the
point in dispute between theists and atheists, the question having
always been, not whether there was a principle (which point was
allowed by philosophers as well before as since Anaxagoras), but
whether this principle was a voi>£, a thinking, intelligent being:
that is to say, whether that order, and beauty, and use, visible in
natural effects, could be produced by any thing but a mind or
intelligence, in the proper sense of the word ; and whether there
must not be true, real, and proper knowledge in the first cause.
We will therefore acknowledge, that all those natural effects,
which are vulgarly ascribed to knowledge and wisdom, proceed
from a being in which there is, properly speaking, no knowledge
or wisdom at all, but only something else, which, in reality, is the
cause of those things which men, for want of knowing better,
ascribe to what they call knowledge and wisdom and under-
standing. You wonder perhaps to hear a man of pleasure, who
diverts himself as I do, philosophize at this rate. But you should
consider that much is to be got by conversing with ingenious
men, which is a short way to knowledge, that saves a man the
drudgery of reading and thinking. And now we have granted
to you that there is a God in this indefinite sense, I would fain
see what use you can make of this concession. You cannot argue
from unknown attributes, or which is the same thing, from attri-
400 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. IT.
butes in an unknown sense. You cannot prove, that God is to
be loved for his goodness, or feared for his justice, or respected
for his knowledge : all which consequences, we own, would follow
from those attributes admitted in an intelligible sense ; but we
deny that those or any other consequences can be drawn from
attributes admitted in no particular sense, or in a sense which
none of us understand. Since therefore nothing can be in-
ferred from such an account of God, about conscience, or wor-
ship, or religion, you may even make the best of it ; and, not
to be singular, we will use the name too, and so at once there is
an end of atheism. Euph. This account of a Deity is new to
me. I do not like it, and therefore shall leave it to be main-
tained by those who do.
XIX. CrL It is not new to me. I remember not long since
to have heard a minute philosopher triumph upon this very point ;
which put me on inquiring what foundation there was for it in
the fathers or schoolmen. And, for aught that I can find, it
owes its original to those writings, which have been published
under the name of Dionysius the Areopagite. The author of
which, it must be owned, hath written upon the divine attributes
in a very singular style. In his treatise of the celestial hier-
archy* he saith, that God is something above all essence and life,
wTrtp Traaav ovaiav KOI £WTJV ; and again in his treatise of the
divine names,f that he is above all wisdom and understanding,
vTrip iraaav aotyiav Kai avvtviv, ineffable and innominable, a/o/otjroc
KOI avwvvjuoe; the wisdom of God he terms an unreasonable,
unintelligent, and foolish wisdom; rrjv aXoyov KOI avow KOI
/uwpav <7o0iav. But then the reason he gives, for expressing
himself in this strange manner, is, that the divine wisdom is the
cause of all reason, wisdom, and understanding, and therein are
contained the treasures of all wisdom and knowledge. He calls
God i>7r!p<ro00£ and vTrtp^wc 5 as if wisdom and life were words not
worthy to express the divine perfections : and he adds, that the
attributes unintelligent and unperceiving must be ascribed to the
divinity, not icar' e\\£i\l/iv, by way of defect, but Ka0' virs^oy^v,
by way of eminency ; which he explains by our giving the name
of darkness to light inaccessible. And, notwithstanding the
harshness of his expressions in some places, he affirms over and
over in others, that God knows all things ; not that he is be-
holden to the creatures for his knowledge, but by knowing him-
self, from whom they all derive their being, and in whom they
are contained as in their cause. It was late before these writinge
appear to have been known in the world ; and although they
obtained credit during the age of the schoolmen, yet since cri-
tical learning hath been cultivated, they have lost that credit,
and are at this day given up for spurious, as containing several
evident marks of a much later date than the age of Dionysius.
* De Hierarch. Coelcst. c. 2. t De Norn, Div. c. 7.
DIAL. IV.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 401
Upon the whole, although this method of growing in expression,
and dwindling in notion, of clearing up doubts by nonsense, and
avoiding difficulties by running into affected contradictions, may
perhaps proceed from a well-meant zeal ; yet it appears not to be
according to knowledge, and instead of reconciling atheists to the
truth, hath, I doubt, a tendency to confirm them in their own
persuasion. It should seem, therefore, very weak and rash in a
Christian to adopt this harsh language of an apocryphal writer,
preferably to that of the holy scriptures,. I remember, indeed,
to have read of a certain philosopher, who lived some centuries
ago, that used to say, if these supposed works of Dionysius had
been known to the primitive fathers, they would have furnished
them admirable weapons against the heretics, and would have
saved a world of pains. But the event since their discovery hath
by no means confirmed his opinion. It must be owned, the
celebrated Picus of Mirandula, among his nine hundred conclu-
sions (which that prince, being very young, proposed to maintain
by public disputation at Rome), hath this for one ; to wit, that it
is more improper to say of God, he is an intellect or intelligent
being, than to say of a reasonable soul that it is an angel : which
doctrine it seems was not relished. And Picus, when he comes
to defend it, supports himself altogether by the example and
authority of Dionysius, and in effect explains it away into a mere
verbal difference, affirming, that neither Dionysius nor himself
ever meant to deprive God of knowledge, or to deny that he
knows all things : but that, as reason is of kind peculiar to man,
so by intellection he understands a kind or manner of know-
ing peculiar to angels : and that the knowledge which is in
God is more above the intellection of angels, than angel is
above man. He adds that, as his tenet consists with admitting
the most perfect knowledge in God, so he would by no means be
understood to exclude from the Deity intellection itself, taken in
the common or general sense, but only that peculiar sort of
intellection proper to angels, which he thinks ought not to be
attributed to God any more than human reason.* Picus, there-
fore, though he speaks as the apocryphal Dionysius, yet when he
explains himself, it is evident he speaks like other men. And
although the forementioned books of the celestial hierarchy and
of the divine names, being attributed to a saint and martyr of
the apostolical age, were respected by the schoolmen, yet it is
certain they rejected or softened his harsh expressions, and ex-
plained away or reduced his doctrine to the received notions
taken from holy scripture and the light of nature.
XX. Thomas Aquinas expresseth his sense of this point in
the following manner. All perfections, saith he, derived from
God to the creatures are in a certain higher sense, or (as the
* Pic. Mirand. in Apolog. p. 155, ed. Bas.
VOL. I. 2 D
402 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. IV.
schoolmen term it) eminently in God. "Whenever, therefore, a
name borrowed from any perfection in the creature is attributed
to God, we must exclude from its signification every thing that
belongs to the imperfect manner, wherein that attribute is found
in the creature. Whence he concludes, that knowledge in God
is not a habit, but a pure act.* And again the same doctor ob-
serves, that our intellect gets its notions of all sorts of perfections
from the creatures, and that, as it apprehends those perfections,
so it signifies them by names. Therefore, saith he, in attributing
these names to God, we are to consider two things ; first, the
perfections themselves, as goodness, life, and the like, which are
properly in God ; and secondly, the manner which is peculiar to
the creature, and cannot, strictly and properly speaking, be said
to agree to the Creator, f And although Suarez, with other
schoolmen, teacheth, that the mind of man conceiveth knowledge
and will to be in God as faculties or operations, by analogy only
to created beings ; yet he gives it plainly as his opinion, that
when knowledge is said not to be properly in God, it must be
understood in a sense including imperfection, such as discursive
knowledge, or the like imperfect kind found in the creatures :
and that, none of those imperfections in the knowledge of men
or angels belonging to the formal notion of knowledge, or to
knowledge as such, it will not thence follow that knowledge, in
its proper formal sense, may not be attributed to God ; and of
knowledge taken in general for the clear evident understanding
of all truth, he expressly affirms that it is in God, and that this
was never denied by any philosopher who believed a God.J It
was, indeed, a current opinion in the schools, that even being
itself should be attributed analogically to God and the creatures.
That is, they held that God, the supreme, independent, self- ori-
ginate cause and source of all beings, must not be supposed to
exist in the same sense with created beings, not that he exists
less truly, properly, or formally than they, but only because he
exists in a more eminent and perfect manner.
XXI. But to prevent any man's being led, by mistaking the
scholastic use of the terms analogy and analogical, into an opinion
that we cannot frame in any degree a true and proper notion of
attributes applied by analogy, or, in the school phrase, predicated
analogically, it may not be amiss to inquire into the true sense
and meaning of those words. Every one knows, that analogy is
a Greek word used by mathematicians, to signify a similitude of
proportions. For instance, when we observe that two is to six
as three is to nine, this similitude or equality of proportion is
termed analogy. And although proportion strictly signifies the
habitude or relation of one quantity to another, yet, in a looser and
* Sum. Theolog. p. i. quest. 14, art. 1. t Ibid., quest. 13, art. 3.
$ Suarez Disp. Metapli, torn. ii. disp. 30, sect. 15.
DIAL. IV.]] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 403
translated sense, it hath been applied to signify every other habi-
tude ; and consequently the term analogy comes to signify all simi-
litude of relations or habitudes whatsoever. Hence, the schoolmen
tell us there is analogy betAveen intellect and sight; forasmuch as in-
tellect is to the mind what sight is to the body : and that he who
governs the state is analogous to him who steers a ship. Hence
a prince is analogically styled a pilot, being to the state as a pilot
is to his vessel.* For the further clearing of this point it is to
be observed, that a twofold analogy is distinguished by the
schoolmen, metaphorical and proper. Of the first kind there are
frequent instances in holy scripture, attributing human parts and
passions to God. When he is represented as having a finger, an
eye, or an ear, when he is said to repent, to be angry or grieved,
every one sees the analogy is merely metaphorical. Because
those parts and passions, taken in the proper signification, must
in every degree necessarily, and from the formal nature of the
thing, include imperfection. When therefore it is said, the fin-
ger of God appears in this or that event, men of common sense
mean no more, but that it is as 'truly ascribed to God, as the
works wrought by human fingers are to man : and so of the rest.
But the case is different when wisdom and knowledge are attri-
buted to God. Passions and senses, as such, imply defect ; but
in knowledge simply, or as such, there is no defect. Knowledge,
therefore, in the proper formal meaning of the word, may be
attributed to God proportionably, that is, preserving a proportion
to the infinite nature of God. We may say, therefore, that as
God is infinitely above man, so is the knowledge of God infinitely
above the knowledge of man, and this is what Cajetan calls
analogia proprie facta. And after this same analogy, we must
understand all those attributes to belong to the Deity, which in
themselves simply, and as such, denote perfection. We may
therefore, consistently with what hath been premised, affirm that
all sorts of perfection, which we can conceive in a finite spirit,
are in God, but without any of that alloy which is found in the
creatures. This doctrine, therefore, of analogical perfections in
God, or our knowing God by analogy, seems very much misun-
derstood and misapplied by those who would infer from thence,
that we cannot frame any direct or proper notion, though never
so inadequate, of knowledge or wisdom, as they are in the Deity,
or understand any more of them than one born blind can of light
and colours.
XXII. And now, gentlemen, it may be expected I should ask
your pardon for having dwelt so long on a point of metaphysics,
and introduced such unpolished and unfashionable writers as the
schoolmen into good company : but as Lysicles gave the occasion,
I leave him to answer for it. Lys. I never dreamt of this dry
* Vide Cajetan. de Norn. Analog, c. iii.
2D2
404 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. IV.
dissertation. But if I have been the occasion of discussing these
scholastic points, by my unluckily mentioning the schoolmen, it
was my first fault of the kind, and I promise it shall be the last.
The meddling with crabbed authors of any sort is none of my
taste. I grant one meets now and then with a good notion in
what we call dry writers, such a one for example as this I was
speaking of, which I must own struck my fancy. But then for
these we have such as Prodicus or Diagoras, who look into obso-
lete books, and save the rest of us that trouble. Cri, So you
pin your faith upon them. Lys. It is only for some odd opinions,
and matters of fact, and critical points. Besides, we know the
men to whom we give credit : they are judicious and honest, and
have no end to serve but truth. And I am confident some author
or other has maintained the forementioned notion in the same
sense as Diagoras related it. Cri. That may be. But it never
was a received notion, and never will, so long as men believe a
God ; the same arguments that prove a first cause proving an in-
telligent cause : intelligent, I say, in the proper sense : wise and
good in the true and formal acceptation of the words. Other-
wise it is evident, that every syllogism brought to prove those
attributes, or (which is the same thing) to prove the being of a
God, will be found to consist of four terms, and consequently
can conclude nothing. But for your part, Alciphron, you have
been fully convinced, that God is a thinking, intelligent being in
the same sense with other spirits, though not in the same imper-
fect manner or degree.
XXIII. Ale. And yet I am not without my scruples : for
with knowledge you infer wisdom, and with wisdom goodness.
But how is it possible to conceive God so good, and man so
wicked ? It may perhaps with some colour be alleged, that a
little soft shadowing of evil sets off the bright and luminous parts
of the creation, and so contributes to the beauty of the whole
piece : but for blots so large and so black it is impossible to ac-
count by that principle. That there should be so much vice and
so little virtue upon earth, and that the laws of God's kingdom
should be so ill observed by his subjects, is what can never be
reconciled with that surpassing wisdom and goodness of the su-
preme monarch. Euph. Tell me, Alciphron, would you argue
that a state was ill-administered, or judge of the manners of its
citizens, by the disorders committed in the gaol or dungeon ?
Ale. I would not. Euph. And for aught we know, this spot,
with the few sinners on it, bears no greater proportion to the uni-
verse of intelligences, than a dungeon doth to a kingdom. It seems
we are led not only by revelation but by common sense, observing
and inferring from the analogy of visible things, to conclude
there are innumerable orders of intelligent beings more happy
and more perfect than man, whose life is but a span, and whose
DIAL. IV.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 405
place this earthly globe is but a point in respect of the whole
system of God's creation. We are dazzled indeed with the glory
and grandeur of things here below, because we know no better.
But I am apt to think, if we knew what it was to be an angel
for one hour, we should return to this world, though it were to
sit on the brightest throne in it, with vastly more loathing and
reluctance than we would now descend into a loathsome dungeon
or sepulchre.
XXIV. Cri. To me it seems natural that such a weak, pas-
sionate, and short-sighted creature as man, should be ever liable
to scruples of one kind or other. But, as this same creature is
apt to be over positive in judging, and over hasty in concluding,
it falls out that these difficulties and scruples about God's con-
duct are made objections to his being. And so men come to
argue from their own defects against the divine perfections.
And as the views and humours of men are different and often
opposite, you may sometimes see them deduce the same atheis-
tical conclusion from contrary premises. I knew an instance of
this, in two minute philosophers of my acquaintance, who used
to argue each from his own temper against a Providence. One
of them, a man of a choleric and a vindictive spirit, said he could
not believe a Providence, because London was not swallowed up
or consumed by fire from heaven, the streets being, as he said,
full of people who show no other belief or worship of God, but
perpetually praying that he would damn, rot, sink, and confound
them. The other, being of an indolent and easy temper, con-
cluded there could be no such thing as a Providence, for that a
being of consummate wisdom must needs employ himself better,
than in minding the prayers, and actions, and little interests of
mankind. Ale. After all, if God have no passions, how can it be
true that vengeance is his ? Or how can he be said to be jealous
of his glory ? Cri. We believe that God executes vengeance
without revenge, and is jealous without weakness, just as the
mind of man sees without eyes, and apprehends without hands.
XXV. Ale. To put a period to this discourse we will grant,
there is a God in this dispassionate sense ; but what then ? What
hath this to do with religion or divine worship ? To what pur-
pose are all these prayers, and praises, and thanksgivings, and
singing of psalms, which the foolish vulgar call serving God?
What sense, or use, or end is there in all these things? Cri.
We worship God, we praise and pray to him : not because we
think that he is proud of our worship, or fond of our praise or
prayers, and affected with them as mankind are, or that all our
service can contribute in the least degree to his happiness or
good: but because it is good for us to be so disposed towards
God : because it is just and right, and suitable to the nature of
things, and becoming the relation we stand in to our supreme
406 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. V.
Lord and governor. Ale. If it be good for us to worship God,
it should seem that the Christian religion, which pretends to
teach men the knowledge and worship of God, was of some use
and benefit to mankind. Cri. Doubtless. Ale. If this can be
made to appear, I shall own myself very much mistaken. Cri.
It is now near dinner-time ; wherefore if you please we will
put an end to this conversation for the present, and to-morrow
morning resume our subject.
THE FIFTH DIALOGUE.
I. Minute philosophers join in the cry, and follow the scent of others. II. Worship
prescribed hy the Christian religion suitable to God and man. III. Power and in-
fluence of the Druids. IV. Excellency and usefulness of the Christian religion.
V. It ennobles mankind, and makes them happy. VI. Religion neither bigotry nor
superstition. VII. Physicians and physic for the soul. VIII. Character of the
clergy. IX. Natural religion and human reason not to be disparaged. X. Ten-
dency and use of the Gentile religion. XI. Good effects of Christianity. XII.
Englishmen compared with ancient Greeks and Romans. XIII. The modern prac-
tice of duelling. XIV. Character of the old Romans, how to be formed. XV.
Genuine fruits of the gospel. XVI. Wars and factions not an effect of the Christian
religion. XVII. Civil rage and massacres in Greece and Rome. XVIII. Virtue
of ancient Greeks. XIX. Quarrels of polemical divines. XX. Tyranny, usurpa-
tion, sophistry of ecclesiastics. XXI. The universities censured. XXII. Divine
writings of a certain modern critic. XXIII. Learning the effect of religion. XXIV.
Barbarism of the schools. XXV. Restoration of learning and polite arts, to whom
owing. XXVI. Prejudice and ingratitude of minute philosophers. XX VII. Their
pretensions and conduct inconsistent. XXVIII. Men and brutes compared with re-
spect to religion. XXIX. Christianity the only means to establish natural religion.
XXX. Free-thinkers mistake their talents ; have a strong imagination. XXXI. Tithes
and church lands. XXXII. Men distinguished from human creatures. XXXIII.
Distribution of mankind into birds, beasts, and fishes. XXXIV. Plea for reason
allowed, but unfairness taxed. XXXV. Freedom a blessing, or a curse, as it is used.
XXXVI. Priestcraft not the reigning evil.
I. WE amused ourselves next day every one to his fancy, till
nine of the clock, when word was brought that the tea-table was
set in the library, which is a gallery on a groundfloor, with an
arched door at one end opening into a walk of limes ; where, as
soon as we had drank tea, we were tempted by fine weather to
take a walk which led us to a small mount of easy ascent, on the
top whereof we found a seat under a spreading tree. Here we
had a prospect on one hand of a narrow bay or creek of the sea,
enclosed on either side by a coast beautified with rocks and woods,
and green banks and farm-houses. At the end of the bay was1 a
small town placed upon the slope of a hill, which, from the ad-
vantage of its situation, made a considerable figure. Several
fishing-boats and lighters gliding up and down on a surface as
smooth and bright as glass enlivened the prospect. On the
other side we looked down on green pastures, flocks, and herds,
basking beneath in sunshine, while we in our superior situation
enjoyed the freshness of air and shade. Here we felt that sort
DIAL. V.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 407
•
of joyful instinct which a rural scene and fine weather inspire ;
and proposed no small pleasure, in resuming and continuing our
conference without interruption till dinner : but we had hardly
seated ourselves, and looked about us, when we saw a fox run by
the foot of our mount into an adjacent thicket. A few minutes
after, we heard a confused noise of the opening of hounds, the
winding of horns, and the roaring of country squires. While
our attention was suspended by this event, a servant came run-
ning out of breath, and told Crito, that his neighbour Ctesippus,
a squire of note, was fallen from his horse, attempting to leap
over a hedge, and brought into the hall, where he lay for dead.
Upon which we all rose and walked hastily to the house, where
we found Ctesippus just come to himself, in the midst of half-a-
dozen sun-burnt squires in frocks, and short wigs and jockey-
boots. Being asked how he did, he answered it \vas only a
broken rib. With some difficulty Crito persuaded him to lie on
a bed till the chirurgeon came. These fox-hunters, having
been up early at their sport, were eager for dinner, which
was accordingly hastened. They passed the afternoon in a loud
rustic mirth, gave proof of their religion and loyalty by the
healths they drank, talked of hounds and horses, and elections
and country affairs, till the chirurgeon, who had been employed
about Ctesippus, desired he might be put into Crito's coach, and
sent home, having refused to stay all night. Our guests being
gone, we reposed ourselves after the fatigue of this tumultuous
visit, and next morning assembled again at the seat on the mount.
Now Lysicles, being a nice man, and a bel esprit, had an infinite
contempt for the rough manners and conversation of fox-hunters,
and could not reflect with patience that he had lost, as he called
it, so many hours in their company. I flattered myself, said he,
that there had been none of this species remaining among us :
strange that men should be diverted with such uncouth noise
and hurry, or find pleasure in the society of dogs and horses !
how much more elegant are the diversions of the town ! There
seems, replied Euphranor, to be some resemblance between fox-
hunters and free-thinkers; the former exerting their animal
faculties in pursuit of game, as you gentlemen employ your in-
tellectuals in the pursuit of truth. The kind of amusement is
the same, although the object be different. Lys. I had rather be
compared to any brute upon earth than a rational brute. Cri.
You would then have been less displeased with my friend Py-
thocles, whom I have heard compare the common sort of minute
philosophers, not to the hunters, but the hounds. For, said he,
you shall often see among the dogs a loud babbler, with a bad
nose, lead the unskilful part of the pack, who join all in his cry
without following any scent of their own, any more than the
herd of free-thinkers folloAV their own reason.
408 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. V.
II. But Pythocles was a blunt man, and must never have
known such reasoners among them as you gentlemen, who can
sit so long at an argument, dispute every inch of ground, and yet
know when to make a reasonable concession. Lys. I do not
know how it comes to pass, but methinks Alciphron makes con-
cessions for himself and me too. For my own part, I am not
altogether of such a yielding temper : but yet I do not care to
be singular neither. Cri. Truly, Alciphron, when I consider
where we are got, and how far we are agreed, I conceive it pro-
bable we may agree altogether in the end. You have granted
that a life of virtue is upon all accounts eligible, as most con-
ducive both to the general and particular good of mankind : and
you allow, that the beauty of virtue alone is not a sufficient
motive with mankind to the practice of it. This led you to
acknowledge, that the belief of a God would be very useful in
the world; and that consequently you should be disposed to
admit any reasonable proof of his being : which point hath been
proved, and you have admitted the proof. If then we admit a
divinity, why not divine worship ? and if worship, why not re-
ligion to teach this worship ? and if a religion, why not the
Christian, if a better cannot be assigned, and it be already
established by the laws of our country, and handed down to us
from our forefathers ? Shall we believe a God, and not pray to
him for future benefits nor thank him for the past ? Neither
trust in his protection, nor love his goodness, nor praise his wis-
dom, nor adore his power ? And if these things are to be done,
can we do them in a way more suitable to the dignity of God or
man, than is prescribed by the Christian religion ? Ale. I am
not perhaps altogether sure that religion must be absolutely bad
for the public : but I cannot bear to see policy and religion walk
hand in hand : I do not like to see human rights attached to the
divine : I am for no pontifex maximus, such as in ancient or in
modern Rome : no high priest, as in Judea : no royal priests, as
in Egypt and Sparta : no such things as Dairos of Japan, or
Lamas of Tartary.
III. I knew a late witty gentleman of our sect, who was a
great admirer of the ancient Druids. He had a mortal antipathy
to the present established religion, but used to say he should like
well to see the Druids and their religion restored, as it anciently
flourished in Gaul and Britain ; for it would be right enough that
there should be a number of contemplative men set apart to pre-
serve a knowledge of arts and sciences, to educate youth, and
teach men the immortality of the soul and the moral virtues.
Such, said he, were the Druids of old, and I should be glad to
see them once more established among us. Cri. How would you
like, Alciphron, that priests should have power to decide all con-
troversies, adjndge property, distribute rewards and punishments ;
DIAL. V.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 409
that all who did not acquiesce in their decrees should be excom-
municated, held in abhorrence, excluded from all honours and
privileges, and deprived of the common benefit of the laws ; and
that now and then, a number of laymen should be crammed to-
gether in a Avicker idol, and burnt for an offering to their pagan
gods ? How should you like living under such priests and such
a religion? Ale. Not at all. Such a situation would by no
means agree with free-thinkers. Cri. And yet such were the
Druids and such their religion, if we may trust Caesar's account of
them.* Lys. I am now convinced more than ever, there ought to
be no such thing as an established religion of any kind. Cer-
tainly all the nations of the world have been hitherto out of
their wits. Even the Athenians themselves, the wisest and
freest people upon earth, had, I know not what, foolish attach-
ment to their established church. They offered, it seems, a talent
as a reward to whoever should kill Diagoras the Melian, a free-
thinker of those times who derided their mysteries : and Prota-
goras, another of the same turn, narrowly escaped being put to
death, for having wrote something that seemed to contradict
their received notions of the gods. Such was the treatment our
generous sect met with at Athens. And I make no doubt, but
these Druids would have sacrificed many a holocaust of free-
thinkers. I would not give a single farthing to exchange one
religion for another. Away with all together, root and branch,
or you had as good do nothing. No Druids or priests of any
sort for me : I see no occasion for any of them.
IV. Eupk. What Lysicles saith, puts me in mind of the close
of our last conference, wherein it was agreed, in the following, to
resume the point we were then entered upon, to wit, the use or
benefit of the Christian religion, which Alciphron expected Crito
should make appear. Cri. I am the readier to undertake this
point, because I conceive it to be no difficult one, and that one
great mark of the truth of Christianity is, in my mind, its ten-
dency to do good, which seems the north star to conduct our
judgment in moral matters, and in all things of a practic nature ;
moral or practical truths being ever connected with universal
benefit. But to judge rightly of this matter, we should en-
deavour to act like Lysicles upon another occasion, taking into
our view the sum of things, and considering principles as branched
forth into consequences to the utmost extent we arc able. We
are not so much to regard the humour, or caprice, or imaginary
distresses of a few idle men, whose conceit may be offended,
though their conscience cannot be wounded; but fairly to con-
sider the true interest of individuals as well as of human society.
Now the Christian religion, considered as a fountain of light, and
* De Bello Gallico, lib. 6.
410 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. \JDIAL. V.
joy, and peace, as a source of faith, and hope, and charity (and
that it is so will be evident to whoever takes his notion of it
from the gospel), must needs be a principle of happiness and
virtue. And he who sees not, that the destroying the principles of
good actions must destroy good actions, sees nothing : and he who,
seeing this, shall yet persist to do it, if he be not wicked, who is ?
V. To me it seems the man can see neither deep nor far, who
is not sensible of his own misery, sinfulness, and dependence ;
who doth not perceive, that this present world is not designed or
adapted to make rational souls happy ; who would not be glad of
getting into a better state, and who would not be overjoyed to
find, that the road leading thither was the love of God and man,
the practising every virtue, the living reasonably while we are
here upon earth, proportioning our esteem to the value of things,
and so using this world as not to abuse it, for this is what Chris-
tianity requires. It neither enjoins the nastiness of the Cynic,
nor the insensibility of the Stoic. Can there be a higher
ambition than to overcome the world, or a wiser than to subdue
ourselves, or a more comfortable doctrine than the remission of
sins, or a more joyful prospect than that of having our base
nature renewed and assimilated to the Deity, our being made
fellow-citizens with angels and sons of God ? Did ever Pytha-
goreans, or Platonists, or Stoics, even in idea or in wish, propose
to the mind of man purer means or a nobler end ? How great a
share of our happiness depends upon hope ! how totally is this
extinguished by the minute philosophy ! On the other hand,
how is it cherished and raised by the gospel ! Let any man who
thinks in earnest but consider these things, and then say which
he thinks deserveth best of mankind, he who recommends, or he
who runs down Christianity ? Which he thinks likelier to lead
a happy life, to be a hopeful son, an honest dealer, a worthy
patriot, he who sincerely believes the gospel, or he who believes
not one tittle of it ? He who aims at being a child of God, or
he who is contented to be thought, and to be, one of Epicurus's
hogs ? And in fact do but scan the characters, and observe the
behaviour of the common sort of men on both sides : observe
and say which live most agreeably to the dictates of reason ?
How things should be, the reason is plain ; how they are, I
appeal to fact.
VI. Ale. It is wonderful to observe how things change ap-
pearance, as they are viewed in different lights, or by different
eyes. The picture, Crito, that I form of religion is very unlike
yours, when I consider how it unmans the soul, filling it with
absurd reveries and slavish fears ; how it extinguishes the gentle
passions, inspiring a spirit of malice, and rage, and persecution :
when I behold bitter resentment and unholy wrath in those very
men who preach up meekness and charity to others. Cri It is
DIAL. V.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 41 J
very possible, that gentlemen of your sect may think religion a
subject beneath their attention ; but yet it seems that whoever
sets up for opposing any doctrine, should know what it is he dis-
putes against. KnoAv then, that religion is the virtuous mean
between incredulity and superstition. We do not therefore con-
tend for superstitious follies, or for the rage of bigots. What we
plead for is religion against profaneness, law against confusion,
virtue against vice, the hope of a Christian against the despondency
of an atheist. I will not justify bitter resentments and unholy
wrath in any man, much less in a Christian, and least of all in a
clergyman. But if sallies of human passion should sometimes
appear even in the best, it will not surprise any one who reflects
on the sarcasms and ill manners with which they are treated by
the minute philosophers. For as Cicero somewhere observes,
Habet quendam aculeum contumclia, quern pati prudentes ac viri boni
difficillime possunt. But although you might sometimes observe
particular persons, professing themselves Christians, run into
faulty extremes of any kind through passion and infirmity, while
infidels of a more calm and dispassionate temper shall perhaps be-
have better. Yet these natural tendencies on either side prove
nothing, either in favour of infidel principles, or against Christian.
If a believer doeth evil, it is owing to the man, not to his belief.
And if an infidel doeth good, it is owing to the man and not to his
infidelity.
VII. Lys. To cut this matter short, I shall borrow an allusion
to physic, which one of you made use of against our sect. It
will not be denied, that the clergy pass for physicians of the soul,
and that religion is a sort of medicine which they deal in and
administer. If then souls in great numbers are diseased and lost,
how can we think the physician skilful or his physic good ? It is
a common complaint, that vice increases, and men grow daily
more and more wicked. If a shepherd's flock be diseased or un-
sound, Avho is to blame but the shepherd, for neglecting or not
knowing how to cure them ? a fig therefore for such shepherds,
such physic, and such physicians, who, like other mountebanks,
with great gravity and elaborate harangues put off their pills to
the people, who are never the better for them. Euph. Nothing
seems more reasonable than this remark, that men should judge
of a physician, and his physic by its effect on the sick. But pray,
Ly sides, would you judge of a physician by those sick who take
his physic and follow his prescriptions, or by those who do not ?
Lys. Doubtless by those who do. Euph. What shall we say
then, if great numbers refuse to take the physic, or instead of it
take poison of a direct contrary nature prescribed by others, who
make it their business to discredit the physician and his medicines,
to hinder men from using them, and to destroy their effects by
drugs of their own ? Shall the physician be blamed for the miscar-
riage of those people ? Lys. By no means. Euph. By a parity
412 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. \JDIAL. V.
of reason should it not follow, that the tendency of religious
doctrines ought to be judged of by the effects which they produce,
not upon all who hear them, but upon those only who receive or
believe them ? Lys. It seems so. Eupk. Therefore to proceed
fairly, shall we not judge of the effects of religion by the reli-
gious, of faith by believers, of Christianity by Christians ?
VIII. Lys. But I doubt these sincere believers are very few.
Euph. But will it not suffice to justify our principles, if in pro-
portion to the numbers which receive them, and the degree of
faith with which they are received, they produce good effects ?
Perhaps the number of believers are not so few as you imagine ;
and if they were, whose fault is that so much as of those who
make it their professed endeavour to lessen that number ? And
who are those but the minute philosophers ? Lys. I tell you it
is owing to the clergy themselves, to the wickedness and corrup-
tion of clergymen. Euph. And who denies but there may be
minute philosophers even among the clergy ? Cri. In so nu-
merous a body it is to be presumed there are men of all sorts.
But notwithstanding the cruel reproaches cast upon that order
by their enemies, an equal observer of men and things will, if I
mistake not, be inclined to think those reproaches owing as much
to other faults as those of the clergy, especially if he considers
the declamatory manner of those who censure them. Euph. My
knowledge of the world is too narrow for me to pretend to judge
of the virtue and merit and liberal attainments of men in the
several professions. Besides, I should not care for the odious
work of comparison : but I may venture to say, the clergy of
this country where I live are by no means a disgrace to it ; on
the contrary, the people seem much the better for their example
and doctrine. But supposing the clergy to be (what all men cer-
tainly are) sinners and faulty ; supposing you might spy out here
and there among them even great crimes and vices, what can you
conclude against the profession itself from its unworthy professors,
any more than from the pride, pedantry, and bad lives of some
philosophers against philosophy, or of lawyers against law ?
IX. It is certainly right to judge of principles from their ef-
fects, but then we must know them to be effects of those princi-
ples. It is the very method I have observed, with respect to
religion and the minute philosophy. And I can honestly aver,
that I never knew any man or family grow worse in proportion
as they grew religious : but I have often observed that minute
philosophy is the worst thing that can get into a family, the rea-
diest way to impoverish, divide, and disgrace it. Ale. By the
same method of tracing causes from their effects, I have made it
my observation, that the love of truth, virtue, and the happiness
of mankind are specious pretexts, but not the inward principles
that set divines at work ; else why should they affect to abuse
j
DIAL. V.] ' THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 4J3
human reason, to disparage natural religion, to traduce the phi-
losophers as they universally do? Cri. Not so universally per-
haps as you imagine. A Christian, indeed, is for confining reason
within its due bounds ; and so is every reasonable man. If we
are forbid meddling with unprofitable questions, vain philosophy,
and science falsely so called, it cannot be thence inferred, that all
inquiries into profitable questions, useful philosophy, and true
science, are unlawful. A minute philosopher may indeed impute,
and perhaps a weak brother may imagine those inferences, but
men of sense will never make them. God is the common father
of lights ; and all knowledge really such, whether natural or re-
vealed, is derived from the same source of light and truth. To
amass together authorities upon so plain a point would be needless.
It must be owned some men's attributing too much to human rea-
son, hath, as is natural, made others attribute too little to it. But
thus much is generally acknowledged, that there is a natural re-
ligion, which may be discovered and proved by the light of rea-
son, to those who are capable of such proofs. But it must be
withal acknowledged, that precepts and oracles from heaven are
incomparably better suited to popular improvement and the good
of society, than the reasonings of philosophers ; and accordingly
we do not find, that natural or rational religion ever became the
popular national religion of any country.
X. Ale. It cannot be denied, that in all heathen countries there
have been received, under the colour of religion, a world of fables
and superstitious rites. But I question whether they were so
absurd and of so bad influence as is vulgarly represented, since
their respective legislators and magistrates must, without doubt,
have thought them useful. Cri. It were needless to inquire into
all the rites and notions of the gentile world. This hath been
largely done when it was thought necessary. And whoever
thinks it worth while may be easily satisfied about them. But
as to the tendency and usefulness of the heathen religion in
general, I beg leave to mention a remark of St. Augustine's,*
who observes that the heathens in their religion had no assem-
blies for preaching, wherein the people were to be instructed
what duties or virtues the gods required, no place or means to be
taught what Persiusf exhorts them to learn.
Disciteque 6 miseri, et causas cognoscite rerum,
Quid sumus, et quidnam victuri gignimur.
Ale. This is the true spirit of the party, never to allow a grain
of use or goodness to any thing out of their own pale : but we
have had learned men who have done justice to the religion of the
gentiles. Cri. We do not deny but there was something useful
* De Civitate Dei, lib. 2. t Sat. iii.
414 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. V.
in the old religions of Rome and Greece, and some other pagan
countries. On the contrary, we freely own they produced some
good effects on the people: but then these good effects were
owing to the truths contained in those false religions, the truer
therefore the more useful. I believe you will find it a hard
matter to produce any useful truth, any moral precept, any salu-
tary principle or notion in any gentile system, either of religion
or philosophy, which is not comprehended in the Christian, and
either enforced by stronger motives, or supported by better au-
thority, or carried to a higher point of perfection.
XL Ale. Consequently you would have us think ourselves a
finer people than the ancient Greeks or Romans. Cri. If by finer
you mean better, perhaps we are ; and if we are not, it is not
owing to the Christian religion, but to the want of it. Ale.
You say, perhaps we are. I do not pique myself on my reading :
but should be very ignorant to be capable of being imposed on
in so plain a point. What! compare Cicero or Brutus to an
English patriot, or Seneca to one of our parsons ! Then that
invincible constancy and vigour of mind, that disinterested and
noble virtue, that adorable public spirit you so much admire, are
things in them so well known, and so different from our manners,
that I know not how to excuse your perhaps. Euphranor, in-
deed, who passeth his life in this obscure corner, may possibly
mistake the characters of our times, but you who know the
world, how could you be guilty of such a mistake ? Cri. O
Alciphron, I would by no means detract from the noble virtue
of ancient heroes : but I observe those great men were not the
minute philosophers of their times ; that the best principles upon
which they acted are common to them with Christians, of whom
it would be no difficult matter to assign many instances, in every
kind of worth and virtue, public or private, equal to the most
celebrated of the ancients. Though perhaps their story might
not have been so well told, set off with such fine lights and
colouring of style, or so vulgarly known and considered by every
school-boy. But though it should be granted, that here and
there a Greek or Roman genius, bred up under strict laws and
severe discipline, animated to public virtue by statues, crowns,
triumphal arches, and such rewards and monuments of great
actions, might attain to a character and fame beyond other men,
yet this will prove only, that they had more spirit and lived
under a civil polity more wisely ordered in certain points than
ours ; which advantages of nature and civil institution will be no
argument for their religion or against ours. On the contrary, it
seems an invincible proof of the power and excellency of the
Christian religion, that, without the help of those civil institu-
tions and incentives to glory, it should be able to inspire a phleg-
matic people with the noblest sentiments, and soften the rugged
j
DIAL. V.J THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 415
manners of northern boors into gentleness and humanity : and
that these good qualities should become national, and rise and
fall in proportion to the purity of our religion, as it approaches
to, or recedes from the plan laid down in the gospel.
XII. To make a right judgment of the effects of the Christian
religion, let us take a survey of the prevailing notions and
manners of this very country where we live, and compare them
with those of our heathen predecessors. Ale. I have heard
much of the glorious light of the gospel, and should be glad to
see some effects of it in my own dear country, which, by the
bye, is one of the most corrupt and profligate upon earth, not-
withstanding the boasted purity of our religion. But it would
look mean and diffident, to affect a comparison with the barbarous
heathen, from whence we drew our original : if you would do
honour to your religion, dare to make it with the most renowned
heathens of antiquity. Cri. It is a common prejudice, to despise
the present, and over-rate remote times and things. Something
of this seems to enter into the judgments men make of the
Greeks and Romans. For though it must be allowed, those
nations produced some noble spirits and great patterns of virtue :
yet upon the whole, it seems to me they were much inferior in
point of real virtue and good morals, even to'this corrupt and pro-
fligate nation, as you are now pleased to call it in dishonour to our
religion ; however you may think fit to characterize it, when you
would do honour to the minute philosophy. This, I think, will
be plain to any one, who shall turn off his eyes from a few
shining characters, to view the general manners and customs of
those people. Their insolent treatment of captives, even of the
highest rank and softer sex,K their unnatural exposing of their
own children, their bloody gladiatorian spectacles, compared with
the common notions of Englishmen, are to me a plain proof, that
our minds are much softened by Christianity. Could any thing
be more unjust, than the condemning a young lady to the most
infamous punishment and death for the guilt of her father, or a
whole family of slaves, perhaps some hundreds, for a crime com-
mitted by one ? or more abominable than their bacchanals and
unbridled lusts of every kind ? which, notwithstanding all that
has been done by minute philosophers to debauch the nation, and
their successful attempts on some part of it, have not yet been
matched among us, at least not in every circumstance of impu-
dence and effrontery. While the Romans were poor, they were
temperate ; but, as they grew rich, they became luxurious to a
degree that is hardly believed or conceived by us. It cannot be
denied, the old Roman spirit was a great one. But it is as cer-
tain, there have been numberless examples of the most resolute
and clear courage in Britons, and in general from a religious
cause. Upon the whole, it seems an instance of the greatest
416 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. \J)IAL. V.
blindness and ingratitude, that we do not see and own the ex-
ceeding great benefits of Christianity, which to omit higher con-
siderations, hath so visibly softened, polished, and embellished
our manners.
XIII. Ale. O Crito, we are alarmed at cruelty in a foreign
shape, but overlook it in a familiar one. Else how is it possible
that you should not see the inhumanity of that barbarous custom
of duelling, a thing avowed and tolerated, and even reputable,
among us ? Or that, seeing this, you should suppose our Eng-
lishmen of a more gentle disposition than the old Romans, who
were altogether strangers to it ? Cri. I will by no means make
an apology for every Goth that walks the streets, with a deter-
mined purpose to murder any man who shall but spit in his face,
or give him the lie. Nor do I think the Christian religion is in
the least answerable for a practice so directly opposite to its pre-
cepts, and which obtains only among the idle part of the nation,
your men of fashion ; who, instead of law, reason, or religion,
are governed by fashion. Be pleased to consider that what may
be, and truly is, a most scandalous reproach to a Christian coun-
try, may be none at all to the Christian religion : for the pagan
encouraged men in several vices, but the Christian in none. Ale.
Give me leave to observe, that what you now say is foreign to the
purpose. For the question, at present, is not concerning the
respective tendencies of the pagan and the Christian religions,
but concerning our manners, as actually compared with those of
ancient heathens, who I aver had no such barbarous custom as
duelling. Cri. And I aver that, bad as this is, they had a worse ;
and that was poisoning. By which we have reason to think
there were many more lives destroyed, than by this Gothic crime
of duelling : inasmuch as it extended to all ages, sexes, and cha-
racters, and as its effects were more secret and unavoidable ; and
as it had more temptations, interest as well as passion, to recom-
mend it to wicked men. And for the fact, not to waste time, I
refer you to the Roman authors themselves. Lys. It is very
true : duelling is not so general a nuisance as poisoning, nor of
so base a nature. This crime, if it be a crime, is in a fair way to
keep its ground in spite of the law and the gospel. The clergy
never preach against it, because themselves never suffer by it :
and the man of honour must not appear against the means of
vindicating honour. Cri. Though it be remarked by some of
your sect, that the clergy are not used to preach against duelling,
yet I neither think the remark itself just, nor the reason assigned
for it. In effect, one-half of their sermons, all that is said of
charity, brotherly love, forbearance, meekness, and forgiving in-
juries, is directly against this wicked custom; by which the
clergy themselves are so far from never suffering, that perhaps
they will be found, all things considered, to suffer oftener than
DIAL. V.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 417
other men. Lys. How do you make this appear? Cri. An
observer of mankind may remark two kinds of bully, the fighting
and the tame, both public nuisances, the former (who is the
more dangerous animal, but by much the less common of the two)
employs himself wholly and solely against the laity, while the
tame species exert their talents upon the clergy. The qualities
constituent of this tame bully are natural rudeness joined with a
delicate sense of danger. For, you must know, the force of in-
bred insolence and ill manners is not diminished, though it ac-
quire a new determination, from the fashionable custom of calling
men to account for their behaviour. Hence you may often see
one of these tame bullies ready to burst with pride and ill-humour,
which he dares not vent till a parson has come in the way to his
relief. And the man of raillery, who would as soon bite off his
tongue, as break a jest on the profession of arms in the presence
of a military man, shall instantly brighten up, and assume a
familiar air with religion and the church before ecclesiastics.
Dorcon, who passeth for a poltroon and stupid in all other com-
pany, and really is so, when he is got among clergymen, affects
a quite opposite character. And many Dorcons there are which
owe their wit and courage to this passive order.
XIV. Ale. But to return to the point in hand, can you deny
the old Romans were as famous for justice and integrity as men
in these days for the contrary qualities ? Cri. The character of
the Romans is not to be taken from the sentiments of Tully, or
Cato's actions, or a shining passage here and there in their his-
tory, but from the prevailing tenor of their lives and notions.
Now if they and our modern Britons are weighed in this same
equal balance, you will, if I mistake not, appear to have been
prejudiced in favour of the old Romans against your own coun-
try, probably because it professeth Christianity. Whatever in-
stances of fraud or injustice may be seen in Christians carry their
own censure with them, in the care that is taken to conceal them,
and the shame that attends their discovery. There is, even at
this day, a sort of modesty in all our public councils and delibe-
rations. And I believe the boldest of our minute philosophers
would hardly undertake, in a popular assembly, to propose any
thing parallel to the rape of the Sabines, the most unjust usage
of Lucius Tarquinius Collatinus, or the ungrateful treatment of
Camillus, which, as a learned father observes, were instances of
iniquity agreed to by the public body of the Romans. And if
Rome in her early days were capable of such flagrant injustice,
it is most certain she did not mend her manners as she grew
great in wealth and empire, having produced monsters in every
kind of wickedness, as far exceeding other men as. they surpassed
them in power. I freely acknowledge, the Christian religion
hath not had the same influence upon the nation, that it would
VOL, i. 2 E
418 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [jDIAL. V.
in case it had been always professed in its purity, and cordially
believed by all men. But I will venture to say, that if you take
the Roman history from one end to the other, and impartially
compare it with our own, you will neither find them so good,
nor your countrymen so bad as you imagine. On the contrary,
an indifferent eye may, I verily think, perceive a vein of charity
and justice, the effect of Christian principles, run through the
latter; which, though not equally discernible in all parts, yet
discloseth itself sufficiently to make a wide difference upon the
whole in spite of the general appetites and passions of human
nature, as well as of the particular hardness and roughness of the
block out of which we were hewn. And it is observable (what
the Roman authors themselves do often suggest) that even their
virtues and magnanimous actions rose and fell with a sense of
providence and a future state, and a philosophy the nearest to
the Christian religion.
XV. Crito having spoke thus, paused. But Alciphron, ad-
dressing himself to Euphranor and me, said, It is natural for
men, according to their several educations and prejudices, to form
contrary judgments upon the same things, which they view in
very different lights. Crito, for instance, imagines that none but
salutary effects proceed from religion : on the other hand, if you
appeal to the general experience and observation of other men,
you shall find it grown into a proverb that religion is the root of
evil.
Tantum religio potuit suadere malorum.
And this not only among Epicureans or other ancient heathens,
but among moderns speaking of the Christian religion. Now
methinks it is unreasonable to oppose against the general con-
curring opinion of the world, the observation of a particular per-
son, or particular set of zealots, whose prejudice sticks close to
them, and ever mixeth with their judgment ; and who read, col-
lect, and observe with an eye not to discover the truth, but to
defend their prejudice. Cri. Though I cannot think with Al-
ciphron, yet I must own I admire his address and dexterity in
argument. Popular and general opinion is by him represented,
on certain occasions, to be a sure mark of error. But when it
serves his ends that it should seem otherwise, he can as easily make
it a character of truth. But it will by no means follow, that a
profane proverb used by the friends and admired authors of a
minute philosopher, must therefore be a received opinion, much
less a truth grounded on the experience and observation of
mankind. Sadness may spring from guilt or superstition, and
rage from bigotry ; but darkness might as well be supposed the
natural effect of sunshine, as sullen and furious passions to pro-
ceed from the glad tidings and divine precepts of the gospel.
DIAL. V.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 419
What is the sum and substance, scope and end, of Christ's reli-
gion, but the love of God and man ? to which all other points and
duties are relative and subordinate, as parts or means, as signs,
principles, motives, or effects. Now I would fain know, how it
is possible for evil or wickedness of any kind to spring from such
a source? I will not pretend, there are no evil qualities in
Christians, nor good in minute philosophers. But this I affirm,
that whatever evil is in us, our principles certainly lead to good ;
and whatever good there may be in you, it is most certain your
principles lead to evil.
XVI. Ale. It must be owned there is a fair outside, and many
plausible things may be said, for the Christian religion taken
simply as it lies in the gospel. But it is the observation of one
of our great writers, that the first Christian preachers very cun-
ningly began with the fairest face and the best moral doctrines
in the world. It was all love, charity, meekness, patience, and
so forth. But when by this means they had drawn over the
world and got power, they soon changed their appearance, and
showed cruelty, ambition, avarice, and every bad quality. Cri.
That is to say, some men very cunningly preached and under-
went a world of hardships, and laid down their lives to propagate
the best principles and the best morals, to the end that others
some centuries after might reap the benefit of bad ones. Who-
ever may be cunning, there is not much cunning in the maker of
this observation. Ale. And yet ever since this religion hath
appeared in the world, we have had eternal feuds, factions, mas-
sacres, and wars, the very reverse of that hymn with which it is
introduced in the gospel : Glory be to God on high, on earth
peace, good-will towards men. Cri. This I will not deny. I
will even own that the gospel and the Christian religion have
been often the pretexts for these evils ; but it will not thence
follow they were the cause. On the contrary it is plain they could
not be the real, proper cause of these evils, because a rebellious,
proud, revengeful, quarrelsome spirit is directly opposite to the
whole tenor and most express precepts of Christianity : a point
so clear that I shall not prove it. And secondly, because all
those evils you mention were as frequent, nay much more frequent,
before the Christian religion was known in the world. They are
the common product of the passions and vices of mankind, which
are sometimes covered with the mask of religion by wicked
men, having the form of godliness without the power of it.
This truth seems so plain, that I am surprised how any man of
sense, knowledge, and candour can make a doubt of it.
XVII. Take but a view of heathen Rome ; what a scene is
there of faction and fury and civil rage ! Let any man consider
the perpetual feuds between the patricians and plebeians, the
bloody and inhuman factions of Marius and Sylla, Cinna and
2 E 2
420 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [JDIAL. V.
Octavius, and the vast havoc of mankind, during the two famous
triumvirates. To be short, let any man of common candour and
common sense but cast an eye from one end to the other of the
Roman story, and behold that long scene of seditions, murders,
massacres, proscriptions, and desolations of every kind, enhanced
by every cruel circumstance of rage, rapine, and revenge, and
then say, whether those evils were introduced into the world with
the Christian religion, or whether they are not less frequent now
than before ? Ale. The ancient Romans, it must be owned, had
a high and fierce spirit, which produced eager contentions and
very bloody catastrophes. The Greeks, on the other hand, were
a polite and gentle sort of men, softened by arts and philosophy.
It is impossible to think of the little states and cities of Greece,
without wishing to have lived in those times, without admiring
their policy and envying their happiness. Cri. Men are apt to
consider the dark sides of what they possess, and the bright ones
of things out of their reach. A fine climate, elegant taste,
polite amusements, love of liberty, and most ingenious inventive
spirit for arts and sciences were indisputable prerogatives of
ancient Greece. But as for peace and quietness, gentleness and
humanity, I think we have plainly the advantage: for those
envied cities composed of gentle Greeks were not without their
factions, which persecuted each other with such treachery, rage,
and malice, that in respect of them our factious folk are mere
lambs. To be convinced of this truth, you need only look into
Thucydides,* where you will find those cities in general involved
in such bitter factions, as for fellow-citizens without the formali-
ties of war to murder one another, even in their senate-houses
and their temples, no regard being had to merit, rank, obligation,
or nearness of blood. And if human nature boiled up to so
vehement a pitch in the politest people, what wonder that savage
nations should scalp, roast, torture, and destroy each other, as
they are known to do? It is therefore plain, that without
religion there would not be wanting pretexts for quarrels and
debates; all which can very easily be accounted for by the
natural infirmities and corruption of men. It would not perhaps
be so easy to account for the blindness of those, who impute the
most hellish effects to the most divine principle, if they could be
supposed in earnest, and to have considered the point. One may
daily see ignorant and prejudiced men make the most absurd
blunders : but that free-thinkers, divers to the bottom of things,
fair inquirers, and openers of eyes, should be capable of such a
gross mistake, is what one would not expect.
XVIII. Ale. The rest of mankind we could more easily give
up : but as for the Greeks, men of the most refined genius ex-
press an high esteem of them, not only on account of those
* Thucyd. lib. 3.
DIAL. V.~| THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 421
qualities which you think fit to allow them, but also for their
virtues. Cri. I shall not take upon me to say how far some men
may be prejudiced against their country, or whether others may
not be prejudiced in favour of it. But upon the fullest and most
equal observation that I am able to make, it is my opinion, that,
if by virtue is meant truth, justice, gratitude, there is incom-
parably more virtue now at this day in England, than at any
time could be found in ancient Greece. Thus much will be
allowed, that we know few countries, if any, where men of emi-
nent worth, and famous for deserving well of the public, met
with harder fate, and were more ungratefully treated, than in the
most polite and learned of the Grecian states. Though Socrates,
it must be owned, would not allow that those statesmen, by
adorning the city, augmenting the fleet, or extending the com-
merce of Athens, deserved well of their country ; or could with
justice complain of the ungrateful returns made by their fellow-
citizens, whom, while they were in power, they had taken no care
to make better men, by improving and cultivating their minds
with the principles of virtue, which if they had done, they
needed not to have feared their ingratitude. If I were to declare
my opinion, what gave the chief advantage to Greeks and
Romans and other nations, which have made the greatest figure
in the world, I should be apt to think it was a peculiar reverence
for their respective laws and institutions, which inspired them
with steadiness and courage, and that hearty, generous love of
their country, by which they did not merely understand a certain
language or tribe of men, much less a particular spot of earth,
but included a certain system of manners, customs, notions, rites,
and laws, civil and religious. Ale. Oh ! I perceive your drift ;
you would have us reverence the laws and religious institutions
of our country. But herein we beg to be excused, if we do not
think fit to imitate the Greeks, or to be governed by any
authority whatsoever. But to return : as for Avars and factions,
I grant they ever were and ever will be in the world upon some
pretext or other, as long as men are men.
XIX. But there is a sort of war and warriors peculiar to
Christendom, which the heathens had no notion of: I mean dis-
putes in theology and polemical divines, which the world hath
been wonderfully pestered with : these teachers of peace, meek-
ness, concord, and what not ! if you take their word for it : but
if you cast an eye upon their practice, you find them to have
been in all ages the most contentious, quarrelsome, disagreeing
crew that ever appeared upon earth. To observe the skill and
sophistry, the zeal and eagerness, with which those barbarians,
the school divines, split hairs and contest about chimeras, gives
me more indignation, as being more absurd and a greater scandal
to human reason, than all the ambitious intrigues, cabals, and
422 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j)IAL. V.
politics, of the court of Rome. Cri. If divines are quarrelsome,
that is not so far forth as divine, but as undivine and unchris-
tian. Justice is a good thing, and the art of healing is excel-
lent ; nevertheless, in the administering of justice or physic,
men may be wronged or poisoned. But as wrong cannot be jus-
tice, or the effect of justice, so poison cannot be medicine or the
effect of medicine, so neither can pride or strife be religion or
the effect of religion. Having premised this, I acknowledge,
you may often see hot-headed bigots engage themselves in
religious as well as civil parties, without being of credit or ser-
vice to either. And as for the schoolmen in particular, I do not
in the least think the Christian religion concerned in the defence
of them, their tenets, or their method of handling them : but
whatever futility there may be in their notions, or inelegancy in
their language, in pure justice to truth one must own, they
neither banter, nor rail, nor declaim in their writings, and are so
far from showing fury or passion, that perhaps an impartial
judge will think, the minute philosophers are by no means to be
compared with them for keeping close to the point, or for tem-
per and good manners. But after all, if men are puzzled, wran-
gle, talk nonsense, and quarrel about religion, so they do about
law, physic, politics, and every thing else of moment. I ask,
whether in these professions or in any other, where men have
refined and abstracted, they do not run into disputes, chicane,
nonsense, and contradictions, as well as in divinity ? And yet
this doth not hinder, but there may be many excellent rules,
and just notions, and useful truths in all those professions. In
all disputes human passions too often mix themselves, in propor-
tion as the subject is conceived to be more or less important.
But we ought not to confound the cause of men with the cause
of God, or make human follies an objection to divine truths. It
is easy to distinguish what looks like wisdom from above, and
what proceeds from the passion and weakness of men. This is
so clear a point, that one would be tempted to think, the not do-
ing it was an effect, not of ignorance, but of something worse.
XX. The conduct we object to minute philosophers is a na-
tural consequence of their principles. Whatsoever they can
reproach us with is an effect, not of our principles, but of human
passion and frailty. Ale. This is admirable. So we must no
longer object to Christians, the absurd contentions of councils,
the cruelty of inquisitions, the ambition and usurpations of
churchmen. Cri. You may object them to Christians but not
to Christianity. If the divine author of our religion and his dis-
ciples have sown a good seed ; and together with this good seed,
the enemies of his gospel (among whom are to be reckoned the
minute philosophers of all ages) have sown bad seeds, whence
spring tares and thistles ; is it not evident, these bad weeds can-
DIAL. V.~] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 423
not be imputed to the good seed, or to those who sowed it?
Whatever you do or can object against ecclesiastical tyranny,
usurpation, or sophistry, may, without any blemish or disadvan-
tage to religion, be acknowledged by all true Christians ; pro-
vided still that you impute those wicked effects to their true
cause, not blaming any principles or persons for'them, but those
that really produce or justify them. Certainly, as the interests
of Christianity are not to be supported by unchristian methods,
whenever these are made use of, it must be supposed there is
some other latent principle which sets them at work. If the
very court of Home hath been known, from motives of policy, to
oppose settling the inquisition in a kingdom, where the secular
power hath endeavoured to introduce it in spite of that court :*
we may well suppose, that elsewhere factions of state, and poli-
tical views of princes, have given birth to transactions seemingly
religious, wherein at bottom neither religion, nor church, nor
churchmen, were at all considered. As no man of common sense
and honesty will engage in a general defence of ecclesiastics, so
I think no man of common candour can condemn them in
general. Would you think it reasonable, to blame all statesmen,
lawyers, or soldiers, for the faults committed by those of their
profession, though in other times, or in other countries, and in-
fluenced by other maxims and other discipline ? And if not,
why do you measure with one rule to the clergy, and another to
the laity ? Surely the best reason that can be given for this is
prejudice. Should any man rake together all the mischiefs that
have been committed, in all ages and nations, by soldiers and
lawyers, you would, I suppose, conclude from thence, not that
the state should be deprived of those useful professions, but only
that their exorbitances should be guarded against and punished.
If you took the same equitable course with the clergy, there
would indeed be less to be said against you; but then you
would have much less to say. This plain, obvious consideration,-
if every one who read considered, would lessen the credit of your
declaimers. Ale. But when all is said that can be said, it must
move a man's indignation to see reasonable creatures, under the
notion of study and learning, employed in reading and writing
so many voluminous tracts de land caprind. Cri. I shall not
undertake the vindication of theological writings, a general de-
fence being as needless as a general charge is groundless. Only
let them speak for themselves, and let no man condemn them
upon the word of a minute philosopher. But we will imagine
the very worst, and suppose a wrangling pedant in divinity dis-
putes, and ruminates, and writes upon a refined point, as useless
and unintelligible as you please. Suppose this same person bred
* P. Paolo Istoria dell' Inquisizione, p. 42.
424 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. V.
a layman, might he not have employed himself in tricking bar-
gains, vexatious law-suits, factions, seditions, and such like
amusements, with much more prejudice to the public? Suffer
then curious wits to spin cobwebs ; where is the hurt ? Ale.
The mischief is, what men want in light they commonly make up
in heat : zeal and ill nature being weapons constantly exerted
by the partisans, as well as champions, on either side : and those
perhaps not mean pedants or book-worms. You shall often see
even the learned and eminent divine lay himself out in explaining
things inexplicable, or contend for a barren point of theory, as if
his life, liberty, or fortune were at stake. Cri. No doubt all points
in divinity are not of equal moment. Some may be too fine spun,
and others have more stress laid on them than they deserve. Be
the subject what it will, you shall often observe that a point, by
being controverted, singled out, examined, and nearly inspected,
groweth considerable to the same eye, that, perhaps, would
have overlooked it in a large and comprehensive view. Nor is
it an uncommon thing, to behold ignorance and zeal united in
men, who are born with a spirit of party, though the church or
religion have in truth but small share in it. Nothing is easier
than to make a caricatura (as the painters call it) of any pro-
fession upon earth : but at bottom, there will be found nothing
so strange in all this charge upon the clergy, as the partiality of
those who censure them, in supposing the common defects of
mankind peculiar to their order, or the effect of religious prin-
ciples. Ale. Other folks may dispute or squabble as they please,
and nobody mind them ; but it seems, these venerable squabbles
of the clergy pass for learning, and interest mankind. To use
the words of the most ingenious characterizer of our times, " A
ring is made, and readers gather in abundance. Every one takes
party and encourages his own side. This shall be my champion !
This man for my money ! Well hit on our side ! Again a good
stroke ! There he was even with him ! Have at him the next
bout I excellent sport !"* Cri. Methinks I trace the man of
quality and breeding in this delicate satire, which so politely
ridicules those arguments, answers, defences, and replications
which the press groans under. Ale. To the infinite waste of
time and paper, and all the while nobody is one whit the wiser.
And who indeed can be the wiser for reading books upon sub-
jects quite out of the way, incomprehensible, and most wretchedly
written ? What man of sense or breeding would not abhor the
infection of prolix pulpit eloquence, or of that dry, formal,
pedantic, stiff, and clumsy style which smells of the lamp and the
college.
XXI. They who have the weakness to reverence the univer-
* Characteristics, vol. iii. c. 2.
DIAL. V.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 425
sities as seats of learning, must needs think this a strange re-
proach ; but it is a very just one. For the most ingenious men
are now agreed, that they are only nurseries of prejudice, cor-
ruption, barbarism, and pedantry. Lys. For my part, I find no
fault with universities. All I know is, that I had the spending
three hundred pounds a year in one of them, and think it the
cheerfullest time of my life. As for their books and style I had
not leisure to mind them. Cri. Whoever has a mind to weed
will never want work ; and he that shall pick out bad books on
every subject will soon fill his library. I do not know what
theological writings Alciphron and his friends may be conversant
in ; but I will venture to say, one may find among our English
divines many writers, who for compass of learning, weight of
matter, strength of argument, and purity of style, are not infe-
rior to any in our language. It is not my design to apologize for
the universities : whatever is amiss in them (and what is there
perfect among men ?) I heartily wish amended. But I dare
affirm, because I know it to be true, that any impartial observer,
although they should not come up to what in theory he might
wish or imagine, will nevertheless find them much superior to
those that in fact are to be found in other countries, and far be-
yond the mean picture that is drawn of them by minute philo-
sophers. It is natural for those to rail most at places of educa-
tion, who have profited least by them. Weak and fond parents
will also readily impute to a wrong cause, those corruptions
themselves have occasioned, by allowing their children more
money than they knew how to spend innocently. And too often
a gentleman who has been idle at the college, and kept idle com-
pany, will judge of a whole university from his own cabal. Ale.
Crito mistakes the point. I vouch the authority, not of a dunce,
or a rake, or absurd parent, but of the most consummate critic
this age has produced. This great man characterizeth men of
the church and universities with the finest touches and most
masterly pencil. What do you think he calls them ? Euph.
What? Ale. Why, the black tribe, magicians, formalists, pe-
dants, bearded boys, and, having sufficiently derided and exploded
them and their mean, ungenteel learning, he sets most admirable
models of his own for good writing : and it must be acknowledged
they are the finest things in our language ; as I could easily con-
vince you, for I am never without something of that noble
writer about me. Euph. He is then a noble writer? Ale. I tell
you he is a nobleman. Euph. But a nobleman who writes is one
thing, and a noble writer another. Ale. Both characters are
coincident, as you may see.
XXII. Upon which Alciphron pulled a treatise out of his
pocket, entitled A Soliloquy, or Advice to an Author. Would you
behold, said he, looking round upon the company, a noble speci-
426 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [^DIAL. V.
men of fine writing ; do but dip into this book : which Crito
opening, read verbatim as follows.*
" Where then are the pleasures which ambition promises
And love affords ? How is the gay world enjoyed ?
Or are those to be esteemed no pleasures
Which are lost by dulness and inaction ?
But indolence is the highest pleasure.
To live and not to feel ! To feel no trouble.
What good then 1 Life itself. And is
This properly to live 1 is sleeping life ?
Is this what I should study to prolong?
Here the
Fantastic tribe itself seem scandalized.
A civil war begins : the major part
Of the capricious dames do range themselves
On reason's side,
And declare against the languid siren.
Ambition blushes at the offered sweet
Conceit and vanity take superior airs.
Even luxury herself in her polite
And elegant humour reproves the apostate
Sister,
And marks her as an alien to true pleasure.
Away thou
Drowsy phantom ! haunt me no more ; for I
Have learned from better than thy sisterhood
That life and happiness consist in action
And employment.
But here a busy form solicits us,
Active, industrious, watchful, and despising
Pains, and labour. She wears the serious
Countenance of virtue, but with features
Of anxiety and disquiet.
What is it she mutters ? What looks she on with
Such admiration and astonishment ?
Bags ! coffers ! heaps of shining metal ! What ?
For the service of luxury 1 For her
These preparations ? Art thou then her friend,
Grave fancy ! Is it for her thou toilest ?
No, but for provision against want.
But luxury apart, tell me now,
Hast thou not already a competence ?
It is good to be secure against the fear
Of starving. Is there then no death but this ?
No other passage out of life ? Are other doors
Secured if this be barred ? Say avarice !
Thou emptiest of phantoms, is it not vile
Cowardice thou servest ? what further have I then
To do with thee, thou doubly vile dependant,
When once I have dismissed thy patroness,
And despised her threats ?
Thus I contend with fancy and opinion."
Euphranor, having heard thus far, cried out : What ! will you
never have done with your poetry ? another time may serve : but
why should we break off our conference to read a play ? You
are mistaken, it is no play nor poetry, replied Alciphron, but a
* Part iii. sect. ii.
DIAL. V.] THE MIKUTE PHILOSOPHER. 427
famous modern critic moralizing in prose. You must know this
great man hath (to use his own words) revealed a grand arcanum
to the world, having instructed mankind in what he calls mirror-
writing, self-discoursing practice, and author practice, and showed
" that by virtue of an intimate recess, we may discover a
certain duplicity of soul, and divide our self into two parties,
or (as he varies the phrase) practically form the dual num-
ber." In consequence whereof, he hath found out that a man
may argue with himself, and not only with himself, but also
with notions, sentiments, and vices, which by a marvellous
prosopopreia he converts into so many ladies, and so converted,
he confutes and confounds them in a divine strain. Can any
thing be finer, bolder, or more sublime ? Euph. It is very
wonderful. I thought indeed you had been reading a piece
of a tragedy. Is this he who despiseth our universities, and sets
up for reforming the style and taste of the age ? A Jc. The
very same. This is the admired critic of our times. Nothing
can stand the test of his correct judgment, which is equally
severe to poets and parsons. " The British muses," saith this
great man, " lisp as in their cradles : and their stammering
tongues, which nothing but youth and rawness can excuse, have
hitherto spoken in wretched pun and quibble. Our dramatic
Shakespeare, our Fletcher, Johnson, and our epic Milton pre-
serve this style. And, according to him, even our later authors,
aiming at a false sublime, entertain our raw fancy and unprac-
tised ear, which has not yet had leisure to form itself, and be-
come truly musical." Euph. Pray what effect may the lessons
of this great man, in whose eyes our learned professors are but
bearded boys, and our most celebrated wits but wretched pun-
sters, have had upon the public ? Hath he rubbed off the
college rust, cured the rudeness and rawness of our authors, and
reduced them to his own Attic standard ? Do they aspire to his
true sublime, or imitate his chaste, unaffected style ? Ale.
Doubtless the taste of the age is much mended : in proof
whereof his writings are universally admired. When our author
published this treatise, he foresaw the public taste would improve
apace ; that arts and letters would grow to great perfection ; that
there would be a happy birth of genius: of all which things ^he
spoke, as he saith himself, in a prophetic style. Cri. And yet
notwithstanding the prophetical predictions of this critic, I do
not find any science that throve among us of late, so much as the
minute philosophy. In this kind, it must be confessed, we have
had many notable productions. But whether they are such master-
pieces for good writing, I leave to be determined by their readers,
XXIII. In the mean time, I must beg to be excused, if I
cannot believe your great man on his bare word, when he would
have us think, that ignorance and ill taste are owing to the Chris-
tian religion or the clergy ; it being my sincere opinion, that what-
428 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. V.
ever learning or knowledge we have among us, is derived from
that order. If those, who are so sagacious at discovering a mote
in other eves, would but purge their own, I believe they might
easily see this truth. For what but religion could kindle and
preserve a spirit towards learning, in such a northern, rough peo-
ple ? Greece produced men of active and subtile genius. The
public conventions and emulations of their cities forwarded that
genius ; and their natural curiosity was amused and excited by
learned conversations, in their public walks and gardens and por-
ticos. Our genius leads to amusements of a grosser kind : we
breathe a grosser and a colder air : and that curiosity which was
general in the Athenians, and the gratifying of which was their
chief recreation, is among our people of fashion treated like af-
fectation, and as such banished from polite assemblies and places
of resort ; and without doubt would in a little time be banished
the country, if it were not for the great reservoirs of learning,
where those formalists, pedants, and bearded boys, as your pro-
found critic calls them, are maintained by the liberality and piety
of our predecessors. For it is as evident that religion was the
cause of those seminaries, as it is that they are the cause or source
of all the learning and taste which is to be found, even in those
very men who are the declared enemies of our religion and public
foundations. Every one, who knows any thing, knows we are
indebted for our learning to the Greek and Latin tongues. This
those severe censors will readily grant. Perhaps they may not
be so ready to grant, what all men must see, that we are indebted
for those tongues to our religion. What else could have made
foreign and dead languages in such request among us ? What
could have kept in being and handed them down to our times,
through so many dark ages in which the world was wasted and
disfigured by wars and violence? What, but a regard to the
holy scriptures, and theological writings of the fathers and doc-
tors of the church ? And in fact, do we not find that the learn-
ing of those times was solely in the hands of ecclesiastics, that
they alone lighted the lamp in succession one from another, and
transmitted it down to after-ages ; and that ancient books were
collected and preserved in their colleges and seminaries, when all
love and remembrance of polite arts and studies was extinguished
among the laity, whose ambition entirely turned to arms ?
XXIV. Ale. There is, I must needs say, one sort of learning
undoubtedly of Christian original, and peculiar to the universities
where our youth spend several years in acquiring that mysterious
jargon of scholasticism ; than which there could never have been
contrived a more effectual method to perplex and confound human
understanding. It is true, gentlemen are untaught by the world
what they have been taught at the college : but then their time
is doubly lost. Cri. But what if this scholastic learning was not
DIAL. V.^ THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 429
of Christian but of Mahometan original, being derived from the
Arabs ? And what if this grievance of gentlemen's spending
several years in learning and unlearning this jargon, be all gri-
mace and a specimen only of the truth and candour of certain
minute philosophers, who raise great invectives from slight occa-
sions, and judge too often without inquiring ? Surely it would
be no such deplorable loss of time, if a young gentlemen spent a
few months upon that so much despised and decried art of logic,
a surfeit of which is by no means the prevailing nuisance of this
age. It is one thing to waste one's time in learning and unlearn-
ing the barbarous terms, wiredrawn distinctions, and prolix so-
phistry of the schoolmen, and another to attain some exactness
in denning and arguing : things perhaps not altogether beneath
the dignity even of a minute philosopher. There was indeed a
time, when logic was considered as its own object : and that art of
reasoning, instead of being transferred to things, turned altogether
upon words and abstractions : which produced a sort of leprosy
in all parts of knowledge, corrupting and converting them into
hollow, verbal disputations in a most impure dialect. But those
times are past ; and that, which had been cultivated as the prin-
cipal learning for some ages, is now considered in another light,
and by no means makes that figure in the universities, or bears
that part in the studies of young gentlemen educated there, which
is pretended by those admirable reformers of religion and learn-
ing, the minute philosophers.
XXV. But who were they that encouraged and produced the
restoration of arts and polite learning ? What share had the mi-
nute philosophers in this affair ? Matthias Corvinus, king of
Hungary, Alphonsus, king of Naples, Cosmus de Medicis, Picus
of Mirandula, and other princes and great men, famous for learn-
ing themselves, and for encouraging it in others with a munificent
liberality, were neither Turks, nor gentiles, nor minute philoso-
phers. Who was it that transplanted and revived the Greek
language and authors, and with them all polite arts and literature
in the west ? Was it not chiefly Bessarion, a cardinal, Marcus
Musurus, an archbishop, Theodore Beza, a private clergyman ?
Has there been a greater and more renowned patron and restorer
of elegant studies in every kind, since the days of Augustus
Caesar, than Leo the tenth, pope of Rome? Did any writers
approach the purity of the classics nearer than the cardinals
Bembus and Sadoletus, or than the bishops Jovius and Vida ? not
to mention an endless number of ingenious ecclesiastics, who
flourished on the other side of the Alps in the golden age (as the
Italians call it) of Leo the tenth, and wrote, both in their own
language and the Latin, after the best models of antiquity. It
is true, this first recovery of learning preceded the reformation,
and lighted the way to it : but the religious controversies, which
430 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. v.
ensued, did wonderfully propagate and improve it in all parts of
Christendom. And surely, the church of England is, at least, as
well calculated for the encouragement of learning as that of
Rome. Experience confirms this observation ; and I believe the
minute philosophers will not be so partial to Rome as to deny it.
Ale. It is impossible your account of learning beyond the Alps
should be true. The noble critic in my hands, having compli-
mented the French, to whom he allows some good authors, asserts
of other foreigners, particularly the Italians, " that they may be
reckoned no better than the corrupters of true learning and eru-
dition." Cri. With some sorts of critics, dogmatical censures
and conclusions are not always the result of perfect knowledge
or exact inquiry : and if they harangue upon taste, truth of art,
a just piece, grace of style, Attic elegance, and such topics, they
are to be understood only as those that would fain talk themselves
into reputation for courage. To hear Thrasymachus speak of
resentment, duels, and point of honour, one would think him
ready to burst with valour. Lys. Whatever merit this writer
may have as a demolisher, I always thought he had very little as
a builder. It is natural for careless writers to run into faults
they never think of; but for an exact and severe critic to shoot
his bolt at random, is unpardonable. If he, who professes at
every turn a high esteem for polite writing, should yet despise
those who most excel in it, one would be tempted to suspect his
taste. But if the very man, who of all men talks most about
art, and taste, and critical skill, and would be thought to have
most considered those points, should often deviate from his own
rules, into the false sublime or the mauvaise plaisanterie : what
reasonable man would follow the taste and judgment of such a
guide, or be seduced to climb the steep ascent, or tread in the
rugged paths of virtue on his recommendation?
XXVI. Ale. But to return, methinks Crito makes no com-
pliment to the genius of his country, in supposing that English-
men might not have wrought out of themselves all art and
science and good taste, without being beholden to church, or
universities, or ancient languages. Cri. What might have been
is only conjecture. What has been, it*is not difficult to know.
That there is a vein in Britain of as rich an ore as ever was in
any country, I will not deny ; but it lies deep, and will cost pains
to come at: and extrordinary pains require an extraordinary
motive. As for what lies next the surface, it seems but indiffe-
rent, being neither so good nor in such plenty as in some other
countries. It was the comparison of an ingenious Florentine,
that the celebrated poems of Tasso and Ariosto are like two
gardens, the one of cucumbers, the other of melons. In the one
you shall find few bad, but the best are not a very good fruit, in
the other much the greater part are good for nothing, but those
DIAL. V.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 431
that are good are excellent. Perhaps the same comparison may
hold, between the English and some of their neighbours. Ale.
But suppose we should grant that the Christian religion and its
seminaries might have been of use, in preserving or retrieving
polite arts and letters; what then? Will you make this an
argument of its truth? Cri. I will make it an argument of
prejudice and ingratitude in those minute philosophers, who ob-
ject darkness, ignorance, and rudeness, as an effect of that very
thing, which above all others hath enlightened and civilized and
embellished their country : which is as truly indebted to it for
arts and sciences (which nothing but religion was ever known to
have planted in such a latitude) as for that general sense of virtue
and humanity, and the belief of a providence and future state,
which all the argumentation of minute philosophers hath not yet
been able to abolish.
XXVII. Ale. It is strange you should still persist to argue,
as if all the gentlemen of our sect were enemies to virtue, and
downright atheists : though I have assured you of the contrary,
and that we have among us several, who profess themselves in
the interests of virtue and natural religion, and have also declared,
that I myself do now argue upon that foot. Cri. How can you
pretend to be in the interest of natural religion, and yet be
professed enemies of the Christian, the only established religion
Avhich includes whatever is excellent in the natural, and which is
the only means of making those precepts, duties, and notions, so
called, become reverenced throughout the world ? Would not
he be thought weak or insincere, who should go about to persuade
people, that he was much in the interests of an earthly monarch ;
that he loved and admired his government ; when at the same
time he showed himself on all occasions a most bitter enemy of
those very persons and methods, which above all others contri-
buted most to his service, and to make his dignity known and
revered, his laws observed, or his dominion extended? And is
not this what minute philosophers do, while they set up for ad-
vocates of God and religion, and yet do all they can to discredit
Christians and their worship ? It must be owned, indeed, that
you argue against Christianity, as the cause of evil and wicked-
ness in the world ; but with such arguments, and in such a man-
ner, as might equally prove the same thing of civil government,
of meat and drink, of every faculty and profession, of learning,
of eloquence, and even of human reason itself. After all, even
those of your sect who allow themselves to be called deists, if
their notions are thoroughly examined, will, I fear, be found to
include little of religion in them. As for the providence of God
watching over the conduct of human agents, and dispensing
blessings or chastisements, the immortality of the soul, a final
judgment, and future state of rewards and punishments; how
432 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. Q>IAL. V.
few, if any, of your free-thinkers have made it their endeavour
to possess men's minds with a serious sense of those great points
of natural religion ! HQW many, on the contrary, endeavour to
render the belief of them doubtful or ridiculous ! Lys. To speak
the truth, Ij for my part, had never any liking to religion of any
kind, either revealed or unrevealed : and I dare venture to say
the same for those gentlemen of our sect that I am acquainted
with, having never observed them guilty of so much meanness,
as even to mention the name of God with reverence, or speak
with the least regard of piety or any sort of worship. There
may perhaps be found one or two formal pretenders to enthusiasm
and devotion, in the way of natural religion, who laughed at
Christians for publishing hymns and meditations, while they
plagued the world with as bad of their own : but the sprightly
men make a jest of all this. It seems to us mere pedantry.
Sometimes, indeed, in good company one may hear a word dropped
in commendation of honour and good nature : but the former of
these, by connoisseurs, is always understood to mean nothing but
fashion, as the latter is nothing but temper and constitution,
which guides a man just as appetite doth a brute.
XXVIII. And after all these arguments and notions, which
beget one another without end ; to take the matter short, neither
I nor my friends for our souls could ever comprehend, why man
might not do very well, and govern himself without any religion
at all, as well as a brute, which is thought the sillier creature of
the two. Have brutes instincts, senses, appetites, and passions,
to steer and conduct them ? So have men, and reason over and
above to consult upon occasion. From these premises we con-
clude, the road of human life is sufficiently lighted without
religion. Cri. Brutes having but small power, limited to things
present or particular, are sufficiently opposed and kept in order,
by the force or faculties of other animals and the skill of man,
without conscience or religion : but conscience is a necessary
balance to human reason, a faculty of such mighty extent and
power, especially toward mischief. Besides, other animals are,
by the law of their nature, determined to one certain end or kind
of being, without inclination or means either to deviate or go
beyond it. But man hath in him a will and higher principle ;
by virtue whereof he may pursue different or even contrary ends,
and either fall short of or exceed the perfection natural to his
species in this world, as he is capable either, by giving up the
reins to his sensual appetites, of degrading himself into the con-
dition of brutes, or else, by well ordering and improving his
mind, of being transformed into the similitude of angels- Man
alone of all animals hath understanding to know his God. What
availeth this knowledge unless it be to ennoble man, and raise
him to an imitation and participation of the divinity ? Or what
DIAL. V.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 433
could such ennoblement avail if to end with this life ? Or how
can these things take effect without religion ? But the points of
vice and virtue, man and beast, sense and intellect, have been
already at large canvassed. What ! Lysicles, would you have
us go back where we were three or four days ago ? Lys. By no
means : I had much rather go forward, and make an end as soon
as possible. But to save trouble, give me leave to tell you once
for all, that, say what you can, you shall never persuade me so
many ingenious, agreeable men are in the wrong, and a pack of
snarling, sour bigots in the right.
XXIX. Cri. O Lysicles, I neither look for religion among
bigots, nor reason among libertines; each kind disgrace their
several pretensions; the one owning no regard even to the
plainest and most important truths, while the others exert an
angry zeal for points of least concern. And surely whatever
there is of silly, narrow, and uncharitable in the bigot, the same
is in great measure to be imputed to the conceited ignorance, and
petulant profaneness, of the libertine. And it is not at all un-
likely that as libertines make bigots, so bigots should make liber-
tines, the extreme of one party being ever observed to produce a
contrary extreme of another. And although, while these adver-
saries draw the rope of contention, reason and religion are often
called upon, yet are they perhaps very little considered or con-
cerned in the contest. Lysicles, instead of answering Crito,
turned short upon Alciphron. It was always my opinion, said
he, that nothing could be sillier than to think of destroying
Christianity, by crying up natural religion. Whoever thinks
highly of the one can never, with a consistency, think meanly
of the other ; it being very evident that natural religion, without
revealed, never was and never can be established or received any
where but in the brains of a few idle speculative men. I was
aware what your concessions would come to. The belief of God,
virtue, a future state, and such fine notions, are, as every one may
see with half an eye, the very basis and corner-stone of the
Christian religion. Lay but this foundation for them to build on,
and you shall soon see what superstructures our men of divinity
Avill raise from it. The truth and importance of those points
once admitted, a man need be no conjurer to prove, upon that
principle, the excellency and usefulness of the Christian religion :
and then to be sure there must be priests to teach and propagate
this useful religion. And if priests, a regular subordination
without doubt in this worthy society, and a provision for their
maintenance, such as may enable them to perform all their rites
and ceremonies with decency, and keep their sacred character
above contempt. And the plain consequence of all this is a
confederacy between the prince and the priesthood to subdue the
people : so we have let in at once upon us a long train of eccle-
VOL. I. 2 F
434 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. V.
siastical evils, priestcraft, hierarchy, inquisition. We have lost
our liberty and property, and put the nation to vast expense,
only to purchase bridles and saddles for their own backs.
XXX. This being spoke with some sharpness of tone, and an
upbraiding air, touched Alciphron to the quick, who replied no-
thing, but showed confusion in his looks. Crito, smiling, looked
at Euphranor and me, then, casting an eye on the two philoso-
phers, spoke as follows : if I may be admitted to interpose good
offices, for preventing a rupture between old friends and brethren
in opinion, I would observe, that in this charge of Lysicles there
is something right and something wrong. It seems right to
assert as he doth, that the real belief of natural religion will lead
a man to approve of revealed : but it is as wrong to assert, that
inquisitions, tyranny, and ruin must follow from thence. Your
free-thinkers, without offence be it said, seem to mistake their
talent. They imagine strongly, but reason weakly ; mighty at
exaggeration, and jejune in argument ! Can no method be found
to relieve them from the terror of that fierce and bloody animal,
an English parson ? Will it not suffice to pare his talons with-
out chopping off' his fingers ? Then they are such wonderful
patriots for liberty and property ! When I hear these two words
in the mouth of a minute philosopher, I am put in mind of the
Teste di Ferro at Rome. His holiness, it seems, not having
power to assign pensions on Spanish benefices to any but natives
of Spain, always keeps at Rome two Spaniards, called Teste di
Ferro, who have the name of all such pensions but not the pro-
fit, which goes to Italians. As we may see every day, both
things and notions placed to the account of liberty and property,
which in reality neither have nor are meant to have any share in
them. What ! is it impossible for a man to be a Christian but
he must be a slave ; or a clergyman, but he must have the prin-
ciples of an inquisitor ? I am far from screening and justifying
appetite of domination or tyrannical power in ecclesiastics. Some,
who have been guilty in that respect, have sorely paid for it, and
it is to be hoped they always will. But having laid the fury and
folly of the ambitious prelate, is it not time to look about and
spy whether, on the other hand, some evil may not possibly
accrue to the state, from the overflowing zeal of an independent
whig? This I may affirm, without being at any pains to prove
it, that the worst tyranny this nation ever felt was from the
hands of patriots of that stamp.
XXXI. Lys. I don't know. Tyranny is a harsh word, and
sometimes misapplied. When spirited men of independent
maxims create a ferment, or make a change in the state : he that
loseth is apt to consider things in one light, and he that wins in
another. In the meantime this is certainly good policy, that we
should be frugal of our money, and reserve it for better uses
I
DIAL. V.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER.
than to expend on the church and religion. Cri, Surely the old
apologue of the belly and members need not be repeated to such
knowing men. It should seem as needless to observe, that all
other states, which ever made any figure in the world for wisdom
and politeness, have thought learning deserved encouragement
as well as the sword ; that grants for religious uses were as fitting
as for knights' service ; and foundations for propagating piety, as
necessary to the public welfare and defence, as either civil or
military establishments. But I ask who are at this expense,
and what is this expense so much complained of? Lys. As if
you had never heard of church lands and tithes. Cri. But I
would fain know, how they can be charged as an expense, either
upon the nation or private men. Where nothing is exported
the nation loseth nothing : and it is all one to the public, whether
money circulates at home through the hands of a vicar or a
squire. Then as for private men, who, for want of thought, are
full of complaint about the payment of tithes; can any man
justly complain of it as a tax, that he pays what never belonged
to him? The tenant rents his farm with this condition, and
pays his landlord proportionably less than if his farm had been
exempt from it : so he loseth nothing ; it being all one to him
whether he pays his pastor or his landlord. The landlord cannot
complain that he has not what he hath no right to, either by
grant, purchase, or inheritance. This is the case of tithes ; and
as for the church lands, he surely can be no free-thinker, nor any
thinker at all, who doth not see that no man, whether noble, gen-
tle, or plebeian, hath any sort of right or claim to them, which
he may not with equal justice pretend to all the lands in the
kingdom. Lys. At present indeed we have no right, and that is
our complaint. Cri. You would have then what you have no
right to. Lys. Not so neither: what we would have is first a
right conveyed by law, and in the next place, the lands by vir-
tue of such right. Cri. In order to this, it might be expedient,
in the first place, to get an act passed for excommunicating from
all civil rights every man that is a Christian, a scholar, and wears
a black coat, as guilty of three capital offences against the public
weal of this realm. Lys. To deal frankly, I think it would be
an excellent good act. It would provide at once for several de-
serving men, rare artificers in wit and argument and ridicule,
who have, too many of them, but small fortunes with a great
arrear of merit towards their country, which they have so long
enlightened and adorned gratis. Euph. Pray tell me, Lysicles,
are not the clergy legally possessed of their lands and emolu-
ments? Lys. JSfobody denies it. Euph. Have they not been
possessed of them from time immemorial ? Lys. This too I grant,
Euph. They claim them by law and ancient prescription. Lys.
They do. Euph. Have the oldest families of the nobility a
2 F 2
436 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [jDIAL. V.
better title ? Lys. I believe not. It grieves me to see so many
overgrown estates in the hands of ancient families, on account of
no other merit, but what they brought with them into the world.
Euph. May you not then as well take their lands too, and be-
stow them on the minute philosophers, as persons of more meiit?
Lys. So much the better. This enlarges our view, and opens a
new scene : it is very delightful, in the contemplation of truth,
to behold how one theory grows out of another. Ale. Old Paetus
used to say, that if the clergy were deprived of their hire, we
should lose the most popular argument against them. Lys. But
so long as men live by religion, there will never be wanting
teachers and writers in defence of it. Cri. And how can you be
sure they would be wanting, though they did not live by it ;
since it is well known Christianity had its defenders even when
men died by it ? Lys. One thing I know, there is a rare nursery
of young plants growing up, who have been carefully guarded
against every air of prejudice, and sprinkled with the dew of
our choicest principles ; meanwhile wishes are wearisome, and to
our infinite regret nothing can be done, so long as there remains
any prejudice in favour of old customs and laws and national
constitutions, which, at bottom, we very well know and can de-
monstrate to be only words and notions.
XXXII. But, I can never hope, Crito, to make you think
my schemes reasonable. We reason each right upon his own
principles, and shall never agree till we quit our principles,
which cannot be done by reasoning. We all talk of just, and
right, and wrong, and public good, and all those things. The
names may be the same, but the notions and conclusions very
different, perhaps diametrically opposite ; and yet each may admit
of clear proofs, and be inferred by the same way of reasoning.
For instance, the gentlemen of the club which I frequent, define
man to be a sociable animal : consequently, we exclude from this
definition all those human creatures, of whom it may be said, we
had rather have their room than their company. And such,
though wearing the shape of man, are to be esteemed in all
account of reason, not as men, but only as human creatures.
Hence it plainly follows, that men of pleasure, men of humour,
and men of wit, are alone properly and truly to be considered as
men. Whatever therefore conduceth to the emolument of such
is for the good of mankind, and consequently very just and law-
ful, although seeming to be attended with loss or damage to
olher creatures : inasmuch as no real injury can be done in life
or property to those, who know not how to enjoy them. This
we hold for clear and well connected reasoning. But others may
view things in another light, assign different definitions, draw
other inferences, and perhaps consider, what we suppose the very
top and flower of the creation, only as a wart or excrescence of
DIAL. V.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 437
human nature. From all which there must ensue a very different
system of morals, politics, rights, and notions. Cri. If you
have a mind to argue, we will argue ; if you have more mind to
jest, we will laugh with you. Lys.
Kidentem dicere verum
Quid vetat ?
This partition of our kind into men and human creatures, puts
me in mind of another notion, broached by one of our club,
whom we used to call the Pythagorean.
XXXIII. He made a threefold partition of the human species,
into birds, beasts, and fishes, being of opinion that the road of
life lies upwards, in a perpetual ascent through the scale of being :
in such sort, that the souls of insects after death make their
second appearance, in the shape of perfect animals, birds, beasts,
or fishes; which upon their death are preferred into human
bodies, and in the next stage into beings of a higher and more
perfect kind. This man we considered at first as a sort of he-
retic, because his scheme seemed not to consist with our funda-
mental tenet, the mortality of the soul : but he justified the
notion to be innocent, inasmuch as it included nothing of reward
or punishment, and wras not proved by any argument, which
supposed or implied either incorporeal spirit or providence, being
only inferred, by way of analogy, from what he had observed in
human affairs, the court, the church, and the army ; wherein the
tendency is always upwards from lower posts to higher. Ac-
cording to this system, the fishes are those men who swim in
pleasure, such as petits maitres, bons vivans, and honest fellow?.
The beasts are dry, drudging, covetous, rapacious folk, and all
those addicted to care and business like oxen, and other dry land
animals, which spend their lives in labour and fatigue. The
birds are airy, notional men, enthusiasts, projectors, philosophers,
and sueh like : in each species every individual retaining a tinc-
ture of his former state, which constitutes what is called genius.
If you ask me which species of human creatures I like best, I
answer, the flying fish ; that is, a man of animal enjoyment with
a mixture of wrhim. Thus you see we have our creeds and our
systems, as well as graver folks ; with this difference, that they
are not strait-laced, but sit easy, to be slipped off or on, as humour
or occasion serves. And now I can, with the greatest equanimity
imaginable, hear my opinions argued against, or confuted.
XXXIV. Ale. It were to be wished, all men were of that
mind. But you shall find a sort of men, whom I need not
name, that cannot bear, with the least temper, to have their
opinions examined or their faults censured. They are against
reason, because reason is against them. For our parts we are all
for libertv of conscience. If our tenets are absurd, we allow
438 TIIE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. ([DIAL. V.
them to be freely argued and inspected ; and by parity of reason
we might hope to l>e allowed the same privilege, with respect to
the opinions of other men. Cri. O Alciphron, wares that will
not bear the light are justly to be suspected. Whatever there-
fore moves you to make this complaint, take my word I never
will : but as hitherto I have allowed your reason its full scope,
so for the future I always shall. And though I cannot approve
of railing or declaiming, not even in myself, whenever you have
shown me the way to it : yet this I will answer for, that you
shall ever be allowed to reason as closely and as strenuously as
you can. But for the love of truth, be candid, and do not spend
your strength and our time in points of no significancy, or
foreign to the purpose, or agreed between us. We allow that
tyranny and slavery are bad things : but why should we appre-
hend them from the clergy at this time ? Rites and ceremonies
we own are not points of chief moment in religion : but why
should we ridicule things in their own nature, at least, innocent,
and which bears the stamp of supreme authority ? That men in
divinity, as well as other subjects, are perplexed with useless
disputes, and are like to be so as long as the world lasts, I freely
acknowledge ; but why must all the human weakness and mis-
takes of clergymen be imputed to wicked designs? Why in-
discriminately abuse their character and tenets? Is this like
candour, love of truth, and free-thinking ? It is granted there
may be found, now and then, spleen and ill-breeding in the
clergy ; but are not the same faults incident to English laymen,
of a retired education and country life ? I grant there is infinite
futility in the schoolmen r but I deny that a volume of that doth
so much mischief, as a page of minute philosophy. That weak
or wicked men should, by favour of the world, creep into power
and high stations in the church, is nothing wonderful : and that
in such stations they should behave like themselves, is natural to
suppose. But all the while it is evident, that not the gospel but
the world, not the spirit but the flesh, not God but the devil,
puts them upon their unworthy achievements. We make no
difficulty to grant, that nothing is more infamous than vice and
ignorance in a clergyman ; nothing more base than a hypocrite,
more frivolous than a pedant, more cruel than an inquisitor.
But it must be also granted by you, gentlemen, that nothing is
more ridiculous and absurd, than for pedantic, ignorant, and cor-
rupt men to cast the first stone, at eyery shadow of their own
defects and vices in other men.
XXXV. Ale. When I consider the detestable state of slavery
and superstition, I feel my heart dilate and expand itself to grasp
that inestimable blessing of liberty, absolute liberty in its utmost
unlimited extent. This is the sacred and high prerogative, the
very life and health of our English constitution. You must not
DIAL. Vj THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 439
therefore think it strange, if with a vigilant and curious eye, we
guard it against the minutest appearance of evil. You must even
suffer us to cut round about, and very deep, and make use of the
magnifying glass, the better to view and extirpate every the least
speck, which shall discover itself in what we are careful and jea-
lous to preserve, as the apple of our eye. Cri. As for unbounded
liberty I leave it to savages, among whom alone I believe it is to
be found : but, for the reasonable legal liberty of our constitu-
tion, I most heartily and sincerely wish it may for ever subsist
and nourish among us. You and all other Englishmen cannot be
too vigilant, or too earnest, to preserve this goodly frame, or to
curb and disappoint the wicked ambition of whoever, layman or
ecclesiastic, shall attempt to change our free and gentle govern-
ment into a slavish or severe one. But what pretext can this af-
ford for your attempts against religion, or indeed how can it be
consistent with them ? Is not the protestant religion a main part
of our legal constitution ? I remember to have heard a foreigner
rcmai'k, that we of this island were very good protestants, but
no Christians. But whatever minute philosophers may wish, or
foreigners say, it is certain our laws speak a different language.
Ale. This puts me in mind of the wise reasoning of a certain
sage magistrate, who, being pressed by the raillery and arguments
of an ingenious man, had nothing to say for his religion but that
ten millions of people inhabiting the same island might, whether
right or wrong, if they thought good, establish laws for the wor-
shipping of God in their temples, and appealing to him in their
courts of justice. And that in case ten thousand ingenious men
should publicly deride and trample on those laws, it might be just
and lawful for the said ten millions to expel the said ten thou-
sand ingenious men out of their said island. Euph. And pray,
what answer would you make to this remark of the sage magis-
trate ? Ale. The answer is plain. By the law of nature, which
is superior to all positive institutions, wit and knowledge have a
right to command folly and ignorance. I say, ingenious men
have by natural right a dominion over fools. Euph. What do-
minion over the laws and people of Great Britain, minute philo-
sophers may be entitled to by nature, I shall not dispute, but
leave to be considered by the public. Ale. This doctrine, it must
be owned, was never thoroughly understood before our own times.
In the last age Hobbes and his followers, though otherwise very
great men, declared for the religion of the magistrate, probably
because they were afraid of the magistrate : but times are changed
and the magistrates may now be afraid of us. Cri. I allow the
magistrate may well be afraid of you in one sense, I mean, afraid
to trust you. This brings to my thoughts a passage on the trial
of Leander for a capital offence : that gentleman having picked
out and excluded from his jury, by peremptory exception, all but
440 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. £l)IAL. V.
some men of fashion and pleasure, humbly moved when Dorcon
was going to kiss the book, that he might be required to declare
upon honour, whether he believed either God or gospel. Dorcon,
rather than hazard his reputation as a man of honour and free-
thinker, openly avowed, that he believed in neither. Upon which
the court declared him unfit to serve on a jury. By the same
reason, so many were set aside, as made it necessary to put off
the trial. We are very easy, replied Alciphron, about being
trusted to serve on juries, if we can be admitted to serve in lu-
crative employments. Cri. But what if the government should
enjoin, that every one, before he was sworn into office, should
make the same declaration which Dorcon was required to make ?
Ale. God forbid ! I hope there is no such design on foot. Cri.
Whatever designs may be on foot, thus much is certain : the
Christian reformed religion is a principal part and corner stone of
our free constitution ; and I verily think, the only thing that
makes us deserving of freedom, or capable of enjoying it. Free-
dom is either a blessing or a curse as men use it. And to me it
seems, that if our religion were once destroyed from among us,
and those notions, which pass for prejudices of a Christian educa-
tion, erased from the minds of Britons, the best thing that could
befall us would be the loss of our freedom. Surely a people
wherein there is such restless ambition, such high spirits, such
animosity of faction, so great interests in contest, such unbounded
license of speech and press, amidst so much wealth and luxury,
nothing but those veteres avia, which you pretend to extirpate,
could have hitherto kept from ruin.
XXXVI. Under the Christian religion this nation hath been
greatly improved. From a sort of savages, we have grown civil,
polite, and learned : we have made a decent and noble figure
both at home and abroad. And, as our religion decreaseth, I am
afraid we shall be found to have declined. Why then should we
persist in the dangerous experiment? Ale. One would think,
Crito, you had forgot the many calamities occasioned by church-
men and religion. Cri. And one would think, you had forgot
what was answered this very day to that objection. But, not to
repeat eternally the same things, I shall observe in the first place,
that if we reflect on the past state of Christendom, and of our
country in particular, with our feuds and factions subsisting
while we wrere all of the same religion, for instance, that of the
white and red roses, so violent and bloody and of such long con-
tinuance; we can have no assurance that those ill humours,
which have since shown themselves under the mask of religion,
would not have broke out with some other pretext, if this had
been wanting. I observe in the second place, that it will not
follow from any observations you can make on our history, that
the evils, accidentally occasioned by religion, bear any proportion
DIAL. V.3 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 441
either to the good effects it hath really produced, or the evils it
hath prevented. Lastly, I observe, that the best things may by
accident be the occasion of evil ; which accidental effect is not, to
speak properly and truly, produced by the good thing itself, but
by some evil thing, which being neither part, property, nor effect
of it, happens to be joined with it. But I should be ashamed to
insist and enlarge on so plain a point, and shall only add that,
whatever evils this nation might have formerly sustained from su-
perstition, no man of common sense will say, the evils felt or ap-
prehended at present are from that quarter. Priestcraft is not
the reigning distemper at this day. And surely it wTill be owned
that a wise man who takes upon him to be vigilant for the pub-
lic weal, should touch proper things at proper times, and not pre-
scribe for a surfeit when the distemper is a consumption. Ale. I
think we have sufficiently discussed the subject of this day's con-
ference. And now, let Lysicles take it as he will, I must in
regard to my own character, as a fair impartial adversary, acknow-
ledge there is something in what Crito hath said upon the use-
fulness of the Christian religion. I will even own to you that
some of our sect are for allowing it a toleration. I remember,
at a meeting of several ingenious men, after much debate we came
successively to divers resolutions. The first was, that no religion
ought to be tolerated in the state : but this on more mature
thought was judged impracticable. The second was that all reli-
gions should be tolerated, but none countenanced except atheism :
but it was apprehended, that this might breed contentions among
the lower sort of people. We came therefore to conclude in the
third place, that some religion or other should be established for
the use of the vulgar. And after a long dispute what this reli-
gion should be, Lysis, a brisk young man, perceiving no signs of
agreement, proposed that the present religion might be tolerated
till a better was found. But allowing it to be expedient, I can
never think it true, so long as there lie unanswerable objections
against it, which, if you please, I shall take the liberty to propose
at our next meeting. To which we all agreed.
442 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j)IAL. VI.
THE SIXTH DIALOGUE.
I. Points agreed. II. Sundry pretences to revelation. III. Uncertainty of tradition.
IV. Object and ground of faith. V. Some books disputed, others evidently spu-
rious. VI. Style and composition of holy scripture. VII. Difficulties occurring
therein. VIII. Obscurity not always a defect. IX. Inspiration neither impossible
nor absurd. X. Objections from the form and matter of divine revelation, con-
sidered. XI. Infidelity an effect of narrowness and prejudice. XII. Articles of
Christian faith not unreasonable. XIII. Guilt the natural parent of fear. XIV.
Things unknown reduced to the standard of what men know. XV. Prejudices
against the incarnation of the Son of God. XVI. Ignorance of the divine economy,
a source of difficulties. XVII. Wisdom of God, foolishness to man. XVIII.
Reason, no blind guide. XIX. Usefulness of divine revelation. XX. Prophecies,
whence obscure. XXI. Eastern accounts of time older than the Mosaic. XXII.
The humour of Egyptians, Assyrians, Chaldeans, and other nations extending their
antiquity beyond truth, accounted for. XXIII. Reasons confirming the Mosaic
account. XXIV. Profane historians inconsistent. XXV. Celsus, Porphyry, and
Julian. XXVI. The testimony of Josephus considered. XXVII. Attestation of
Jews and Gentiles to Christianity. XXVIII. Forgeries and heresies. XXIX.
Judgment and attention of minute philosophers. XXX. Faith and miracles. XXXI.
Probable arguments, a sufficient ground of faith. XXXII. The Christian religion
able to stand the test of rational inquiry.
I. THE following day being Sunday, our philosophers lay long
in bed, while the rest of us went to church in the neighbouring
town, where we dined at Euphranor's, and after evening service
returned to the two philosophers, whom we found in the library.
They told us, that if there was a God, he was present every
where as well as at chui'ch ; and that if we had been serving him
one way, they did not neglect to do as much another ; inasmuch
as a free exercise of reason must be allowed the most acceptable
service and worship, that a rational creature can offer to its
Creator. However, said Alciphron, if you, gentlemen, can but
solve the difficulties which I shall propose to-morrow morning, I
promise to go to church next Sunday. After some general con-
versation of this kind, we sat down to a light supper, and the
next morning assembled at the same place as the day before,
where, being all seated, I observed, that the foregoing week our
conferences had been carried on for a longer time, and with less
interruption than I had ever known, or well could be, in town,
where men's hours are so broken by visits, business, and amuse-
ments, that whoever is content to form his notions from conver-
sation only, must needs have them very shattered and imperfect.
And what have we got, replied Alciphron, by all these continued
conferences ? For my part, I think myself just where I was,
with respect to the main point that divides us, the truth of the
Christian religion. I answered, that so many points had been
examined, discussed, and agreed, between him and his adver-
saries, that I hoped to see them come to an entire agreement in
the end. For, in the first place, said I, the principles and
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 443
opinions of those who are called free-thinkers, or minute phi-
losophers, have been pretty clearly explained. It hath been also
agreed, that vice is not of that benefit to the nation which some
men imagine : that virtue is highly useful to mankind : but that
the beauty of virtue is not alone sufficient to engage them in the
practice of it : that therefore the belief of a God and providence
ought to be encouraged in the state, and tolerated in good com-
pany, as a useful notion. Further, it hath been proved that
there is a God ; that it is reasonable to worship him ; and that
the worship, faith, and principles, prescribed by the Christian
religion, have a useful tendency. Admit, replied Alciphron,
addressing himself to Crito, all that Dion saith to be true : yet
this doth not hinder my being just where I was with respect to
the main point. Since there is nothing in all this that proves
the truth of the Christian religion ; though each of those par-
ticulars enumerated may, perhaps, prejudice in its favour. I am
therefore to suspect myself, at present, for a prejudiced person ;
prejudiced, I say, in favour of Christianity. This, as I am a
lover of truth, puts me upon my guard against deception. I
must therefore look sharp, and well consider every step I take.
II. Cri. You may remember, Alciphron, you proposed for
the subject of our present conference, the consideration of cer-
tain difficulties and objections which you had to offer against the
Christian religion. We are now ready to hear and consider
whatever you shall think fit to produce of that kind. Atheism,
and a wrong notion of Christianity, as of something hurtful to
mankind, are great prejudices ; the removal of which may dis-
pose a man to argue with candour and submit to reasonable
proof : but the removing prejudices against an opinion, is not to
be reckoned prejudicing in its favour. It may be hoped, there-
fore, that you will be able to do justice to your cause, without
being fond of it. Ale. O Crito ! that man may thank his stars to
whom nature hath given a sublime soul, who can raise himself
above popular opinions, and, looking down on the herd of man-
kind, behold them scattered over the surface of the whole earth,
divided and subdivided into numberless nations and tribes, dif-
fering in notions and tenets, as in language, manners, and dress.
The man who takes a general view of the world and its inhabit-
ants, from this lofty stand, above the reach of prejudice, seems
to breathe a purer air, and to see by a clearer light : but how to
impart this clear and extensive view to those who are wandering
beneath, in the narrow, dark paths of error ! this indeed is a
hard task ; but hard as it is I shall try, if by any means,
Clara tuae possim pr<cpanclere lumina menti. — LUCRET.
Know then, that all the various casts or sects of the sons of men
have each their faith, and their religious system, germinating
444 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. VI.
and sprouting forth from that common grain of enthusiasm,
which is an original ingredient in the composition of human
nature ; they shall each tell of intercourse with the invisible
world, revelations from heaven, divine oracles, and the like. All
which pretensions, when I regard with an impartial eye, it is
impossible I should assent to all ; and I find within myself some-
thing that withholds me from assenting to any of them. For
although I may be willing to follow, so far as common sense and
the light of nature lead ; yet the same reason that bids me yield
to rational proof, forbids me to admit opinions without proof.
This holds in general against all revelations whatsoever. And
be this my first objection against the Christian in particular.
Cri, As this objection supposes there is no proof or reason for
believing the Christian, if good reason can be assigned for such
belief, it comes to nothing. Now I presume you will grant, the
authority of the reporter is a true and proper reason for believ-
ing reports ; and the better this authority, the j uster claim it
hath to our assent : but the authority of God is on all accounts
the best : whatever therefore comes from God, it is most reason-
able to believe.
III. Ale. This I grant ; but then it must be proved to come
from God. Cri. And are not miracles, and the accomplishments
of prophecies, joined with the excellency of its doctrine, a suffi-
cient proof that the Christian religion came from God ? Ale.
Miracles, indeed, would prove something : but what proof have
we of these miracles ? Cri. Proof of the same kind that we
have or can have of any facts done a great way off, and a long
time ago. We have authentic accounts transmitted down to us
from eye-witnesses, whom we cannot conceive tempted to impose
upon us by any human motive whatsoever ; inasmuch as they
acted therein contrary to their interests, their prejudices, and the
very principles in Avhich they had been nursed and educated.
These accounts were confirmed by the unparalleled subversion
of the city of Jerusalem, and the dispersion of the Jewish
nation, which is a standing testimony to the truth of the gospel,
particularly of the predictions of our blessed Saviour. These
accounts, within less than a century, were spread throughout the
world, and believed by great numbers of people. These same
accounts were committed to writing, translated into several lan-
guages, and handed down with the same respect and consent of
Christians in the most distant churches. Do you not see, said
Alciphron, staring full at Crito, that all this hangs by tradition ?
And tradition, take my word for it, gives but a weak hold : it
is a chain, whereof the first links may be stronger than steel, and
yet the last weak as wax, and brittle as glass. Imagine a picture
copied successively by a hundred painters, one from another;
how like must the last copy be to the original ! How lively and
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 445
distinct will an image be, after a hundred reflections between
two parallel mirrors ! Thus like, and thus lively do I think a
faint, vanishing tradition, at the end of sixteen or seventeen
hundred years. Some men have a false heart, others a wrong
head ; and where both are true, the memory may be treacherous.
Hence there is still something added, something omitted, and
something varied from the truth : and the sum of many such
additions, deductions, and alterations, accumulated for several
ages, do, at the foot of the account, make quite another thing.
Cri. Ancient facts we may know by tradition, oral or written :
and this latter we may divide into two kinds, private and public,
as writings are kept in the hands of particular men, or recorded
in public archives. Now all these three sorts of tradition, for
aught I can see, concur to attest the genuine antiquity of the
gospels. And they are strengthened by collateral evidence from
rites instituted, festivals observed, and monuments erected by
ancient Christians, such as churches, baptisteries, and sepulchres.
Now allowing your objection holds against oral tradition, singly
taken, yet I can think it no such difficult thing to transcribe
faithfully. And things once committed to writing, are secure
from slips of memory, and may with common care be preserved
entire so long as the manuscript lasts: and this, experience
shows, may be above a thousand years. The Alexandrine manu-
script is allowed to be above twelve hundred years old ; and it
is highly probable there were then extant copies four hundred
years old. A tradition therefore of above sixteen hundred
years old, need have only two or three links in its chain. And
these links, notwithstanding that great length of time, may be
very sound and entire. Since no reasonable man will deny, that
an ancient manuscript may be of much the same credit now, as
when it was first written. We have it on good authority, and
it seems probable, that the primitive Christians were careful to
transcribe copies of the gospels and epistles for their private use,
and that other copies were preserved as public records, in the
several churches throughout the world, and that portions thereof
were constantly read in their assemblies. Can more be said to
prove the writings of classic authors, or ancient records of any
kind authentic ? Alciphron, addressing his discourse to Euphra-
nor, said, It is one thing to silence an adversary, and another to
convince him. What do you think, Euphranor ? Euph. Doubt-
less it is. Ale. But what I want is to be convinced. Euph.
That point is not so clear. Ale. But if a man had ever so much
mind, he cannot be convinced by probable arguments against
demonstration. Euph, I grant he cannot.
IY. Ale. Now it is as evident as demonstration can make it,
that no divine faith can possibly be built upon tradition. Sup-
pose an honest, credulous countryman catechised and lectured
446 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. VI.
eveiy Sunday by his parish priest : it is plain he believes in the
parson, and not in God. He knows nothing of revelations, and
doctrines, and miracles, but what the priest tells him. This he
believes, and his faith is purely human. If you say he has the
liturgy and the bible for the foundation of his faith, the difficulty
still recurs. For as to the liturgy, he pins his faith upon the
civil magistrate, as well as the ecclesiastic : neither of which can
pretend divine inspiration. Then for the bible, he takes both
that and his prayer-book on trust from the printer, who, he be-
lieves, made true editions from true copies. You see then faith,
but what faith ? faith in the priest, in the magistrate, in the
printer, editor, transcriber, none of which can with any pretence
be called divine. I had the hint from Cratylus ; it is a shaft out
of his quiver, and believe me, a keen one. Euph. Let me take
and make trial of this same shaft in my hands. Suppose then
your countryman hears a magistrate declare the law from the
bench, or suppose he reads it in a statute book. What think you,
is the printer or the justice the true and proper object of his faith
and submission? Or do you acknowledge a higher authority
whereon to found those loyal acts, and in which they do really
terminate ? Again, suppose you read a passage in Tacitus that
you believe true; would you say you assented to it on the
authority of the printer or transcriber rather than the historian ?
Ale. Perhaps I would, and perhaps I would not. I do not think
myself obliged to answer these points. What is this but trans-
ferring the question from one subject to another ? That which
we considered was neither law nor profane history, but religious
tradition, and divine faith. I see plainly what you aim at, but
shall never take for an answer to one difficulty, the starting of
another. Cri. O Alciphron, there is no taking hold of you, who
expect that others should (as you were pleased to express it) hold
fair and stand firm, while you plucked out their prejudices : how
shall he argue with you but from your concessions, and how can
he know what you grant except you will be pleased to tell him ?
Euph. But to save you the trouble, for once I will suppose an
answer. My question admits but of two answers ; take your
choice. From the one it will follow, that by a parity of reason
we can easily conceive, how a man may have divine faith, though
he never felt inspiration or saw a miracle : inasmuch as it is
equally possible for the mind, through whatever conduit, oral or
scriptural, divine revelation be derived, to carry its thought and
submission up to the source, and terminate its faith, not in human,
but in divine authority : not in the instrument or vessel of con-
veyance, but in the great origin itself, as its proper and true
object. From the other answer it will follow, that you introduce
a general scepticism into human knowledge, and break down the
hinges on which civil government and all the affairs of the world
DIAL. .VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 447
turn and depend : in a word, that you would destroy human faith
to get rid of divine. And how this agrees with your professing
that you want to be convinced I leave you to consider.
V. Ale. I should in earnest be glad to be convinced one way
or other, and come to some conclusion. But I have so many
objections in store, you are not to count much upon getting over
one. Depend on it you shall find me behave like a gentleman
and lover of truth. I will propose my objections briefly and
plainly, and accept of reasonable answers as fast as you can give
them. Come -Euphranor, make the most of your tradition; you
can never make that a constant and universal one, which is
acknowledged to have been unknown, or at best disputed in the
church for several ages : and this is the case of the canon of the
New Testament. For though we have now a canon, as they
call it, settled ; yet every one must see and own that tradition
cannot grow stronger by age ; and that what was uncertain in
the primitive times cannot be undoubted in the subsequent.
What say you to this, Euphranor? Euph. I should be glad to
conceive your meaning clearly before I return an answer. It
seems to me this objection of yours supposeth, that where a tra-
dition hath been constant and undisputed, such tradition may be
admitted as a proof, but that where the tradition is defective,
the proof must be so too. Is this your meaning? Ale. It is.
Euph. Consequently the gospels and epistles of St. Paul, which
were universally received in the beginning, and never since
doubted of by the chui'ch, must, notwithstanding this objection,
be in reason admitted for genuine. And if these books contain,
as they really do, all those points that come into controversy
between you and me ; what need I dispute with you about the
authority of some other books of the New Testament, which
came later to be generally known and received in the church ?
If a man assents to the undisputed books he is no longer an in-
fidel ; though he should not hold the revelations, or the epistles
of St. James or Jude, or the latter of St. Peter, or the two last
of St. John to be canonical. The additional authority of these
portions of holy scripture may have its weight in particular con-
troversies between Christians, but can add nothing to arguments
against an infidel as such. Wherefore though I believe good rea-
sons may be assigned for receiving these books, yet these reasons
seem now beside our purpose. When you are a Christian it will
be then time enough to argue this point. And you will be the
nearer being so, if the way be shortened by omitting it for the
present. Ale. Not so near neither as you perhaps imagine : for,
notwithstanding all the fair and plausible things you may say
about tradition, when I consider the spirit of forgery which
reigned in the primitive times, and reflect on the several gospels,
acts, and epistles attributed to the apostles, which yet are
448 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [^DIAL. VI.
acknowledged to be spurious, I confess, I cannot help suspecting
the whole. Euph. Tell me, Alciphron, do you suspect all Plato's
writings for spurious, because the dialogue upon death, for in-
stance, is allowed to be so ? Or will you admit none of Tully's
writings to be genuine, because Sigonius imposed a book of his
own writing for Tully's treatise De Consolatione, and the impos-
ture passed for some time on the world ? Ale. Suppose I admit
for the works of Tully and Plato those that commonly pass for
such. What then? Euph. Why then I would fain know,
whether it be equal and impartial in a free-thinker, to measure
the credibility of profane and sacred books by a different rule.
Let us know upon what foot we Christians are to argue with
minute philosophers ; whether we may be allowed the benefit of
common maxims in logic and criticism ? If we may, be pleased
to assign a reason why ^supposititious writings, which in the style,
and manner, and matter bear visible marks of imposture, and
have accordingly been rejected by the church, can be made an
argument against those which have been universally received,
and handed down by a unanimous, constant tradition. There
have been in all ages and in all great societies of men, many
capricious, vain, or wicked impostors, who for different ends have
abused the world by spurious writings, and created work for
critics both in profane and sacred learning. And it would seem
as silly to reject the true writings of profane authors for the sake
of the spurious, as it would seem unreasonable to suppose, that
among the heretics and several sects of Christians, there should
be none capable of the like imposture.
VI. Ale. But, be the tradition ever so well attested, and the
books ever so genuine, yet I cannot suppose them wrote by per-
sons divinely inspired, so long as I see in them certain characters
inconsistent with such a supposition. Surely the purest lan-
guage, the most perfect style, the exactest method, and in a word
all the excellencies of good writing, might be expected in a piece
composed or dictated by the spirit of God : but books, wherein
we find the reverse of all this, it were impious not to reject, but
to attribute to the Divinity. Euph. Say, Alciphron, are the lakes,
the rivers, or the ocean bounded by straight lines ? Are the hills
and mountains exact cones or pyramids ? or the stars cast into
regular figures ? Ale. They are not. Euph. But in the works
of insects, we may observe figures as exact as if they were
drawn by the rule and compass. Ale. We may. Euph. Should
it not seem therefore that a regular exactness, or scrupulous
attention to what men call the rules of art, is not observed in the
great productions of the author of nature? Ale. It should.
Euph. And when a great prince declareth his will in laws and
edicts to his subjects, is he careful about a pure style or elegant
composition? Does he not leave his secretaries and clerks to
DIAL. VI."] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 449
express his sense in their own words? Is not the phrase on such
occasions thought proper if it conveys as much as was intended ?
And would not the divine strain of certain modern critics be
judged affected and improper for such uses? Ale. It must be
owned, laws, and edicts, and grants, for solecism and tautology,
are very offensive to the harmonious ears of a fine writer. Euph.
Why then should we expect in the oracles of God an exactness
that would be misbecoming and beneath the dignity of an earthly
monarch, and which bears no proportion or resemblance to the
magnificent Avorks of the creation? Ale. But granting that a
nice regard to particles and critical rules is a thing too little and
mean to be expected in divine revelations; and that there is
more force and spirit and true greatness in a negligent, unequal
style, than in the well-turned periods of a polite writer; yet
what is all this to the bald and flat compositions of those you call
the divine penmen? I can never be persuaded the supreme
Being would pick out the poorest and meanest of scribblers for
his secretaries. Euph. O Alciphron, if I durst follow my own
judgment, I should be apt to think there are noble beauties in
the style of the holy scripture : in the narrative parts a strain so
simple and unaffected ; in the devotional and prophetic, so ani-
mated and sublime : and in the doctrinal parts such an air of
dignity and authority as seems to speak their original divine.
But I shall not enter into a dispute about taste ; much less set
up my judgment on so nice a point against that of the wits, and
men of genius, with which your sect abounds. And I have no
temptation to it, inasmuch as it scorns to me the oracles of God
are not the less so for being delivered in a plain dress, rather
than in the enticing words of man's wisdom. Ale. This may
perhaps be an apology for some simplicity and negligence in
writing.
VII. But what apology can be made for nonsense, crude non-
sense? of which I could easily assign many instances, having
once in my life read the scripture through with that very view.
Look here, said he, opening a bible in the forty-ninth psalm, the
author begins very magnificently, calling upon all the inhabitants
of the earth to give ear, and assuring them his mouth shall speak
of wisdom, and the meditation of his heart shall be of under-
standing.
Quid dignum tanto feret hie promissor hiatu?
He hath no sooner done with his preface, but he puts this
senseless question : " Wherefore should I fear in the days of
evil ; when the wickedness of my heels shall compass me about?"
The iniquity of my heels ! What nonsense after such a solemn
introduction ! Euph. For my own part, I have naturally weak
VOL. i. 2 ft
450 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. VI.
eyes, and know there are many things that I cannot see, which
are nevertheless distinctly seen by others. I do not therefore
conclude a thing to be absolutely invisible ; because it is so to
me : and since it is possible it may be with my understanding as
it is with my eyes, I dare not pronounce a thing to be nonsense
because I do not understand it. Of this passage many interpre-
tations are given. The word rendered " heels " may signify fraud
or supplantation : by some it is translated " past wickedness," the
heel being the hinder part of the foot ; by others "iniquity in the
end of my days," the heel being one extremity of the body ; by
some, " the iniquity of my enemies that may supplant me ;" by
others, "my own faults or iniquities which I have passed over as
light matters, and trampled under my feet." Some render it " the
iniquity of my ways ;" others, " my transgressions which are like
slips and slidings of the heel :" and after all, might not this ex-
pression, so harsh and odd to English ears, have been very natural
and obvious in the Hebrew tongue, which, as every other lan-
guage, had its idioms? the force and propriety whereof may as
easily be conceived lost in a long tract of time as the significa-
tion of some Hebrew words, which are not now intelligible, though
nobody doubts but they had once a meaning as well as the other
words of that language. Granting therefore that certain pass-
ages in the holy scriptures may not be understood, it will not
thence follow that its penmen wrote nonsense? for I conceive
nonsense to be one thing, and unintelligible another. Cri. An
English gentleman of my acquaintance one day entertaining some
foreigners at his house, sent his servant to know the occasion of
a sudden tumult in the yard, who brought him word the horses
were fallen together by the ears : his guests inquiring what the
matter was, he translates it literally : les chevaux sont tombes en-
semble par les oreilles ; which made them stare ; what expressed
a very plain sense in the original English, being incomprehensi-
ble when rendered word for word into French : and I remember to
have heard a man excuse the bulls of his countrymen, by sup-
posing them so many literal translations. Euph. But not to
grow tedious, I refer to the critics and commentators where you
will find the use of this remark, which, clearing up several ob-
scure passages you took for nonsense, may possibly incline you
to suspect your own judgment of the rest. In this very psalm
you have pitched on, the good sense and moral contained in what
follows, should, methinks, make a candid reader judge favoura-
bly of the original sense of the author, in that part which he
could not understand. Say, Alciphron, in reading the classics,
do you forthwith conclude every passage to be nonsense, that
you cannot make sense of? Ale. By no means; difficulties must
be supposed to rise from different idioms, old customs, hints, and
allusions, clear in one time or place, and obscure in another.
DIAL. VI.] THE MliSUTE PHILOSOPHEn. 451
Euph. And why will you not judge of scripture by the same
rule. Those sources of obscurity you mention are all common
both to sacred and profane writings : and there is no doubt but
an exacter knowledge in language and circumstances would in
both cause difficulties to vanish like shades before the light of
the sun. Jeremiah, to describe a furious invader, saith, " Behold,
he shall come up as a lion from the swelling of Jordan against
the habitation of the strong." One would be apt to think this
passage odd and improper, and that it had been more reasonable
to have said "a lion from the mountain or the desert." But tra-
vellers, as an ingenious man observes, who have seen the river
Jordan bounded by low lands, with many reeds or thickets
affording shelter to wild beasts (which being suddenly dislodged
by a rapid overflowing of the river, rush into the upland country),
perceive the force and propriety of the comparison ; and that the
difficulty proceeds, not from nonsense in the writer, but from
ignorance in the reader. It is needless to amass together in-
stances which may be found in every commentator : I only beg
leave to observe that sometimes men, looking higher or deeper
than they need for a profound or remote sense, overlook the
natural, obvious sense, lying, if I may so say, at their feet, and
so make difficulties, instead of finding them. This seems to be
the case of that celebrated passage which hath created so much
work in St. Paul's first epistle to the Corinthians. " What shall
they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at
all ? why are they then baptized for the dead ? " I remember to
have heard this text explained by Laches, the vicar of our parish,
to my neighbour Lycon, who was much perplexed about its
meaning. If it had been translated, as it might very justly,
" baptized for the sake of the dead," I do not see, said Laches,
why people should be puzzled about the sense of this passage ;
for tell me, I beseech you, for whose sake do you think those
Christians were baptized? For whose sake, answered Lycon,
but their own ? How do you mean, for their own sake in this
life or the next ? Doubtless in the next, for it was plain they
could get nothing by it in this. They were then, replied Laches,
baptized, not for the sake of themselves while living, but for the
sake of themselves when dead ; not for the living, but the dead.
I grant it. Baptism, therefore, must have been to them a fruit-
less thing, if the dead rise not at all. It must. Whence Laches
inferred, that St. Paul's argument was clear and pertinent for
the resurrection: and Lycon allowed it to be argumentum ad
hominem to those who had sought baptism. There is, then, con-
cluded Laches, no necessity for supposing, that living men were
in those days baptized instead of those who died without baptism,
or of running into any other odd suppositions, or strained and
far-fetched interpretations, to make sense of this passage. Ale,
452 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. £l)IAL. VI.
Here and there a difficult passage may be cleared : but there are
many which no art or wit of man can account for. What say
you to those discoveries made by some of our learned writers,
of false citations from the Old Testament found in the gospel?
Euph. That some few passages are cited by the writers of the
New Testament, out of the Old, and by the fathers out of the
New, which are not in so many words to be found in them, is no
new discovery of minute philosophers, but known and observed
long before by Christian writers ; who have made no scruple to
grant, that some things might have been inserted by careless or
mistaken transcribers into the text, from the margin, others left
out, and others altered ; whence so many various readings. But
these are things of small moment, and that all other ancient
authors have been subject to ; and upon which no point of doc-
trine depends, which may not be proved without them. Nay,
further, if it be any advantage' to your cause, it hath been ob-
served that the eighteenth psalm, as recited in the twenty -second
chapter of the second book of Samuel, varies in above forty
places, if you regard every little verbal or literal difference : and
that a critic may now and then discover small variations, is what
nobody can deny. But to make the most of these concessions,
what can you infer from them more than that the design of the
holy scripture was not to make us exactly knowing in circum-
stantials ? and that the Spirit did not dictate every particle and
syllable, or preserve them from every minute alteration by mira-
cle? which to believe, would look like rabbinical superstition.
Ale. But what marks of divinity can possibly be in writings
which do not reach the exactness even of human art ? Euph. I
never thought nor expected that the holy scripture should show
itself divine, by a circumstantial accuracy of narration, by exact-
ness of method, by strictly observing the rules of rhetoric, gram-
mar, and criticism, in harmonious periods, in elegant and choice
expressions, or in technical definitions and partitions. These
things would look too like a human composition. Methinks
there is in that simple, unaffected, artless, unequal, bold, figurative
style of the holy scripture, a character singularly great and ma-
jestic, and that looks more like divine inspiration than any other
composition that I know. But, as I said before, I shall not dis-
pute a point of criticism with the gentlemen of your sect, Avho,
it seems, are the modern standard for wit and taste. Ale. Well,
I shall not insist on small slips, or the inaccuracy of citing or
transcribing : and I freely own that repetitions, want of method,
or want of exactness in circumstances, are not the things that
chiefly stick with me ; no more than the plain, patriarchal man-
ners, or the peculiar usages and customs of the Jews and first
Christians, so different from ours ; and that to reject the scripture
on such accounts would be to act like those French wits, who
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 453
censure Homer because they do not find in him the style, notions,
and manners of their own age and country. Was there nothing
else to divide us, I should make no great difficulty of owning,
that a popular, uncorrect style might answer the general ends of
revelation, as well, perhaps, as a more critical and exact one : but
the obscurity still sticks with me. Methinks if the supreme
Being had spoke to man, he would have spoke clearly to him,
and that the word of God should not need a comment.
VIII. Euph. You seem, Alciphron, to think obscurity a defect ;
but if it should prove to be no defect, there would then be no force
in this objection. Ale. I grant there would not. JEuph. Pray
tell me, are not speech and style instrumental to convey thoughts
and notions, to beget knowledge, opinion, and assent ? Ale. This
is true. Eupli. And is not the perfection of an instrument to
be measured by the use to which it is subservient ? Ale. It is.
Euph. What therefore is a defect in one instrument, may be
none in another. For instance, edged tools are in general de-
signed to cut ; but the uses of an axe and a razor being different,
it is no defect in an axe, that it hath not the keen edge of a
razor ; nor in a razor, that it hath not the weight or strength of
an axe. Ale. I acknowledge this to be true. Euph. And may
we not say in general, that every instrument is perfect, which
answers the purpose or intention of him who useth it ? Ale. We
may. Euph. Hence it seems to follow, that no man's speech is
defective in point of clearness, though it should not be intelligible
to all men, if it be sufficiently so to those who, he intended,
should understand it ; or though it should not in all parts be
equally clear, or convey a perfect knowledge, where he intended
only an imperfect hint. Ale. It seems so. Euph. Ought we not
therefore to know the intention of the speaker, to be able to
know whether his style be obscure through defect or design ?
Ale. We ought. Euph. But is it possible for man to know all
the ends and purposes of God's revelations ? Ale. It is not.
Euph. How then can you tell, but the obscurity of some parts
of scripture may well consist with the purpose which you know
not, and consequently be no argument against its coming from
God ? The books of holy scripture were written in ancient lan-
guages, at distant times, on sundry occasions, and very different
subjects : is it not therefore reasonable to imagine, that some
parts or passages might have been clearly enough understood by
those, for whose proper use they were principally designed, and
yet seem obscure to us, who speak another language, and live in
other times ? Is it at all absurd or unsuitable to the notion we
have of God or man, to suppose that God may reveal, and yet
reveal with a reserve, upon certain remote and sublime subjects,
content to give us hints and glimpses, rather than views ? May
we not also suppose from the reason of things, and the analogy
454 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. (^DIAL. VI.
of nature, that some points, which might otherwise have been
more clearly explained, were left obscure merely to encoui'age
our diligence and modesty ? Two virtues, which, if it might
not seem disrespectful to such great men, I would recommend to
the minute philosophers. Lysicles replied, This indeed is excel-
lent : you expect that men of sense and spirit should in great
humility put out their eyes, and blindly swallow all the absur-
dities and nonsense that shall be offered to them for divine reve-
lation. Euph. On the contrary, I would have them open their
eyes, look sharply, and try the spirit, whether it is of God ; and
not supinely and ignorantly condemn in the gross, all religions
together, piety with superstition, truth for the sake of error,
matters of fact for the sake of fictions : a conduct, which at first
sight would seem absurd in history, physic, or any other branch
of human inquiry : but to compare the Christian system, or holy
scriptures, with other pretences to divine revelation, to consider
impartially the doctrines, precepts, and events therein contained ;
weigh them in the balance with any other religious, natural,
moral, or historical accounts ; and diligently to examine all those
proofs, internal and external, that for so many ages have been
able to influence and persuade so many wise, learned, and inqui-
sitive men : perhaps they might find in it certain peculiar cha-
racters, which sufficiently distinguish it from all other religions
and pretended revelations, whereon to ground a reasonable faith.
In which case I leave them to consider, whether it would be
right to reject with peremptory scorn a revelation so distin-
guished and attested, upon account of obscurity in some parts of
it ? and whether it would seem beneath men of their sense and
spirit to acknowledge, that, for aught they know, a light inade-
quate to things, may yet be adequate to the purpose of Provi-
dence ? and whether it might be unbecoming their sagacity and
critical skill to own, that literal translations from books in an
ancient oriental tongue, wherein there are so many peculiarities,
as to the manner of writing, the figures of speech, and structure
of the phrase, so remote from all our modern idioms, and in which
we have no other coeval writings extant, might well be obscure
in many places, especially such as treat of subjects sublime and
difficult in their own nature, or allude to things, customs, or
events, very distant from our knowledge ? And lastly, whether
it might not become their character, as impartial and unpre-
judiced men, to consider the bible in the same light they would
profane authors ? They are apt to make great allowance for
transpositions, omissions, and literal errors of transcribers in
other ancient books, and very great for the difference of style
and manner, especially in eastern writings, such as the remains
of Zoroaster and Confucius, and why not in the prophets ? In
reading Horace or Persius, to make out the sense, they will be at
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 455
the pains to discover a hidden drama, and why not in Solomon or
St. Paul ? I hear there are certain ingenious men who despise
king David's poetry, and yet propose to admire Homer and
Pindar. If there be no prejudice or affectation in this, let them
but make a literal version from those authors into English prose,
and they will then be better able to judge of the psalms. Ale.
You may discourse and expatiate : but notwithstanding all you
have said or shall say, it is a clear point that a revelation which
doth not reveal, can be no better than a contradiction in terms.
JEuph. Tell me, Alciphron, do you not acknowledge the light of
the sun to be the most glorious production of Providence in this
natural world ? Ale. Suppose I do. Euph. This light, never-
theless, which you cannot deny to be of God's making, shines
only on the surface of things, shines not at all in the night,
shines imperfectly in the twilight, is often interrupted, refracted,
and obscured, represents distant things and small things dubi-
ously, imperfectly, or not at all. Is this true or no ? Ale. It is.
Euph. Should it not follow therefore, that to expect in this
world a light from God without any mixture of shade or mys-
tery, would be departing from the rule and analogy of the crea-
tion ? and that consequently it is no argument the light of
revelation is not divine, because it may not be so clear and full
as you expect. Ale. As I profess myself candid and indifferent
throughout this debate, I must needs own you say some plausible
things, as a man of argument will never fail to do in vindication
of his prejudices.
IX. But, to deal plainly, I must tell you once for all, that
you may question and answer, illustrate and enlarge for ever,
without being able to convince me that the Christian is of divine
revelation. I have said several things, and have many more to
say, which, believe me, have weight not only with myself, but
with many great men my very good friends, and will have
weight whatever Euphranor can say to the contrary. Euph. O
Alciphron, I envy you the happiness of such acquaintance. But,
as my lot fallen in this remote corner deprives me of that advan-
tage, I am obliged to make the most of this opportunity, which
you and Lysicles have put into my hands. I consider you as two
able chirurgcons, and you were pleased to consider me as a patient,
whose cure you have generously undertaken. Now a patient
must have full liberty to explain his case, and tell all his symp-
toms, the concealing or palliating of which might prevent a
perfect cure. You will be pleased therefore to understand me,
not as objecting to, or arguing against, either your skill or medi-
cines, but only as setting forth my own case and the effects they
have upon me. Say, Alciphron, did you not give me to understand
that you would extirpate my prejudices ? Ale. It is true : a
good physician eradicates every fibre of the disease. Come, you
456 TIIE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. VI.
shall have a patient hearing. Euph. Pray, was it not the opinion
of Plato, that God inspired particular men, as organs or trum-
pets, to proclaim and sound forth his oracles to the world?*
And was not the same opinion also embraced by others the
greatest writers of antiquity ? Cri. Socrates seems to have
thought that all true poets spoke by inspiration ; and Tully, that
there was no extraordinary genius without it. This hath made
some of our affected free-thinkers attempt to pass themselves
upon the world for enthusiasts. Ale. What would you infer
from all this ? Euph. I would infer that inspiration should seem
nothing impossible or absurd, but rather agreeable to the light of
reason and the notions of mankind. And this, I suppose, you
will acknowledge, having made it an objection against a par-
ticular revelation, that there are so many pretences to it through-
out the world. Ale. O Euphranor, he who looks into the bottom
of things, and resolves them into their first principles, is not
easily amused with words. The word inspiration sounds indeed
big, but let us, if you please, take an original view of the thing
signified by it. To inspire is a word borrowed from the Latin, and
strictly taken means no more than to breathe or blow in ; nothing
therefore can be inspired but what can be blown or breathed,
and nothing can be so but wind or vapour, which indeed may fill
or puff up men with fanatical and hypochondriacal ravings.
This sort of inspiration I very readily admit. Euph. What you
say is subtle, and I know not what effect it might have upon me,
if your profound discourse did not hinder its own operation.
Ale. How so ? Euph. Tell me, Alciphron, do you discourse or
do you not? To me it seems that you discourse admirably.
Ale. Be that as it will, it is certain I discourse. Euph. But
when I endeavour to look into the bottom of things, behold ! a
scruple riseth in my mind how this can be ; for to discourse is a
word of Latin derivation, which originally signifies to run about ;
and a man cannot run about, but he must change place and move
his legs ; so long therefore as you sit on this bench, you cannot
be said to discourse. Solve me this difficulty, and then perhaps
I may be able to solve yours. Ale. You are to know, that dis-
course is a word borrowed from sensible things to express an in-
visible action of the mind, reasoning or inferring one thing from
another ; and in this translated sense, we may be said to discourse,
though we sit still. Euph. And may we not as well conceive,
that the term inspiration might be borrowed from sensible things to
denote an action of God, in an extraordinary manner, influencing,
exciting, and enlightening the mind of a prophet or an apostle? who,
in this secondary, figurative, and translated sense, may truly be said
to be inspired, though there should be nothing in the case of that
wind or vapour implied in the original sense of the word. It
seems to me, that we may, by looking into our own minds, plainly
* Plato in lone.
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 457
perceive certain instincts, impulses, and tendencies, which at
proper periods and occasions spring up unaccountably in the soul
of man. We observe very visible signs of the same in all other
animals. And these things being ordinary and natural, what
hinders, but we may conceive it possible for the human mind,
upon an extraordinary account, to be moved in an extraordinary
manner, and its faculties stirred up and actuated by supernatural
power ? That there are, and have been, and are likely to be wild
visions and hypochondriacal ravings, nobody can deny ; but to
infer from thence that there are no true .inspirations, would be
too like concluding, that some men are not in their senses, be-
cause other men are fools. And though I am no prophet, and
consequently cannot pretend to a clear notion of this matter ;
yet I shall not therefore take upon me to deny, but a true pro-
phet, or inspired person, might have had as certain means of dis-
cerning between divine inspiration and hypochondriacal fancy, as
you can between sleeping and waking, till you have proved the
contrary. You may meet in the book of Jeremiah with this
passage : " The prophet that hath a dream, let him tell a dream :
and he that hath my word, let him speak my word faithfully :
what is the chaff to the wheat, saith the Lord? Is not my
woi'd like as a fire, saith the Lord, and like a hammer that
breaketh the rock in pieces ?"* You see here a distinction made
between wheat and chaff, true and spurious, with the mighty
force and power of the former. But I beg pardon for quoting
scripture to you ; I make my appeal to the general sense of man-
kind, and the opinion of the Avisest heathens, which seems suffi-
cient to conclude divine inspiration possible, if not probable, at
least till you prove the contrary.
X. Ale. The possibility of inspirations and revelations I do
not think it necessary to deny. Make the best you can of this
concession. Euph. Now what is allowed possible we may sup-
pose in fact. Ale. We may. Euph. Let us then suppose, that
God had been pleased to make a revelation to men ; and that he
inspired some as a means to instruct others. Having supposed
this, can you deny that their inspired discourses and revelations
might have been committed to writing, or that being written,
after a long tract of time they might become in several places
obscure ; that some of them might even originally have been less
clear than others, or that they might suffer some alteration by
frequent transcribing, as other writings are known to have done?
Is it not even very probable that all these things would happen ?
Ale. I grant it. Euph. And granting this, with what pretence
can you reject the holy scriptures as not being divine, upon the
account of such signs or marks, as you acknowledge would pro-
bably attend a divine revelation transmitted down to us through
so many ages ? Ale. But allowing all that in reason you can
* Jer. xxiii. 28, 29.
458 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. Ql>IAL. VI.
desire, and granting that this may account for some obscurity,
may reconcile some small differences, or satisfy us how some dif-
ficulties might arise by inserting, omitting, or changing here and
there a letter, a word, or perhaps a sentence : yet these are but
small matters, in respect of the much more considerable and
weighty objections I could produce, against the confessed doc-
trines, or subject matter of those writings. Let us see what is
contained in these sacred books, and then judge whether it is
probable or possible, such revelations should ever have been
made by God? Now I defy the wit of man to contrive any
thing more extravagant, than the accounts we there find of ap-
paritions, devils, miracles, God manifest in the flesh, regenera-
tion, grace, self-denial, resurrection of -the dead, and such like
agri somnia : things so odd, unaccountable, and remote from the
apprehension of mankind, you may as soon wash a blackamore
white, as clear them of absurdity, No critical skill can justify
them, no tradition recommend them, I will not say for divine
revelations, but even for the inventions of men of sense. Euph.
I had always a great opinion of your sagacity, but now, Alci-
phron, I consider you as something more than man ; else how
should it be possible for you to know what, or how far, it may
be proper for God to reveal ? Methinks it may consist with all
due deference to the greatest of human understandings, to sup-
pose them ignorant of many things, which are not suited to their
faculties, or lie out of their reach. Even the counsels of princes
lie often beyond the ken of their subjects, who can only know so
much as is revealed by those at the helm ; and are often unqua-
lified to judge of the usefulness and tendency even of that, till,
in due time, the scheme unfolds, and is accounted for by suc-
ceeding events. That many points contained in holy scripture
are remote from the common apprehensions of mankind, cannot
be denied. But I do not see that it follows from thence they
are not of divine revelation. On the contrary, should it not
seem reasonable to suppose, that a revelation from God should
contain something different in kind, or more excellent in degree,
than what lay open to the common sense of men, or could even
be discovered by the most sagacious philosopher ? Accounts of
separate spirits, good or bad, prophecies, miracles, and such
things, are undoubtedly strange ; but I would fain see how you
can prove them impossible or absurd. Ale. Some things there
are so evidently absurd, that it would be almost as silly to dis-
prove them as to believe them ; and I take these to be of
that class.
XL JLuph. But is it not possible, some men may show as
much prejudice and narrowness in rejecting all such accounts,
as others might easiness and credulity in admitting them? I
never durst make my own observation or experience the rule
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 459
and measure of things spiritual, supernatural, or relating to
another world, because I should think it a very bad one, even
for the visible and natural things of this ; it would be judging
like the Siamese, who was positive it did not freeze in Holland,
because he had never known such a thing as hard water or ice
in his own country. I cannot comprehend why any one, who
admits the union of the soul and body, should pronounce it im-
possible for the human nature to be united to the divine, in a
manner ineffable and incomprehensible by reason. Neither can
I see any absurdity in admitting, that sinful man may become
regenerate or a new creature, by the grace of God reclaiming
him from a carnal life to a spiritual life of virtue and holiness.
And since the being governed by sense and appetite is contrary
to the happiness and perfection of a rational creature, I do not
at all wonder that we are prescribed self-denial. As for the
resurrection of the dead, I do not conceive it so very contrary to
the analogy of nature, when I behold vegetables left to rot in
the earth, rise up again with new life and vigour, or a worm, to
all appearance dead, change its nature, and that, which in its
first being crawled on the earth, become a new species, and fly
abroad with wings. And, indeed, when I consider that the soul
and body are things so very different and heterogeneous, I can
see no reason to be positive, that the one must necessarily be
extinguished upon the dissolution of the other ; especially since
I find in myself a strong, natural desire of immortality ; and I
have not observed that natural appetites are wont to be given in
vain, or merely to be frustrated. Upon the whole, those points
which you account extravagant and absurd, I dare not pronounce
to be so till I see good reason for it.
XII. On. No, Alciphron, your positive airs must not pass for
proofs ; nor will it suffice to say, things are contrary to common
sense, to make us think they are so : by common sense I sup-
pose should be meant either the general sense of mankind, or
the improved reason of thinking men. Now I believe that all
those articles you have with so much capacity and fire at once
summoned up and exploded, may be shown to be not disagreeable,
much less contrary to common sense in one or other of these
acceptations. That the gods might appear and converse among
men, and that the divinity might inhabit human nature, were
points allowed by the heathens : and for this I appeal.. to their
poets and philosophers, whose testimonies are so numerous and
clear, that it would be an affront to repeat them to a man of any
education. And though the notion of a devil may not be so
obvious, or so fully described, yet there appear plain traces of it,
either from reason or tradition. The latter Platonists, as Por-
phyry and lamblichus, are very clear in the point, allowing that
evil demons delude and tempt, hurt and possess mankind. That
THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. VI.
the ancient Greeks, Chaldeans, and Egyptians, believed both good
and bad angels, may be plainly collected from Plato, Plutarch,
and the Chaldean oracles. Origen observes, that almost all the
gentiles, who held the being of demons, allowed there were bad
ones.* There is even something as early as Homer, that is
thought by the learned cardinal Bessarionf to allude to the fall
of Satan, in the account of Ate, whom the poet represents as
cast down from heaven by Jove, and then wandering about the
earth, doing mischief to mankind. This same Ate is said by
Hesiod to be the daughter of Discord ; and by Euripides, in his
Hippolitus, is mentioned as a tempter to evil. And it is very
remarkable, that Plutarch in his book, De Vitando JEre Alieno,
speaks after Empedocles, of certain demons that fell from heaven,
and were banished by God, Aaijuovfe 3"£//Xarot KOI oupavoTreTrae-
Nor is that less remarkable which is observed by Ficinus from
Pherecydes Syrus, that there had been a downfall of demons who
revolted from God ; and that Ophioneus (the old serpent) was
head of that rebellious crew.f Then as to other articles, let any
one consider what the Pythagoreans taught of the purgation and
Auo-tCj or deliverance of the soul : what most philosophers, but
especially the Stoics, of subduing our passions : what Plato and
Hierocles have said of forgiving injuries: what the acute and
sagacious Aristotle writes, in his Ethics, to Nicomachus, of the
spiritual and divine life, that life which, according to him, is too
excellent to be thought human ; insomuch as man, so far forth as
man, cannot attain to it, but only so far forth as he hath some-
thing divine in him : and particularly, let him reflect on what
Socrates taught, to wit, that virtue is not to be learned from men,
that it is the gift of God, and that good men are not good by
virtue of human care or diligence, OVK ttvai avdpwjrtvriv lirtfjif-
\fiav rj ayaOol ayaOol -yryvovreu.§ Let any man who really
thinks, but consider what other thinking men have thought, who
cannot be supposed prejudiced in favour of revealed religion ;
and he will see cause, if not to think with reverence of the
Christian doctrines of grace, self-denial, regeneration, sanctifica-
tion, and the rest, even the most mysterious, at least to judge
more modestly and warily, than those who shall, with a confident
air, pronounce them absurd, and repugnant to the reason of man-
kind. And in regard to a future state, the common sense of the
gentile world, modern or ancient, and the opinions of the wisest
men of antiquity, are things so well known, that I need say
nothing about them. To me it seems, the minute philosophers,
when they appeal to reason and common sense, mean only the
sense of their own party : a coin, how current soever among
themselves, that other men will bring to the touchstone, and pass
* Origen, lib. vii. contra Celsum. •)- In Calumniat. Platonis, lib. iii. c. 7.
t Vi le Argum. in Phedrum Platonis. § Vide Plat, in Protag. et alibi passim.
1HAL. VI. ~] THE MTNTTTE PIIILOSOPnEB. 461
for no more than it is worth. Lys. Be those notions agreeable
to what or whose sense they may, they are not agreeable to mine.
And if I arn thought ignorant for this, I pity those who think
me so.
XIII. I enjoy myself, and follow my own courses, without
remorse or fear : which I should not do, if my head were filled
with enthusiasm ; whether gentile or Christian, philosophical
or revealed, it is all one to me. Let others know or believe
what they can, and make the best of it, I, for my part, am happy
and safe in my ignorance. Cri. Perhaps not so safe neither,
Lys. Why, surely you will not pretend that ignorance is
criminal ? Cri. Ignorance alone is not a crime. But that wilful
ignorance, affected ignorance, ignorance from sloth, or conceited
ignorance, is a fault, might easily be proved by the testimony of
heathen writers ; and it needs no proof to show, that if ignorance
be our fault, we cannot be secure in it as an excuse. Lys.
Honest Crito seems to hint, that a man should take care to in-
form himself, while alive, lest his neglect be punished when he is
dead. Nothing is so pusillanimous and unbecoming a gentle-
man, as fear : nor could you take a likelier course to fix and rivet
a man of honour in guilt, than by attempting to frighten him
out of it. This is the stale, absurd stratagem of priests, and
that which makes them, and their religion, more odious and con-
temptible to me than all the other articles put together. Cri. I
would fain know why it may not be reasonable for a man of
honour, or any man who has done amiss, to fear? Guilt is the
natural parent of fear ; and nature is not used to make them fear
where there is no occasion. That impious and profane men
should expect divine punishment, doth not seem so absurd to
conceive : and that under this expectation they should be uneasy
and even afraid, how consistent soever it may or may not be with
honour, I am sure consists with reason. Lys. That thing of
hell and eternal punishment is the most absurd, as well as the
most disagreeable thought that ever entered into the head of
mortal man. Cri. But you must own that it is not an absurdity
peculiar to Christians, since Socrates, that great free-thinker of
Athens, thought it probable there may be such a thing as impious
men for ever punished in hell.* It is recorded of this same
Socrates, that he has been often known to think for four and
twenty hours together, fixed in the same posture, and wrapt up
in meditation. Lys. Our modern free-thinkers are a more lively
sort of men. Those old philosophers were most of them whim-
sical. They had, in my judgment, a dry, narrow, timorous way
of thinking, which by no means came up to the frank humour of
our times. Cri. But I appeal to your own judgment, if a man,
* Vide Platon. in Gorgia.
462 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. Q>IAL. Vf.
who knows not the nature of the soul, can be assured by the
light of reason, whether it is mortal or immortal ?
An simul intereat nobiscum morte perempta,
An tenebras orci visat vastasque lacunas ?
Lys. But what if I know the nature of the soul ? What if I
have been taught that whole secret by a modern free-thinker ? a
man of science who discovered it not by a tiresome introversion
of his faculties, not by amusing himself in a labyrinth of notions,
or stupidly thinking for whole days and nights together, but by
looking into things and observing the analogy of nature.
XIV. This great man is a philosopher by fire, who has made
many processes upon vegetables. It is his opinion that men and
vegetables are really of the same species : that animals are mov-
ing vegetables, and vegetables fixed animals ; that the mouths of
the one and the roots of the other serve to the same use, differ-
ing only in position ; that blossoms and flowers answer to the most
indecent and concealed parts in the human body ; that vegetable
and animal bodies are both alike organized, and that in both there
is life or a certain motion and circulation of juices through proper
tubes or vessels. I shall never forget this able man's unfolding
the nature of the soul in the following manner. The soul, said
he, is that specific form or principle from whence proceed the dis-
tinct qualities or properties of things. Now, as vegetables are a
more simple and less perfect compound, and consequently more
easily analyzed than animals, we will begin with the contempla-
tion of the souls of vegetables. Know then, that the soul of any
plant, rosemary for instance, is neither more nor less than its es-
sential oil. Upon this depends its peculiar fragrance, taste, and
medicinal virtues, or in other words its life and operations. Se-
parate or extract this essential oil by chemic art, and you get the
soul of the plant : what remains being a dead carcase, without
any one property or virtue of the plant, which is preserved en-
tirely in the oil, a drachm whereof goes further than several
pounds of the plant. Now this same essential oil is itself a com-
position of sulphur and salt, or of a gross, unctuous substance,
and a fine subtile principle or volatile salt imprisoned therein.
This volatile salt is properly the essence of the soul of the plant,
containing all its virtue, and the oil is the vehicle of this most
subtile part of the soul, or that which fixes and individuates it.
And as, upon separation of this oil from the plant, the plant died,
so a second death or death of the soul ensues upon the resolution
of this essential oil into its principles ; as appears by leaving it
exposed for some time to the open air, so that the volatile salt or
spirit may fly off: after which the oil remains dead and insipid,
but without any sensible diminution of its weight, by the loss of
that volatile essence of the soul, that ethereal aura, that spark of
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 463
entity, which returns and mixes with the solar light, the universal
soul of the world, and only source of life, whether vegetable,
animal, or intellectual : which differ only according to the gross-
ness or fineness of the vehicles, and the different textures of the
natural alembics, or in other words, the organized bodies, where
the above-mentioned volatile essence inhabits and is elaborated,
where it acts and is acted upon. This chemical system lets you
at once into the nature of the soul, and accounts for all its phe-
nomena. In that compound which is called man, the soul or es-
sential oil is what commonly goes by the name of animal spirit :
for you must know, it is a point agreed by chemists, that spirits
are nothing but the more subtile oils. Now in proportion as the
essential oil of man is more subtile than that of other creatures,
the volatile salt that impregnates it is more at liberty to act,
which accounts for those specific properties and actions of human
kind, which distinguish them above other creatures. Hence ycu
may learn why, among the wise ancients, salt was another name
for wit, and in our times a dull man is said to be insipid or insulse.
Aromatic oils, maturated by great length of time, turn to salts :
this shows why human kind "grow wiser by age. And what I
have said of the twofold death or dissolution, first of the com-
pound, by separating the soul from the organical body, and
secondly of the soul itself, by dividing the volatile salt from the
oil, illustrates and explains that notion of certain ancient philo-
sophers : that as the man was a compound of soul and body, so
the soul was compounded of the mind or intellect, and its ethe-
real vehicle ; and that the separation of soul and body, or death of
the man, is, after a long tract of time, succeeded by a second death
of the soul itself, to wit, the separation or deliverance of the in-
tellect frem its vehicle, and reunion with the sun. Euph. O Ly-
sicles, your ingenious friend has opened a new scene, and explained
the most obscure and difficult points in the clearest and easiest
manner. Lys. I must own this account of things struck my
fancy. I am no great lover of creeds or systems : but when a
notion is reasonable and grounded on experience I know how to
value it. Cri. In good earnest, Lysicles, do you believe this ac-
count to be true ? Lys. Why then in good earnest I do not know
whether I do or no. But I can assure you the ingenious artist
himself has not the least doubt about it. And to believe an artist
in his art is a just maxim and short way to science. Cri. But
what relation hath the soul of man to chemic art ? The same
reason, that bids me trust a skilful artist in his art, inclines me to
suspect him out of his art. Men are too apt to reduce unknown
things to the standard of what they know, and bring a prejudice
or tincture from things they have been conversant in, to judge
thereby of things in which they have not been conversant. I have
known a fiddler gravely teach that the soul was harmony ; a geo-
464 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. (jMAL. VI.
metrician very positive that the soul must be extended ; and a
physician, who having pickled half a dozen embryos and dissected
as many rats and frogs, grew conceited, and affirmed there was no
soul at all, and that it was a vulgar error. Lys. My notions sit
easy. I shall not engage in pedantic disputes about them. They
who do not like them may leave them. Euph. This, I suppose,
is said much like a gentleman.
XV. But pray, Lysicles, tell me whether the clergy come
within that general rule of yours — that an artist may be trusted
in his art ? Lys. By no means. Euph. Why so ? Lys. Be^
cause I take myself to know as much of those matters as they
do. Euph. But you allow, that in any other profession, one who
hath spent much time and pains may attain more knowledge than
a man of equal or better parts, who never made it his particular
business. Lys. I do. Euph. And nevertheless in things religious
and divine you think all men equally knowing. Lys. I do not
say all men. But I think all men of sense competent judges.
Euph. What ! are the divine attributes and dispensations to man-
kind, the true end and happiness of rational creatures, with the
means of improving and perfecting their beings, more easy and
obvious points than those which make the subject of every com-
mon profession ? Lys. Perhaps not: but one thing I know, some
things are so manifestly absurd, that no authority shall make me
give in to them. For instance, if all mankind should pretend to
persuade me that the Son of Grod was born upon earth in a poor
family, was spit upon, buffeted, and crucified, lived like a beggar
and died like a thief, I should never believe one syllable of it.
Common sense shows every one, what figure it would be decent
fbr an earthly prince or ambassador to make ; and the Son of God,
upon an embassy from heaven, must needs have made aa appear-
ance beyond all others of great eclat, and in all respects the very
reverse of that which Jesus Christ is reported to have made,
even by his own historians. Euph. O Lysicles, though I had ever
so much mind to approve and applaud your ingenious reasoning,
yet I dare not assent to this for fear of Crito. Lys. Why so ?
Euph. Because he observed just now, that men judge of things
they do not know, by prejudices from things they do know. And
I fear he would object that you, who have been conversant in the
grand monde, having your head filled with a notion of attendants
and equipage and liveries, the familiar badges of human grandeur,
are less able to judge of that which is truly divine ; and that one
who had seen less, and thought more, would be apt to imagine a
pompous parade of worldly greatness, not the most becoming the
author of a spiritual religion, that was designed to wean men
from the world, and raise them above it. Cri. Do you think,
Lysicles, if a man should make his entrance into London in a rich
suit of clothes, with a hundred gilt coaches, and a thousand
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 465
laced footmen ; that this would be a more divine appearance, and
have more of true grandeur in it, than if he had power with a
word to heal all manner of diseases, to raise the dead to life, and
still the raging of the winds and sea ? Lys. Without all doubt
it must be very agreeable to common sense to suppose, that he
could restore others to life who could not save his own. You tell
us, indeed, that he rose again from the dead : but what occasion
was there for him to die, the just for the unjust, the Son of God
for wicked men ? And why in that individual place ? Why at that
very time above all others ? Why did he not make his appearance
earlier, and preach in all parts of the world, that the benefit
might have been more extensive ? Account for all these points
and reconcile them, if you can, to the common notions and plain
sense of mankind. Cri. And what if those, as well as many
other points, should lie out of the road that we are acquainted
with ; must we therefore explode them, and make it a rule to
condemn every proceeding as senseless, that doth not square with
the vulgar sense of man; if the precepts and certain primary
tenets of religion appear in the eye of reason good and useful ;
and if they are also found to be so by their effects ; we may, for
the sake of them, admit certain other points or doctrines recom-
mended with them, to have a good tendency, to be right and true ;
although we cannot discern their goodness or truth by the mere
light of human reason, which may well be supposed an insufficient
judge of the proceedings, counsels, and designs of Providence, and
this sufficeth to make our conviction reasonable.
XVI. It is an allowed point that no man can judge of this or
that part of a machine taken by itself, without knowing the
whole, the mutual relation or dependence of its parts, and the
end for which it was made. And, as this is a point acknow-
ledged in corporeal and natural things, ought we not by a parity
of reason to suspend our judgment of a single unaccountable
part of the divine economy, till we are more fully acquainted
with the moral system or world of spirits, and are let into the
designs of God's providence, and have an extensive view of his
dispensations past, present, and future ? Alas ! Lysicles, what
do you know even of yourself, whence you come, what you are,
or whither you are going ? To me it seems, that a minute phi-
losopher is like a conceited spectator, who never looked behind the
scenes, and yet would judge of the machinery : who from a tran-
sient glimpse of a part only of some one scene, would take upon
him to censure the plot of a play. Lys. As to the plot I will not
say ; but in half a scene a man may judge of an absurd actor. With
what colour or pretext can you justify the vindictive, froward,
whimsical behaviour of some inspired teachers or prophets ?
Particulars that serve neither for profit nor pleasure I make a
shift to forget ; but in general the truth of this charge I do very
VOL. i. 2 H
466 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. f^DIAL. VI.
well remember. Cri. You need be at no pains to prove a point
I shall neither justify nor deny. That there have been human
passions, infirmities, and defects in persons inspired by God, I
freely own ; nay, that very wicked men have been inspired, as
Balaam for instance, and Caiaphas, cannot be denied. But what
will you infer from thence ? Can you prove it impossible, that
a weak or sinful man should become an instrument to the Spirit
of God, for conveying his purpose to other sinners ? Or that
divine light may not, as well as the light of the sun, shine on a
foul vessel without polluting its rays? Lys. To make short
work, the right way would be to put out our eyes, and not judge
at all. Cri. I do not say so, but I think it would be right, if
some sanguine persons upon certain points suspected their own
judgment. Ale. But the very things said to be inspired, taken
by themselves and in their own nature, are sometimes so wrong,
to say no worse, that a man may pronounce them not to be
divine at first sight ; without troubling his head about the system
of providence or connexion of events : as one may say that grass
is green, without knowing or considering how it grows, what
uses it is subservient to, or how it is connected with the mundane
system. Thus for instance, the spoiling of the Egyptians, and
the extirpation of the Canaanites, every one at first glance sees
to be cruel and unjust, and may therefore without deliberating
pronounce them unworthy of God. Cri. But Alciphron, to
judge rightly of these things, may it not be proper to consider
how long the Israelites had wrought under those severe task-
masters of Egypt, what injuries and hardships they had sustained
from them, what crimes and abominations the Canaanites had
been guilty of, what right God hath to dispose of the things of
this world, to punish delinquents, and to appoint both the manner
and the instruments of his justice? Man, who has not such
right over his fellow-creatures, who is himself a fellow-sinner
with them, who is liable to error as well as passion, whose views
are imperfect, who is governed more by prejudice than the truth
of things, may not improbably deceive himself, when he sets up
for a judge of the proceedings of the holy, omniscient, impassive
creator and governor of all things.
XVII, Ale. Believe me, Crito, men are never so industrious
to deceive themselves, as when they engage to defend their pre-
judices. You would fain reason us out of all use of our reason :
can any thing be more irrational ? To forbid us to reason on the
divine dispensations, is to suppose, they will not bear the test of
reason ; or, in other words, that God acts without reason, which
ought not to be admitted, no, not in any single instance : for if
in one, why not in another ? Whoever therefore allows a God,
must allow that he always acts reasonably. I will not therefore
attribute to him actions and proceedings that are unreasonable.
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 467
He hath given me reason to judge withal ; and I will judge by
that unerring light, lighted from the universal lamp of nature.
Cri. O Alciphron I as I frankly own the common remark to be
true, that when a man is against reason, it is a shrewd sign that
reason is against him : so I should never go about to dissuade
any one, much less one who so well knew the value of it, from
using that noble talent. On the contrary, upon all subjects of
moment, in my opinion, a man ought to use his reason ; but then,
whether it may not be reasonable to use it with some deference
to superior reason, it will not, perhaps, be amiss to consider.
Ale. It must surely derogate from the wisdom of God, to sup •
pose his conduct cannot bear being inspected, not even by the
twilight of human reason. Euph. You allow, then, God to be
wise? Ale. I do. Euph. What! infinitely wise? Ale. Even
infinitely. Euph. His wisdom, then, far exceeds that of man.
Ale. Vastly. Euph. Probably more than the wisdom of man,
that of a child. Ale. Without all question. Euph. What think
you, Alciphron, must not the conduct of a parent seem very
unaccountable to a child, when its inclinations are thwarted,
when it is put to learn the letters, when it is obliged to swallow
bitter physic, to part with what it likes, and to suffer, and do,
and see many things done contrary to its own judgment, however
reasonable or agreeable to that of others ? Ale. This I grant.
Euph. Will it not therefore follow from hence, by a parity of
reason, that the little child, man, when it takes upon it to judge
of the schemes of parental providence, and a thing of yesterday
to criticize the economy of the Ancient of days; — will it not
follow, I say, that such a judge, of such matters, must be apt to
make very erroneous judgments ? esteeming those things in them-
selves unaccountable, which he cannot account for ; and con-
cluding of some certain points, from an appearance of arbitrary
carriage towards him, which is suited to his infancy and igno-
rance, that they are in themselves capricious or absurd, and
cannot proceed from a wise, just, and benevolent God. This
single consideration, if duly attended to, would, I verily think,
put an end to many conceited reasonings against revealed religion.
Ale. You would have us then conclude, that things to our wisdom
unaccountable, may nevertheless proceed from an abyss of wisdom
which our line cannot fathom ; and that prospects viewed but in
part, and by the broken, tinged light of our intellects, though to
us they may seem disproportionate and monstrous, may never-
theless appear quite otherwise to another eye, and in a different
situation : in a word, that as human wisdom is but childish folly,
in respect of the divine, so the wisdom of God may sometimes,
seem foolishness to men.
XVIII. Euph. I would not have you make the conclusions,
unless in reason you ought to make them : but if they are rea-
2 H 2
468 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j>IAL. VI.
sonable, why should you not make them ? Ale. Some things
may seem reasonable at one time, and not at another : and I take
this very apology you make for credulity and superstition, to be
one of those things. When I view it in its principles, it seems
naturally to follow from just concessions ; but when I consider
its consequences, I cannot agree to it. A man had as good abdi-
cate his nature, as disclaim the use of reason. A doctrine is
unaccountable, therefore it must be divine! Euph. Credulity
and superstition are qualities so disagreeable and degrading to
human nature, so surely an effect of weakness, and so frequently
a cause of wickedness, that I should be very much surprised to
find a just course of reasoning lead to them. I can never think
that reason is a blind guide to folly, or that there is any con-
nexion between truth and falsehood, no more than I can think a
thing's being unaccountable a proof that it is divine : though at
the same time I cannot help acknowledging, it follows from your
own avowed principles, that a thing's being unaccountable, or
incomprehensible to our reason, is no sure argument to conclude
it is not divine ; especially when there are collateral proofs of its
being so. A child is influenced by the many sensible effects it
hath felt, of paternal love and care and superior wisdom, to
believe and do several things Avith an implicit faith and obedience :
and if we in the same manner, from the truth and reasonableness
which we plainly see in so many points within our cognizance,
and the advantages which we experience from the seed of the
gospel sown in good ground, were disposed to an implicit belief
of certain other points, relating to schemes we do not know, or
subjects to which our talents are perhaps disproportionate, I am
tempted to think it might become our duty without dishonouring
our reason ; which is never so much dishonoured as when it is
foiled, and never in more danger of being foiled, than by judging
where it hath neither means nor right to judge. Lys. I would
give a good deal, to see that ingenious gamester Glaucus have the
handling of Euphranor one night at our club. I own he is a peg
too high for me in some of his notions : but then he is admirable
at vindicating human reason against the impositions of priest-
craft.
XIX. Ale. He would undertake to make it as clear as day-
light, that there was nothing worth a straw in Christianity, but
what every one knew, or might know, as well without as with it,
before as since Jesus Christ. Cri. That great man, it seems,
teacheth, that common sense alone is the pole-star by which
mankind ought to steer ; and that what is called revelation must
be ridiculous, because it is unnecessary and useless, the natural
talents of every man being sufficient to make him happy, good,
and wise, without any further correspondence with heaven either
for light or aid. Euph. I have already acknowledged how sen-
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 469
sible I am, that my situation in this obscure corner of the coun-
try deprives me of many advantages, to he had from the conver-
sation of ingenious men in town. To make myself some amends
I am obliged to converse with the dead and my own thoughts,
which last I know are of little weight against the authority of
Glaucus, or such like great men in the minute philosophy. But
what shall we say to Socrates, for he too was of an opinion very
different from that ascribed to Glaucus ? Ale. For the present
we need not insist on authorities, ancient or modern, or inquire
which was the greater man, Socrates or Glaucus. Though, me-
thinks, for so much as authority can signify, the present times,
gray and hoary with age and experience, have a manifest advan-
tage over those that are falsely called ancient. But not to dwell
on authorities, I tell you in plain English, Euphranor, we do not
want your revelations ; and that for this plain reason, those that
are clear every body knew before, and those that are obscure
nobody is the better for. Euph. Whether it was possible for
mankind to have known^all parts of the Christian religion, besides
mysteries and positive institutions, is not the question between
us ; and that they actually did not know them is too plain to be
denied. This, perhaps, was for want of making a due use of
reason. But as to the usefulness of revelation, it seems much
the same thing whether they could not know, or would not be at
the pains to know, the doctrines revealed. And as for those doc-
trines which were too obscure to penetrate, or too sublime to
reach, by natural reason ; how far mankind may be the better
for them is more, I had almost said, than even you or Glaucus
can tell.
XX. Ale. But whatever may be pretended as to obscure doc-
trines and dispensations, all this hath nothing to do with prophe-
cies, which, being altogether relative to mankind, and the events
of this world, to which our faculties are surely well enough pro-
portioned, one might expect should be very clear, and such as
might inform instead of puzzling us. Euph. And yet it must be
allowed that, as some prophecies are clear, there are others very
obscure ; but left to myself, I doubt I should never have inferred
from thence that they were not divine. In my own way of
thinking I should have been apt to conclude that the prophecies
we understand are a proof for inspiration ; but that those we do
not understand are no proof against it. Inasmuch as for the
latter our ignorance or the reserve of the Holy Spirit may account,
but for the other nothing, for aught that I see, can account, but
inspiration. Ale. Now I know several sagacious men, who con-
clude very differently from you, to wit, that the one sort of pro-
phecies are nonsense, and the other contrived after the events.
Behold the difference between a man of free thought and one of
narrow principles ! Euph. It seems then they reject the Revela-
470 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [jHAL. VI.
tions because they are obscure, and Daniel's prophecies because
they are clear. Ale. Either way a man of sense sees cause to
suspect there has been foul play. Euph. Your men of sense
are, it seems, hard to please. Ale. Our philosophers are men of
piercing eyes. Euph. I suppose such men never make transient
judgments from transient views; but always establish fixed
conclusions upon a thorough inspection of things. For my own
part I dare not engage with a man who has examined those points
so nicely, as it may be presumed you have done : but I could
name some eminent writers of our own, now living, whose books
on the subject of prophecy have given great satisfaction to gen-
tlemen who pass for men of sense and learning, here in the
country. Ale. You must know, Euphranor, I am not at leisure
to peruse the learned writings of divines, on a subject which a man
may see through with half an eye. To me it is sufficient, that
the point itself is odd and out of the road of nature. For the
rest I leave them to dispute and settle among themselves where
to fix the precise time when the sceptre departed from Judah ;
or whether in Daniel's prophecy of the Messiah we should com-
pute by the Chaldean or the Julian year. My only conclusion
concerning all such matters is, that I will never trouble myself
about them. Euph. To an extraordinary genius, who sees things
with half an eye, I know not what to say : but for the rest of
mankind, one would think it should be very rash in them to
conclude, without much and exact inquiry, on the unsafe side of
a question which concerns their chief interest. Ale. Mark it
well : a true genius in pursuit of truth makes swift advances on
the wings of general maxims, while little minds creep and grovel
amidst mean particularities. I lay it down for a certain truth,
that, by the fallacious arts of logic and criticism, straining and
forcing, palliating, patching, and distinguishing, a man may
justify or make out any thing ; and this remark, with one or two
about prejudice, saves me a world of trouble. Euph. You, Al-
ciphron, who soar sublime on strong and free pinions, vouchsafe
to lend a helping hand to those whom you behold entangled in
the birdlime of prejudice. For my part, I find it very possible
to suppose prophecy may be divine, although there should be
some obscurity at this distance, with respect to dates of time or
kinds of years. You yourself own revelation possible ; and al-
lowing this I can very easily conceive it may be odd, and out of
the road of nature. I can without amazement meet in holy
scripture divers prophecies, whereof I do not see the completion,
divers texts I do not understand, divers mysteries above my com-
prehension, and ways of God to me unaccountable. Why may
not some prophecies relate to parts of history I am not well
enough acquainted with, or to events not yet come to pass ? It
seems to me that prophecies unfathomed by the hearer, or even
DIAL. VI.^ THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 471
the speaker himself, have been afterward verified and understood
in the event ; and it is one of my maxims, that what hath been
may be. Though I rub my eyes, and do my utmost to extricate
myself from prejudice, yet it still seems very possible to me, that
what I do not, a more acute, more attentive, or more learned man
may understand : at least thus much is plain ; the difficulty of
some points or passages doth not hinder the clearness of others,
and those parts of scripture which we cannot interpret we are
not bound to know the sense of. What evil or what inconveni-
ence, if we cannot comprehend what we are not obliged to com-
prehend, or if we cannot account for those things which it doth
not belong to us to account for? Scriptures not understood at
one time, or by one person, may be understood at another time,
or by other persons. May we not perceive, by retrospect on
what is past, a certain progress from darker to lighter, in the
series of the divine economy towards man ? And may not future
events clear up such points as at present exercise the faith of
believers ? Xow I cannot help thinking (such is the force either
of truth or prejudice) that in all this there is nothing strained or
forced, or which is not reasonable or natural to suppose.
XXL Ale. Well, Euphranor, I will lend you a helping hand,
since you desire it, but think fit to alter my method : for you
must know, the main points of Christian belief have been infused
so early, and inculcated so often, by nurses, pedagogues, and priests,
that, be the proofs ever so plain, it is a hard matter to convince
a mind, thus tinctured and stained, by arguing against revealed
religion from its internal characters. I shall therefore set myself
to consider things in another light, and examine your religion by
certain external characters or circumstantials, comparing the sys-
tem of revelation with collateral accounts of ancient heathen
writers, and showing how ill it consists with them. Know then,
that the Christian revelation supposing the Jewish, it follows,
that if the Jewish be destroyed the Christian must of course
fall to the ground. Now, to make short work, I shall attack
this Jewish revelation in its head. Tell me, are we not obliged,
if we believe the Mosaic account of things, to hold the world
was created not quite six thousand years ago ? Euph. I grant we
are. Ale. What will you say now, if other ancient records carry
up the history of the world many thousand years beyond this
period ? What if the Egyptians and Chinese have accounts ex-
tending to thirty or forty thousand years? What if the former
of these nations have observed twelve hundred eclipses, during
the space of forty-eight thousand years, before the time of Alex-
ander the Great? What if the Chinese have also many observa-
tions antecedent to the Jewish account of the creation? What if
the Chaldeans had been observing the stars for above four hun-
dred thousand years ? And what shall we say if we have succes-
472 TIIE MINUTE PH1LOSOPHEB. [^DIAL. VI.
sions of kings and their reigns, marked for several thousand years
before the beginning of the world, assigned by Moses? Shall
we reject the accounts and records of all nations, the most famous,
ancient, and learned in the world, and preserve a blind reverence
for the legislator of the Jews ? Euph. And pray if they deserve
to be rejected, why should we not reject them? What if those
monstrous chronologies contain nothing but names without
actions and manifest fables ? What if those pretended observa-
tions of Egyptians and Chaldeans were unknown or unregarded
by ancient astronomers ? What if the Jesuits have shown the
inconsistency of the like Chinese pretensions with the truth of
the ephemerides ? What if the most ancient Chinese observa-
tions allowed to be authentic, are those of two fixed stars, one in
the winter solstice, the other in the vernal equinox, in the reign
of their king Yao, which was since the flood ?* Ale. You must
give me leave to observe, the Romish missionaries are of small
credit in this point. Euph. But what knowledge have we, or
can we have, of those Chinese affairs, but by their means ? The
same persons that tell us of these accounts refute them ; if we
reject their authority in one case, what right have we to build
upon it in another? Ale. When I consider that the Chinese
have annals of more than forty thousand years, and that they are
a learned, ingenious, and acute people, very curious, and addicted
to arts and sciences, I profess I cannot help paying some regard
to their accounts of time. Euph. Whatever advantage their
situation and political maxims may have given them, it doth not
appear they are so learned, or so acute in point of science as the
Europeans. The general character of the Chinese, if we may
believe Trigaltius and other writers, is, that they are men of a
trifling and credulous curiosity, addicted to search after the phi-
losopher's stone, and a medicine to make men immortal, to astro-
logy, fortune-telling, and presages of all kinds. Their ignorance
in nature and mathematics is evident, from the great hand the
Jesuits make of that kind of knowledge among them. But
what shall we think of those extraordinary annals, if the very
Chinese themselves give no credit to them for more than three
thousand years before Jesus Christ ? If they do not pretend to
have begun to write history above four thousand years ago ?
And if the oldest books they have now extant in an intelligible
character, are not above two thousand years old? One would
think a man of your sagacity, so apt to suspect every thing out of
the common road of nature, should not without the clearest proof
admit those annals for authentic, which record such strange
things as the sun's not setting for ten days, and gold raining three
days together. Tell me, Alciphron, can you really believe these
things without inquiring by what means the tradition was pre-
* Bianchini Histor. Univers. c. 17.
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 473
I
served, through what hands it passed, or what reception it met
with, or who first committed it to writing ? Ale. To omit the
Chinese and their story, it will serve my purpose as well to build
on the authority of Manetho, that learned Egyptian priest, who
had such opportunities of searching into the most ancient ac-
counts of time, and copying into his dynasties the most venera-
ble and authentic records inscribed on the pillars of Hermes.
Euph. Pray, Alciphron, where were those chronological pillars
to be seen ? Ale. In the Seriadical land. Euph. And where
is that country ? Ale. I do not know. Euph. How were those
records preserved for so many ages doAvn to the time of this
Hermes, who is said to have been the first inventor of letters?
Ale. I do not know. Euph. Did any other writers, before or
since Manetho, pretend to have seen, or transcribed, or known
any thing about these pillars ? Ale. Not that I know. Euph.
Or about the place where they are said to have been. Ale. If
they did, it is more than I know. Euph. Do the Greek authors
that went into Egypt, and consulted the Egyptian priests, agree
with these accounts of Manetho ? Ale. Suppose they do not.
Euph. Doth Diodorus, who lived since Manetho, follow, cite, or
so much as mention this same Manetho ? Ale. What will you infer
from all this ? Euph. If I did not know you and your principles,
and how vigilantly you guard against imposture, I should infer
that you were a very credulous man. For what can we call it
but credulity to believe most incredible things on most slen-
der authority, such as fragments of an obscure writer, disagree-
ing with all other historians, supported by an obscure authority
of Hermes' pillars, for which you must take his Avord, and which
contain things so improbable as successions of gods and demi-
gods, for many thousand years, Vulcan alone having reigned
nine thousand ? There is little in these venerable dynasties of
Manetho, besides names and numbers ; and yet in that little we
meet with very strange things, that would be thought romantic
in another writer : for instance, the Nile overflowing with honey,
the moon grown bigger, a speaking lamb, seventy kings who
reigned as many days one after another, a king a day.* If you
are known, Alciphron, to give credit to these things, I fear you
will lose the honour of being thought incredulous. Ale. And
yet these ridiculous fragments, as you would represent them,
have been thought worth the pains and lucubrations of very
learned men. How can you account for the work that the great
.Joseph Scaliger and Sir John Marsham make about them ? Euph.
I do not pretend to account for it. To see Scaliger add another
Julian period to make room for such things as Manetho's dynasties,
and Sir John Marsham take so much learned pains to piece, patch,
and mend those obscure fragments, to range them in synchro-
* Seal. Can. Isag. lib. 2.
474 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. j^UIAL. VI.
nisms, and try to adjust them with sacred chronology, or make
them consistent with themselves and other accounts, is to me
very strange and unaccountable. Why they, or Eusebius, or
yourself, or any other learned man should imagine those things
deserve any regard I leave you to explain.
XXII. Ale. After all it is not easy to conceive what should
move, not only Manetho, but also other Egyptian priests, long
before his time, to set up such great pretences to antiquity, all
which, however, differing from one another, agree in this, that
they overthrow the Mosaic history ? How can this be accounted
for without some real foundation ? What point of pleasure, or
profit, or power, could set men on forging successions of ancient
names, and periods of time for ages before the world began ?
JEuph. Pray, Alciphron, is there any thing so strange or sin-
gular in this vain humour of extending the antiquity of nations
beyond the truth ? Hath it not been observed in most parts of
the world? Doth it not, even in our own times, show itself,
especially among those dependent and subdued people, who have
little else to boast of. To pass over others of our fellow-sub-
jects, who, in proportion as they are below their neighbours in
wealth and power, lay claim to a more remote antiquity ; are
not the pretensions of Irishmen in this way known to be very
great ? If I may trust my memory, O'Flaherty, in his Ogygia,
mentions some transactions in Ireland before the flood. The
same humour, and from the same cause, appears to have pre-
vailed in Sicily, a country, for some centuries past, subject to
the dominion of foreigners : during which time, the Sicilians
have published divers fabulous accounts, concerning the original
and antiquity of their cities, wherein they vie with each other.
It is pretended to be proved by ancient inscriptions, whose ex-
istence or authority seems on a level with that of Hermes'
pillars, that Palermo was founded in the days of the patriarch
Isaac, by a colony of Hebrews, Phoenicians, and Syrians, and
that a grandson of Esau had been governor of a tower subsist-
ing within these two hundred years in that city.* The antiquity
of Messina hath been carried still higher, by some who would
have us think it was enlarged by Nimrod.f The like pretensions
are made by Catania, and other towns of that island, who have
found authors of as good credit as Manetho to support them.
Now I should be glad to know why the Egyptians, a subdued
people, may not probably be supposed to have invented fabulous
accounts from the same motive, and, like others, valued them-
selves on extravagant pretensions to antiquity, when, in all
other respects, they were so much inferior to their masters?
That people had been successively conquered by Ethiopians,
Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, and Grecians, before it ap-
* Fazelli Hist. Sicul. decad. i. lib. viii. t Reina Notizie Istoricbe di Messina.
DIAL. VI.~] THE MINDTE PHILOSOPHER. 475
pears that those wonderful dynasties of Manetho and the pillars
of Hermes were ever heard of; as they had been by the two
first of those nations before the time of Solon himself, the
earliest Greek that is known to have consulted the priests of
Egypt : whose accounts were so extravagant, that even the
Greek historians, though unacquainted with holy scripture,
were far from giving an entire credit to them. Herodotus,
making a report upon their authority, saith, those to whom such
things seem credible may make the best of them, for himself
declaring that it was his purpose to write what he heard.* And
both he and Diodorus do, on divers occasions, show the same
diffidence in the narratives of those Egyptian priests. And as
we observed of the Egyptians, it is no less certain that the
Phoenicians, Assyrians, and Chaldeans, were each a conquered
and reduced people, before the rest of the world appear to have
heard any thing of their pretensions to so remote antiquity.
Cri. But what occasion is there to be at any pains to account
for the humour of fabulous writers ? Is it not sufficient to see
that they relate absurdities ; that they are unsupported by any
foreign evidence ; that they do not appear to have been in
credit, even among their own countrymen, and that they are
inconsistent one with another? That men should have the
vanity to impose on the world by false accounts, is nothing
strange ; it is much more so, that after what hath been done
towards undeceiving the world by so many learned critics, there
should be men found capable of being abused by those paltry
scraps of Manetho, Berosus, Ctesias, or the like fabulous or
counterfeit writers. Ale. Give me leave to observe, those
learned critics may prove to be ecclesiastics, perhaps some of
them papists. Cri. What do you think of Sir Isaac Newton,
was he either papist or ecclesiastic? Perhaps you may not
allow him to have been in sagacity, or force of mind, equal to
the great men of the minute philosophy : but it cannot be de-
nied that he had read and thought much upon the subject, and
that the result of his inquiry was a perfect contempt of all those
celebrated rivals to Moses. Ale. It hath been observed by in-
genious men, that Sir Isaac Newton, though a layman, was
deeply prejudiced, witness his great regard to the bible. Cri.
And the same may be said of Mr. Locke, Mr. Boyle, Lord
Bacon, and other famous laymen, who, however knowing in
some points, must nevertheless be allowed not to have attained
that keen discernment, which is the peculiar distinction of
your sect.
XXIII. But perhaps there may be other reasons beside pre-
judice, to incline a man to give Moses the preference, on the
truth of whose history the government, manners, and religion of
* Herodotus in Euterpe.
476 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [l)IA.L. VI.
his country were founded and framed ; of whose history there
are manifest traces in the most ancient books and traditions of
the gentiles, particularly of the Brahmins and Parsees; whose
history is confirmed by the late invention of arts and sciences,
the gradual peopling of the world, the very names of ancient
nations, and even by the authority and arguments of that re-
nowned philosopher Lucretius, who, on other points, is so much
admired and followed by those of your sect. Not to mention
that the continual decrease of fluids, the sinking of hills, and the
diminution of planetary motions afford so many natural proofs,
which show this world had a beginning ; as the civil or historical
proofs above-mentioned do plainly point out, this beginning to
have been about the time assigned in holy scripture. After all
which I beg leave to add one observation more. To any one
who considers that, on digging into the earth, such quantities of
shells, and, in some places, bones and horns of animals are found,
sound and entire after having lain there in all probability some
thousands of years ; it should seem probable, that gems, medals,
and implements in metal or stone, might have lasted entire,
buried under ground forty or fifty thousand years, if the world
had been so old. How comes it then to pass that no remains are
found, no antiquities of those numerous ages preceding the
scripture accounts of time ; no fragments of buildings, no public
monuments, no intaglios, cameos, statues, basso relievos, me-
dals, inscriptions, utensils, or artificial wrorks of any kind, are
ever discovered, which may bear testimony to the existence of
those mighty empires, those successions of monarchs, heroes, and
demi-gods, for so many thousand years ? Let us look forward
and suppose ten or twenty thousand years to come, during which
time we will suppose that plagues, famines, wars, and earth-
quakes shall have made great havoc in the world ; is it not highly
probable that at the end of such a period, pillars, vases, and
statues now in being of granite, or porphyry, or jasper (stones of
such hardness, as we know them to have lasted two thousand
years above ground, without any considerable alteration), would
bear record of these and past ages ? or that some of our current
coins might then be dug up, or old walls and the foundations of
buildings show themselves, as well as the shells and stones of the
primeval world are preserved down to our times. To me it
seems to follow from these considerations, which common sense
and experience make all men judges of, that we may see good
reason to conclude, the world was created about the time re-
corded in holy scripture. And if we admit a thing so extraor-
dinary as the creation of this world, it should seem that we admit
something strange, and odd, and new to human apprehension,
beyond any other miracle whatsoever.
XXIV. Alciphron sat musing and made no answer ; where-
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 477
upon Lysicles expressed himself in the following manner. I
must own I should rather suppose with Lucretius, that the world
was made by chance, and that men grew out of the earth, like
pompions, than pin my faith on those wretched fabulous frag-
ments of oriental history. And as for the learned men, who
have taken pains to illustrate and piece them together, they ap-
pear to me no better than so many musty pedants. An ingeni-
ous free-thinker may perhaps now and then make some use of
their lucubrations, and play one absurdity against another. But
you are not therefore to think, he pays any real regard to the
authority of such apocryphal writers, or believes one syllable of
the Chinese, Babylonian, or Egyptian traditions. If we seem to
give them a preference before the bible, it is only because they
are not established by law. This is my plain sense of the matter,
and I dare say it is the general sense of our sect ; who are too
rational to be in earnest on such trifles, though they sometimes
give hints of deep erudition, and put on a grave face to divert
themselves with bigots. Ale. Since Lysicles will have it so, I
am content not to build on accounts of time preceding the Mo-
saic. I must nevertheless beg leave to observe, there is another
point of a different nature, against which there do not lie the
same exceptions, that deserves to be considered, and may serve
our purpose as Avell. I presume it will be allowed that historians,
treating of times within the Mosaic account, ought by impartial
men to be placed on the same foot with Moses. It may therefore
be expected, that those, who pretend to vindicate his writings,
should reconcile them with parallel accounts of other authors,
treating of the same times, things, and persons. And, if we are
not attached singly to Moses, but take our notions from other
writers, and the probability of things, we shall see good cause to
believe, the Jews were only a crew of leprous Egyptians, driven
from their country on account of that loathsome distemper ; and
that their religion, pretended to have been delivered from heaven
at mount Sinai, was in truth learned in Egypt, and brought from
thence. Cri. Not to insist on what cannot be denied, that an
historian writing of his own times is to be believed, before
others who treat of the same subject several ages after, it seems
to me that it is absurd to expect we should reconcile Moses with
profane historians, till you have first reconciled them one with
another. In answer therefore to what you observe, I desire you
would consider in the first place, that Manetho, Chacremon, and
Lysimachus had published inconsistent accounts of the Jews,
and their going forth from Egypt :* in the second place, that
their language is a plain proof they were not of Egyptian, but
either of Phoenician, of Syrian, or of Chaldean original: and in
the third place, that it doth not seem very probable to suppose
* Joseph, contra Apion, lib. i.
478 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. VI.
their religion, the basis or fundamental principle of which was
the worship of one only supreme God, and the principal design
of which was to abolish idolatry, could be derived from Egypt,
the most idolatrous of all nations. It must be owned, the sepa-
rate situation and institutions of the Jews occasioned their being
treated by some foreigners with great ignorance and contempt
of them and their original. But Strabo, who is allowed to have
been a judicious and inquisitive writer, though he was not ac-
quainted with their true history, makes more honourable mention
of them. He relates that Moses, with many other worshippers
of one infinite God, not approving the image worship of the
Egyptians and other nations, went out from Egypt and settled
in Jerusalem, where they built a temple to one only God without
images.*
XXV. Ale. We who assert the cause of liberty against reli-
gion, in these later ages of the world, lie under great disadvan-
tages, from the loss of ancient books, which cleared up many
points to the eyes of those great men, Celsus, Porphyry, and
Julian, which at a greater distance and with less help cannot so
easily be made out by us : but, had we those records, I doubt
not we might demolish the whole system at once. Cri. And yet
I make some doubt of this ; because those great men, as you call
them, with all those advantages could not do it. Ale. That must
needs have been owing to the dulness and stupidity of the world
in those days, when the art of reasoning was not so much known
and cultivated as of late : but those men of true genius saw
through the deceit themselves, and were very clear in their opinion,
which convinces me they had good reason on their side. Cri.
And yet that great man Celsus seems to have had very slight
and inconstant notions : one while, he talks like a thorough Epi-
curean ; another, he admits miracles, prophecies, and a future
state of rewards and punishments. What think you, Alciphron,
is it not something capricious in so great a man, among other
advantages which he ascribes to brutes above human kind, to
suppose they are magicians and prophets ; that they have a
nearer commerce and union with the divinity ; that they know
more than men ; and that elephants, in particular, are of all
others most religious animals and strict observers of an oath.f
Ale. A great genius will be sometimes whimsical. But what do
you say to the emperor Julian ? was he not an extraordinary
man ? Cri. He seems by his writings to have been lively and
satirical. Further, I make no difficulty of owning that he was
a generous, temperate, gallant, and facetious emperor : but at the
same time it must be allowed, because his own heathen pane-
gyrist Ammianus MarcellinusJ allows it, that he was a prating,
* Strab. lib. xvi. t Origen, contra Celsura, lib. iv. \ Am. Marcellin. lib. xxv.
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 479
light, vain, superstitious sort of man. And therefore his judg-
ment or authority can be but of small weight with those who are
not prejudiced in his favour. Ale. But of all the great men who
wrote against revealed religion, the greatest without question
was that truly great man Porphyry, the loss of whose invaluable
work can never be sufficiently lamented. This profound philo-
sopher went to the bottom and original of things. He most
learnedly confuted the scriptures, showed the absurdity of the
Mosaic accounts, undermined and exposed the prophecies, and
ridiculed allegorical interpretations.* The moderns, it must be
owned, have done great things and shown themselves able men ;
yet I cannot but regret the loss of what was done by a person of
such vast abilities, and who lived so much nearer the jfountain-
head ; though his authority survives his writings, and must still
have its weight with impartial men, in spite of the enemies of
truth. Cri. Porphyry, I grant was a thorough infidel, though
he appears by no means to have been incredulous. It seems he
had a great opinion of wizards and necromancers, and believed
the mysteries, miracles, and prophecies of theurgists and Egyp-
tian priests. He was far from being an enemy to obscure jargon ;
and pretended to extraordinary ecstasies. In a word, this great
man appears to have been as unintelligible as a schoolman, as
superstitious as a monk, and as fanatical as any Quietist or
Quaker ; and, to complete his chai'acter as a minute philosopher,
he was under strong temptations to lay violent hands on himself.
We may frame a notion of this patriarch of infidelity, by his
judicious way of thinking upon other points as well as the Chris-
tian religion. So sagacious was he as to find out, that the souls
of insects, when separated from their bodies, become rational :
that demons of a thousand shapes assist in making philtrums and
charms, whose spiritual bodies are nourished and fattened by the
steams of libations and sacrifices: that the ghosts of those, who
died violent deaths, use to haunt and appear about their sepul-
chres. The same egregious philosopher adviseth a wise man not
to eat flesh, lest the impure soul of the brute that was put to
violent death should enter, along with the flesh, into those who
eat it. He adds, as a matter of fact confirmed by many experi-
ments, that those who would insinuate into themselves the souls
of such animals, as have the gift of foretelling things to come,
need only eat a principal part, the heart for instance of a stag or
a mole, and so receive the soul of the animal, which will pro-
phesy in them like a god.f No wonder if men whose minds
were preoccupied by faith and tenets of such a peculiar kind
should be averse from the reception of the gospel. Upon the
whole, we desire to be excused if we do not pay the same defer-
* Luc. Holstenius de Vita et Scriptis Porphyrii.
t Vide Porphyrium de Abstinentia, de Sacrifices, de Diis, et DaBmonibus.
480 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [jDIAL. VI.
ence to the judgment of men, that appear to us whimsical, super-
stitious, weak, and visionary, which those impartial gentlemen
do, who admire their talents, and are proud to tread in their
footsteps. Ale. Men see things in different views ; what one
admires, another contemns; it is even possible for a prejudiced
mind, whose attention is turned towards the faults and blemishes
of things, to fancy some shadow of defect in those great lights
which in our own days have enlightened, and still continue to
enlighten the world.
XXYI. But pray tell me, Crito, what you think of Josephus ?
He is allowed to have been a man of learning and judgment.
He was himself an asserter of revealed religion. And Christians,
when his authority serves their turn, are used to cite him with
respect. Cri. All this I acknowledge. Ale. Must it not then
seem very strange, and very suspicious to every impartial inquirer,
that this learned Jew, writing the history of his own country, of
that very place, and those very times, where and when Jesus
Christ made his appearance, should yet say nothing of the cha-
racter, miracles, and doctrine of that extraordinary person ? Some
ancient Christians were so sensible of this, that, to make amends
they inserted a famous passage in that historian ; which impos-
ture hath been sufficiently detected by able critics in the last
age. Cri. Though there are not wanting able critics on the other
side of the question, yet, not to enter upon the discussion of that
celebrated passage, I am content to give you all you can desire,
and suppose it not genuine, but the pious fraud of some wrong-
headed Christian, who could not brook the omission in Josephus :
but this will never make such omission a real objection against
Christianity. Nor is there, for aught I can see, any thing in it
whereon to ground either admiration or suspicion ; inasmuch as
it should seem very natural, supposing the gospel account exactly
true, for Josephus to have said nothing of it ; considering that
the view of that writer was to give his country some figure in
the eye of the world, which had been greatly prejudiced against
the Jews, and knew little of their history, to which end the life
and death of our Saviour would not in any wise have conduced ;
considering that Josephus could not have been an eye-witness of
our Saviour or his miracles ; considering that he was a Pharisee
of quality and learning, foreign as well as Jewish, one of great
employment in the state, and that the gospel was preached to the
poor ; that the first instruments of spreading it, and the first con-
verts to it were mean and illiterate, that it might not seem the
work of man, or beholding to human interest or power : consider-
ing the general prejudice of the Jews, who expected in the Mes-
siah a temporal and conquering prince, which prejudice was so
strong, that they chose rather to attribute our Saviour's miracles
to the devil, than acknowledge him to be the Christ : considering
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 481
also the hellish disorder and confusion of the Jewish state in the
days of Josephus, when men's minds were filled and astonished
with unparalleled wars, dissensions, massacres, and seditions of
that devoted people. Laying all these things together, I do not
think it strange, that such a man, writing with such a view, at
such a time, and in such circumstances, should omit to describe
our blessed Saviour's life and death, or to mention" his miracles,
or to take notice of the state of the Christian church, which was
then as a grain of mustard seed beginning to take root and ger-
minate. And this will seem still less strange, if it be considered
that the apostles in a few years after our Saviour's death departed
from Jerusalem, setting themselves to convert the gentiles, and
were dispersed throughout the world ; that the converts in Jeru-
salem were not only of the meanest of the people, but also few ;
the three thousand, added to the church in one day upon Peter's
preaching in that city, appearing to have been not inhabitants
but strangers from all parts assembled to celebrate the feast of
Pentecost; and that all the time of Josephus and for several
years after, during a succession of fifteen bishops, the Christians
at Jerusalem observed the Mosaic law,* and were consequently,
in outward appearance, one people with the rest of the Jews,
which must have made them less observable. I would fain know
what reason we have to suppose, that the gospel, which in its first
propagation seemed to overlook the great or considerable men of
this world, might not also have been overlooked by them, as a
thing not suited to their apprehensions and way of thinking?
Besides, in those early times might not other learned Jews, as
well as Gamaliel, f suspend their judgment of this new way, as
not knowing what to make or say of it, being on one hand unable
to quit the notions and traditions in which they were brought up,
and, on the other, not daring to resist or speak against the gospel,
lest they should be found to fight against God ? Surely at all
events, it could never be expected, that an unconverted Jew
should give the same account of the life, miracles, and doctrine
of Jesus Christ, as might become a Christian to have given ; nor
on the other hand was it at all improbable, that a man of sense
should beware to lessen or traduce what,- for aught he knew,
might have been a heavenly dispensation ; between which two
courses the middle was to say nothing, but pass it over in a
doubtful or a respectful silence. And it is observable, that where
this historian occasionally mentions Jesus Christ in his account
of St. James's death, he doth it without any reflection, or saying
either good or bad, though at the same time he shows a regard
for the apostle. It is observable, I say, that speaking of Jesus
his expression is, " who was called the Christ," not who pretended
* Sulp. Sever. Saor. Hist. lib. ii., and Euseb. Chron. lib. post. t Acts v.
VOL. I. 2 I
482 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. VI.
to be the Christ, or who was falsely called the Christ, but simply
TOV Xsyojue'vou Xpiorou.* It is evident Josephus knew there was
such a man as Jesus, and that he was said to be the Christ, and
yet he condemns neither him nor his followers; which to me
seems an argument in their favour. Certainly if we suppose
Josephus to have known or been persuaded that he was an im-
postor, it will be difficult to account for his not saying so in plain
terms. But if we suppose him in Gamaliel's way of thinking,
who suspended his judgment, and was afraid of being found to
fight against God, it should seem natural for him to behave in
that very manner, which according to you makes against our faith,
but I verily think makes for it. But what if Josephus had been
a bigot, or even a Sadducee, an infidel, an atheist ? What then ?
we readily grant there might have been persons of rank, politicians,
generals, and men of letters, then as well as now, Jews as well
as Englishmen, who believed no revealed religion : and that some
such persons might possibly have heard of a man in low life, who
performed miracles by magic, without informing themselves, or
perhaps ever inquiring, about his mission and doctrine. Upon
the whole, I cannot comprehend, why any man should conclude
against the truth of the gospel, from Josephus's omitting to speak
of it, any more than from his omitting to embrace it. Had the
first Christians been chief priests and rulers, or men of science
and learning, like Philo and Josephus, it might perhaps with
better colour have been objected, that their religion was of human
contrivance, than now that it hath pleased God by weak things to
confound the strong. This I think sufficiently accounts, why in
the beginning the gospel might overlook or be overlooked by men
of a certain rank and character.
XXVII. Ale. And yet it seems an odd argument in proof of
any doctrine, that it was preached by simple people to simple
people. Cri. Indeed if there was no other attestation to the
truth of the Christian religion, this must be owned a very weak
one. But if a doctrine, begun by instruments, mean as to all
human advantages, and making its first progress among those
who had neither wealth nor art nor power to grace or encourage
it, should in a short time by its own innate excellency, the
mighty force of miracles, and the demonstration of the Spirit, not
only without, but against, all worldly motives, spread through
the world, and subdue men of all ranks and conditions of life,
would it not be very unreasonable to reject or suspect it, for the
Avant of human means ? And might not this, with much better
reason, be thought an argument of its coming from God ? Ale.
But still an inquisitive man will want the testimony of men of
learning and knowledge. Cri. But from the first century on-
* Jos. Ant. lib. xx. c. 8.
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 483
wards, there was never wanting the testimony of such men, who
wrote learnedly in defence of the Christian religion, who lived,
many of them, when the memory of things was fresh, who had
abilities to judge and means to know, and who gave the clearest
proofs of their conviction and sincerity. Ale. But all the while
these men were Christians, prejudiced Christians, and therefore
their testimony is to be suspected. Cri. It seems then you would
have Jews or heathens attest the truths of Christianity. Ale.
That is the very thing I want. Cri. But how can this be ? or if
it could, would not any rational man be apt to suspect such evi-
dence, and ask, how it was possible for a man really to believe
such things himself, and not become a Christian? the apostles
and first converts were themselves Jews, and brought up in a
veneration for the law of Moses, and in all the prejudices of that
people : muny fathers, Christian philosophers, and learned apolo-
gists for the faith, who had been bred gentiles, were without doubt
imbued with prejudices of education : and if the finger of God
and force of truth converted both the one and the other from
Judaism or gentilism, in spite of their prejudices to Christianity,
is not their testimony so much the stronger? You have then
the suffrages of both Jews and gentiles, attesting to the truth
of our religion in the earliest ages. But to expect or desire the
attestation of Jews remaining Jews, or of gentiles remaining
gentiles, seems unreasonable: nor can it be imagined that the
testimony of men who were not converted themselves, should be
the likeliest to convert others. We have indeed the testimony
of heathen writers to prove, that about the time of our Saviour's
birth there was a general expectation in the east of a Messiah or
Prince, who should found a new dominion : that there were such
people as Christians : that they were cruelly persecuted and put
to death : that they were innocent and holy in life and worship :
and that there did really exist in that time certain persons and
facts mentioned in the New Testament: and for other points
we have learned fathers, several of whom had been, as I already
observed, bred heathens, to attest their truth. Ale. For my
part I have no great opinion of the capacity or learning of the
fathers, and many learned men, especially of the reformed churches
abroad, are of the same mind, which saves me the trouble of
looking myself into their voluminous writings, Cri. I shall not
take upon me to say, with the minute philosopher Pompanatius,*
that Origen, Basil, Augustin, and divers other fathers, were equal
to Plato, Aristotle, and the greatest of the gentiles in human
knowledge. But if I may be allowed to make a judgment from
what I have seen of their writings, I should think several of them
men of great parts, eloquence, and learning, and much superior
to those who seem to undervalue them. Without any affront to
* Lib. de Immortalitate Anirnae.
2 i 2
484 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. ^DIAL. VI.
certain modern critics or translators, Erasmus may be allowed a
man of fine taste, and a fit judge of sense and good writing,
though his judgment in this point was very different from theirs.
Some of our reformed brethren, because the Romanists attribute
too much, seem to have attributed too little to them, from a very
usual, though no very judicious, opposition ; which is apt to lead
men to remark defects without making proper allowances, and to
say things which neither piety, candour, nor good sense, require
them to say.
XXVIII. Ale, But though I should acknowledge that a con-
curring testimony of many learned and able men throughout the
first ages of Christianity may have its weight, yet when I consi-
der the great number of forgeries and heresies that sprung up in
those times, it very much weakens their credit. Cri. Pray, Al-
ciphron, would it be allowed a good argument in the mouth of a
papist against the reformation, that many absurd sects sprung up
at the same time with it ? Are we to wonder that when good
seed is sowing the enemy should sow tares ? But at once to cut
off several objections, let us suppose in fact, what you do not
deny possible, that there is a God, a devil, and a revelation from
heaven committed to writing many centuries ago. Do but take
a view of human nature, and consider what would probably fol-
low from such a supposition ; and whether it is not very likely
there should be half-believers, mistaken bigots, holy frauds, am-
bitious, interested, disputing, conceited, schismatical, heretical,
absurd men among the professors of such revealed religion, as
well as after a course of ages, various readings, omissions, trans-
positions, and obscurities in the text of the sacred oracles ? And
if so, I leave you to judge whether it be reasonable to make
those events an objection against the being of a thing which
•would probably and naturally follow upon the supposal of its
being? Ale. After all, say what you will, this variety of opinions
must needs shake the faith of a reasonable man. Where there
are so many different opinions on the same point it is very cer-
tain they cannot all be true, but it is certain they may all be
false. And the means to find out the truth! when a man of
sense sets about this inquiry he finds himself on a sudden startled
and amused -with hard words and knotty questions. This makes
him abandon the pursuit, thinking the game not worth the chase.
Cri. But would not this man of sense do well to consider, it
must argue want of discernment to reject divine truths for the
sake of human follies ? Use but the same candour and impar-
tiality in treating of religion, that you would think proper on
other subjects. We desire no more, and expect no less. In law,
in physic, in politics, wherever men have refined, is it not evi-
dent they have been always apt to run into disputes and chicane ?
but will that hinder you from admitting there are many good
DIAL. VI.] TIIE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 485
rules, and just notions, and useful truths in all those professions ?
Physicians may dispute, perhaps vainly and unintelligibly, about
the animal system : they may assign different causes of distem-
pers, some explaining them by the elementary qualities, hot and
cold, moist and dry, yet this doth not hinder but the bark may
be good for an ague, and rhubarb for a flux. Nor can it others
by chemical, others by mechanical principles, be inferred from
the different sects which, from time to time, have sprung up in
that profession, the dogmatic, for instance, empiric, methodic,
Galenic, Paracelsian, or the hard words and knotty questions and
idle theories which have grown from them, or been engrafted on
them, that therefore we should deny the circulation of the blood,
or reject their excellent rules about exercise, air, and diet. Ale.
It seems you would screen religion by the example of other pro-
fessions, all which have produced sects and disputes as well as
Christianity, which may in itself be true and useful, notwith-
standing many false and fruitless notions engrafted on it by the
wit of man. Certainly if this had been observed or believed by
many acute reasoners, they would never have made the multipli-
city of religious opinions and controversies an argument against
religion in general. CrL How such an obvious truth should
escape men of sense and inquiry I leave you to account : but I
can very easily account for gross mistakes in those who pass for
free-thinkers without ever thinking ; or, if they do think, whose
meditations are employed on other points of a very different
nature, from a serious and impartial inquiry about religion.
XXIX. But to return : what or where is the profession of
men who never split into schisms, or never talk nonsense ? Is
it not evident, that out of all the kinds of knowledge, on which
the human mind is employed, there grow certain excrescences,
which may be pared oft', like the clippings of hair or nails in the
body, and with no worse consequence ? Whatever bigots or en-
thusiasts, whatever notional or scholastic divines may say or
think, it is certain the faith derived from Christ and his apostles,
was not a piece of empty sophistry ; they did not deliver and
transmit down to us KCVJJV ctTrarrjv but -yujuvryv yvw^riv, to use the
expression of a holy confessor.* And, to pretend to demolish
their foundation for the sake of human superstructure, be it hay
or stubble or what it will, is no argument of just thought or
reason ; any more than it is of fairness, to suppose a doubtful
sense fixed, and argue from one sense of the question in disputed
points. Whether, for instance, the beginning of Genesis is to
be understood in a literal or allegorical sense ? Whether the
book of Job be a history or a parable ? being points disputed
between Christians, an infidel can have no right to argue from
one side of the question, in those or the like cases. This or that
* Soc. Histor. Eccles. lib. i.
486 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. VI.
tenet of a sect, this or that controverted notion, is not what \ve
contend for at present, but the general faith taught by Christ
and his apostles, and preserved by universal and perpetual tradi-
tion in all the churches down to our own times. To tax or strike
at this divine doctrine, on account of things foreign and adven-
titious, the speculations and disputes of curious men, is in my
mind an absurdity of the same kind, as it would be to cut down
a fine tree, yielding fruit and shade, because its leaves afforded
nourishment to caterpillars, or because spiders may now and then
weave cobwebs among the branches. Ale. To divide and dis-
tinguish would take time. We have several gentlemen very
capable of judging in the gross, but that \vant of attention for
irksome and dry studies or minute inquiries. To which as it
would be very hard to oblige men against their will, so it must
be a great wrong to the world, as well as themselves, to debar
them from the right of deciding according to their natural sense
of things. Cri. It were to be wished those capable men would
employ their judgment and attention on the same objects. If
theological inquiries are unpalatable, the field of nature is Avi<le.
How many discoveries to be made ! how many errors to be cor-
rected in arts and sciences ! how many vices to be reformed
in life and manners ! Why do men single out such points as
are innocent and useful, when there are so many pernicious
mistakes to be amended ? Why set themselves to destroy the
hopes of human kind and encouragements to virtue ? Why de-
light to judge where they disdain to inquire ? Why not employ
their noble talents on the longitude or perpetual motion ? Ale.
I wonder you should not see the difference between points of
curiosity and religion. Those employ only men of a genius or
humour suited to them ; but all mankind have a right to censure,
and are concerned to judge of these, except they will blindly sub-
mit to be governed by the stale wisdom of their ancestors and
the established laws of their country. Cri. It should seem, if
they are concerned to judge, they are not less concerned to
examine before they judge. Ale. But after all the examination
and inquiry that mortal man can make about revealed religion,
it is impossible to come at any rational, sure footing.
XXX. There is indeed, a deal of specious talk about faith
founded upon miracles; but when I examine this matter
thoroughly, and trace Christian faith up to its original, I find it
rests upon much darkness, and scruple, and uncertainty. Instead
of points evident or agreeable to human reason, I find a wonder-
ful narrative of the Son of God tempted in the wilderness by
the devil, a thing utterly unaccountable, without any end, or use,
or reason whatsoever. I meet with strange histories of appa-
ritions of angels and voices from heaven, with surprising accounts
of demoniacs, things quite out of the road of common sense or
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 487
observation, with several incredible feats said to have been done
by divine power, but more probably, the inventions of men ; nor
the less likely to be so, because I cannot pretend to say with
what view they were invented. Designs deeply laid are dark,
and the less we know the more we suspect : but, admitting them
for true, I shall not allow them to be miraculous, until I thoroughly
know the power of what are called second causes and the force
of magic. Cri. You seem, Alciphron, to analyze, not faith, but
infidelity, and trace it to its principles ; which, from your own
account, I collect to be dark and doubtful scruples and surmises,
hastiness in judging and narrowness in thinking, grounded on a
fanciful notion which over-rates the little scantling of your own
experience, and on real ignorance of the views of Providence,
and of the qualities, operations, and mutual respects of the
several kinds of beings, which are, or may be, for aught you
know, in the universe. Thus obscure, uncertain, conceited, and
conjectural are the principles of infidelity. Whereas on the
other hand, the principles of faith seem to be points plain and
clear. It is a clear point, that this faith in Christ was spread
abroad throughout the world soon after his death. It is a clear
point, that this was not effected by human learning, politics, or
power. It is a clear point, that in the early times of the church
there were several men of knowledge and integrity, Avho embraced
this faith, not from any, but against all, temporal motives. It is
a clear point, that, the nearer they were to the fountain head, the
more opportunity they had to satisfy themselves, as to the truth
of these facts which they believed. It is a clear point, that the
less interest there was to persuade, the more need there was of
evidence to convince them. It is a clear point, that they relied
on the authority of those who declared themselves eye-witnesses
of the miracles and resurrection of Christ. It is a clear point,
that those professed eye-witnesses suffered much for this their
attestation, and finally sealed it witli their blood. It is a clear
point, that these witnesses, weak and contemptible as they were,
overcame the world, spread more light, preached purer morals,
and did more benefit to mankind, than all the philosophers and
sages put together. These points appear to me clear and sure,
and, being allowed such, they are plain, just, and reasonable
motives of assent ; they stand upon no fallacious ground, they
contain nothing beyond our sphere, neither supposing more know-
ledge nor other faculties than AVC are really masters of; and if
they should not be admitted for morally certain, as I believe they
will by fair and unprejudiced inquirers, yet the allowing them to
be only probable is sufficient to stop the mouth of an infidel.
These plains points, I say, are the pillars of our faith, and not
those obscure ones by you supposed, which are in truth the un-
sound, uncertain principles of infidelity, to a rash, prejudiced,
488 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [j)IAL. VI.
and assuming spirit. To raise an argument, or answer an objec-
tion, from hidden powers of nature or magic, i& groping in the
dark ; but by the evident light of sense men might be sufficiently
certified of sensible effects, and matters of fact, such as the
miracles and resurrection of Christ : and the testimony of such
men may be transmitted to after-ages, with the same moral cer-
tainty as other historical narrations : and those same miraculous
facts> compared by reason with the doctrines they were brought
to prove, da afford to an unbiassed mind strong indications of
their coming from God, or a superior principle, whose goodness
retrieved the moral world, whose power commanded the natural,
and whose providence extended over both. Give me leave to
say, that nothing dark, nothing incomprehensible, or mysterious,
or unaccountable, is the ground or motive, the principle or foun-
dation, the proof or reason of our faith, although it may be the
object of it. For it must be owned, that, if by clear and sure
principles we are rationally led to believe a point less clear, we
do not therefore reject such point, because it is mysterious to
conceive, or difficult to account for, nor would it be right so-
to do. As for Jews and gentiles anciently attributing our
Saviour's miracles to magic, this is so far from being a proof
against them, that to me it seems rather a proof of the facts,
without disproving the cause to which we ascribe them. As we
do not pretend to know the nature and operation of demons,
the history, laws, and system of rational beings, and the schemes
or views of Providence, so far as to account for every action
and appearance recorded in the gospel ; so neither do you know
enough of those things, to be able from that knowledge of yours
to object against accounts so well attested. It is an easy matter
to raise scruples upon many authentic parts of civil history,
which, requiring a more perfect knowledge of facts, circumstances,
and councils, than we can come at to explain them, must be to
us inexplicable. And this is still more easy with respect to the
history of nature, in which, if surmises were admitted for proofs
against things odd, strange, and unaccountable, if our scanty
experience were made the rule and measure of truth, and all
those phenomena rejected, that we, through ignorance of the
principles, and laws, and system of nature, could not explain, we
should indeed make discoveries, but it would be only of our own
blindness and presumption. And why men that are so easily
and so often gravelled in common points, in things natural and
visible, should yet be so sharp-sighted and dogmatical about the
invisible world, and its mysteries, is to me a point utterly unac-
countable by all the rules of logic and good sense. Upon the
whole, therefore, I cannot help thinking there are points suffi-
ciently plain, and clear, and full, whereon a man may ground a
reasonable faith in Christ : but that the attacks of minute phi-
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 489
losophers against this faith are grounded upon darkness, ignorance,
and presumption. Ale. I doubt I shall still remain in the dark
as to the proofs of the Christian religion, and always presume
there is nothing in them.
XXXI. For how is it possible, at this remote distance, to
arrive at any knowledge, or frame any demonstration about it ?
Cri. What then ? Knowledge, I grant, in a strict sense, cannot
be had without evidence or demonstration ; but probable argu-
ments are a sufficient ground of faith. Whoever supposed that
scientifical proofs were necessary to make a Christian ? Faith
alone is required ; and provided that, in the main and upon the
whole, men are persuaded, this saving faith may consist with
some degrees of obscurity, scruple, and error. For although the
light of truth be unchangeable, and the same in its eternal
source, the Father of lights : yet, with respect to us, it is
variously weakened and obscured, by passing through a long dis-
tance or gross medium, where it is intercepted, distorted, or
tinctured by the prejudices and passions of men. But all this
notwithstanding, he that will use his eyes may see enough for
the purposes either of nature or of grace ; though by a light,
dimmer indeed, or clearer, according to the place, or the dis-
tance, or the hour, or the medium. And it will be sufficient, if
such analogy appears between the dispensations of grace and
nature, as may make it probable (although much should be un-
accountable in both) to suppose them derived from the same
author, and the workmanship of one and the same hand. Ale.
Those who saw, and touched, and handled, Jesus Christ after
his resurrection, if there were any such, may be said to have
seen by a clear light : but to us the light is very dim, and yet it
is expected we should believe this point as well as they. For
my part, I believe with Spinosa, that Christ's death was literal,
but his resurrection allegorical.* Cri. And for my part, I can
see nothing in this celebrated infidel, that should make me de-
sert matters of fact and moral evidence, to adopt his notions.
Though I must needs own, I admit an allegorical resurrection
that proves the real, to wit, a resurrection of Christ's disciples
from weakness to resolution, from fear to courage, from despair
to hope, of which, for aught I can see, no rational account can
be given, but the sensible evidence that our Lord was truly,
really, and literally, risen from the dead : but as it cannot be
denied that his disciples, who were eye-witnesses of his miracles
and resurrection, had stronger evidence than we can have of
those points : so it cannot be denied, that such evidence was
then more necessary, to induce men to embrace a new institu-
tion, contrary to the whole system of their education, their prc-
* Vide Spinosa: Epist. ad Oldenburgiuin.
490 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. oiAL. VI.
judiccs, their passions, their interests, and every human motive.
Though to me it seems, the moral evidence and probable argu-
ments within our reach, are abundantly sufficient to make pru-
dent, thinking men adhere to the faith banded down to us from
our ancestors, established by the laws of our country, requiring
submission in points above our knowledge, and for the rest
recommending doctrines the most agreeable to our interest and
our reason. And, however strong the light might have been at
the fountain-head, yet its long continuance and propagation, by
such unpromising instruments throughout the world, have been
very wonderful. We may now take a more comprehensive view
of the connexion, order, and progress of the divine dispensations ;
and, by a retrospect on a long series of past ages, perceive a
unity of design running throughout the whole, a gradual dis-
closing and fulfilling the purposes of Providence, a regular pro-
gress from types to antitypes, from things carnal to things
spiritual, from earth to heaven. We may behold Christ cruci-
fied, that stumbling-block to the Jews and foolishness to the
Greeks, putting a final period to the temple worship of the one,
and the idolatry of the other, and that stone, which was cut out
of the mountain without hands, and brake in pieces all other
kingdoms, become itself a great mountain.
XXXII. If a due reflection on these things be not sufficient
to beget a reverence for the Christian faith in the minds of men,
I should rather impute it to any other cause, than a wise and
cautious incredulity : when I see their easiness of faith in the
common concerns of life, where there is no prejudice or appetite
to bias or disturb their natural judgment : when I see those very
men, that in religion will not stir a step without evidence, and
at every turn expect demonstration, trust their health to a phy-
sician and their lives to a sailor with an implicit faith, I cannot
think they deserve the honour of being thought more incredu-
lous than other men, or that they are more accustomed to know,
and for this reason less inclined to believe. On the contrary,
one is tempted to suspect, that ignorance hath a greater share
than science in our modern infidelity, and that it proceeds more
from a wrong head, or an irregular will, than from deep re-
searches. Lys. We do not, it must be owned, think that learn-
ing or deep researches are necessary to pass right judgments
upon things. I sometimes suspect that learning is apt to pro-
duce and justify whims, and sincerely believe we should do
better without it. Our sect are divided on this point, but much
the greater part think with me. I have heard more than once
very observing men remark, that learning was the true human
means which preserved religion in the world ; and that if we had
it in our power to prefer blockheads in the church, all would
soon be right. Cri. Men must be strangely in love with their
DIAL. VI.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 491
opinions, to put out their eyes rather than part with them. But
it has been often remarked by observing men, that there are no
greater bigots than infidels. Lys. What, a free-thinker and a
bigot, impossible ! Cri. Not so impossible neither, that an in-
fidel should be bigoted to his infidelity. Methinks I see a bigot,
wherever I see a man overbearing and positive without know-
ing why, laying the greatest stress on points of smallest moment,
hasty to judge of the conscience, thoughts, and inward views of
other men ; impatient of reasoning against his own opinions, and
choosing them with inclination rather than judgment, an enemy
to learning, and attached to mean authorities. How far our
modern infidels agree with this description, I leave to be con-
sidered by those who really consider and think for themselves.
Lys. We are no bigots, we are men that discover difficulties in
religion, that tie knots and raise scruples ; which disturb the
repose and interrupt the golden dreams of bigots, who therefore
cannot endure us. Cri. They who cast about for difficulties,
will be sure to find or make them upon every subject : but he
that would, upon the foot of reason, erect himself into a judge,
in order to make a wise judgment on a subject of that nature,
will not only consider the doubtful and difficult parts of it, but
take a comprehensive view of the whole, consider it in all its
parts and relations, trace it to its original, examine its principles,
effects, and tendencies, its proofs internal and external ; he will
distinguish between the clear points and the obscure, the certain
and the uncertain, the essential and circumstantial, between
what is genuine and what foreign : he will consider the different
sorts of proof that belong to different things, Avhere evidence is
to be expected, where probability may suffice, and where it is
reasonable to suppose there should be doubts and scruples :
he will proportion his pains and exactness to the importance
of the inquiry, and check that disposition of his mind to
conclude all those notions, groundless prejudices, with which it
was imbued before it knew the reason of them.
He will silence his passions, and listen to truth : he will en-
deavour to untie knots as well as to tie them, and dwell rather on
the light parts of things than the obscure : he will balance the
force of his understanding with the difficulty of the subject, and
to render his judgment impartial, hear evidence on all sides, and
so far as he is led by authority, choose to follow that of the
honcstest and wisest men. Now it is my sincere opinion, the Chris-
tian religion may well stand the test of such an inqury. Lys.
But such an inquiry would cost too much pains and time. We
have thought of another method, the bringing religion to the test
of wit and humour: this we find a much shorter, easier, and
more effectual way. AncJ as all enemies are at liberty to choose
their weapons, we make choice of those we are most expert at :
492
THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER.
vi.
and we are the better pleased with this choice, having observed
that of all things a solid divine hates a jest. To consider the
whole of the subject, to read and think on all sides, to object
plainly, and answer directly, upon the foot of dry reason and
argument, would be a very tedious and troublesome affair. Be-
sides it is attacking pedants at their own weapons. How much
more delicate and artful is it, to give a hint, to cover one's self
with an enigma, to drop a double entendre, to keep it in one's
power to recover, and slip aside, and leave his antagonist beating
the air ? This hath been practised with great success, and I be-
lieve it the top method to gain proselytes, and confound pedants.
Cri. I have seen several things written in this way, which, I
suppose, were copied from the behaviour of a sly sort of scorners
one may sometimes meet with. Suppose a conceited man that
would pass for witty, tipping the wink upon one, thrusting
out his tongue at another ; one while waggishly smiling, an-
other with a grave mouth and ludicrous eyes ; often affecting the
countenance of one who smothered a jest, and sometimes bursting
out in a horse-laugh : what a figure would this be, I will
not say in the senate or council, but in a private visit among
well-bred men ! And yet this is the figure that certain great
authors, who in this age would pass for models, and do pass for
models, make in their elaborate writings on the most weighty
points. Ale. I who profess myself an admirer, an adorer of
reason, am obliged to own, that in some cases the sharpness of
ridicule can do more than the strength of argument. But if we
exert ourselves in the use of mirth and humour, it is not for
want of other weapons. It shall never be said, that a free-
thinker was afraid of reasoning. No, Crito, we have reasons in
store, the best are yet to come ; and if we can find an hour for
another conference before we set out to-morroAV morning, I will
undertake you shall be plied with reasons, as clear, and home,
and close to the point as you could wish.
DIAL. VII.]) THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 493
THE SEVENTH DIALOGUE.
I. Christian faith impossible. II. Words stand for ideas. III. No knowledge or faith
without ideas. IV. Grace, no idea of it. V. Abstract ideas what, and how made.
VI. Abstract general ideas impossible. VII. In what sense there may be general
ideas. VIII. Suggesting ideas not the only use of words. IX. Force as difficult to
form an idea of, as grace. X. Notwithstanding which, useful propositions may be
formed concerning it. XI. Belief of the Trinity and other mysteries not absurd.
XII. Mistakes about faith an occasion of profane raillery. XIII. Faith, its true
nature and effects. XIV. Illustrated by science. XV. By arithmetic in particular.
XVI. Sciences conversant about signs. XVII. The true end of speech, reason,
science, and faith. XVIII. Metaphysical objections as strong against human science
as articles of faith. XIX. No religion, because no human liberty. XX. Further
proof against human liberty. XXI. Fatalism a consequence of erroneous suppo-
sitions. XXII. Man an accountable agent. XXIII. Inconsistency, singularity,
and credulity of minute philosophers. XXIV. Untrodden paths and new light of the
minute philosophers. XX V. Sophistry of the minute philosophers. XXVI. Minute
philosophers ambiguous, enigmatical, unfathomable. XXVII. Scepticism of the
minute philosophers. XXVIII. How a sceptic ought to behave. XXTX. Minute
philosophers, why difficult to convince. XXX. Thinking, not the epidemical evil of
these times. XXXI. Infidelity, not an effect of reason or thought : its true motives
assigned. XXX11. Variety of opinions about religion, effects thereof. XXXIII.
Method for proceeding with minute philosophers. XXXIV. Want of thought, and
want of education, defects of the present age.
I. THE philosophers having resolved to set out for London
next morning, we assembled at break of day in the library.
Alciphron began with a declaration of his sincerity, assuring us
he had very maturely and with a most unbiassed mind considered
all that had been said the day before. He added that upon the
whole he could not deny several probable reasons were produced
for embracing the Christian faith. But, said he, those reasons,
being only probable, can never prevail against absolute certainty
and demonstration. If therefore I can demonstrate your religion
to be a thing altogether absurd and inconsistent, your probable
arguments in its defence do from that moment lose their force,
and with it all right to be answered or considered. The con-
curring testimony of sincere and able witnesses hath without
question great weight in human affairs. I will even grant that
things odd and unaccountable to human judgment or experience,
may sometimes claim our assent on that sole motive. And I will
also grant it possible, for a tradition to be conveyed with moral
evidence through many centuries. But at the same time you
will grant to me, that a thing demonstrably and palpably false is
not to be admitted on any testimony whatever, which at best can
never amount to demonstration. To be plain, no testimony can
make nonsense sense ; no moral evidence can make contradictions
consistent. Know then, that as the strength of our cause doth
not depend upon, so neither is it to be decided by any critical
points of history, chronology, or languages. You are not to
wonder, if the same sort of tradition and moral proof, which
494 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. VII.
governs our assent with respect to facts in civil or natural his-
tory, is not admitted as a sufficient voucher for metaphysical
absurdities and absolute impossibilities. Things obscure and
unaccountable in human affairs, or the operations of nature, may
yet be possible, and, if well attested, may be assented unto : but
religious assent or faith can be evidently shown in its own nature
to be impracticable, impossible, and absurd. This is the primary
motive to infidelity. This is our citadel and fortress, which may,
indeed, be graced with outworks of various erudition, but, if those
are demolished, remains in itself and of its own proper strength
impregnable. Euph. This, it must be owned, reduceth our in-
quiry within a narrow compass : do but make out this, and I
shall have nothing more to say. Ale. Know then, that the
shallow mind of the vulgar, as it dwells only on the outward
surface of things, and considers them in the gross, may be easily
imposed on. Hence a blind reverence for religious faith and
mystery. But when an acute philosopher comes to dissect and
analyze these points, the imposture plainly appears : and as he
has no blindness, so he hath no reverence for empty notions, or,
to speak more properly, for mere forms of speech, which mean
nothing, and are of no use to mankind.
II. Words are signs: they do or should stand for ideas ; which
so far as they suggest they are significant. But words that sug-
gest no ideas are insignificant. He who annexeth a clear idea to
every word he makes use of speaks sense ; but where such ideas
are wanting, the speaker utters nonsense. In order therefore to
know whether any man's speech be senseless and insignificant, we
have nothing to do but lay aside the words and consider the ideas
suggested by them. Men, not being able immediately to com-
municate their ideas one to another, are obliged to make use of
sensible signs or words ; the use of which is to raise those ideas
in the hearer, which are in the mind of the speaker ; and if they
fail of this end they serve to no purpose. He who really thinks
hath a train of ideas succeeding each other and connected in his
mind : and when he expresseth himself by discourse, each word
suggests a distinct idea to the hearer or reader ; who by that
means hath the same train of ideas in his, which was in the mind
of the speaker or writer. As far as this effect is produced, so
far the discourse is intelligible, hath sense and meaning. Hence
it follows, that whoever can be supposed to understand what he
reads or hears must have a train of ideas raised in his mind, cor-
respondent to the train of words read or heard. These plain
truths, to which men readily assent in theory, are but little attend-
ed to in practice, and therefore deserve to be enlarged on and in-
culcated, however obvious and undeniable. Mankind are generally
averse from thinking, though apt enough to entertain discourse
either in themselves or others : the effect whereof is, that their
DIAL. VII.'] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 495
minds are rather stored with names than ideas, the husk of science
rather than the thing. And yet these words without meaning do
often make distinctions of parties, the subject matter of their
disputes, and the object of their zeal. This is the most general
cause of error, which doth not influence ordinary minds alone,
but even those who pass for acute and learned philosophers are
often employed about names instead of things or ideas, and are
supposed to know when they only pronounce hard words without
a meaning.
•III. Though it is evident that as knowledge is the perception
of the connexion or disagreement between ideas, he who doth not
distinctly perceive the ideas marked by the terms, so as to form
a mental proposition answering to the verbal, cannot possibly have
knowledge ; no more can he be said to have opinion or faith,
which imply a weaker assent, but still it must be to a proposition,
the terms of which are understood as clearly, although the agree-
ment or disagreement of the ideas may not be so evident, as in
the case of knowledge. I say, all degrees of assent, whether
founded on reason or authority, more or less cogent, are internal
acts of the mind which alike terminate in ideas as their proper
object : without Avhich there can be really no such thing as know-
ledge, faith, or opinion. We may perhaps raise a dust and dis-
putes about tenets purely verbal ; but Avhat is this at bottom
more than mere trifling ? All which will be easily admitted with
respect to human learning and science ; wherein it is an allowed
method to expose any doctrine or tenet by stripping them of the
words, and examining what ideas are underneath, or whether any
ideas at all ? This is often found the shortest way to end disputes
which might otherwise grow and multiply without end, the liti-
gants neither understanding one another nor themselves. It were
needless to illustrate what shines by its own light, and is admitted
by all thinking men. My endeavour shall be only to apply it in
the present case. I suppose I need not be at any pains to prove,
that the same rules of reason and good sense which obtain in all
other subjects ought to take place in religion. As for those who
consider faith and reason as two distinct provinces, and would
have us think good sense has nothing to do where it is most con-
cerned, I am resolved never to argue with such men, but leave
them in quiet possession of their prejudices. And now, for the
particular application of what I have said, I shall not single out
any nice disputed points of school divinity, or those that relate
to the nature and essence of God, which being allowed infinite,
you might pretend to screen them under the general notion of
difficulties attending the nature of infinity.
IV. Grace is the main point in the Christian dispensation : no-
thing is oftener mentioned or more considered throughout the
New Testament ; wrhereiu it is represented as somewhat of a very
496 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. (^DIAL. VII.
particular kind, distinct from any thing revealed to the Jews, or
known by the light of nature. This same grace is spoken of as
the gift of God, as coming by Jesus Christ, as reigning, as
abounding, as operating. Men are s"aid to speak through grace,
to believe through grace. Mention is made of the glory of grace,
the riches of grace, the stewards of grace. Christians are said
to be heirs of grace, to receive grace, grow in grace, be strong
in grace, to stand in grace, and to fall from grace. And lastly,
grace is said to justify and to save them. Hence Christianity is
styled the covenant or dispensation of grace. And it is well
known that no point hath created more controversy in the church
than this doctrine of grace. What disputes about its nature, ex-
tent, and effects, about universal, efficacious, sufficient, prevent-
ing, irresistible grace have employed the pens of protestant as
well as popish divines, of Jansenists, and Molinists, of Lutherans,
Calvinists, and Arminians, as I have not the least curiosity to
know, so I need not say. It sufficeth to observe, that there have
been and are still subsisting great contests upon these points.
Only one thing I should desire to be informed of, to wit, what is
the clear and distinct idea marked by the word grace ? I presume
a man may know the bare meaning of a term, without going into
the depth of all those learned inquiries. This surely is an easy
matter, provided there is an idea annexed to such term. And if
there is not, it can be neither the subject of a rational dispute,
nor the object of real faith. Men may indeed impose upon them-
selves or others, and pretend to argue and believe, when at bot-
tom there is no argument or belief, further than mere verbal
trifling. Grace, taken in the vulgar sense, either for beauty or
favour, I can easily understand. But when it denotes an active,
vital, ruling principle, influencing and operating on the mind of
man, distinct from every natural power or motive, I profess my-
self altogether unable to understand it, or frame any distinct idea
of it ; and therefore I cannot assent to any proposition concern-
ing it, nor consequently have any faith about it : and it is a self-
evident truth, that God obligeth no man to impossibilities. At
the request of a philosophical friend, I did cast an eye on the
writings he showed me of some divines, and talked with others
on this subject, but after all I had read or heard could make no-
thing of it, having always found, whenever I laid aside the word
grace, and looked into my own mind, a perfect vacuity or priva-
tion of all ideas. And, as I am apt to think men's minds and
faculties are made much alike, I suspect that other men, if they
examined what they call grace with the same exactness and in-
difference, would agree with me that there was nothing in it but
an empty name. This is not the only instance, where a word
often heard and pronounced is believed intelligible, for no other
reason but because it is familiar. Of the same kind are many
DIAL. VII.^ THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 497
other points reputed necessary articles of faith. That which in
the present case imposeth upon mankind I take to be partly this.
Men speak of this holy principle as of something that acts, moves,
and ^ determines, taking their ideas from corporeal things, from
motion and the force or momentum of bodies, which being of an
obvious and sensible nature they substitute in place of a thing
spiritual and incomprehensible, which is a manifest delusion. For
though the idea of corporeal force be never so clear and intelli-
gible, it will not therefore follow that the idea of grace, a thing
perfectly incorporeal, must be so too. And though we may rea-
son distinctly, perceive, assent, and form opinions about the one,
it will by no means follow that we can do so of the other. Thus
it comes to pass, that a clear, sensible idea of Avhat is real pro-
duceth, or rather is made a pretence for, an imaginary spiritual
faith that terminates in no object ; a thing impossible ! For there
can be no assent where there are no ideas : and where there is no
assent there can be no faith : and what cannot be, that no man is
obliged to. This is as clear as any thing in Euclid.
V. The same method of reasoning may be applied by any man
of sense, to confute all other the most essential articles of the
Christian faith. You are not therefore to wonder that a man
who proceeds on such solid grounds, such clear and evident prin-
ciples, should be deaf to all you can say from moral evidence, or
probable arguments, which are nothing in the balance against
demonstration. Euph. The more light and force there is in this
discourse, the more you are to blame for not having produced it
sooner. For my part I should never have said one word against
evidence. But let me see whether I understand you rightly.
You say, every word in an intelligible discourse must stand for
an idea ; which ideas, as far as they are clearly and distinctly
apprehended, so far the discourse hath meaning, without which
it is useless and insignificant. Ale. I do. Euph. For instance,
when I hear the words man, triangle, colour, pronounced, they
must excite in my mind distinct ideas of those things whereof
they are signs, otherwise I cannot be said to understand them.
Ale. Right. Euph. And this is the only true use of language.
Ale. That is what I affirm. Euph. But every time the word
man occurs in reading or conversation, I am not conscious that
the particular distinct idea of a man is excited in my mind. For
instance, when I read in St. Paul's epistle to the Galatians these
words : " If a man thinketh himself to be something when he is
nothing, he'deceiveth himself." Methinks I comprehend the
force and meaning of this proposition, although I do not frame
to myself the particular distinct idea of a man. Ale. It is very
true, you do not form in your mind the particular idea of Peter,
James, or John, of a fair or a black, a tall or a low, a fat or a
lean, a straight or a crooked, a wise or a foolish, a sleeping or
VOL. i. 2 K
498 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. f^DIAL. VII.
waking man, but the abstract general idea of man, prescinding
from, and exclusive of all particular shape, size, complexion,
passions, faculties, and every individual circumstance. To ex-
plain this matter more fully, you are to understand there is in
the human mind a faculty of contemplating the general nature of
things separate from all those particularities which distinguish
the individuals one from another. For example, in Peter, James,
and John, you may observe in each a certain collection of stature,
figure, colour, and other peculiar properties by which they are
known asunder, distinguished from all other men, and, if I may
so say, individuated. Now leaving out of the idea of a man that
which is peculiar to the individual, and retaining only that which
is common to all men, you form an abstract universal idea of
man or human nature, which includes no particular stature, shape,
colour, or other quality whether of mind or body. After the
same manner you may observe particular triangles to differ one
from another, as their sides are equal or unequal, and their angles
greater or lesser; whence they are denominated equilateral,
equicrural, or scalenum, obtusangular, acutangular, or rectangu-
lar. But the mind, excluding out of its idea all these peculiar
properties and distinctions, frameth the general abstract idea of
a triangle ; which is neither equilateral, equicrural, nor scalenum,
neither obtusangular, acutangular, nor rectangular, but all and
none of these at once.* The same may be said of the general
abstract idea of colour, which is something distinct from and ex-
clusive of blue, red, green, yellow, and every other particular
colour, including only that general essence in which they all
agree. And what has been said of these three general names,
and the abstract general ideas they stand for, may be applied to
all others. For you must know, that particular things or ideas
being infinite, if each were marked or signified by a distinct pro-
per name, words must have been innumerable, and language an
endless, impossible thing. Hence it comes to pass, that appella-
tive or general names stand, immediately and properly, not for
particular but for abstract general ideas, which they never fail to
excite in the mind as oft as they are used to any significant pur-
pose. And without this there could be no communication or
enlargement of knowledge, no such thing as universal science or
theorems of any kind. Now for understanding any proposition
or discourse it is sufficient that distinct ideas are thereby raised
in your mind, correspondent to those in the speaker's, whether
the ideas so raised are particular or only abstract and general
ideas. Forasmuch, nevertheless, as these are not so obvious and
familiar to vulgar minds, it happens that some men may think
they have no idea at all, when they have not a particular idea ;
but the truth is, you had the abstract general idea of man, in the
* See Locke on Human Understanding, b. iv. c. 7.
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 499
instance assigned, wherein you thought you had none. After
the same manner, when it is said that the" three angles of a tri-
angle are equal to two right ones ; or that colour is the object of
sight, it is evident the words do not stand for this or that triangle
or colour, but for abstract general ideas, excluding every thing
peculiar to the individuals, and including only the universal na-
ture common to the whole kind of triangles or of colours.
VI. Euph. Tell me, Alciphron, are those abstract general
ideas clear and distinct ? Ale. They are, above all others, clear
and distinct, being the only proper object of science, which is
altogether conversant about universals. Euph. And do you not
think it very possible for any man to know, whether he has this
or that clear and distinct idea or no ? Ale. Doubtless. To know
this he needs only examine his own thoughts, and look into his
own mind. Euph. But upon looking into iny own mind I do
not find that I have or can have these general abstract ideas of a
man or a triangle above-mentioned, or of colour prescinded from
all particular colours.* Though I shut mine eyes, and use mine
utmost efforts, and reflect on all that passeth in my own mind, I
find it utterly impossible to form such ideas. Ale. To reflect
with due attention and turn the mind inward upon itself is a
difficult task, and not every one's talent. Euph. Not to insist
on what you allowed, that every one might easily know for him-
self whether he has this or that idea or no : I am tempted to think
nobody else can form those ideas any more than I can. Pray,
Alciphron, which are those things you would call absolutely im-
possible? Ale. Such as include a contradiction. Euph. Can
you frame an idea of what includes a contradiction ? Ale. I can-
not. Euph. Consequently whatever is absolutely impossible
you cannot form an idea of. Ale. This I grant. Euph. But can
a colour or triangle, such as you describe their abstract general
ideas, really exist ? Ale. It is absolutely impossible such things
should exist in nature. Euph. Should it not follow, then, that
they cannot exist in your mind, or, in other words, that you can-
not conceive or frame an idea of them? Ale. You seem, Eu-
phranor, not to distinguish between pure intellect and imagina-
tion. Abstract general ideas I take to be the object of pure in-
tellect, which may conceive them although they cannot perhaps
be imagined. Euph. I do not perceive that I can by any faculty,
Avhether of intellect or imagination, conceive or frame an idea of
that which is impossible, and includes a contradiction. And I
am very much at a loss to account for your admitting that in
common instances which you would make an argument against
divine faith and mysteries.
VII. Ale. There must be some mistake in this. How is it
* See Introduction to the Treatise concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge,
where the absurdity of abstract ideas is fully considered, p. 75.
2 K 2
500 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [^DIAL. TIT.
possible there should be general knowledge without general pro-
positions, or these without general names, which cannot be with-
out general ideas, by standing for which they become general ?
Euph. But may not words become general, by being made to
stand indiscriminately for all particular ideas, which from a
mutual resemblance belong to the same kind, without the inter-
vention of any abstract general idea? Ale. Is there then no
such thing as a general idea ? Euph. May we not admit general
ideas, though we should not admit them to be made by abstrac-
tion, or though wre should not allow of general abstract ideas ?
To me it seems, a particular idea may become general by being
used to stand for or represent other ideas ; and that general
knowledge is conversant about signs or general ideas made such
by their signification ; and which are considered rather in their
relative capacity, and as substituted for others, than in their own
nature, or for their own sake. A black line, for instance, an
inch long, though in itself particular, may yet become universal,
being used as a sign to stand for any line whatsoever. Ale. It is
your opinion then, that words become general by representing
an indefinite number of particular ideas. Euph. It seems so to
me. Ale. Whenever therefore I hear a general name, it must
be supposed to excite some one or other particular idea of that
species in my mind. Euph. I cannot say so neither. Pray,
Alciphron, doth it seem to you necessary, that as often as the
word man occurs in reading or discourse, you must form in your
mind the idea of a particular man? Ale. I own, it doth not:
and not finding particular ideas always suggested by the words,
I was led to think I had abstract general ideas suggested by
them. And this is the opinion of all thinking men, who are
agreed, the only use of words is to suggest ideas. And indeed
what other use can we assign them ?
VIII. Euph. Be the use of words or names what it will, I
can never think it is to do things impossible. Let us then in-
quire what it is ; and see if we can make sense of our daily
practice. Words, it is agreed, are signs : it may not therefore be
amiss to examine the use of other signs in order to know that of
words. Counters, for instance, at a card-table are used, not for
their own sake, but only as signs substituted for money as words
are for ideas. Say now, Alciphron, is it necessary every time
these counters are used throughout the whole progress of a game,
to frame an idea of the distinct sum or value that each represents ?
Ale. By no means : it is sufficient the players at first agree on
their respective values, and at last substitute those values in their
stead. Euph. And in casting up a sum, where the figures stand
for pounds, shillings, and pence, do you think it necessary,
throughout the whole progress of the operation, in each step to
form ideas of pounds, shillings, and pence ? Ale. I do not, it
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 501
will suffice if in the conclusion those figures direct our actions
with respect to things. Euph. From hence it seems to follow
that words may not be insignificant, although they should not,
every time they are used, excite the ideas they signify in our
minds, it being sufficient, that we have it in our power to sub-
stitute things or ideas for their signs when there is occasion. It
seems also to follow, that there may be another use of words,
besides that of marking and suggesting distinct ideas, to wit, the
influencing our conduct and actions ; which may be done either
by forming rules for us to act by, or by raising certain passions,
dispositions, and emotions in our minds. A discourse, therefore,
that directs how to act or excites to the doing or forbearance of
an action may, it seems, be useful and significant, although the
words whereof it is composed should not bring each a distinct
idea into our minds. Ale. It seems so. Euph. Pray tell me,
Alciphron, is not an idea altogether inactive ? Ale. It is. Euph.
An agent therefore, an active mind, or spirit, cannot be an idea
or like an idea. Whence it should seem to follow, that those
words which denote an active principle, soul, or spirit, do not in
a strict and proper sense stand for ideas : and yet they are ' not
insignificant neither : since I understand Avhat is signified by the
term I, or myself, or know what it means, although it be no idea,
nor like an idea, but that which thinks, and wills, and apprehends
ideas and operates about them. Ale. What wrould you infer
from this ? Euph. What hath been inferred already, that words
may be significant although they do not stand for ideas.* The
contrary whereof having been presumed seems to have pro-
duced the doctrine of abstract ideas. Ale. Will you not allow
then that the mind can abstract ? Euph. I do not deny it may
abstract in a certain sense, inasmuch as those things that can
really exist, or be really perceived asunder, may be conceived
asunder, or abstracted one from the other; for instance, a man's
head from his body, colour from motion, figure from weight.
But it will not thence follow, that the mind can frame abstract
general ideas, which appear to be impossible. Ale. And yet it
is a current opinion, that every substantive name marks out and
exhibits to the mind one distinct idea separate from all others.
Euph. Pray, Alciphron, is not the word number such a sub-
stantive name? Ale. It is. Euph. Do but try now whether
you can frame an idea of number in abstract, exclusive of all
signs, words, and things numbered. I profess for my own part I
cannot. Ale. Can it be so hard a matter to form a simple idea of
number, the object of a most evident demonstrable science?
Hold, let me see, if I cannot abstract the idea of number from
the numeral names and characters, and all particular numerable
things. Upon which Alciphron paused a while and then said :
* See the Principles of Human Knowledge, Sect, cxxxv., and the Introduction, Sect. xx.
502 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [jDIAL. Til.
To confess the truth I do not find that I can. Euph. But though
it seems, neither you nor I can form distinct simple ideas of
number, we can nevertheless make a very proper and significant
use of numeral names. They direct us in the disposition and
management of our affairs, and are of such necessary use, that
we should not know how to do without them. And yet, if other
men's faculties may be judged of by mine, to attain a precise,
simple, abstract idea of number, is as difficult as to comprehend
any mystery in religion.
IX. But to come to your own instance, let us examine what
idea we can frame of force abstracted from body, motion, and
outward sensible effects. For myself, I do not find that I have
or can have any such idea. Ale. Surely every one knows what
is meant by force. Euph. And yet I question whether every
one can form a distinct idea of force. Let me entreat you, Alci-
phron, be not amused by terms, lay aside the word force, and
exclude every other thing from your thoughts, and then see what
precise idea you have of force. Ale. Force is that in bodies
which produceth motion and other sensible effects. Euph. It is
then something distinct from those effects. Ale. It is. Euph.
J$e pleased now to exclude the consideration of its subject and
effects, and contemplate force itself in its own precise idea. Ale.
I profess I find it no such easy matter. Euph. Take your own
advice, and shut your eyes to assist your meditation. Upon this
Alciphron having closed his eyes, and mused a few minutes, de-
clared he could make nothing of it. And that, replied Euphranor,
which it seems neither you nor I can frame an idea of, by your
own remark of men's minds and faculties being made much alike,
we may suppose others have no more idea of than Ave. Ale.
We may. Euph. But notwithstanding all this, it is certain there
are many speculations, reasonings, and disputes, refined subtilties
and nice distinctions about this same force. And to explain its
nature, and distinguish the several notions or kinds of it, the
terms gravity, reaction, vis inertice, vis insita, vis impressa, vis rnor-
tua, vis viva, impetus, momentum, solicitatio, conatus, and divers
other such like expressions have been used by learned men : and
no small controversies have arisen about the notions or definitions
of these terms. It had puzzled men to know whether force is spi-
ritual or corporeal, whether it remains after action, how it is trans-
ferred from one body to another. Strange paradoxes have been
framed about its nature, properties, and proportions : for instance,
that contrary forces may at once subsist in the same quiescent
body : that the force of percussion in a small particle is infinite :
for which and other curiosities of the same sort, you may consult
Borellus de Vi Percussionis, the Lezi&ni Academiche of Toricelli, the
exercitations of Hermanns, and other writers. It is well known
to the learned world, what a controversy hath been earned on
between mathematicians, particularly Monsieur Leibnitz and
DIAL. VII.] THE MIKUTB PIIILOSOPnEB. 503
Monsieur Papin, in the Leipsic Acta Eruditorum, about the pro-
portion of forces, whether they be each to other in a proportion
compounded of the simple proportions of the bodies and the
celerities, or in one compounded of the simple proportion of the
bodies and the duplicate proportion of the celerities ? A point,
it seems, not yet agreed : as indeed the reality of the thing itself
is made a question. Leibnitz distinguisheth between the nisus
elementaris, and the impetus, which is formed by a repetition of the
nisus elementaris, and seems to think they do not exist in nature,
but are made only by an abstraction of the mind. The same
author, treating of original, active force, to illustrate his subject
hath recourse to the substantial forms and entelccheia of Aris-
totle. And the ingenious Toricelli saith of force and impetus,
that they are subtile abstracts and spiritual quintessences ; and
concerning the momentum and the velocity of heavy bodies falling,
he saith they are un certo die, and un non so die, that is in plain
English, he knows not what to make of them. Upon the whole
therefore, may we not pronounce, that excluding body, time,
space, motion, and all its sensible measures and effects, we shall
find it as difficult to form an idea of force as of grace ? Ale. I
do not know what to think of it.
X. Euph. And yet, I presume, you allow there are very evi-
dent propositions or theorems relating to force, which contain
useful truths : for instance, that a body with conjunct forces de-
scribes the diagonal of a parallelogram, in the same time that it
would the sides with separate. Is not this a principle of very
extensive use ? Doth not the doctrine of the composition and
resolution of forces depend upon it, and, in consequence thereof,
numberless rules and theorems directing men how to act, and ex-
plaining phenomena throughout the mechanics and mathematical
philosophy ? And if, by considering this doctrine of force, men
arrive at the knowledge of many inventions in mechanics, and
are taught to frame engines by means of which things difficult
and otherwise impossible may be performed, and if the same
doctrine, which is so beneficial here below, serveth also as a key
to discover the nature of the celestial motions, shall we deny that
it is of use, either in practice or speculation, because we have no
distinct idea of force ? Or that which we admit with regard to
force, upon what pretence can we deny concerning grace ? If
there are queries, disputes, perplexities, diversity of notions and
opinions about the one, so there are about the other also : if we
can form no precise, distinct idea of the one, so neither can we of
the other. Ought we not therefore, by a parity of reason, to
conclude, there may be divers true and useful propositions con-
cerning the one as well as the other ? And that grace may be an
object of our faith, and influence our life and actions, as a princi-
ple destructive of evil habits and productive of good ones, although
we cannot attain a distinct idea of it, separate or abstracted from
504 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. oiAL. VII.
God the author, from man the subject, and from virtue and
piety its effects ?
XI. Shall we not admit the same method of arguing, the same
rules of logic, reason, and good sense, to obtain in things spiritual
and things corporeal, in faith and science, and shall we not use
the same candour, and make the same allowances, in examining
the revelations of God and the inventions of men ? For aught I
see, that philosopher cannot be free from bias and prejudice, or
be said to weigh things in an equal balance who shall maintain
the doctrine of force and reject that of grace, who shall admit the
abstract idea of a triangle, and at the same time ridicule the holy
Trinity. But, however partial or prejudiced other minute philo-
sophers might be, you have laid down for a maxim, that the
same logic which obtains in other matters must be admitted in
religion. Lys. I think, Alciphron, it would be more prudent to
abide by the way of wit and humour, than thus to try religion
by the dry test of reason and logic. Ale. Fear not : by all the
rules of right reason it is absolutely impossible that any mystery,
and least of all the Trinity, should really be the object of man's
faith. Euph. I do not wonder you thought so, as long as you
maintained that no manjcould assent to a proposition, without
perceiving or framing in his mind distinct ideas marked by the
terms of it. But although terms are signs, yet having granted
that those signs may be significant, though they should not sug-
gest ideas represented by them, provided they serve to regulate
and influence our wills, passions, or conduct, you have conse-
quently granted, that the mind of man may assent to propositions
containing such terms, when it is so directed or affected by them,
notwithstanding it should not perceive distinct ideas marked by
those terms. Whence it seems to follow, that a man may be-
lieve the doctrine of the Trinity, if he finds it revealed in holy
scripture, that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, are
God, and that there is but one God? Although he doth not
frame in his mind any abstract or distinct ideas of Trinity, sub-
stance, or personality, provided, that this doctrine of a creator,
redeemer, and sanctifier makes proper impressions on his mind,
producing therein love, hope, gratitude, and obedience, and
thereby becomes a lively, operative principle, influencing his life
and actions, agreeably to that notion of saving faith which is re-
quired in a Christian. This I say, whether right or wrong, seems
to follow from your own principles and concessions. But for
further satisfaction it may not be amiss to inquire whether there
be any thing parallel to this Christian faith in the minute philo-
sophy. Suppose a fine gentleman or lady of fashion, who are
too much employed to think for themselves, and are only free-
thinkers at secondhand, have the advantage of being betimes ini-
tiated in the principles of your sect, by conversing with men of
depth and genius, who have often declared it to be their opinion
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 505
the world is governed either by fate or by chance, it matters not
which ; will you deny it possible for such persons to yield their
assent to either of these propositions ? Ale. I will not. Eupli.
And may not such their assent be properly called faith? Ale.
It may. Euph. And yet it is possible those disciples of the mi-
nute philosophy may not dive so deep as to be able to frame any
abstract, or precise, or any determinate idea whatsoever, either
of fate or of chance. Ale. This too I grant. Euph. So that,
according to you, this same gentleman or lady may be said to
believe or have faith where they have not ideas. Ale. They
may. Euph. And may not this faith or persuasion produce
real effects, and show itself in the conduct and tenor of their
lives, freeing them from the fears of superstition, and giving
them a true relish of the world, with a noble indolence or
indifference about what comes after. Ale. It may. Euph.
And may not Christians, with equal reason, be allowed
to believe the divinity of our Saviour, or that in him God and
man make one person, and be verily persuaded thereof, so far as
for such faith or belief to become a real principle of life and
conduct, inasmuch as by virtue of such persuasion they submit
to his government, believe his doctrine, and practise his precepts,
although they frame no abstract idea of the union between the
divine and human nature ; nor may be able to clear up the no-
tion of person to the contentment of a minute philosopher. To
me it seems evident, that if none but those who had nicely ex-
amined, and could themselves explain, the principle of individua-
tion in man, or untie the knots and answer the objections which
may be raised even about human personal identity, would require
of us to explain the divine mysteries, we should not be often
called upon for a clear and distinct idea of person in relation to
the Trinity, nor would the difficulties on that head be often
objected to our faith. Ale. Methinks there is no such mystery
in personal identity. Euph. Pray in what do you take it to
consist? Ale. In consciousness. Euph. Whatever is possible
may be supposed. Ale. It may. Euph. We will suppose now
(which is possible in the nature of things, and reported to be fact)
that a person, through some violent accident or distemper, should
fall into such a total oblivion as to lose all consciousness of his
past life and former ideas. I ask is he not still the same person?
Ale. He is the same man, but not the same person. Indeed you
ought not to suppose that a person loseth its former consciousness ;
for this is impossible, though a man perhaps may ; but then he
becomes another person. In the same person it must be owned
some old ideas may be lost, and some new ones got ; but a total
change is inconsistent with identity of person. Euph. Let us
then suppose that a person hath ideas, and is conscious during a
certain space of time, which we will divide into three equal parts,
whereof the later terms are marked by the letters A B C. In
506 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. £l)IAL. VII.
the first part of time, the person gets a certain number of ideas,
which are retained in A: during the second part of time he
retains one-half of his old ideas, and loseth the other half, in
place of which he acquires as many new ones : so that in B his
ideas are half old and half new. And in the third part we sup-
pose him to lose the remainder of the ideas acquired in the first,
and to get new ones in their stead, which are retained in C, to-
gether with those acquired in the second part of time. Is this a
possible fair supposition ? Ale. It is. Euph. Upon these pre-
mises I am tempted to think, one may demonstrate that personal
identity doth not consist in consciousness.* Ale. As how?
Euph. You shall judge; but thus it seems to me. The persons
in A and B are the same, being conscious of common ideas by
supposition. The person in B is, for the same reason, one and
the same with the person in C. Therefore the person in A is
the same with the person in C, by that undoubted axiom, Quce
conveniunt uni tertio conveniunt inter se. But the person in C hath
no idea in common with the person in A. Therefore personal
identity doth not consist in consciousness. What do you think,
Alciphron, is not this a plain inference ? Ale. I tell you what I
think : you will never assist my faith by puzzling my knowledge.
XII. There is, if I mistake not, a practical faith, or assent,
which showeth itself in the will and actions of a man, although
his understanding may not be furnished with those abstract, pre-
cise, distinct ideas, which, whatever a philosopher may pretend,
are acknowledged to be above the talents of common men;
among whom, nevertheless, may be found, even according to
your own concession, many instances of such practical faith, in
other matters which do not concern religion. What should hin-
der therefore, but that doctrines relating to heavenly mysteries,
might be taught in this saving sense to vulgar minds, wtiich you
may well think incapable of all teaching and faith in the sense
you suppose. Which mistaken sense, said Crito, has given occa-
sion to much profane and misapplied raillery. But all this may
very justly be retorted on the minute philosophers themselves,
who confound scholasticism with Christianity, and impute to
other men those perplexities, chimeras, and inconsistent ideas,
which are often the workmanship of their own brains, and pro-
ceed from their own wrong way of thinking. Who doth not see
that such an ideal, abstracted faith is never thought of by the
bulk of Christians, husbandmen, for instance, artisans, or ser-
vants? Or what footsteps are there in the holy scripture to
make us think, that the wiredrawing of abstract ideas was a task
enjoined either Jews or Christians ? Is there any thing in the
law or the prophets, the evangelists or apostles, that looks like it ?
Every one whose understanding is not perverted by science
* Vide Reid on the Intellectual Powers, Essay in. chap. iv. and vi. 8vo. edit.,
London, 1843.
DJAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. ' 50J
falsely so called, may see, the saving faith of Christians is quite
of another kind, a vital, operative principle, productive of charity
and obedience. Ale. What are we to think then of the disputes and
decisions of the famous council of Nice, and so many subsequent
councils? What was the intention of those venerable fathers
the Homoousians and the Homoiousians ? Why did they dis-
turb themselves and the world with hard words and subtle con-
troversies ? Cri. Whatever their intention was, it could not be
to beget nice abstracted ideas of mysteries in the minds of
common Christians, this being evidently impossible : nor doth it
appear that the bulk of Christian men did in those days think it
any part of their duty, to lay aside the words, shut their eyes,
and frame those abstract ideas ; any more than men now do of
force, time, number, or several other things, about which they
nevertheless believe, know, argue, and dispute. To me it seems,
that, whatever was the soui'ce of these controversies, and howso-
ever they were managed, wherein human infirmity must be sup-
posed to have had its share, the main end was not, on either side,
to convey precise positive ideas to the minds of men, by the use
of those contested terms, but rather a negative sense, tending to
exclude Polytheism on the one hand, and Sabellianism on the
other.* Ale. But what shall we say of so many learned and
ingenious divines, Avho from time to time have obliged the world
with new explications of mysteries, who, having themselves pro-
fessedly laboured to acquire accurate ideas, would recommend
their discoveries and speculations to others for articles of faith?
Cri. To all such innovators in religion I would say with Jerome,
"Why after so many centuries do you pretend to teach us
what was untaught before ? Why explain what neither Peter nor
Paul thought necessary to be explained ?';f And it must be
owned, that the explication of mysteries in divinity, allowing the
attempt as fruitless as the pursuit of the philosopher's stone in
chemistry, or the perpetual motion in mechanics, is no more than
they, chargeable on the profession itself, but only on the wrong-
headed professors of it.
XIII. It seems, that what hath been now said may be applied
to other mysteries of our religion. Original sin, for instance, a
man may find it impossible to form an idea of in abstract, or of
the manner of its transmission, and yet the belief thereof may
produce in his mind a salutary sense of his own unworthiness,
and the goodness of his Redeemer : from whence may follow
good habits, and from them good actions, the genuine effects of
faith, which, considered in its true light, is a thing neither repug-
nant nor incomprehensible, as some men would persuade us, but
suited even to vulgar capacities, placed in the will and aifections
rather than in the understanding, and producing holy lives,
* Sozoinen. lib. ii. c. 8.
t Hicronym. ad Pammachium et Oceanum de Erroribus Origenis.
508 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. Q>IAL. VII.
rather than subtile theories. Faith, I say, is not an indolent per-
ception, but an operative persuasion of mind, which ever worketh
some suitable action, disposition, or emotion in those who have
it ; as it were easy to prove and illustrate by innumerable in-
stances, taken from human affairs. And, indeed, while the
Christian religion is considered as an institution fitted to ordinary
minds, rather than to the nicer talents, whether improved or puz-
zled, of speculative men ; and our notions about faith are accord-
ingly taken from the commerce of the world, and practice of
mankind, rather than from the peculiar systems of refiners; it
will, I think, be no difficult matter to conceive and justify the
meaning and use of our belief of mysteries, against the most
confident assertions and objections of the minute philosophers,
who are easily to be caught in those very snares, which they
have spun and spread for others. And that humour of contro-
versy, the mother and nurse of heresies, would doubtless very
much abate, if it was considered that things are to be rated, not
by the colour, shape, or stamp, so truly as by the weight. If
the moment of opinions had been by some litigious divines made
the measure of their zeal, it might have spared much trouble
both to themselves and others. Certainly one that takes his no-
tions of faith, opinion, and assent from common sense, and com-
mon use, and has maturely weighed the nature of signs and
language, will not be so apt to controvert the wording of a mys-
tery, or to break the peace of the church, for the sake of re-
taining or rejecting a term.
XIV. Ale. It seems, Euphranor, and you would persuade me
into an opinion, that there is nothing so singularly absurd as we
are apt to think, in the belief of mysteries ; and that a man need
not renounce his reason to maintain his religion. But if this
were true, how comes it to pass, that, in proportion as men abound
in knowledge, they dwindle in faith? Euph. O Alciphron, I
have learned from you, that there is nothing like going to the
bottom of things, and analyzing them into their first principles.
I shall therefore make an essay of this method, for clearing up
the nature of faith : with Avhat success, I shall leave you to de-
termine ; for I dare not pronounce myself on my own judgment,
whether it be right or wrong : but thus it seems to me. The ob-
jections made to faith are by no means an effect of knowledge,
but proceed rather from an ignorance of what knowledge is;
which ignorance may possibly be found even in those who pass
for masters of this or that particular branch of knowledge.
Science and faith agree in this, that they both imply an assent of
the mind : and, as the nature of the first is most clear and evi-
dent, it should be first considered in order to cast a light on the
other. To trace things from their original, it seems that the hu-
man mind, naturally furnished with the ideas of things particular
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. .109
and concrete, and being designed, not for the bare intuition of
ideas, but for action or operation about them, and pursuing her
own happiness therein, stands in need of certain general rules or
theorems to direct her operations in this pursuit ; the supplying
which want is the true, original, reasonable end of studying the
arts and sciences. Now these rules being general, it follows, that
they are not to be obtained by the mere consideration of the ori-
ginal ideas, or particular things, but by the means of marks or
signs, which, being so far forth universal, become the immediate
instruments and materials of science. It is not therefore by mere
contemplation of particular things, and much less of their ab-
stract general ideas, that the mind makes her progress, but by
an apposite choice and skilful management of signs : for instance,
force and number, taken in concrete with their adjuncts, subjects,
and signs, are what every one knows ; and considered in abstract,
so as making precise ideas of themselves, they are what nobody
can comprehend. That their abstract nature, therefore, is not the
foundation of science, is plain : and that barely considering their
ideas in concrete, is not the method to advance in the respective
sciences, is what every one that reflects may see ; nothing being
more evident, than that one who can neither write nor read, in
common use understands the meaning of numeral words, as well
as the best philosopher or mathematician.
XV. But here lies the difference : the one, who understands
the notation of numbers, by means thereof is able to express
briefly and distinctly all the variety and degrees of number, and
to perform with ease and despatch several arithmetical operations,
by the help of general rules. Of all which operations as the use
in human life is very evident, so it is no less evident, that the
performing them depends on the aptness of the notation. If we
suppose rude mankind without the use of language, it may be
presumed, they would be ignorant of arithmetic : but the use of
names, by the repetition whereof in a certain order they might
express endless degrees of number, would be the first step towards
that science. The next step would be, to devise proper marks
of a permanent nature, and visible to the eye, the kind and order
whereof must be chose with judgment, and accommodated to the
names. Which marking, or notation, would, in proportion as it
was apt and regular, facilitate the invention and application of
general rules, to assist the mind in reasoning, and judging, in ex-
tending, recording, and communicating its knowledge about num-
bers : in which theory and operations, the mind is immediately
occupied about the signs or notes, by mediation of which it is di-
rected to act about things, or number in concrete (as the logicians
call it), without ever considering the simple, abstract, intellectual,
general idea of nnmber. I imagine one need not think much to
be convinced that the science of arithmetic, in its rise, operations,
510 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. |~1>IAL. VII.
rules, and theorems, is altogether conversant about the artificial
use of signs, names, and characters. These names and characters
are universal, inasmuch as they are signs. The names are referred
to things, and the characters to names, and both to operation.
The names being few, and proceeding by a certain analogy, the
characters will be more useful, the simpler they are, and the more
aptly they express this analogy. Hence the old notation by let-
ters was more useful than words written at length : and the mo-
dern notation by figures, expressing the progression or analogy
of the names by their simple places, is much preferable to that for
ease and expedition, as the invention of algebraical symbols is to
this for extensive and general use. As arithmetic and algebra
are sciences of great clearness, certainty, and extent, which are
immediately conversant about signs, upon the skilful use and
management whereof they entirely depend, so a little attention
to them may possibly help us to judge of the progress of the
mind in other sciences, which, though differing in nature, design,
and object, may yet agree in the general methods of proof and
inquiry.
XVI. If I mistake not, all sciences, so far as they are uni-
versal and demonstrable by human reason, will be found conver-
sant about signs as their immediate object, though these in the
application are referred to things : the reason whereof is not diffi-
cult to comprehend. For as the mind is better acquainted with
some sort of objects, which are earlier suggested to it, strike it
more sensibly, or are more easily comprehended than others, it is
naturally led to substitute those objects for such as are more
subtile, fleeting, or difficult to conceive. Nothing, I say, is more
natural, than to make the things we know, a step towards those
we do not know ; and to explain and represent things less familiar
by others which are more so. Now, it is certain we imagine
before we reflect, and we perceive by sense before we imagine, and
of all our senses the sight is the most clear, distinct, various,
agreeable, and comprehensive. Hence it is natural to assist the
intellect by the imagination, the imagination by sense, and the
other senses by sight. Hence, figures, metaphors, and types.
We illustrate spiritual things by corporeal ; we substitute sounds
for thoughts, and written letters for sounds ; emblems, symbols,
and hieroglyphics for things too obscure to strike, and too various
or too fleeting to be retained. We substitute things imaginable,
for things intelligible, sensible things for imaginable, smaller
things for those that are too great to be comprehended easily, and
greater things for such as are too small to be discerned distinctly,
present things for absent, permanent for perishing, and visible
for invisible. Hence the use of models and diagrams. Hence
right lines are substituted for time, velocity, and other things of
very different natures. Hence we speak of spirits in a figurative
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 511
style, expressing the operations of the mind by allusions and terms
borrowed from sensible things, such as apprehend, conceive, reflect,
discourse, and such like : and hence those allegories which illus-
trate things intellectual by visions exhibited to the fancy. Plato,
for instance, represents the mind presiding in her vehicle by the
driver of a winged chariot, which sometimes moults and droops :
this chariot is drawn by two horses, the one good and of a good
race, the other of a contrary kind, symbolically expressing the
tendency of the mind towards the divinity, as she soars or is borne
aloft by two instincts like wings, the one in the intellect towards
truth, the other in the will towards excellence, which instincts
moult or are weakened by sensual inclinations, expressing also
her alternate elevations and depressions, the struggles between
reason and appetite, like horses that go an unequal pace, or draw
different ways, embarrassing the soul in her progress to perfection.
1 am inclined to think the doctrine of signs a point of great im-
portance and general extent, which, if duly considered, would
cast no small light upon things, and afford a just and genuine so-
lution of many difficulties.
XVII. Thus much, upon the whole, may be said of all signs :
that they do not always suggest ideas signified to the mind : that
when they suggest ideas, they are not general abstract ideas:
that they have other uses besides barely standing for and ex-
hibiting ideas, such as raising proper emotions, producing certain
dispositions or habits of mind, and directing our actions in pur-
suit of that happiness, which is the ultimate end and design, the
primary spring and motive, that sets rational agents at work :
that the true end of speech, reason, science, faith, assent in all
its different degrees, is not merely, or principally, or always the
imparting or acquiring of ideas, but rather something of an
active, operative nature, tending to a conceived good, which may
sometimes be obtained, not only although the ideas marked are
not offered to the mind, but even although there should be no
possibility of offering or exhibiting any such idea to the mind :
for instance, the algebraic mark, which denotes the root of a
negative square, hath its use in logistic operations, although it
be impossible to form an idea of any such quantity. And what
is true of algebi^aic signs, is also true of words or language,
modern algebra being, in fact, a more short, apposite, and arti-
ficial sort of language, and it being possible to express by words
at length, though less conveniently, all the steps of an algebra-
ical process. And it must be confessed, that even the mathe-
matical sciences themselves, which, above all others, are reckoned
the most clear and certain, if they are considered, not as instru-
ments to direct our practice, but as speculations to employ our
curiosity, will be found to fall short, in many instances, of those
clear and distinct ideas, which, it seems, the minute philosophers
512 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [^DIAL. VII.
of this age, whether knowingly or ignorantly, expect and insist
upon in the mysteries of religion.
XVIII. Be the science or subject what it will, whensoever
men quit particulars for generalities, things concrete for abstrac-
tions, when they forsake practical views, and the useful purposes
of knowledge, for barren speculation, considering means and
instruments as ultimate ends, and labouring to attain precise
ideas, which they suppose indiscriminately annexed to all terms,
they will be sure to embarrass themselves with difficulties and
disputes. Such are those which have sprung up in geometry
about the nature of the angle of contact, the doctrine of propor-
tions, of indivisibles, infinitesimals, and divers other points ; not-
withstanding all which, that science is very rightly esteemed an
excellent and useful one, and is really found to be so in many
occasions of human life, wherein it governs and directs the
actions of men, so that by the aid or influence thereof, those
operations become just and accurate, which would otherwise be
faulty and uncertain. And from a parity of reason, we should
not conclude any other doctrines which govern, influence, or
direct the mind of man to be, any more than that, the less true
or excellent, because they afford matter of controversy and use-
less speculation to curious and licentious wits : particularly
those articles of our Christian faith, which, in proportion as they
are believed, persuade, and, as they persuade, influence the lives
and actions of men. As to the perplexity of contradictions and
abstracted notions, in all parts, whether of human science or
divine faith, cavillers may equally object, and unwary persons
incur, while the judicious avoid it. There is no need to depart
from the received rules of reasoning to justify the belief of
Christians. And if any pious men think otherwise, it may be
supposed an effect, not of religion, or of reason, but only of
human weakness. If this age be singularly productive of in-
fidels, I shall not therefore conclude it to be more knowing, but
only more presuming, than former ages : and their conceit, I
doubt, is not the effect of consideration. To me it seems, that
the more thoroughly and extensively any man shall consider and
scan the principles, objects, and methods of proceeding in arts
and sciences, the more he will be convinced, there is no weight
in those plausible objections that are made against the mysteries
of faith, which it will be no difficult matter for him to maintain
or justify in the received method of arguing, on the common
principles of logic, and by numberless avowed parallel cases,
throughout the several branches of human knowledge, in all
which the supposition of abstract ideas creates the same diffi-
culties.
XIX. Ale. I will allow, Euphranor, this reasoning of yours
to have all the force you meant it should have. I freely own
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 513
there may be mysteries : that we may believe where we do not
understand : and that faith may be of use although its object is
not distinctly apprehended. In a word, I grant there may be
faith and mysteries in other things, but not in religion : and that
for this plain reason, because it is absurd to suppose, there
should be any such thing as religion ; and if there be no religion,
it follows there cannot be religious faith or mysteries. Religion,
it is evident, implies the worship of a God ; which worship sup-
poseth rewards and punishments ; which suppose merits and de-
merits, actions good and evil, and these suppose human liberty,
a thing impossible ; and, consequently, religion, a thing built
thereon must be an unreasonable, absurd thing. There can be
no rational hopes or fears where there is no guilt, nor any guilt
where there is nothing done but what unavoidably follows from
the structure of the world and the laws of motion. Corporeal
objects strike on the organs of sense, whence ensues a vibration
in the nerves, which being communicated to the soul or animal
spirit, in the brain or root of the nerves, produce th therein that
motion called volition : and this produceth a new determination
in the spirits, causing them to flow into such nerves as must
necessarily, by the laws of mechanism, produce such certain
actions. This being the case, it follows that those things which
vulgarly pass for human actions are to be esteemed mechanical,
and that they are falsely ascribed to a free principle. There is,
therefore, no foundation for praise or blame, fear or hope, reward
or punishment, nor consequently for religion ; which, as I ob-
served before, is built upon and supposeth those things. Eup/t.
You imagine, Alciphron, if I rightly understand you, that man
is a sort of organ, played on by outward objects, which, accord-
ing to the different shape and texture of the nerves, produce
different motions and effects therein. Ale. Man may, indeed,
be fitly compared to an organ ; but a puppet is the very thing.
You must know, that certain particles issuing forth in right
lines from all sensible objects compose so many rays, or fila-
ments, which drive, draw, and actuate every part of the soul and
body of man, just as threads or wires do the joints of that little
wooden machine, vulgarly called a. puppet: with this only differ-
ence, that the latter are gross and visible to common eyes,
whereas tjie former are too fine and subtile to be discerned by
any but a sagacious free-thinker. This admirably accounts for
all those operations, which we have been taught to ascribe to a
thinking principle within us. Euph. This is an ingenious
thought, and must be of great use in freeing men from all
anxiety about moral notions, as it transfers the principle of
action from the human soul to things outward and foreign. But
I have my scruples about it. For you suppose the mind, in a
literal sense, to be moved, and its volitions to be mere motions.
VOL. i. 2 L
514 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. £oiAL. VII.
Now if another should affirm, as it is not impossible some other
may, that the soul is incorporeal, and that motion is one thing
and volition another, I would fain know how you could make
your point clear to such a one. It must be owned very clear to
those who admit the soul to be corporeal, and all her acts to be
but so many motions. Upon this supposition, indeed, the light
wherein you place human nature is no less true, than it is fine
and new. But let any one deny this supposition, which is easily
done, and the whole superstructure falls to the ground. If we
grant the abovementioned points, I will not deny a fatal ne-
cessity must ensue. But I see no reason for granting them. On
the contrary it seems plain, that motion and thought are two
things as really and as manifestly distinct as a triangle and a
sound. It seems, therefore, that in order to prove the necessity
of human actions, you suppose what wants proof as much as the
very point to be proved.
XX. Ale. But supposing the mind incorporeal, I shall never-
theless, be able to prove my point. Not to amuse you with far
fetched arguments, I shall only desire you to look into your
own breast and observe how things pass there, when an object
offers itself to the mind. First, the understanding considers it :
in the next place the judgment decrees about it, as a thing to be
chosen or rejected, to be omitted or done, in this or that manner :
and this decree of the judgment doth necessarily determine the
will, whose office is merely to execute what is ordained by another
faculty : consequently there is no such thing as freedom of the
will : for that which is necessary cannot be free. In freedom
there should be an indifference to either side of the question, a
power to act or not to act, without prescription or control : and
without this indifference and this power it is evident the will
cannot be free. But it is no less evident, that the will is not in-
different in its actions, being absolutely determined and governed
by the judgment. Now whatever moves the judgment, whether
the greatest present uneasiness, or the greatest apparent good, or
whatever else it be, it is all one to the point in hand. The will
being ever concluded and controlled by the judgment is in all
cases alike under necessity. There is, indeed, throughout the
whole human nature, nothing like a principle of freedom, every
faculty being determined in all its acts by something foreign to
it. The understanding, for instance, cannot alter its idea, but
must necessarily see it such as it presents itself. The appetites
by a natural necessity are carried towards their respective objects.
Reason cannot infer indifferently any thing from any thing, but
is limited by the nature and connexion of things, and the eternal
rules of reasoning. And as this is confessedly the case of all
other faculties, so it equally holds with respect to the will itself,
as hath been already shown. And if we may credit the divine
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 515
characterizer of our times, this above all others must be allowed
the most slavish faculty. " Appetite," saith that noble writer,
"which is elder brother to reason, being the lad of stronger
growth, is sure on every contest to take the advantage of drawing
all to his own side : and will, so highly boasted, is but at best a
foot-ball or top between those youngsters who prove very unfor-
tunately matched, till the youngest, instead of now and then a
kick or lash bestowed to little purpose, forsakes the ball or top
itself, and begins to lay about his elder brother." Cri. This
beautiful parable for style and manner might equal those of a
known English writer, in low life renowned for allegory, were it
not a little incorrect, making the weaker lad find his account in
laying about the stronger. Ale. This is helped by supposing the
stronger lad the greater coward : but, be that as it will, so far as
it relates to the point in hand, this is a clear state of the case.
The same point may be also proved from the prescience of God.
That which is certainly foreknown will certainly be. And what
is certain is necessary. And necessary actions cannot be the
effect of free-wilL Thus you have this fundamental point of our
free-thinking philosophy demonstrated different ways. Euph.
Tell me, Alciphron, do you think it implies a contradiction, that
God should make a man free ? Ale. I do not. Euph. It is then
possible there may be such a thing. Ale. This I do not deny.
Euph. You can therefore conceive and suppose such a free agent.
Ale. Admitting that I can ; what then ? Euph. Would not such
a one think that he acted ? Ale. He would. Euph. And con-
demn himself for some actions, and approve himself for others ?
Ale. This too I grant. Euph. Would he not think he deserved
reward or punishment? Ale. He would. Euph. And are not
all these characters actually found in man ? Ale. They are.
Euph. Tell me now, what other character of your supposed free
agent may not actually be found in man? for if there is none
such, we must conclude that man hath all the marks of a free
agent. Ale. Let me see ! I was certainly overseen in granting
it possible, even for almighty power, to make such a thing as a
free human agent. I wonder how I came to make such an ab-
surd concession, after what had been, as I observed before, de-
monstrated so many different ways. Euph. O Alciphron, it is
vulgarly observed that men judge of others by themselves. But
in judging of me by this rule, you may be mistaken. Many
things are plain to one of your sagacity, which are not so to me,
who am often bewildered rather than enlightened by those very
proofs, that with you pass for clear and evident. And, indeed,
be the inference never so just, yet so long as the premises are not
clear, I cannot be thoroughly convinced. You must give me
leave therefore to propose some questions, the solution of which
may show what at present I am not able to discern. Ale. I shall
2 i. 2
516 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. \~DIAL. VII.
U
leave what hath been said with you, to consider and ruminate
upon. It is now time to set out on our journey ; there is, there-
fore, no room for a long string of question and answer.
XXI. Euph. I shall then only beg leave in a summary man-
ner, to make a remark or two on what you have advanced. In
the first place I observe, you take that for granted which I cannot
grant, when you assert whatever is certain the same to be neces-
sary. To me, certain and necessary seem very different ; there
being nothing in the former notion that implies constraint, nor
consequently which may not consist with a man's being account-
able for his actions. If it is foreseen that such an action shall be
done : may it not also be foreseen that it shall be an effect of
human choice and liberty ? In the next place I observe, that
you very nicely abstract and distinguish the actions of the mind,
judgment, and will : that you make use of such terms as power,
faculty, act, determination, indifference, freedom, necessity, and
the like, as if they stood for distinct abstract ideas : and that this
supposition seems to ensnare the mind into the same perplexities
and errors, which, in all other instances, are observed to attend the
doctrine of abstraction. It is self-evident, that there is such a
thing as motion ; and yet there have been found philosophers,
who, by refined reasoning, would undertake to prove that there
was no such thing. Walking before them was thought the pro-
per way to confute those ingenious men. It is no less evident,
that man is a free agent : and though by abstracted reasonings
you should puzzle me, and seem to prove the contrary, yet so
long as I am conscious of my own actions, this inward evidence
of plain fact will bear me up against all your reasonings, how-
ever subtile and refined. The confuting plain points by obscure
ones, may perhaps convince me of the ability of your philoso-
phers, but never of their tenets. I cannot conceive why the
acute Cratylus should suppose a power of acting in the appetite
and reason, and none at all in the will? Allowing, I say, the
distinction of three such beings in the mind, I do not see how
this could be true. But if I cannot abstract and distinguish so
many beings in the soul of man so accurately as you do, I do not
find it necessary, since it is evident to me in the gross and con-
crete that I am a free agent. Nor will it avail to say, the will
is governed by the judgment, or determined by the object, while,
in every sudden common case, I cannot discern nor abstract the
decree of the judgment from the command of the will : while
I know the sensible object to be absolutely inert : and lastly,
while I am conscious that I am an active being, who can and do
determine myself. If I should suppose things spiritual to be
corporeal, or refine things actual and real into general abstracted
notions, or by metaphysical skill split things simple and indi-
vidual into manifold parts, I do not know what may follow : but
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 517
if I take things as they are, and ask any plain untutored man,
whether he acts or is free in this or that particular action, he
readily assents, and I as readily believe him from what I find
within. And thus, by an induction of particulars, I may con-
clude man to be a free agent, although I may be puzzled to de-
fine or conceive a notion of freedom in general and abstract.
And if man be free he is plainly accountable. But if you shall
define, abstract, suppose, and it shall follow that according to
your definitions, abstractions, and suppositions, there can be no
freedom in man, and you shall thence infer that he is not ac-
countable, I shall make bold to depart from your metaphysical
abstracted sense, and appeal to the common sense of man-
kind.
XXII. If we consider the notions that obtain in the world of
guilt and mei-it, praise and blame, accountable and unaccountable,
we shall find the common question in order to applaud or censure,
acquit or condemn a man, is, whether he did such an action ? and
whether he was himself when he did it ? which comes to the
same thing. It should seem therefore that in the ordinary com-
merce of mankind, any person is esteemed accountable simply as
he is an agent. And though you should tell me that man is in-
active, and that the sensible objects act upon him, yet my own
experience assures me of the contrary. I know I act, and what
I act I am accountable for. And if this be true, the foundation
of religion and morality remains unshaken. Religion, I say, is
concerned no further than that man should be accountable : and
this he is according to my sense, and the common sense of the
world, if he acts; and that he doth act is self-evident. The
grounds, therefore, and ends of religion are secured; whether
your philosophic notion of liberty agrees with man's actions or
no, and whether his actions are certain or contingent, the question
being not whether he did it with a free will, or what determined
his will? not, whether it was certain or foreknown that he would
do it ? but only whether he did it wilfully ? as what must entitle
him to the guilt or merit of it. Ale. But still, the question
recurs, whether man be free ? Euph. To determine this question,
ought we not first to determine what is meant by the word free ?
Ale. We ought. Euph. In my opinion, a man is said to be free,
so far forth as he can do what he will. Is this so, or is it not ?
Ale. It seems so. Euph. Man therefore acting according to his
will, is to be accounted free. Ale. This I admit to be true in
the vulgar sense. But a philosopher goes higher, and inquires
whether man be free to will ? Euph. That is, whether he can
will as he wills ? I know not how philosophical it may be to ask
this question, but it seems very unintelligible. The notions of
guilt and merit, justice and reward, are in the minds of men,
antecedent to all metaphysical disquisitions: and according to
518 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. VII.
those received natural notions, it is not doubted that man is ac-
countable, that he acts, and is self determined.
XXIII. But a minute philosopher shall, in virtue of wrong
suppositions, confound things most evidently distinct ; body, for
instance, with spirit, motion with volition, certainty with neces-
sity ; and an abstractor or refiner shall so analyze the most simple
instantaneous act of the mind, as to distinguish therein divers
faculties and tendencies, principles and operations, causes and
effects ; and having abstracted, supposed, and reasoned upon prin-
ciples, gratuitous and obscure, such a one he will conclude it is
no act all, and man no agent but a puppet, or an organ played on
by outward objects, and his will a top or a foot-ball. And this
passeth for philosophy and free-thinking. Perhaps this may be
what it passeth for, but it by no means seems a natural or just
way of thinking. To me it seems, that if we begin from things
particular and concrete, and thence proceed to general notions
and conclusions, there will be no difficulty in this matter. But
if we begin with generalities, and lay our foundation in abstract
ideas, we shall find ourselves entangled and lost in a labyrinth of
our own making. I need not observe, what every one must see,
the ridicule of proving man no agent, and yet pleading for free
thought and action, of setting up at once for advocates of liberty
and necessity. I have hastily thrown together these hints or re-
marks, on what you call a fundamental article of the minute
philosophy, and your method of proving it, which seems to
furnish an admirable specimen of the sophistry of abstract ideas.
If in this summary way I have been more dogmatical than became
me, you must excuse what you occasioned, by declining a joint
and leisurely examination of the truth. Ale. I think we have
examined matters sufficiently. Cri. To all you have said against
human liberty, it is a sufficient answer to observe, that your argu-
ments proceed upon an erroneous supposition, either of the soul's
being corporeal, or of abstract ideas. And on the other hand,
there is not need of much inquiry to be convinced of two points,
than which none are more evident, more obvious, and more
universally admitted by men of all sorts, learned or unlearned,
in all times and places, to wit, that man acts and is accountable
for his actions. Whatever abstractors, refiners, or men prejudiced
to a false hypothesis may pretend, it is, if I mistake not, evident
to every thinking man of common sense, that human minds
are so far from being engines or foot-balls, acted upon and
bandied about by corporeal objects, without any inward principle
of freedom, or action, that the only original true notions that
we have of freedom, agent, or action, are obtained by reflecting
on ourselves, and the operations of our own minds. The
singularity and credulity of minute philosophers, who suffer
themselves to be abused by the paralogisms of three or four
eminent patriarchs of infidelity in the last age, is, I think, not to
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 519
be matched ; there being no instance of bigotted superstition,
the ringleaders whereof have been able to seduce their followers
more openly and more widely from the plain dictates of nature
and common sense.
XXIV. Ale. It has been always an objection against the dis-
coveries of truth, that they depart from received opinions. The
character of singularity is a tax on free-thinking : and as such
we most willingly bear it, and glory in it. A genuine philoso-
pher is never modest in a false sense, to the preferring authority
before reason, or an old and common opinion before a true one.
Which false modesty, as it discourages men from treading in un-
trodden paths, or striking out new light, is above all other quali-
ties the greatest enemy to free-thinking. Cri. Authority in
disputable points will have its weight with a judicious mind,
which yet Avill follow evidence wherever it leads. Without pre-
ferring we may allow it a good second to reason. Your gentle-
men, therefore, of the minute philosophy, may spare a world of
common place upon reason, and light, and discoveries. We are
not attached to authority against reason, nor afraid of untrodden
paths that lead to truth, and are ready to follow a new light when
we are sure it is no ignis fatuus. Reason may oblige a man to
believe against his inclinations; but why should a man quit
salutary notions for others not less unreasonable than pernicious ?
Your schemes and principles, and boasted demonstrations have
been at large proposed and examined. You have shifted your
notions, successively retreated from one scheme to another, and
in the end renounced them all. Your objections have been
treated in the same manner, and with the same event. If we
except all that relates to the particular errors and faults of private
persons, and difficulties which, from the nature of things, we are
not obliged to explain, it is surprising to see, after such magnifi-
cent threats, how little remains, that can amount to a pertinent
objection against the Christian religion. What you have pro-
duced has been tried by the fair test of reason ; and though you
should hope to prevail by ridicule when you cannot by reason,
yet in the upshot, I apprehend you will find it impractible to
destroy all sense of religion. Make your countrymen ever so
vicious, ignorant, and profane, men will still be disposed to look
up to a supreme being. Religion, right or wrong, will subsist in
some shape or other, and some worship there will surely be either
of God or the creature. As for your ridicule, can anything be
more ridiculous, than to see the most unmeaning men of the age
set up for free-thinkers, men so strong in assertion, and yet so
weak in argument, advocates for freedom introducing a fatality,
patriots trampling on the laws of their country, and pretenders
to virtue, destroying the motives of it ? Let any impartial man
but cast an eye on the opinions of the minute philosophers, and
520 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER.
VII.
then say if anything can be more ridiculous, than to believe
such things, and at the same time laugh at credulity.
XXV. Lys. Say what you will we have the laughers on our
side : and as for your reasoning I take it to be another name for
sophistry, Cri. And I suppose by the same rule you take your
own sophisms for arguments. To speak plainly, I know no sort
of sophism that is not employed by minute philosophers against
religion. They are guilty of a petitio principii, in taking for
granted that we believe contradictions ; of non causa pro causa,
in affirming that uncharitable feuds and discords are the effects
of Christianity ; of ignoratio elenchi, in expecting demonstration
where we pretend only to faith. If I was not afraid to offend
the delicacy of polite ears, nothing were easier than to assign
instances of every kind of sophism, which would show how skil-
ful your own philosophers are in the practice of that sophistry
you impute to others. Euph. For my own part, if sophistry be
the art or faculty of deceiving other men, I must acquit these
gentlemen of it. They seem to have led me a progress through
atheism, libertinism, enthusiasm, fatalism, not to convince me of
the truth of any of them, so much as to confirm me in my own
way of thinking. They have exposed their fairy ware not to
cheat but divert us. As I know them to be professed masters of
ridicule, so in a serious sense I know not what to make of them.
Ale. You do not know what to make of us ! I should be sorry
you did. He must be a superficial philosopher that is soon fa-
thomed.
XXVI. Cri. The ambiguous character is, it seems, the sure
way to fame and esteem in the learned world, as it stands con-
stituted at present. When the ingenious reader is at a loss to
determine whether his author be atheist or deist or polytheist,
stoic 6r epicurean, sceptic or dogmatist, infidel or enthusiast, in
jest or in earnest, he concludes him without hesitation to be
enigmatical and profound. In fact, it is true of the most admired
writers of the age, that no man alive can tell what to make of
them, or what they would be at. Ale. We have among us moles
that dig deep under ground, and eagles that soar out of sight.
We can act all parts and become all opinions, putting them on or
off with great freedom of wit and humour. Euph. It seems then
you are a pair of inscrutable, unfathomable, fashionable philoso-
phers, Lys- It cannot be denied. Euph. But, I remember,
you set out with an open dogmatical air, and talked of plain
principles and evident reasoning, promised to make things as
clear as noon-day, to extirpate wrong notions and plant right in
their stead. Soon after, you began to recede from your first
notions and adopt others : you advanced one while and retreated
another, yielded and retracted, said and unsaid : and after having
followed you through so many untrodden paths and intricate
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 521
mazes I find myself never the nearer. Ale. Did we not tell you
the gentlemen of our sect are great proficients in raillery?
Euph. But, methinks, it is a vain attempt for a plain man of any
settled belief or principles to engage with such slippery, fugitive,
changeable philosophers. It seems as if a man should stand still
in the same place, while his adversary chooses and changes his
situation, has full range and liberty to traverse the field, and
attack him on all sides and in all shapes, from a nearer or further
distance, on horseback or on foot, in light or heavy armour, in
close fight or with missive weapons. Ale. It must be owned a
gentleman hath great advantage over a strait-laced pedant or
bigot. Euph. But after all, what am I the better for the con-
versation of two such knowing gentlemen ; I hoped to have un-
learned my errors, and to have learned truths from you, but, to
my great disappointment, I do not find that I am either untaught
or taught. Ale. To unteach men their prejudices is a difficult
task : and this must first be done, before we can pretend to teach
them the truth. Besides, we have at present no time to prove
and argue. Euph. But suppose my mind white paper, and with-
out being at any pains to extirpate my opinions, or prove your
own, only say what you would write thereon, or what you would
teach me in case I were teachable. Be for once in earnest, and
let me know some one conclusion of yours before we part ; or I
shall entreat Crito to violate the laws of hospitality towards those
who have violated the laws of philosophy, by hanging out false
lights to one benighted in ignorance and error. I appeal to you
(said he, turning to Crito) whether these philosophical knight-
errants should not be confined in this castle of yours, till they
make reparation. Euphranor has reason, said Crito, and my
sentence is that you remain here in durance, till you have done
something towards satisfying the engagement I am under, having
promised, he should know your opinions from yourselves, which
you also agreed to.
XXVII. Ale. Since it must be so I will now reveal what I
take to be the sum and substance, the grand arcanum and ulti-
mate conclusion of our sect, and that in two words, II ANT A
YIIOAH^IS. Cri. You are then a downright sceptic. But,
sceptic as you are, you own it, probable there is a God, certain
that the Christian religion is useful, possible it may be true,
certain that if it be the minute philosophers are in a bad way.
This being the case, how can it be questioned what course a wise
man should take ? Whether the principles of Christians or infi-
dels are truest may be made a question, but which are safest can
be none. Certainly if you doubt of all opinions you must doubt
of your own ; and then, for aught you know, the Christian may
be true. The more doubt the more room there is for faith, a
sceptic of all men having the least right to demand evidence.
522 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [lHAL. VII.
But, whatever uncertainty there may be in other points, thus
much is certain : either there is or is not a God : there is or is
not a revelation : man either is or is not an agent : the soul is or
is not immortal. If the negatives are not sure the affirmatives
are possible. If the negatives are improbable, the affirmatives
are probable. In proportion as any of your ingenious men finds
himself unable to prove any one of these negatives, he hath
grounds to suspect he may be mistaken. A minute philosopher,
therefore, that would act a consistent part, should have the diffi-
dence, the modesty, and the timidity, as well as the doubts, of a
sceptic ; not pretend to an ocean of light, and then lead us to an
abyss of darkness. If I have any notion of ridicule, this is most
ridiculous. But your ridiculing what, for aught you know, may
be true, I can make no sense of. It is neither acting as a wise
man with regard to your own interest, nor as a good man with
regard to that of your country.
XXVIII. Tully saith somewhere, aut undique religionem tolle
aut usquequaque conserva : either let us have no religion at all, or
let it be respected. If any single instance can be shown of a
people that ever prospered without some religion, or if there be
any religion better than the Christian, propose it in the grand
assembly of the nation to change our constitution, and either live
without religion, or introduce that new religion. A sceptic, as
well as other men, is member of a community, and can distin-
guish between good and evil, natural or political. Be this, then,
his guide as a patriot, though he be no Christian. Or, if he
doth not pretend even to this discernment, let him not pretend
to correct or alter what he knows nothing of: neither let him
that only doubts behave as if he could demonstrate. Timagoras
is wont to say, I find my country in possession of certain tenets :
they appear to have an useful tendency, and, as such, are encou-
raged by the legislature ; they make a main part of our constitu-
tion : I do not find these innovators can disprove them, or sub-
stitute things more useful and certain in their stead: out of
regard, therefore, to the good of mankind, and the laws of my
country, I shall acquiesce in them. I do not say Timagoras is a
Christian, but I reckon him a patriot. Not to inquire in a point
of so great concern is folly, but it is still a higher degree of folly
to condemn without inquiring. Lysicles seemed heartily tired
of this conversation. It is now late, said he to Alciphron, and
all things are ready for our departure. Every one hath his own
way of thinking ; and it is as impossible for me to adopt another
man's, as to make his complexion and features mine. Alciphron
pleaded that, having complied with Euphranor's conditions, they
were now at liberty : and Euphranor answered that, all he de-
sired having been to know their tenets, he had nothing further
to pretend.
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. ' 523
XXIX. The philosophers being gone, I observed to Crito, how
unaccountable it was, that men so easy to confute should yet be
so difficult to convince. This, said Crito, is accounted for by
Aristotle, who tells us that arguments have not an effect on all
men, but only on them whose minds are prepared by education
and custom, as land is for seed.* Make a point never so clear, it
is great odds, that a man, whose habits and the bent of whose
mind lie a contrary way, shall be unable to comprehend it. So
weak a thing is reason in competition with inclination. I replied,
this answer might hold with respect to other persons and other
times : but when the question was of inquisitive men, in an age
wherein reason was so much cultivated, and thinking so much in
vogue, it did not seem satisfactory. I have known it remarked,
said Crito, by a man of much observation, that in the present
age thinking is more talked of but less practised than in ancient
times ; and that since the revival of learning men have read much
and wrote much, but thought little : insomuch that with us to
think closely and justly is the least part of a learned man, and
none at all of a polite man. The free thinkers, it must be owned,
make great pretensions to thinking, and yet they show but little
exactness in it. A lively man, said he, and what the world calls
a man of sense, are often destitute of this talent, which is not a
mere gift of nature, but must be improved and perfected, by
much attention and exercise on very different subjects, a thing of
more pains and time than the hasty men of parts in our age care
to take. Such were the sentiments of a judicious friend of mine ;
and, if you are not already sufficiently convinced of these truths,
you need only cast an eye on the dark and confused, but never-
theless admired, writers of this famous sect : and then you will
be able to judge, whether those who are led by men of such
wrong heads can have very good ones of their own. Such, for
instance, was Spinosa the great leader of our modern infidels, in
whom are to be found many schemes and notions much admired
and followed of late years ; such as undermining religion, under
the pretence of vindicating and explaining it : the maintaining it
not necessary to believe in Christ according to the flesh : the per-
suading men that miracles are to be understood only in a spiritual
and allegorical sense : that vice is not so bad a thing as we are
apt to think : that men are mere machines impelled by fatal ne-
cessity. I have heard, said I, Spinosa represented as a man of
close argument and demonstration. He did, replied Crito, demon-
strate ; but it was after such a manner, as any one may demon-
strate any thing. Allow a man the privilege to make his own
definitions of common words, and it will be no hard matter for
him to infer conclusions, which in one sense shall be true and in
* Ethic, ad Nicom. 1. x. c. 9.
524 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [J5IAL. VII.
another false, at once seeming paradoxes and manifest truisms.
For example, let but Spinosa define natural right to be natural
power, and he will easily demonstrate, that whatever a man can
do he hath a right to do.* Nothing can be plainer than the folly
of this proceeding : but our pretenders to the lumen siccum, are
often so passionately prejudiced against religion, as to swallow
the grossest nonsense and sophistry of weak and wicked writers
for demonstration.
XXX. And so great a noise do these men make with- their
thinking, reasoning, and demonstrating, as to prejudice some well-
meaning persons against all use and improvement of reason.
Honest Demea, having seen a neighbour of his ruined by the
vices of a free-thinking son, contracted such a prejudice against
thinking, that he would not suffer his own to read Euclid, being
told it might teach him to think : till a friend convinced him the
epidemical distemper was not thinking, but only the want and
affectation of it. I know an eminent free-thinker, wTho never
goes to bed, without a gallon of wine in his- belly, and is sure to
replenish before the fumes are off his brain, by which means he
has not had one sober thought these seven years ; another that
would not for the world lose the privilege and reputation of free
thinking, who games all night, and lies in bed all day : and as for
the outside or appearance of thought in that meagre minute phi-
losopher Ibycus, it is an effect, not of thinking, but of carking,
cheating, and writing in an office. Strange, said he, that such
men should set up for free-thinkers ! But it is yet more strange
that other men should be out of conceit with thinking and rea-
soning, for the sake of such pretenders. I answered, that some
good men conceived an opposition between reason and religion,
faith and knowledge, nature and grace ; and that, consequently,
the way to promote religion was, to quench the light of nature,
and discourage all rational inquiry.
XXXI. How right the intentions of these men may be, re-
plied Crito, I shall not say ; but surely their notions are very
wrong. Can any thing be more dishonourable to religion, than
the representing it as an unreasonable, unnatural, ignorant insti-
tution ? God is the father of all lights, whether natural or re-
vealed. Natural concupiscence is one thing, and the light of
nature another. You cannot therefore argue from the former
against the latter : neither can you from science falsely so called,
against real knowledge. Whatever therefore is said of the one
in holy scripture is not to be interpreted of the other. I insisted,
that human learning in the hands of divines, had from time to
time, created great disputes and divisions in the church. As ab-
stracted metaphysics, replied Crito, have always had a tendency
* Tractat Politic, c. 2;
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 525
to produce disputes among Christians, as well as other men, so
it should seem that genuine truth and knowledge would allay
this humour, which makes men sacrifice the undisputed duties of
peace and charity to disputable notions. After all, said I, whatever
may be said for reason, it is plain, the sceptics and infidels of the
age are not to be cured by it I will not dispute this point, said
Crito, in order to cure a distemper, you should consider what pro-
duced it. Had men reasoned themselves into a wrong opinion, one
might hope to reason them out of it. But this is not the case ;
the infidelity of most minute philosophers seeming an effect of
very different motives from thought and reason, little incidents,
vanity, disgust, humour, inclination, without the least assistance
from reason, are often known to make infidels. Where the ge-
neral tendency of a doctrine is disagreeable, the mind is prepared
to relish and improve every thing that with the least pretence
seems to make against it. Hence the coarse manners of a country
curate, the polite ones of a chaplain, the wit of a minute philo-
sopher, a jest, a song, a tale can serve instead of a reason for
infidelity. Bupalus preferred a rake in the church, and then
made use of him as an argument against it. Vice, indolence,
faction, and fashion produce minute philosophers, and mere pe-
tulancy not a few. Who then can expect a thing so irrational
and capricious should yield to reason ? It may nevertheless, be
worth while to argue against such men, and expose their fallacies,
if not for their own sake, yet for the sake of others ; as it may
lessen their credit, and prevent the growth of their sect, by re-
moving a prejudice in their favour, which sometimes inclines
others as well as themselves to think they have made a monopoly
of human reason.
XXXII. The most general pretext which looks like reason, is
taken from the variety of opinions about religion. This is a
resting stone to a lazy and superficial mind : but one of more
spirit and a juster way of thinking, makes it a step whence he
looks about, and proceeds to examine, and compare the differing
institutions of religion. He will observe, which of these is the
most sublime and rational in its doctrines, most venerable in its
mysteries, most useful in its precepts, most decent in its worship ?
Which createth the noblest hopes, and most worthy views ? He
will consider their rise and progress ; which owest least to human
arts or arms ? Which flatters the senses and gross inclinations
of men ? Which adorns and improves the most excellent part
of our nature ? Which hath been propagated in the most won-
derful manner ? Which hath surmounted the greatest difficulties,
or shown the most disinterested zeal and sincerity in its pro-
fessors ? He will inquire, which best accords with nature and
history ? He will consider, what savours of the world, and
Avhat looks like wisdom from above? He will be careful to
526 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [DIAL. VII.
separate human allay from that which is divine ; and upon the
whole, form his judgment like a reasonable free-thinker. But
instead of taking such a rational course, one of these hasty
sceptics shall conclude without demurring, there is no wisdom in
politics, no honesty in dealings, no knowledge in philosophy, no
truth in religion ; and all by one and the same sort of inference,
from the numerous examples of folly, knavery, ignorance, and
error, which are to be met with in the world. But, as those who
are unknowing in every thing else, imagine themselves sharp-
sighted in religion, this learned sophism is oftenest levelled against
Christianity.
XXXIII. In my opinion, he, that would convince an infidel
who can be brought to reason, ought in the first place clearly to
convince him of the being of a God, it seeming to me, that any
man who is really a theist, cannot be an enemy to the Christian
religion : and that the ignorance or disbelief of this fundamental
point, is that which at bottom constitutes the minute philosopher.
I imagine they, who are acquainted with the great authors in the
minute philosophy, need not be told of this. The being of a
God is capable of clear proof, and a proper object of human
reason : whereas the mysteries of his nature, and indeed what-
ever there is of mystery in religion, to endeavour to explain, and
prove by reason, is a vain attempt. It is sufficient if we can
show there is nothing absurd or repugnant in our belief of those
points, and instead of framing hypotheses to explain them, we
use our reason only for answering the objections brought against
them. But on all occasions, we ought to distinguish the serious,
modest, ingenuous man of sense, who hath scruples about reli-
gion, and behaves like a prudent man in doubt, from the minute
philosophers, those profane and conceited men, who must needs
proselyte others to their own doubts. When one of this stamp
presents himself, we should consider what species he is of:
whether a first or second-hand philosopher, a libertine, scorner,
or sceptic ? Each character requiring a peculiar treatment.
Some men are too ignorant to be humble, without which there
can be no docility : but though a man must in some degree have
thought and considered to be capable of being convinced, yet it
is possible the most ignorant may be laughed out of his opinions.
I knew a woman of sense reduce two minute philosophers, who
had long been a nuisance to the neighbourhood, by taking her
cue from their predominant affectations. The one set up for
being the most incredulous man upon earth, the other for the
most unbounded freedom. She observed to the first, that he
who had credulity sufficient to trust the most valuable things, his
life and fortune, to his apothecary and lawyer, ridiculously af-
fected the character of incredulous, by refusing to trust his soul,
a thing in his own account but a mere trifle, to his parish-priest.
DIAL. VII.] THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. 527
The other, being what you call a beau, she made sensible how
absolute a slave he was in point of dress, to him the most im-
portant thing in the world, while he was earnestly contending for
a liberty of thinking, with which he never troubled his head ;
and how much more it concerned and became him to assert an
independency on fashion, and obtain scope for his genius, where
it was best qualified to exert itself. The minute philosophers at
first hand are very few, and considered in themselves, of small
consequence : but their followers, who pin their faith upon them,
are numerous, and not less confident than credulous ; there being
something in the air and manner of these second-hand philoso-
phers, very apt to disconcert a man of gravity and argument, and
much more difficult to be borne than the weight of their ob-
jections.
XXXIV. Crito having made an end, Euphranor declared it
to be his opinion, that it would much conduce to the public
benefit, if, instead of discouraging free-thinking, there was erected
in the midst of this free country a dianoetic academy, or se-
minary for free-thinkers, provided with retired chambers, and
galleries, and shady walks and groves, where, after seven years
spent in silence and meditation, a man might commence a genuine
free-thinker, and from that time forward, have license to think
what he pleased, and a badge to distinguish him from counter-
feits. In good earnest, said Crito, I imagine that thinking is the
great desideratum of the present age ; and that the real cause of
whatever is amiss, may justly be reckoned the general neglect of
education, in those who need it most, the people of fashion,
What can be expected where those who have the most influence,
have the least sense, and those who are sure to be followed set
the worst example? Where youth so uneducated are yet so
forward ? Where modesty is esteemed pusillanimity, and a de-
ference to years, knowledge, religion, laws, want of sense and
spirit ? Such untimely growth of genius would not have been
valued or encouraged by the wise men of antiquity ; whose sen-
timents on this point are so ill suited to the genius of our times,
that it is to be feared modern ears could not bear them. But
however ridiculous such maxims might seem to our British youth,
who are so capable and so forward to try experiments, and mend
the constitution of their country, I believe it will be admitted
by men of sense, that if the governing part of mankind would
in these days, for experiment's sake, consider themselves in that
old Homerical light as pastors of the people, whose duty it was
to improve their flock, they would soon find that this is to be
done by an education very different from the modern, and other-
guess maxims than those of the minute philosophy. If our
youth were really inured to thought and reflection, and an ac-
quaintance with the excellent writers of antiquity, we should
528 THE MINUTE PHILOSOPHER. [[DIAL. VII.
soon see that licentious humour, vulgarly called free-thinking,
banished from the presence of gentlemen, together with ignorance
and ill-taste ; which as they are inseparable from vice, so men
follow vice for the sake of pleasure, and fly from virtue through
an abhorrence of pain. Their minds therefore betimes should be
formed and accustomed to receive pleasure and pain from proper
objects, or, which is the same thing, to have their inclinations and
aversions rightly placed. KaXwc xat/P£tv % JU«T«I/. This accord-
ing to Plato and Aristotle, was the 6p0»7 TratSaa, the right edu-
cation.* And those who, in their own minds, their health, or
their fortunes, feel the cursed effects of a wrong one, would do
well to consider, they cannot better make amends for what was
amiss in themselves, than by preventing the same in their pos-
terity. While Crito was saying this, company came in, which
put an end to our conversation.
* Plato in Protag. et Aristot. Ethic, ad Nicom. lib. ii. c. 2, et lib. x. c. 9.
END OP VOL. I.
Printed by I. Haddon, Castle Street, Finsbury.
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