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 Philosopher
of the Month
April
2001 - George
Berkeley
Jonathan
Walmsley
George
Berkeley (1685-1753) is widely regarded as a loony. He was not a
loony. He was a bishop. I do not here mean to imply that a religious
bent precludes insanity. It is rather that this particular lunacy
was ascribed to Berkeley over and above that freely attributed to
him as a man of the cloth. Moreover, this predication of psychosis
was in spite of Berkeley's evident wit, wisdom and wile whilst writing
on topics diverse as the calculus, natural law, optics, politics,
poverty and, somewhat incongruously, tar-water. Why then was Berkeley
seen as having taken leave of his senses? Ironically, it was because
he beseeched us to pay strict attention to the evidence of their
testimony.
Berkeley
made a quite remarkable claim: there is no such thing as matter.
Put so bluntly, this sounds ridiculous. No trousers or Meccano?
No chifferobes or lariats? This must be manifest derangement. Not
quite. Berkeley was an undergraduate of Trinity College Dublin.
A few years prior to his matriculation, William Molyneaux, another
Dubliner, entered into an exchange of letters with John Locke. Molyneaux
was impressed with his correspondent's lately published work, the
Essay Concerning Human Understanding. Molyneaux enjoined all
of Dublin's literati to embrace the book. Thus by the time Berkeley
came to Trinity, the only book on the curriculum worth studying
was Locke's majestic text. Berkeley's claims were reactions to and
extensions of Locke's empiricism. Locke's principal principle was
that the foundation of our knowledge were ideas perceived by sensation.
Berkeley agreed with this fundamental assumption and, on this basis,
took a survey of everything that could exist. He concluded that
they were those things either perceived or perceiving - our ideas
or ourselves. But what of matter? According to Locke, matter was
the unperceived cause of our ideas. Moreover, it was inert and senseless
- the very antithesis of the spiritual. It neither perceived itself
nor was perceived by others. How then, asked Berkeley, could it
be said to exist? To say that it existed was simply a contradiction
- to exist was to perceive or to be perceived and 'matter' evidently
did neither.
What,
then, were radiators and ball-point pens? They always were, replied
Berkeley, 'collections of sensations'. What is it to say that 'there
was a note in G flat'? That it was heard. What is it to say
that 'there was a shade of cerise'? That it was seen. What
is it, at the end of the day, to say 'there was a pump-action shotgun'?
That it was seen, heard, felt, tasted
and smelt. Without these there would simply be no shotgun.
The shotgun just is the collection of sights, sounds, smells, tastes
and textures. Aside from the fact that this inscrutable matter is
inherently contradictory, there is no need to posit it as responsible
for these sensations - after all, what does this matter add that
was not there already? We were quite happy with the shotgun as seen,
heard and tasted etc. without tagging on some 'matter' which serves
no useful purpose whatsoever. Matter is simply redundant. This,
Berkeley claimed, was mere common sense - what are objects over
and above what we take them to be in everyday life? What, more to
the point, are the products of these everyday interactions but our
perceptions of these objects? It is only when you start introducing
'matter' that you begin worry about the verity of the senses and
trouble yourself with scepticism. By ridding the world of matter,
Berkeley hoped to relieve philosophy of this burden.
But,
it was objected, if all an object amounts to is a collection of
sensations, what happens to it when there is no-one around doing
any perceiving? Furthermore, how it is that these sensations of
smell, colour and taste etc. always 'hang together' so well? How
does it so happen that when I see the shape and colour of the shotgun,
it is always accompanied by the texture and smell I am accustomed
to? Bishop Berkeley (for let us not forget that he was ecclesiastic)
thought the answer rather obvious. Why exactly is it that there
is such order and consistency in the patterns of our ideas? Why
do our sensations warn us of things that are harmful? These good
and advantageous things speak of a benevolent author, one, moreover
much more powerful than ourselves. What could be responsible for
ideas but another spirit - for where can ideas exist but in minds?
There simply must be a massively powerful mind that is benevolent
in the extreme. God is responsible for these benefactions. God stands
on perpetual perceptual sentry duty for objects when no-one else
is looking.
This
brief summary of Berkeley's thought is surely not enough to convince
the reader of the truth of Berkeley's views, nor will it convey
the subtlety of their exposition. It does not adequately expiate
upon Berkeley's enduring influence. It in no way captures the quality
of Berkeley's writing, for he was surely as eloquent a man of letters
as he was a philosopher and George Berkeley was as sophisticated
and intelligent a philosopher as the British Isles have ever produced.
But the most notable lack in this short introduction is a failure
to convey the sheer beauty of Berkeley's vision. He was a deeply
religious man and the place for God in his system, as the benevolent
immanent cause of the entire world, is intimate, awesome and compelling.
His was a consistent Christian vision that even the most hardheaded
atheist cannot fail to respect.
Suggested
reading
The Principles of Human Knowledge, George Berkeley (Various
editions)
A
new philosopher of the month will be featured from May 1st 2001
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