Berkeley Newsletter

Number 9	1986
Second edition

Editor:

David Berman
Philosophy Department, Trinity College, Dublin

Editorial Consultants
Bertil Belfrage, Lund, Sweden
Harry Bracken, Montreal, Canada
Phillip Cummins, Iowa, USA
Ian Tipton, Aberystwyth, Wales

Contents

Phillip Cummins: Sections Nine and Ten of Berkeley’s Principles 	   1
M. A. Stewart: Add. MS. 39305 	   6
Wolfgang Breidert: Berkeley’s De Ludo Algebraico and Notebook B	 12
José A. Robles: The Mottoes in the Analyst Debate 	 15
Reviews:
Warren E. Steinkraus:
     R. Houghton, D. Berman, M. Lapan, Images of Berkeley 	 17
David Raynor:
     Pierre Dubois, L’Oeuvre de Berkeley 	 19
Recent Publications on Berkeley	 22

© Contributors 1986

The Berkeley Newsletter is sponsored by
the Royal Irish Academy, the International Berkeley Society
and the Philosophy Department, Trinity College, Dublin

Sections Nine and Ten of Berkeley’s Principles:
Some comments
Phillip Cummins
University of Iowa, U.S.A.

In his Treatise concerning the Principles of Human Knowledge, Section 9, Berkeley introduces for purpose of refutation a by now famous distinction. He writes,
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 acknowledge not to be the resemblances of anything 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.1
Note that the second sentence, which begins, “The ideas we have...,” clearly contrasts ideas and qualities. Since Berkeley uses “sensible quality” as a blanket term for both primary and secondary qualities in the first sentence, which might suggest that the distinction being drawn by his opponents is a distinction among qualities immediately perceived, the second sentence very importantly shows that the distinction under examination is actually being drawn among archetypal or objective qualities of bodies, not among ideas (immediate objects of sensory perception) or even among qualities and ideas.
Why bother noting this? Because, apparently unrecognized by critics and interpreters, Berkeley offers a quite different characterization of the distinction in the very next section. He does not an-

nounce that he is going to do so, he simply does it. The shift has proved very important in relation to how scholars have assessed Berkeley’s treatment of his opponents.
Let us consider an important example. In his influential “Locke’s Distinction between Primary and Secondary Qualities,” Reginald Jackson accused Berkeley of misrepresenting Locke’s version of the distinction.2 In support of this claim Jackson cites Berkeley’s description of the distinction in Section 10 of the Principles. The passage cited reads as follows:
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 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.3
Note that here sounds, colours, heat and “such like qualities,” the qualities being contrasted to primary or original qualites, are characterized as “sensations existing in the mind alone.” Clearly Berkeley here does not portray secondary qualities to be, like primaries, objective qualities of bodies or matter. Thus what a secondary quality is alleged to be in Section 10 is not what it is alleged to be in Section 9. Consequently, even if the description given in Section 10 does not fit Locke’s version of the distinction, it does not follow Berkeley misrepresented his views, since Section 9, which Jackson does not discuss, may accurately portray Locke’s position.
As many Berkeley scholars know, this is precisely the claim made by W.H.F. Barnes in his defense of Berkeley against Jackson’s charge. Pinning his argument on Section 9, Barnes insisted, first, that in describing the target for his criticisms, Berkeley definitely contrasted ideas in the mind and qualities of bodies and characterized the distinction between primary and secondary qualities as one among the objective feature of bodies.4 What about the different portrait of the distinction given in Section 10? The non-masochistic reader is best spared Barnes’ torturous attempt to show that even in it Berkeley did not misrepresent Locke, but merely followed his adversary in using “secondary quality” in a misleading way. It is sufficient to note that Barnes writes under the assumption that Section 10 also is, as he puts it, “a statement of Locke’s doctrine.”5

Although they are opponents on the question of whether Berkeley misrepresented Locke, Jackson and Barnes share two important assumptions about Sections 9 and 10. The more obvious one is that both are offered as accounts of Locke’s distinction between primary and secondary qualities. The other, implied by the first, is that both sections are offered as portraits of only one author’s or school’s account of the distinction. Let us call these, respectively, the Locke assumption and the one-target assumption. Of them the second is far more important.
Once one makes the one-target assumption about Sections 9 and 10, one just cannot get them right. Berkeley must be guilty of misrepresenting his single target in one of the sections unless he is fortunate enough to have an opponent who simultaneously holds two different and inconsistent accounts of secondary qualities. There may have been such a writer, but why bother to search him out? As is emphasized by Locke’s champions, who concede he writes carelessly and even inconsistently on various topics, the serious philosophical critic must ignore surface inconsistencies and cheap victories, and instead concentrate on the opponent’s settled position. It would seem, then, that once one recognizes that Sections 9 and 10 differ significantly, one should proceed on the supposition that in them Berkeley was picking out different targets without identifying them as such.
Jackson acknowledges or, rather, insists that proponents of the new mechanistic philosophy other than Locke offered accounts of colours, sounds, odours, and the like that differed significantly from his.6 Jackson, that is, recognized other potential targets for a critic of mechanism. But one should not conclude from this that Jackson reasonably held Berkeley had but one target in Sections 9 and 10 once he failed to detect the important differences between them. It may equally well have been the case that Jackson failed to discern that the portrait of the distinction presented in Section 10 differed importantly from the portrait presented in the preceding section because he was convinced that Berkeley had but one target, namely, Locke. Be that as it may, one should not ignore the diversity to be found among the new mechanists. Jackson was surely right about that. Despite their differences, Galileo, Descartes, Hobbes, Gassendi, Bayle, Locke, and Malebranche all held colours, sounds, odours, and the like were to be explained or even understood in terms of extension and other more fundamental properties of bodies. Because of their differences, some cultural, some philosophical, they formu-

lated this central mechanistic claim in different ways. The multi-target assumption does not lack for targets.
One interpretive possibility worth examining is that Section 9 is to be linked to Section 8, in which the doctrine of representative ideas is introduced and criticized. Section 9 concerns Locke’s version of the primary and secondary qualities distinction, which was presented in Essay, II, viii, within the context of the ideas/qualities contrast. In the following section, Berkeley expands the discussion with the introduction of the view that colours, sounds, and the like, are immediately perceived sensations rather than powers in bodies represented by non-resembling ideas. The basic distinction is then considered through Section 15. It may well be that the second version Berkeley introduces in Section 10 is the one Bayle presented and criticized in his Dictionnaire historique et critique, “Pyrrhon,” Remarque B, and “Zenon d’Elea,” Remarque G.
What general points or morals can be drawn from this discussion of Berkeley’s targets? One is that interpreters and critics of Berkeley should ever be alert to textual variations. This is no fatuous recommendation. I cannot count the number of times I read Sections 9 and 10 before I discerned the differences being insisted upon here.7 Further we should be prepared to allow Berkeley a variety of adversaries and not force upon him the distorting role of single-minded critic of Locke or any other philosopher.

Notes

1  The text quoted is from George Berkeley, Philosophical Works, M. R. Ayers, editor, (Rowman and Littlefield paperback edition, Totowa, New Jersey, 1980), p. 79.
2  Reginald Jackson, “Locke’s Distinction between Primary and Secondary Qualities,” in Locke and Berkeley: A Collection of Critical Essays, C. B. Martin and D. M. Armstrong, editors, (Doubleday, Garden City, N.Y., 1968), pp. 53-77. (The essay

first appeared in Mind in 1929). For Jackson’s criticism of Berkeley, see pp. 71-73. For his interpretation of Locke, see pp. 55-70.
3 Berkeley, Philosophical Works, pp. 79-80. Compare Jackson, Op cit, Locke and Berkeley, pp. 71—72.
4 Winston H. F. Barnes, “Did Berkeley Misunderstand Locke?” in Locke and Berkeley, pp. 78-85. See especially p. 80. (Barnes’ essay, in which he very crisply makes the point developed in the first paragraph of this paper, first appeared in Mind in 1940.)
5 Ibid., p. 81.
6 Jackson, Op cit., Berkeley and Locke, pp. 54—55 and 75.
7 For this reason I cannot be sure the points made in this paper are not made elsewhere by some other writer about the primary and secondary quality distinction. Clearly, that I cannot recall any such discussion proves nothing.

Add. MS. 39305
M A. Stewart
University of Lancaster

In 1968 Désirée Park completed a thesis for Indiana University on Berkeley’s Theory of Notions; in 1969 Bertil Belfrage completed one for Lund University on Berkeley’s Philosophical Commentaries: A Presentation of the Manuscript. Both had studied the ms. of the so-called Notebooks “A” and “B,” bound together as Additional Manuscript 39305 in the British Library. They came to incompatible conclusions about the construction of the notebooks and their significance in the evolution of Berkeley’s philosophy. These have been repeated (Park) or developed (Belfrage) in a succession of publications and papers on each side. It was predictable that, if they should ever take cognizance of each other’s work, there would be a head-on collision; and that duly occurred in nos. 6 and 7 of this Newsletter.
Park’s latest publication in this field is of interest in its own right, but it also gives evidence that will help readers to arbitrate some of the dispute. It is a lightly edited photo-facsimile edition of the ms.1 As a title, The Notebooks of George Berkeley Bishop of Cloyne is an advance on Fraser’s Commonplace Book and Luce’s Philosophical Commentaries — except, of course, that they are not Berkeley’s only notebooks, and they are not the notebooks of an episcopate. Park recommends Luce’s out-of-date and less than literal 1948 edition, impracticably, as a guide to illegibilities in the text — impracticably, because Luce gave no folio numbers, and Park does not mention his numbering of the entries in her page head-lines. This is, however, the version to which was recently annexed Park’s ill-judged “Supplement to the Editor’s Introduction” (1979).
Central to Park’s case has been the claim that a now depleted gathering (ff. 167—169) in Notebook B has been bound upside down subsequently to Berkeley’s writing in it. This is a part of the complete Notebook B, but not a part of that philosophical subsection (ff. 104—164r.) called “Notebook B” by Berkeley commentators. She supports her claim with the visible evidence of ink marks to show that 167r. (the last page of the account of the Cave of Dunmore) originally

adjoined 170r. (the reverse of the preceding page in that account). On this she is certainly right, but must take some blame for the misunderstanding among readers who can count, since she has regularly misidentified these pages as the “penultimate” instead of the ante-penultimate gathering, even when challenged by Belfrage. The penultimate gathering (ff. 170—177) is wholly within the narrative on the Cave and there is nothing amiss about that.
If the misbound leaves are restored to their rightful arrangement — and it is a mystery why, in an edition which claims to reproduce Berkeley’s notebooks “as he left them” (xi), this has not been done — then the writing on the last 16 written folios of Notebook B, from f. 179 as far as the verso of 164, will all be the same way up, viz. the way appropriate to using the present back of the book as another front. On this again Park is right on the basic fact but confused in the reporting. (a) She uses the term “inverted” indifferently both of the present physical situation of the leaves bound upside down after Berkeley’s time, and of the original situation of the handwriting of the non-upturned final leaves relative to the writing of the rest of the notebook. (b) She regards a “folio” sometimes as one side of a leaf only, called recto or verso as the case may be, and sometimes as a single leaf having both recto and verso sides: the latter is correct, but the former explains why in her idiolect an inverted folio verso is not always the back of an inverted folio recto. (c) She vacillates constantly between “Notebook B” considered as the physical whole and “Notebook B” considered as the philosophical subsection, and even manages to find it “inexplicable” (xvii) that another editor who has set out to transcribe the subsection should omit a page which she assigns to the greater whole. (It would however have been a fair complaint, that those who transcribe the philosophical notebooks standardly omit several pages of philosophical notes out of the complete Notebook B for no good reason.)
As a piece of bibliographical description, then, Park’s account is of no help to anyone. It is beset with elementary equivocations, sometimes within a single sentence, and certainly within individual paragraphs, and it is these which have been at the heart of the contretemps with Belfrage. They are encapsulated in the latest production in the following sequence of remarks from xiv-xvi: “[T]here has also been an inversion of the penultimate signature of Notebook B. The binding of the MS reveals that fols 167r to 169v compose a single signature, from which incidentally at least three folios have been cut. The most obvious result of this binder’s error is that the Description of the Cave of Dunmore is divided in mid-word, and is separated from the con-

cluding lines of the account by blank folios . . . If the penultimate signature were inverted so as to show the original sequence, the first result would be the inversion of the whole of Notebook B following fol. 164r. ... And all of these folios were originally inverted. ... The folio that is of special interest is the first one that is inverted which is fol. 164v. ... Notebook B must have been completed before 164v was written. Otherwise, how is Berkeley to know where Notebook B will end?” (Emphases added.)
Sloppy writing betokens sloppy thinking; and although Park might never have intended the specific absurdities for which Belfrage has lampooned her — for example, that the two sides of one leaf are physically separable — the construction she does put on her textual discovery is no advance in sobriety. It is that, when we recognize the uniform upside-downness of the writing on all the final pages when the leaves are all got uniformly right-side-up, we shall appreciate a special significance in the proximity of the inverted writing on the verso of f. 164 to the non-inverted writing of if. 104—164r.: the binder’s bungling over some entirely different pages “unnecessarily obscured” the uniqueness of this relationship (her phrase at “Supplement” 6.1).
On the contrary: getting the pages the right way up simply brings home the unremarkable point that, when writing has been converging from two directions, it is apt to stop at the point of meeting, and when it has been mostly on right-side pages the left side immediately prior to the meeting point is likely to be blank. The photographic reproduction, if it serves no other purpose, should at least lay to rest Park’s contention that 164v. is significantly isolated from the end of the notebook, and her claim that it was “written on a single occasion” (xv, xvii).
The strategically positioned 164v. contains notes from more than one occasion on various matters arising out of Berkeley’s reading of Locke (on power, liberty, desire, motion, etc.). These topics crop up sufficiently regularly in his philosophy — they are scattered as much through Notebook B as Notebook A, and can be seen to figure in the verso entries in about the same proportion as they figure in the recto entries — that their concentration here is no cause for surprise. A combination of selective attention and free association of ideas can no doubt convince a reader otherwise, if she has had an idée fixe about the central motifs in Berkeley’s philosophy for even longer than she has been trying to shore them up with textual irrelevancies. I hesitate to say that Park’s view of Berkeley’s philosophy is well known, since I might be taken to imply thereby that it has been somewhere ren-

dered intelligible; but it has certainly been recycled verbatim to a wearisome degree. Suffice it to say that it calls for a certain insensitivity in an author, to imagine that her case can be improved by citing as her primary guide to Berkeley scholarship a work which attributes to the philosopher such consummate duncery as that “Ideas are dependencies of notions; the notions being minds or spirits which entertain ideas” (Park, Complementary Notions, p. 15).
Belfrage very properly deprecated Park’s previously using the occasion of a reprint of Luce’s edition to disseminate nonsense; and it is deeply to be regretted that yet another project with potential scholarly pretensions — this time a publication to mark the tercentenary of Berkeley’s birth — should again be marred by Park’s unshakeable nostalgia for the discredited whimsies of an old graduate school exercise. This affects more than the editorial trimmings. The photographic prints, developed from microfilm to approximate life-size, reproduce both more and less than Berkeley’s own ms. They include, for example, material from the intrusive preliminary leaves, without indicating that the physical remains of the notebooks begin only at f. 3; but more seriously, most of the “blank” but in fact ink-spattered sides among the remainder have not been reproduced photographically, thereby removing much of the evidence as to which leaves were adjacent to which at the time of writing. Since Park appears to stake her reputation on information of just this kind, its deletion when her own interpretation is not perceived to be at issue puts the reader in a false position. Data concerning the completeness or incompleteness of the gatherings, the location of the junctures between them, and the transfer of ink marks at the junctures, are crucial to the matters she recommends the reader to read the ms. for (xi, xiii, xv). Since we do not know that Berkeley took a knife to all the joined edges at once, it is also relevant to know where the natural openings of the notebooks fell (normally the ends and centre fold of every gathering) in case they give any evidence relevant to the stages of composition. As hardly any of the information needed to make effective use of the ms. is supplied with this edition, I give the basic facts here.2
Notebook A (ff. 3—95) consists of 8 gatherings in twelves, from good quality paper, manufactured for the Dutch merchant Abraham Janssen (1635—1710), whose initials appear in the watermark under the Amsterdam coat of arms, by a manufacturer whose initials “P.T.” are featured in a countermark. In any set of twelve, the complete watermark and countermark each occurs three times, straddling the spine fold. The effect is achieved by taking three foolscap sheets together and folding them as one, in a regular quarto formation.
Gaskell’s A New Introduction to Bibliography (corrected edn., 1979), fig. 47, shows the standard dispositions of a single sheet in quarto, and fig. 34 approximates the relevant watermark in the present case. Any single sheet can be turned back to front, or upside down, or both, and it is a very easy experiment to prove that this accounts for every extant permutation in the watermarks.
The gatherings are as follows. 1: ff. 3—12 (first two leaves now missing, one perhaps an original paste-down; their conjugates, if. 11—12, have been forced into an artificial pair with non-matching watermarks by a later binder). 2: ff. 13—24. 3: ff. 25—36. 4: ff. 37—48. 5: ff. 49—60. 6: ff. 61—72. 7: ff. 73—84. 8: ff. 85—95 (the final leaf after 95 is now missing; again, probably a paste-down). Apart from the excision of the three leaves, the evidence from ink marks, etc., suggests that the ordering of the leaves is intact and that no gatherings were excised from between those now extant. But handlers of the ms. need to assess these things for themselves.
Notebook B (ff. 96—180) is more complicated. It is derived from a collection of 13 octavo gatherings of an inferior Amsterdam paper, some surviving now only fragmentarily. The position of the coat of arms is still as in Gaskell fig. 47, but this time no merchant’s or manufacturer’s initials are featured with it. Most of the gatherings are constructed by taking two instead of three sheets and then making a single quarto formation out of them in the same way as for Notebook A. But gatherings 2, 7 and 13 (assuming 13 was a full octavo) were made by making the first fold in each of the two sheets separately, bringing them together only for the final fold. This would have the result that, for those gatherings only, the leaves joined prior to cutting would be linked only in pairs, instead of half-gatherings.
Gathering no. 1 survives as a single leaf (f. 96, which originally occupied an inside position; both sides of it bear ink marks from adjoining leaves now lost). The consistency of the construction of Notebook A would suggest that Notebook B (which is otherwise of uniform construction) had full 8-leaved (rather than, say, 4-leaved) gatherings front and back, but that has to be conjectural. F. 96, which is in Notebook B, is currently misbound to form an artificially conjugate leaf with f. 85 in Notebook A (for which the true conjugate, the leaf which originally followed f. 95, is now missing as noted above). The discrepancies of paper and watermark show this to be the gaucherie of a modem conservationist.
Gatherings 2 to 10 are as follows. 2: ff. 97—103 (first leaf excised, before the Friday Society statutes — Park calls them “statues” — at f. 97; the watermark precludes its having been the present stray f.

96). 3: ff. 104—111. 4: ff. 112—119. 5: ff. 120—127. 6: ff. 128—135. 7: ff. 136—143. 8: ff. 144—151. 9: ff. 152—159. 10: ff. 160—166 (the final leaf excised after f. 166, i.e. between De Motu (not “notes on the De Motu” (Park, xv)) at f. 166 and Cuspis prima at f. 169: see next para.).
Gathering no. 11 (ff. 167—169) has regrettably been subject to further, and serious, unauthorized remodelling in the British Library’s bindery in the last year or two, having already been turned upside down by a previous binder. At the time of Berkeley’s writing, ff. 167 and 170 were adjacent leaves at the juncture of two gatherings, as Park correctly demonstrates; now in addition, a formerly blank leaf and matching stub have been removed and destroyed, and another stub reversed. 167 and 169 are conjugate leaves, of which 169 was originally the first, and 167 the eighth, leaf of the gathering; 168 was the third leaf, and the seventh leaf (recently destroyed) was blank both sides. (The present rectos and versos have of course to be interchanged.) The remaining four leaves of the gathering (“at least three folios,” on Park’s mysterious arithmetic) were excised, taking with them, perhaps, further mathematical working on at least one leaf.
No. 12 (ff. 170—177) is a regular gathering. No. 13 (ff. 178—180) consists of the first three leaves of a gathering (quarto or octavo), so has lost either one or five leaves, including probably a paste-down.
A visual presentation of the notebooks is useful for demonstrating how piecemeal was their compilation. Park herself cites some of the evidence (xv) that Berkeley did not fill his notebooks continuously, but might start one project here and another there and gradually fill up the gaps, but she does not follow out all the implications of this. Given some already obvious superficial shifts in handwriting, and intermittent compressions, there must be a chance that painstaking analysis of the writing may eventually uncover such strata also in the main body of the philosophical notes; certainly there is no reason, from a visual study of the ms., to accept the traditional view that the recto notes were all written successively in the order in which they stand. But this will only be resolved by objective analysis of the kind I have indicated, not by the subjective assessment of the philosophical content which has dominated most Berkeley scholarship hitherto.

1 The Notebooks of George Berkeley Bishop of Cloyne. With a Postscript by Désirée Park. Oxford: Alden Press, 1984.
2 I acknowledge assistance from Miss P.J. Roscoe, who recently held a research assistantship funded by the University of Lancaster, and Mr John Morris of the National Library of Scotland.

Berkeley’s De Ludo Algebraico and Notebook B
Wolfgang Breidert
University of Karlsruhe

Berkeley’s little paper De ludo algebraico included in the Miscellanea Mathematica, is seldom considered. One reason for this neglect may be that later on Berkeley no longer adhered to his early enthusiasm for algebra. Therefore that paper seems not to be “typical” of Berkeley’s attitude towards mathematics. There may be another reason: the readers did not understand thoroughly the text and the game. Therefore the tables of equations are not represented very clearly in the edited works, and the author’s purpose is not recognizable at a glance.
Dr. Belfrage refers to De ludo algebraico in his article “Dating Berkeley’s Notebook B” (Berkeley Newsletter No.7, 1984, 7—13) with regard to the fact that on fol. 168 v—169 v of Notebook B there are equations belonging to that algebraic game. I will not be concerned primarily with the problem of dating, but only with that part of Dr. Belfrage’s representation which depends on his misunderstanding or is apt to produce a misunderstanding.
1. Dr. Belfrage says (p.11): “ ‘Point one’ (cuspis prima), or rather hole number one, is marked by a star, . . .” Contrary to this it follows from Berkeley’s manner of listing the equations that by cuspis prima he does not signify the hole marked by a star, but the point directed perpendicularly upwards to the sign “+”. These are his own words (Works, ed. Luce/Jessop, IV, p.221) “Primam dico cuspidem quae in + laterale dirigitur, ...”
2. Further Dr. Belfrage says: “he (i.e. the player) is able to form a ‘question’ such as ‘a + c’.” Why should “ a + c” be a question? Berkeley delivers an example (Works IV, p. 216): “Eruntur igitur quatuor quantitates quaesitae in quaestione, ...” Obviously by “question” he means a (system of) equation(s). In the example mentioned the quantities a, e, y, z are sought.

3. Dr. Belfrage does not remark, that Berkeley is concerned with systems of equations. Consequently he does not attach great importance to representing fol. 169v as clear as it is in the manuscript, where the alternative systems of equations are distinguished by writing in columns. The transcription of fol. 169v should look like this:
	Cuspis prima
			 e		 b
	a + e =  be		 eb
		 	 b		 e

	e + y = b - y  v  b - y  v  y - b v  

			 a
	y + a =   ba		 ab

			 b

Dr. Belfrage continues: “The task is to present different alternatives. But then it would be a failure to repeat “b - y,” one of the alternatives, twice.” If one single line should represent alternatives, it would be incomprehensible why in the published version Berkeley listed e.g. the line
	a × e = b + e ... e + b ...
among cuspis nona, in spite of the fact that b + e = e + b, i.e. e + b is no true alternative to b + e. Instantly this problem disappears, if we consider, that Berkeley — in accordance with the explicitly given rules of the game — produces alternative systems of equations. The “v” (i.e. “vel”) distinguishes the columns of the members being correlated to one system of equations. Therefore the two first columns are different whereas they both have the same term in the second line.
4. Dr. Belfrage says: “... the notation . . . in III (i.e. fol. 169 v) is not apt to fulfill its purpose.” In III Berkeley does not use a sign of multiplication (writing the factors immediately side by side), but the “fractional line” (for division?), whereas in the published text we have “÷” and “×” for division and multiplication respectively. Dr. Belfrage says: “This (i.e. printed notation ... fulfills its main purpose to give a clear survey of different alternatives . . .” But it is not quite clear, why a mere substitution of the form of the signs retaining their operational meaning should cause a failure of the main purpose.
5. Indeed there are divisions on fol. 169 v (if we are allowed to interpret the “fractional line” in this way), but not in the printed formulas related to the “first point.” Dr. Belfrage does not seem to ask the

question, what may be the reason thereof. Maybe it is a failure to connect immediately fol. 169v with the printed version of cuspis prima, the less so since the subtraction also does not occur in the printed version, but in fol. 169v. Maybe Berkeley was testing only a variant of the game, and then it would be difficult to determine, whether it was written after fol. 168v.
6. Dr. Belfrage’s assertion, that the equations in III were “reformulated and completed in II at the bottom of 168 v,” is incomprehensible, for he himself affirms correctly, that the equations at the bottom of 168v are “x-formulas” belonging to cuspis prima. On the right hand side of these equations we have — in the contrary to III — “+” and “÷” but no sign of multiplication or subtraction. Therefore it seems to be almost arbitrary to connect fol. 169v with the formulas at the bottom of 168v. The only connection is that both entries belong to “cuspis prima.” Hence without further arguments it does not make sense to speak of III as “incomplete” or “immature” in comparison with the formulas in 168v or the printed formulas, even if III in itself is incomplete indeed.
I repeat that I am not concerned directly with the problem of dating, but only with misinterpretations.

The Mottoes in
the Analyst debate
Jose A Robles
University of Mexico

In the controversy between Jurin, Walton and Berkeley raised by the latter’s Analyst, the contenders not only attacked each other by means of the arguments in their publications. The struggle started from the very title pages on which were quotations (either from Biblical, Latin or Greek sources).
While the Biblical sources are immediately referred to their author and source, this is not so with the Latin quotations which in most cases are only referred to their author with no mention of their loci — there is one exception to this rule: in only one case no reference is given either to the author or to the work from which it was taken —. In the case of the only Greek quotation taken from Aristotle’s Metaphysics, Berkeley wrongly gives as its locus Metaph. 1. xiii.
Not even such a useful book as Keynes’s A Bibliography of George Berkeley, in which notice is given of the contents and editorial characteristics of the works of which I am talking, among others, gives any hint about the mottoes on the tide pages.
With the help of some friends at the Institute of Classical Philology here, my colleague Bernabé Navarro was able almost to close the challenge with an answer to all but one of my perplexities on the source of the epigraphs. The most difficult one, the quotation with neither author nor locus was accidentally (and fortunately!) discovered by another colleague at our Institute, Alejandro Herrera, while reading a book by Loemker on Leibniz. The details are as follows:

PUBLICATION

Geometry no Friend to Infidelity...

A Vindication of Sir Isaac Newton’s...

A Defence of Free Think-ing in Mathematics... Also an Appendix...

The Catechism of the Author...
AUTHOR

Philalethes Cantabrigiensis James Jurin

John Walton

Berkeley

John Walton
MOTTO & AUTHOR
(If given)
a) Ne Deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus inci- derit.
b) Siquid novisti rectius istis, candidus imperti: Si non, his utere mecum. Hor.
c) Veritas odium parit Ter.
d) Επεὶ δὲ ὁ μαθη-ματκὸς χρται τος κοινος ἰδίως, καὶ τὰς τούτων ἀζχὰς ἄν εἴη θεωρσαι τς πρώτης φιλοσοφίας. Arist. Metaph. 1. xiii.
e) Neque enim lex aequior ulla Quam necis Artifices Arte perire sua.  Ovid

Here are the bibliographical references:
a)	Hor. Ars Poet. 191 (Found by Alejandro Herrera in a book by Loemker on Leibniz; Leibniz uses the phrase in Confessio Naturae contra Atheistas.)
b)	Hor. Epist. I, vi, 67-8.
c)	Ter. Andrias i, 68 (the complete sentence is: Obsequium amicos, veritas odium parit.)
d)	The quote comes from Arist. Metaph. 1061b 17-9 which belongs to Book K and not M as Berkeley has it.
e)	Ovid. Ars Am. I, 655-6. (The complete sentence is: Justus uterque fuit: Neque enim lex . . . etc.)

Reviews

R. Houghton, D. Berman, M. Lapan, Images of Berkeley. Dublin: National Gallery of Ireland Wolfhound Press. 1986. 105pp. Available in both paperback and hardbound versions. (£5—95 and £9—95).

That this handsome volume will be a treasure for all who love and respect Berkeley need hardly be said. The plan, printing, and even the paper are of the highest quality. Its sixty seven illustrations are a delight to the eye and the accompanying notes, so diligently prepared by the authors, are always informative, sometimes amusing and of marked value in coming to a better appreciation of Berkeley's work and personality.
In addition to over twenty pictorial representations of Berkeley himself, the earliest dating from about 1720, we are shown representations of places which and persons who figured prominently in his life. Here are illustrations of long-term friends, an engraving of Thomas Prior (# 5), a mezzotint of Sir John Persival (# 7), a painting of Jonathan Swift (# 12), as well as a portrait of Bishop Robert Clayton (# 24), who assisted Berkeley in the Bermuda proposal, introducing him to the Irish House of Lords. Friends in colonial New England are also pictured, James Honyman, his first host, Samuel Johnson, his philosophical colleague, and James MacSparran, who acquainted Berkeley with the plight of native Americans in the Narragansett Country. (# # 31,35,36) The authors have also provided illustrations and information on two men who rather disliked and apparently opposed Berkeley, Archbishop King (# 8) and Viscount Molesworth (# 13).
Other illustrations which I find of great interest are the sketches of the Cave at Dunmore, near Kilkenny, which so impressed Berkeley in his youthful explorations (# 4), and the plan for the city of Bermuda, one quarter mile from the proposed St. Paul’s College (# 19). In addition, one notes approvingly the 1730 sketch of Newport, photos of Trinity Church and its organ, which Berkeley donated, plus a lithograph of “Hanging Rock” (not far from his residence at Whitehall, also pictured) where Berkeley is said to have composed Alciphron.
In 1735, Berkeley designed a gold medal to be given to those who excelled in Greek at Trinity College. A copy of that is pictured (# 64) as is the Seal for the proposed St. Paul’s College (# 25). The last item
in the book is a reproduction of a commemorative Irish postage stamp of 1985, based on the Latham portrait.
This enchanting volume incorporates about thirty “images” of biographical interest not referred to by the late Professor A. A. Luce in his well-known biography. It provides, for example a clarifying discussion of John Smibert’s painting, “The Bermuda Group” (# 27), now at Yale University and it explains its relation to the smaller, similar painting housed in Dublin’s National Gallery. A detail from the earlier painting shows the hand of Miss Handcock (a companion to Mrs Berkeley), pointing towards running water in the background (representative of the fountain of learning Berkeley had planned). In a corresponding detail in the larger work of 1739, the hand is relaxed and turned downward “symbolizing that the hopes expressed in the running-water motif had now been dashed.” (p. 58)
There is also a similarly fascinating account of the likely symbolism in two “vignettes” from the first edition of Alciphron. While the engraving on the title page of the first apparently illustrates the theme of the work itself, it esoterically symbolizes the abandonment of the Bermuda project by the British Government. The second vignette, say the authors, depicts the force which defeated the proposal, namely, freethinking prejudice. There is the high likelihood that the figure seated below the statue represents the religious sceptic Walpole, who refused to pay the £20,000 granted by Parliament.
There is much more of biographical and philosophical interest in this attractive book. There is a photo of a 1750 letter which contains a recipe for tar water ( # 61) and there are scenes from Derry, Dublin, Kilkenny and Rhode Island. Moreover there is a splendid biographical introduction, and at the end, appropriate reference material. A. A. Luce would have taken great pleasure in this volume and he might have enjoyed seeing again the photo of himself and Eamon DeValera after the latter’s commemorative speech on Berkeley given in 1953 (# 65)
Surely all members of the International Berkeley Society will want to own this book. Berkeley scholars must get it. Those libraries which make it available will be performing a useful service to students by helping them become better acquainted with the great and good man, in whom another Bishop of Irish descent, Methodist Francis J. McConnell, discerned the “lineaments of saintliness.”

Warren E. Steinkraus
SUNY-Oswego, USA.

		Pierre Dubois, L’Oeuvre de Berkeley. Paris: J. Vrin, 1985, pp. 159. Price 99F.

This short but comprehensive guide to Berkeley’s works consists of an Introduction, seven chapters which summarize Berkeley’s works, a Conclusion, and two Appendices which contain translations of Berkeley’s last sermon and snippets from his letters. The book seems intended for students and contains little of interest to Berkeley scholars. The sentiments expressed in Dr. Dubois’s “Conclusion” will be familiar to all readers of Professor Luce’s Berkeley and Malebranche (1934, 1967), which, although mentioned in the bibliography, is not referred to on pp. 126-127.

DUBOIS
Il faut prendre soin de distinguer, chez Malebranche, entre idée et sensation. Nous n’avons pas de sensation en Dieu. La sensation est une modification de l’âme que Dieu cause sans la ressentir. L’idée est jointe a la sensation, et elle se trouve en Dieu, et nous l’y voyons parce qu’il plaît à Dieu de nous la montrer. Dieu est le monde intelligible, ou le lieu des esprits. De sa puissance, ceux-ci reçoivent toutes leurs modifications; dans Sa sagesse, ils découvrent toutes leurs idées; par Son amour, ils sont influencés dans tous leurs mouve-ments réguliers; et comme Sa puissance et Son amour ne sont rien d’autre que Lui-même, croyons, avec saint Paul, qu’Il n’est pas loin de chacun de nous, mais qu’en Lui nous vivons et nous nous mouvons et avons notre être. (p. 126)
LUCE
In this theory it is essential to distinguish idea from sensation. Malebranche, of course, denies that we have sensation in God. The sensation is a modification of the soul which God causes  without having. The idea is “joined” to the sensation, and is in God, and we see it there because He is pleased to show it us. The chapter (vi) concludes with an impressive passage: “God is the intelligible world, or the place of spirits. . . >From His power they receive all their modifications; in His wisdom they discover all their ideas; by His love they are influenced with all their regulated motions; and because His power and His love are nothing but Himself, let us believe with St. Paul, that he is not far from every one of us, and that in Him we live and move and have our being.” (p. 80)

L’immensité, l’immanence de la Divinité, substance des idées réelles, qui pense pour ce qui ne pense pas, volonté des objets inactifs, rend possible la doctrine de l’esse est percipi. (p. 126)
Malebranche a substitué le Dieu des idées au monde des idées. Il a montré à Berkeley comment nos idées peuvent être aussi les idées de Dieu. II y a une expérience mystique a la source de ces vues. Tout le choeur des cieux et ce qui meuble la terre est répandu dans l’esprit et la volonté d’un Etre Eternel. Tous ces corps qui composent la puissante structure du monde se trouvent dans l’esprit de Dieu. A la source, il faut voir la vision d’un donné total, du ciel et de la terre, passifs dans l’esprit plus vaste de Dieu. (pp. 126f.)
Les idées sensorielles sont nos idées, comme l’enseignent les Principes; pourtant, de toute évi-dence, elles ne sont pas des créa-tures de ma volonté. Elles sont produites par la volonté de Dieu, et excitées dans mon esprit, en sorte qu’elles sont aussi les idées de Dieu, tout comme notre monde est aussi le monde de Dieu. (p. 127)
Dieu est une Puissance Im-mense, aussi silencieuse et péné-trante que l’attraction, aussi con-sciente que la volonté humaine, aussi intelligente que la raison, aussi sage que la loi, aussi forte que l’amour, aussi bonne
An immense, immanent Deity, substance of real ideas, thinker of the unthinking, will of the inactive, makes possible the esse percipi. (p. 83)

He substituted the God of ideas for the world of ideas. He showed Berkeley how our ideas can be also God’s ideas... (Principles §6) suggests a mysticoreligious experience as its source. The seer sees “all the choir of heaven and furniture of the earth” laid out in the mind and will of some Eternal Spirit... “All those bodies which compose the mighty frame of the world”... lie there in the mind of God... Berkeley began from a vision of the total datum, of heaven and earth lying there passive in the vaster mind of God. (pp. 83f)
Ideas of sense are “our ideas” (Prin. §25 &c.), because we perceive them; yet clearly they are not creatures of my will (Prin. §29). They are produced by the will of God and excited in my mind. So that also they are God’s ideas, just as our world is also God’s world. (p. 84).

Deity, as seen by Berkeley, (is) ...like an Immense Power, silent and pervasive as attraction, conscious as the human will, intelligent as reason, wise as law, strong as love, good as Christ. (p. 119)

que le Christ. La philosophie de Berkeley est une philosophie de Dieu, non de l’esprit seul. Elle est une philosophic religieuse. Les écrits de Berkeley, sa correspon-dance, ses carnets de note, sa vie publique et sa vie privée, tous concourent à prouver la conviction qui animait le Philosophe. Elle n’a jamais varié, depuis les années de jeunesse a Trinity College jusqu’au dernier séjour à Oxford. (p. 127)

Berkeleianism is a philosophy of God, not of mind alone. Berkeleianism is a religious philosophy... His published writings, his correspondence, his private notebooks, his public and private life all prove his absolute genuineness and unswerving con-viction. From his early days in Trinity College to his closing days at Oxford his opinion never varied... (p. 120)

Dr. Dubois, who teaches English philosophy at the University of Paris X (Nanterre), is the author of three books on English philosophy. His translation of Siris was published by Vrin in 1971.

David Raynor
University of Ottawa

Recent Publications on Berkeley

[Included in the Bibliography of Berkeley Newsletter No. 16.]

Recent Publications on Berkeley (cont.)

[Included in the Bibliography of Berkeley Newsletter No. 16.]

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Raymond W. Houghton . David Berman - Maureen T. Lapan
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A pictorial tribute to George Berkeley, one of the greatest of philosophers. A collection of portraits, paintings and artifacts associated with Berkeley provide the starting point for lively insights into the places and people connected with this great man. Published in association with the National Gallery.	

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