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 ADDRESS OF 
 PROFESSOR GEORGE HERBERT PALMER. Ph.D. 
 
 AT THE 
 
 CHARTER DAY EXERCISES 
 MARCH 23, 1917 
 
 [Reprint from the University of California Chronicle, Vol. XIX, No. 3] 
 
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ADDRESS OF PROFESSOR GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 PALMER, Ph.D., AT THE CHARTER DAY 
 
 EXERCISES, MARCH 23, 1917 
 
 President Wheeler: 
 
 I introduce to you as the speaker of the day a man who 
 for many years has been, in a rather unique way, but in a 
 quiet and inconspicuous way, after his sort, a friend of this 
 university. His inherent sense for order has given him 
 always in life a peculiar delight in seeing the right man put 
 in the right place, and this fact, coupled with his rare judg- 
 ment as to men, has caused him to be consulted by men and 
 universities. Notably has he been consulted, over and over 
 again by this university, and we do not forget that early 
 gift of his to us which came by his recommendation of the 
 late head of the Department of Philosophy. I introduce to 
 you as the speaker, then, a man whose sense of fitness has 
 made him for a long time your friend. His sense of order 
 has made him master of the beauty of the spoken word 
 beyond the ordinary, has made him a historian of letters 
 and a man of letters himself. But that sense for form, the 
 native craving in his heart for the simplicity of funda- 
 mental things, has made him a philosopher, a philosopher 
 in the largest and purest sense of the word. Philosopher, 
 man of letters, counsellor, friend, the Alford Professor of 
 Natural Religion, Moral Philosophy, and Civil Polity in 
 Harvard University, George Herbert Palmer. 
 
 Professor Palmer: 
 
 Regents and Faculty of the University, men and women 
 of the alumni : I sympathize with your disappointment 
 today. You have been expecting to become acquainted 
 with a college president comparable in eminence, ability 
 
 369405 
 
and personal charm with the head of your own university, 
 a statesman learned in government as practiced both at 
 home and abroad, a delightful speaker, one to whom 
 through family connections, a hundred memories call, and 
 yet who has always kept himself a simple, lovable, and 
 democratic-minded gentleman. I know how eager he was 
 to visit you and am sure that nothing but a sense of public 
 duty could have held him back. 
 
 Called on, as I then am, in this sudden eclipse of your 
 hopes, to send out some few rays of compensatory light, I 
 have wondered from what source the necessary illuminating 
 oil could be drawn. My subject must be one of common 
 interest to you and to myself — one, too, in which, through 
 previous acquaintance, I shall not be unduly disturbed by 
 the absence of books and papers. Such a subject I seem 
 to m^^self to have found in him who stands as the patron 
 saint of your city and at the same time as one of the sup- 
 porters of my own philosophic studies, George Berkeley. . 
 
 When the trustees of the College of California decided 
 to move their little institution from Oakland to a more per- 
 manent and ample site on these wooded hills, they rightly 
 anticipated that before long a large city would grow up 
 around them. How should it be called? Many proposals 
 were made by Frederick Law Olmsted, and others, none of 
 them satisfactory, until Frederick Billings, a leader among 
 the trustees, proposed the name of Berkeley. It was at 
 once seen that this name precisely expressed the ideals 
 which they desired for their new city. They meant that 
 this place should be a place consecrated to thoughtful study, 
 to public spirit, to the enthusiasm of humanity; and where 
 else could so admirable a defender of these things be found 
 as in the great English idealist? On the whole, their fore- 
 casts have been justified. Berkeley has been true to these 
 lofty aims. But how often have you connected these mat- 
 ters with him in whom they originally appeared? How 
 many are there in this audience who could state with any 
 fullness the events of that picturesque career? It is well 
 
that they should be recalled, that you should from time to 
 time freshen the inspiration and pride which you have in a 
 godfather so august. Instead, then, of presenting to you 
 today an abstract and argumentative oration, I will briefly 
 recount the life of George Berkeley. A portrait of him is 
 upon the platform, presented to this University by the same 
 Frederick Billings who devised the name — a portrait copied 
 from the original now in the possession of Yale University. 
 
 I need not dwell long on the early life of Berkeley. 
 Very little is known of it. The life as a whole extends 
 from 1684 to 1753. But of his early life very faint records 
 are preserved. Apparently Charles I gave a grant in Ire- 
 land to Berkeley's English ancestor, a grant in the beauti- 
 ful County of Kilkenny, and it may well be that that deep 
 interest in beautiful scenery which was ever a characteristic 
 of Berkeley sprang up at this time. Berkeley attended the 
 public school of Kilkenny, one of the very best at that time 
 in Ireland. It had been attended twenty years before by 
 a man hardly less eminent subsequently than himself, by 
 Dean Swift. Berkeley tells us in his journal that at the 
 age of eight he became distrustful of authority and that he 
 had a natural disposition to new opinions. I do not think 
 this indicates inclination to a general doubt. There was 
 nothing of that loose sort in Berkeley ; only a determination 
 never to have an ambiguous thought, to think out every- 
 thing that he asserted into its ultimate elements. That was 
 a disposition which attended him through life. 
 
 The first important event of his life was that he entered 
 Trinity College, Dublin, March 21, 1700. Indeed, it may 
 be well to remember how important a month this was, this 
 month of March, in Berkeley's life. He was born on the 
 12th of March, and 217 years ago day before j^esterday he 
 entered Trinity College. 
 
 And then appeared, very soon after his entrance to 
 Trinitj^ some of those features which distinguished his life 
 throughout. Indeed, we may divide his life by their pres- 
 ence. I mean his three enthusiasms, his many virtues, and 
 
6 
 
 a single poem. The three enthusiasms were somewhat un- 
 common ones. They were an enthusiasm for the non- 
 existence of the material world, for the founding of a 
 college in America, and for the drinking of tar-water. 
 These are not causes which ordinarily stir the blood of man-- 
 kind, nor, indeed, causes which you could readily under- 
 stand by my mentioning them, but as I come to explain 
 them I think you Avill see that they were solidly grounded, 
 carefully considered, and that on the whole they marked 
 the man who cherished them as one of the noble leaders of 
 mankind. I shall bring in his poem in its proper place, 
 allowing the virtues to be distributed wherever they appear, 
 but I shall devote my oration chiefly to the three enthu- 
 siasms. 
 
 The first of them is, as I have said, the demonstration of 
 the immateriality of the world. When Berkeley entered 
 Trinity College, it was a time of grave disturbance in 
 human thought. The old scholasticism, descending in its 
 dogmatic modes from the Middle Ages, had not been alto- 
 gether cast out from the university. Other influences were 
 astir there, calling to the young men. There was, on the 
 one hand, the tendency of Hobbes, in England, and of 
 Gassendi, in France, to lay great stress on matter and its 
 laws, indeed to leave but little room for commanding mind. 
 On the other hand, there was the tendency in the Cartesian 
 school to believe that there are certain fundamental mental 
 principles which can be trusted out of hand and through 
 which all truth is demonstrated to us. But only ten years 
 before Berkeley entered Trinity College a new start had 
 been made. A very remarkable book had been published, 
 Locke's "Essay on Human Understanding." Locke pro- 
 posed a new path in those never-ceasing problems of the 
 nature of mind, of the world, and of God. To these Locke 
 proposed what he called a "new way of ideas." That is, 
 he called upon men to turn their direct experience, to see 
 precisely what the contents of our minds are and not to go 
 beyond those into a belief in matters which never can be 
 
verified. lu all this Berkeley was an ardent follower of 
 Locke, only he pressed it to a degree unknown to his master. 
 
 Immediately on his entrance to college, he started a 
 notebook in which he showed the most minute study of 
 Locke 's Essay, going over it chapter bj' chapter — yes, para- 
 graph by paragraph — and noting down his assents or dis- 
 sents. Most interesting it is, in reading that book, to see 
 gradually arising in him the consciousness of a new prin- 
 ciple. This boy began to see that certain aspects of philos- 
 ophy had as yet not had justice done to them and was 
 amazed to discover that he was to be a pioneer in that field. 
 Again and again he records his fear that others would not 
 accept his view. Still he pressed on, courageous in his own 
 convictions. 
 
 And what was this new principle ? Perhaps I can best i 
 bring it before you by leaving you to discover it for your- ' 
 self. When you look out upon the world, what do you /, 
 
 find in your mind? Is there not there a train of ideas, I 
 thoughts, mental modifications, continually passing before 
 your consciousness? As you inspect these phenomena, you 
 will see diversities among them. You will recognize that 
 some of them are largely at your own command. The ideas 
 of memory, of imagination — these you can summon or dis- 
 charge. The ideas, also, of your own mental operations you 
 may assent to or not. But the ideas derived from your 
 senses you have not that control over. If I turn my face 
 to the sky, with open eye, I must behold light. I can see 
 nothing else. As I hold the orange before me, I must see 
 yellow, I must see roundness, I must, through nn- sense of 
 smell, detect fragrance. I must, as I touch it, recognize 
 resistance. Each sense has its own appropriate report, and 
 it gives us that report regardless of what we desire. Here, 
 therefore, in the ideas of sense there seems to be a sugges- 
 tion of something which we are only passive in receiving. 
 But as you come to inspect these ideas of your own, will you 
 not find that your notions about them undergo some change ? 
 Looking at the orange, for example, you feel that an object 
 
existent in the outer world, very much such as you behold, 
 has been somehow or other passed over into your mind. 
 A very little reflection, however, will oblige you to change 
 this view. Varying the supposition a little, suppose, in 
 eating that orange and finding it somewhat acid, you are 
 disturbed with a pain. Will you say that that pain also 
 resides in the orange? "Will you not say that that pain is 
 a mental affair and therefore by no possibility could be 
 found in the orange? Possibly you will think there is 
 something in the orange corresponding with it which has 
 brought it about, but you will surely not believe that the 
 orange contains a pain, and, if not a pain, then why the 
 yellow color? Isn't this yellow color as dependent on the 
 formation of your eye, or the constitution of your mind, as 
 is the pain itself? Will you, then, declare that the orange 
 has in itself a yellow quality and would have that should all 
 conscious mind cease? And how far are you going in this 
 direction? Will you not have to say, also, that its fra- 
 grance is subjective, that it also belongs to the beholding 
 mind? 
 I ,L' So far Locke himself had gone. He had insisted that 
 all these so-called secondary qualities, cjualities of the mind 
 and senses, were all of them names, rather, of our own 
 experiences than of anything found in external objects 
 detached from ourselves. But he had believed that there 
 was a set of so-called primary qualities which were charac- 
 teristics of matter itself and would reside there regardless 
 of whether there ever was a beholder. The spatial quali- 
 ties of figure, size, weight, etc.- — all these qualities he 
 regarded as inherent in matter and therefore irremovable. 
 They testify to us of an outwardly existing world w^hich 
 would be practicallj^ the same were all conscious mind to 
 be swept away. Here it is that Berkeley began to deviate 
 from his master. For, after all, shall we not be obliged to 
 say that the apprehension of the figure of the orange is no 
 less an ideal affair, a mental affair, than was its color? 
 Just so with the other so-called primary qualities. What 
 
right have we to assume that they exist outside ourselves 
 when all that we immediately perceive is that they exist 
 within ourselves as characteristics of our mind and therefore 
 should rather be called ideas than qualities of things? Such 
 was Berkeley's great new principle. It was that every- 
 where all that we behold is essentially mental. 
 
 But did I not a while ago acknowledge that these sense 
 ideas, inasmuch as we see that they are given to us and are 
 not under our control, must come from the outside? 
 Berkeley never denies it. He never denies the reality of 
 the external world as he is often said to deny it. He only 
 insists that that external world is entirely mental. For 
 what reason is there to suppose an existent matter as the 
 basis of such ideas of figure, form, or of color ? It is often 
 said that, inasmuch as we have those ideas, there must be 
 something like them outside. But can anything else be 
 like mind except mind itself? "What reason have we to 
 suppose any matter there entirely alien to ourselves? 
 What assertions could we make in regard to it ? Certainly 
 it could never be beheld by us. Whenever we look upon 
 it or feel it, there is always a response in our mind, and it 
 is only our ideas that we apprehend. Strictly speaking, 
 therefore, there was never any such thin^ as a rose born 
 to blush unseen. It is the seeing which occasions the blush. 
 It is because there is an apprehender here that there is 
 something to be apprehended. In short, if we are to sum 
 up Berkeley's great principle in his own language, "Esse 
 est percipi," it will come to this — "Existence means the 
 possibility of being perceived. ' ' 
 
 Such is the great principle, and I suppose at once you 
 would feel strong objection to it and think it should be 
 overthrown, because, you would say, this leaves everything 
 in the world uncertain. It disintegrates the world. When 
 I leave my chamber, my chairs and tables at once disap- 
 pear, because my beholding eye is gone ? Not at all. Noth- 
 ing of this sort has Berkeley ever asserted. On the con- 
 trary, he holds that as we study these ideas we find that 
 they come to us in regular groups, and that experiencing 
 
10 
 
 one member of the group reveals to us the total collection. 
 That total collection is fixed. Its fixity is exactly that 
 which we mean by the laws of nature. Those laws of 
 nature are not something fundamentally existing apart 
 from us, a mere abstract affair. Not at all. They indicate 
 an intended human experience. When I am not beholding 
 . my chairs and tables, they are still capable of being beheld. 
 Their existence continues, for that group of ideas that I 
 know as the orange is the same group of ideas that you 
 know as the orange. Through these fixed groups, we are 
 able to communicate with one another, passing over the 
 experiences of my mind to your mind and exchanging yours 
 for mine. This is the great universal language of nature. 
 
 It may, however, be said, ' ' But how are these groups of 
 ideas fixed in their constitution? "Why should they always 
 appear together in regular correspondence with our feelings ? 
 That could only be were they the manifestation of personal 
 thought and plan. In fact, they represent the thoughts of 
 God. Arbitrary they seem to us to be. Why should it be 
 the case that when I behold a yellow object of that special 
 kind there should come with it that particular fragrance, 
 that particular hardness, that particular taste? Why, I 
 ask ? ' ' We know no why, only that it has been so eternally 
 ordained, that this group of experiences shall come together 
 so that we may be able to forecast our future and to com- 
 municate with our fellow men. These groups, therefore, of 
 collective ideas which constitute what we call material 
 objects, these are, after all, only the thoughts of God. That 
 great spirit lies behind all our experiences, and we know 
 none else. 
 
 Here, therefore, in briefest outline, is Berkeley's first 
 enthusiasm. Its aim is to deliver mankind from subjection 
 to the superstition of matter, and oblige men to confess 
 that they never get at matter except through ideas that are 
 exclusively mental. Still men persist in the assertion that 
 there is what Berkeley calls a sensual substance underlying 
 all ideas. But, in reality, the entire world is spiritual, from 
 
11 
 
 the foundation up. For, beside the various ideas perpetu- 
 ally passing in our minds, if we are going to give a full 
 account of existence, we shall have to say that everywhere 
 there is a spirit, a soul, a person directing these ideas. In 
 reference to such as they come in purposive form, it is I, 
 myself, a finite person, who groups them and apprehends. 
 But in reference to their constitution as forming an organ- 
 ized world they inhere in an eternal spirit. There is no 
 such thing as laws of blind matter dominant over man. 
 Man, or else the infinite person, is he who controls and is 
 master of our fate. This is the splendid conception which 
 impelled Berkeley to go forth and try to deliver his age, 
 which he regarded as a highly material one, from supersti- 
 tion. He would teach men that everywhere they meet only 
 a personal life, that personality is inwrought into the very 
 structure of the universe and we here, finite persons, are at 
 home in our father's house. — 
 
 In order to bring this most wisely before the public and 
 somewhat relieve it of the immediate objections sure to 
 arise, Berkeley put it forth in a narrow and tentative form 
 in 1709, when he was only twenty-four years of age. He 
 announced a new theory of vision, pointing out that that 
 which we have always imagined we see, distance, is in 
 reality not seen by us at all. Distance can only report 
 actual experiences combined with locomotive experiences. 
 All that we can see is colored circles. We cannot see a line 
 directly in front of us. "We only see the butt ends of rays 
 of light. It is an admirable illustration of the w^ay in which 
 God has ordered the world, so that our ideas may be inher- 
 ently^ collected together, so that on having certain ones we 
 .may know what other ones belong to this group. 
 
 In his tlieory of vision, therefore, the ideal theory is set 
 forth onh' in a tentative way. But in the following year, 
 1710, Berkeley put forth his Principles, in which the great 
 theory is not only announced, but all possible objections to 
 it which anyone could imagine are successively taken up 
 and answered with extreme candor. Berkeley's mind has 
 
12 
 
 gone all over the field, has understood exactly where diffi- 
 culties la}', and he sets forth his replies in the most lucid, 
 interesting, and at the same time the most impassioned 
 stj'le. Three years later he began to see that this treatise, 
 the "Principles of Human Knowledge," was perhaps a 
 little too exact, a little too scholastic in form, to make the 
 great conception apprehensible by ordinary mankind. He 
 accordingly threw it into the form of dialogue. The three 
 dialogues between Hylas and Philonous he had ready for 
 publication in 1713. Just consider the precocity of the 
 young man. I suppose there is no other example like it in 
 the whole range of philosophy, of one developing such 
 fundamental ideas at so early an age. These ideas of 
 Berkeley have revolutionized philosophy, not that it is gen- 
 erally believed that he has expressed the whole truth, but 
 that he has expressed truth, and truth of the most impor- 
 tant kind. 
 
 Having now set forth these conceptions in these differ- 
 ent forms — in the technical manner as applied to the single 
 sense of sight for 'men of scientific temper; in the elaborate 
 and careful form of his Principles for those of more philo- 
 sophic mind ; and in the form of three delightful dialogues 
 — most charming reading — for the average man, Berkeley 
 decided to go over to London and inspect the wider world. 
 He was provided with an introduction by his friend Swift 
 to the Earl of Peterborough, who was about to make a 
 journey to Italy. The Earl of Peterborough accepted 
 Berkeley, as his secretary, and now, for the first time, 
 Berkeley, abroad in Italy and in France, saw all the beauty 
 that had been accumulated there, not only in literature, in 
 painting, but at the same time in architecture, an art that 
 he was ever devotedly fond of. This was a time of large 
 intellectual growth for Berkeley. We cannot say that that 
 first enthusiasm passed by. Nothing was ever dropped in 
 the thought of this careful thinker. But at any rate it was 
 held in suspense for a time, and in this interval of foreign 
 life new thoughts began to germinate. After returning 
 
home, after ten months with the Earl of Peterborough, he 
 was asked to take charge of the son of an Irish bishop, and 
 went abroad once more, with this young man, for five years. 
 During this time still larger culture was obtained by Berke- 
 ley — acquaintance with foreign languages, with the most 
 eminent men in all departments. Returning home in 1720, 
 he encountered in his own country what struck him as 
 strange delusions, wild purposes, and great personal greed. 
 The South Sea Bubble had been holding the attention of 
 his countrymen, Llost of them knew it to be unsound, but 
 their hope was to get their money into it and out again 
 before their neighbors were so successful. In 1721 that 
 bubble burst, and widespread misery followed. Berkeley 
 had been watching it with care and was convinced that a 
 large part of the trouble came from lack of a spiritual mind 
 on the part of his generation. It all confirmed him in his 
 purpose to dedicate himself to the scattering of' divine 
 truth. 
 
 He went back to Ireland, to Trinity College, joined it 
 once more as a lecturer on Hebrew, and took, a little earlier 
 than this, his deacon's orders in the church. 
 
 But a new idea was beginning to form in Berkeley's 
 mind, a fresh enthusiasm. Was this old, corrupt Europe 
 worth trying to save ? Was it not too far gone in material 
 conceptions? Might it not be well to seek for some land 
 in which there should be a freer opportunity? Berkeley's 
 thoughts began to turn toward America. If only he could 
 go to America, if he could there found a college, if he could 
 there train worthy ministers, if, indeed, he could get hold 
 of the natives uncorrupted as yet by all the depravities of 
 civilization, if he could have them under his influence 
 from early years and train them to diviner understanding, 
 then here in this new country there might grow up a larger 
 opportunity than mankind had ever known before. It was 
 in this connection that his remarkable poem was composed. 
 All of us are familiar with some lines of it. Let me read it 
 to you in its proper connection. 
 
14 
 
 VEESES ON THE PEOSPECT OF PLANTING AETS AND 
 SCIENCES IN AMEEICA 
 
 The Muse disgusted at an age and clime 
 
 Barren of every glorious theme, 
 In distant lands now waits a better time 
 
 Producing subjects worthy fame. 
 
 In happier climes where from the genial sun 
 
 And virgin earth such scenes ensue 
 The force of art by nature seems outdone, 
 
 And fancied beauties by the true. 
 
 In happy climes, the seat of innocence. 
 Where Nature guides and virtue rules, 
 
 "Where men shall not impose for truth and sense 
 The pedantry 6f courts and schools; 
 
 There shall be sung another golden age, 
 
 The rise of empire and of arts, 
 The good and great inspiring epic sage. 
 
 The wisest heads and noblest hearts. 
 
 Not such as Europe breeds in her decay; 
 
 Such as she bred when fresh and young. 
 When heavenly flame did animate her clay. 
 
 By future poets shall be sung. 
 
 Westward the course of empire takes its way; 
 
 The four first acts already past, 
 A fifth shall close the Drama with the day; 
 
 Time's noblest offspring is the last. 
 
 These were the hopes that inspired a great passion in 
 Berkeley. Of course, it was partially a dream. America 
 was a romantic land at that time. The noble savage was an 
 ideal figure, the realities of his life but li|tle comprehended. 
 Still, was it not a sublime fancy that, when the lands of civil- 
 ization were worn out, one should turn to fresh soil? It 
 was with just such ideals as these that your fathers migrated 
 to this splendid region. Such conceptions animated the 
 noble Berkeley. 
 
15 
 
 He accordingly left Ireland, went over to England once 
 more, armed again with a letter from Swift. That letter 
 from Swift so accurately describes the character of Berke- 
 ley that I venture to read a portion of it. After some 
 introductory words — the letter is addressed to the Lord 
 Lieutenant of Ireland — he goes on : " Your Excellency will 
 be frighted when I tell you that all this is but an introduc- 
 tion, for I am only now to niention the gentleman's errand. 
 He is an absolute philosopher with regard to money, titles, 
 and power, and for three years past has been struck- with 
 the notion of founding a university at Bermuda by a char- 
 ter from the Crown. He has induced several of the hope- 
 fullest young clergymen and others here to join him in a 
 scheme for a life academico-philosophical in a college to be 
 founded for Indian scholars and missionaries; where he 
 most exorbitantly proposes a whole hundred pounds a year 
 for himself, fifty 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 discouraged 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 humbly entreat your Excellency either to 
 use such persuasions as will keep one of the first men in 
 the kingdom for learning and virtue quiet at home or assist 
 him b}^ 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 en- 
 courage. ' ' 
 
 Swift, as all know, is one who seldom speaks kindly of 
 anyone. Constitutionally a fault-finder, we see how deeply 
 the excellencies of Berkeley had impressed themselves upon 
 him. And this was the same with all with whom Berkeley 
 came in contact. Pope is a man of easily excited tongue, 
 and yet these are his lines on becoming acquainted with 
 Berkeley : 
 
16 
 
 ' ' Even in a bishop I can spy desert ; 
 Seeker is decent, Eundle has a heart; i 
 
 Manners with candor are to Benson given, 
 To Berkeley every virtue under heaven. ' ' 
 
 I see that I omitted an important fact just before I said 
 that he went over to England to obtain money for his 
 college ; for two years before he was appointed Dean of 
 Derrj^, one of the best ecclesiastical positions in Ireland, 
 with a salary of eleven hundred pounds. When you come 
 to multiply that three or four times, according to the worth 
 of money at that time, you will see that it was a consider- 
 able sum. He went over, however, to England, and de- 
 manded that this be taken away from him and he be sent 
 out to Bermuda on a salary of a hundred pounds a year. 
 He found, as Swift had predicted, a coldness on nearly all 
 sides. He had hoped to raise the money for his college by 
 private subscription, but, finding these subscriptions came 
 in somewhat slowly, he then applied to the government. 
 Readily he obtained a charter from the government, but he 
 desired also a large endowment, and his persuasive elo- 
 quence was so great that in a short time he obtained a grant 
 from Parliament of twenty thousand pounds to found a 
 college in Bermuda. 
 
 I ought, however, to pause here a moment to tell of the 
 romantic incident which made this undertaking the more 
 possible for him. His friend Swift had had in London the 
 acquaintance of a young woman, Esther Van Hornrigh, 
 her whom he celebrates in his poem as Vanessa, the daugh- 
 ter of a Dutch merchant. Swift took Berkeley to her house 
 at one time. Probably Berkeley saw her only once in her 
 life. She was passionately in love with Swift. According 
 to his account, he felt a friendly interest in her, and nothing 
 more. Deeply disappointed, she went over to Ireland and 
 interviewed there Esther Johnson, to whom Swift writes his 
 ' ' The Journal to Stella, ' ' and learned from her that Swift 
 M^as already married to herself. So deep a gloom fell on 
 her that in the succeeding year she died, changing her will, 
 
17 
 
 in which she had given her property to Swift, and be- 
 queathing it in two parts, one to a judge of the court, an 
 intimate personal friend, and the other half to Bishop 
 Berkeley, recognizing in him such purity, such elevation of 
 spirit, such noble purposes, that her disappointment could 
 find no better consolation than to leave him some four 
 thousand pounds. Here, then, were further means for the 
 Indian college. 
 
 I think that you must have been surprised when I said 
 that his purpose was to found his college at Bermuda. 
 Bermuda is some six hundred miles off the coast. The 
 English possessions ran from Canada to the "West Indies, 
 having an extent of some sixteen hundred miles, and Ber- 
 muda is about equally distant from them both. What 
 crazy considerations could have been in Berkeley's head to 
 make him think that would be a good place for a college? 
 These considerations he mentions. He says that he wants 
 to isolate this college ; he does not wish it to be surrounded 
 with corrupt influences; the tribes of the continent were 
 savage tribes and they might easily make inroads upon his 
 college ; it was desirable, therefore, that it should be upon 
 an island ; he wished it to be a college for the entire country, 
 and therefore it should be fairly equally distant from all 
 parts of it. One fails to remember, too, that at that time 
 journeying by land was an extremely difficult matter. The 
 easy mode of journeying was by sea. Accordingly, Berke- 
 ley planted his college where it could be readily got at by 
 those so desiring. Considerations of this sort were weighty. 
 Further, too, he wished it to be in a spot where expense 
 would be reduced to the lowest point, where climate, soil, 
 and products would all be desirable for the young students. 
 He wished them to live in great simplicity, for he proposed 
 to train his young Indians and then send them back to 
 their own humble lives. 
 
 None were to be over ten years of age. He wished to 
 separate them from all the evil influences of their homes 
 and train them into religious and intellectual beings. 
 
18 
 
 These two aims are never separated in Berkeley's mind. 
 His thought of the Christian man is the whole man. he who 
 has cultivated every side of himself. Such a man, you will 
 readih^ understand, has no intolerance in him. He meets 
 all men on a level of equality with himself and seeks to 
 develop in them not merely tlie spiritual virtues, but the 
 scholarly ones as well. 
 
 For four j^ears Berkeley continued in London, soliciting 
 money for his college. The grant finally made, he, after 
 waiting for the money to be paid over, accepted the prom- 
 ises of Sir Robert "Walpole that it should follow him to this 
 country. Then, in 1728, he married Anne Forster, the 
 daughter of the speaker of the Irish House of Commons 
 and judge of the highest court in Scotland, an admirable 
 woman, who alwaj's made an excellent companion to him 
 and shared heartilj^ his idealistic conceptions. He per- 
 suaded three fellows of his college to give up their comfort- 
 able livings and accompany him, the sister of his wife 
 joined him, and in 1728 the party sailed for this country. 
 Whether through some mistake in steering, or from inten- 
 tion, we do not know, they landed at Newport. Newport 
 was at that time one of the great seaports of the East, a 
 seaport almost as important as New York or Boston today. 
 
 There Berkeley bought a piece of land a little way out 
 from Newport and built himself a comfortable, though 
 plain, home, which he called Whitehall, and went into 
 seclusion, waiting for the money to arrive. These were 
 dispiriting years, but Berkeley did not withdraw himself 
 altogether and show no interest in his new city. On the 
 contrary, though there was only a single Episcopal cliurch 
 in Newport, and hardly more in the whole colony, he 
 joined most heartily with this church, often preached in it, 
 and on his departure gave it an organ, which it still pos- 
 sesses; but he also joined with all the other religious life 
 of the people and entered heartily into the work of the 
 Puritan clergy, and was. deeply interested in the recent 
 foundation of Yale College. One of its former fellows, 
 
19 
 
 Samuel Johnson, became an ardent disciple of his. After 
 leaving Newport and reaching England, Berkeley sent back 
 to Yale College the largest collection of books its library 
 had ever received. To Harvard he also sent books. He 
 had his portrait painted by Smibert — a portrait of himself 
 and all his famih^ This picture was subsequently bought 
 for Yale College. From it the picture here has been 
 copied. 
 
 In Newport, he remained with the great enthusiasm 
 seething in his breast and all the rest of the world growing 
 cool. Years passed by and nothing came. Berkeley could 
 not be idle. Today there is pointed out on the seashore the 
 rock to which he used to go for writing. He busied himself 
 here in setting forth anew his idealistic conception, and 
 now more especially in reference to moral and religious 
 matters. It was here that he wrote the two delightful vol- 
 umes which he subsequently published in London under the 
 title of "Alciphron." Manj^ descriptions are introduced 
 here of the beautiful scenery along the coast of Newport. 
 
 But gradually it became plain that the money which 
 had been voted under the inspiring presence of Berkeley 
 had been used for other purposes by the lukewarm Prime 
 Minister. It was plain that he must return, a disappointed 
 man, to his country. He went back in 1732, leaving many 
 of his companions here. I spoke of the painter Smibert, 
 who came over in the same vessel with him. He was an 
 English painter whom he had met in Italy and interested 
 as deeply as he had all others with whom he spoke of his 
 new conception of America. Smibert accompanied him 
 here, and today many portraits of that excellent painter 
 are to be found throughout New England. 
 
 Returning to England, Berkeley had remained there 
 only a year when he was appointed Bishop of Cloyne. 
 Cloyne is a large diocese in the south of Ireland, immedi- 
 ately adjoining the city of Cork. It is not altogether a 
 beautiful place. Much poverty was in the place, and 
 the perpetual problems of the relation of Ireland and Eng- 
 
20 
 
 land would be pressing on anyone resident there. In the 
 first year of his residence Berkeley put out a volume calling 
 attention to these problems, a volume entitled ' ' Queries ' ' ; 
 for it is written entirely in questions, asking whether the 
 English government is wise in dealing thus and so with 
 Ireland. The book is certainly a singularly modern affair. 
 As one reads it one finds the means pointed out which Eng- 
 land would have been wise long ago to have adopted to 
 unite closel}' to itself this ardent and warm-hearted island. 
 
 But, living in his diocese in great retirement, though 
 putting out almost a new book in each of his early years 
 there, Berkeley acquired habits — or, rather, carried them 
 over from America — of seclusion and careful thought which 
 had hardly been his before, in the years of London or of 
 Italj' and France. 
 
 In 1739 there came a serious disturbance in his diocese. 
 Men, women and children were falling ill on every side. 
 I suppose we would call it grippe or malarial fever. Few 
 physicians were to be had. Berkeley, as the spiritual 
 father of the place, was called on also to be its physician. 
 He had heard, in America, of the use of various prepara- 
 tions of tar a.s valuable medical agents, and now began his 
 third great enthusiasm, the enthusiasm for drinking tar- 
 water. He supplied this beverage to many of his sick 
 parishioners and found that they did not die of it. He 
 began passing it about, and finally became convinced that 
 it was a universal panacea. Through it almost every ill- 
 ness could be banished from mankind. One wonders how 
 he could have been induced to believe such a thing, but he 
 had, after all, considerable reason. There is nothing more 
 remarkable in Berkeley than the minute care he takes in 
 verifying matters which strike outsiders as loose fanati- 
 cisms. In America he had learned that tar, in its various 
 preparations, Avas an admirable disinfectant, that it largely 
 destroyed germs of all sorts.' He found that the Indians 
 again and again used it with benefit in various diseases. 
 Then, too, as he began more and more fully, while resident 
 
21 
 
 at Cloyne, to study the ancient writers, he found that the 
 preparations of the pine had had a large part not only in 
 their common life, but in their materia mcdica. He found 
 that the early Greeks, as well as the Greeks of our day, 
 were in the habit of resinating their wine to make it more 
 wholesome. The staff of Bacchus is crowned with a pine 
 cone. Everywhere pine, he founcl, had been recognized by 
 the ancients as a most important agent in the life of man. 
 Accordingly, he studied with care exactly how the tar- 
 water should be made, just what the proportions of the mix- 
 ture should be, just how it should be dealt out to those in 
 need of it ; and need enough there was in his parish. Nat- 
 urally reports about it spread. Berkeley found it neces- 
 sary to write a treatise on tar-water, a description of just 
 how it should be prepared and what service might be ex- 
 pected from it. His book was, accordingly, entitled 
 "Siris, A Chain of Philosophical Reflections and Inquiries 
 Concerning the Virtues of Tar Water and Diverse Other 
 Subjects Connected Together and Arising One from An- 
 other." Siris is a Greek word derived from sira, a chain. 
 Sins, therefore, means "a little chain." In this remark- 
 able book, the last and perhaps the greatest of all Berke- 
 ley's books, he starts with an account of the making of 
 tar-water. Then he proceeds to point out what are the 
 characteristics of vegetable growth. He passes from this 
 to consider the other great natural agencies, the agencies of 
 light or fire as a basal principle in the physical universe. 
 Everywhere it seems tg be as universal in the physical world 
 as mind is in the world of humanity. Berkeley, therefore, 
 proceeds to inquire how far there is a correspondence be- 
 tween the principle of fire and the principle of mind, or of 
 thought, and so gradually rises to the great conception of 
 anima mundi, of a soul of the world, with which we are all 
 in connection. These years at Cloyne had largely been 
 spent in the reading of Plato and the Neo-Platonists, both 
 those of Alexandria and of the Renaissance in Italy. He 
 had become convinced that the great mind immanent in 
 
22 
 
 the world and in ourselves manifests itself in three differ- 
 ent ways — first, as the Eternal One, then as the principle of 
 intellect, and then as the principle of individual life — 
 all these three being manifestations of a single infinite 
 spirit. 
 
 John Stuart ]\Iill seldom allows himself a jest, but in 
 speaking of Berkeley, in the main with great reverence, he 
 says that this last book of his begins with tar-water and 
 ends with the Trinity and that the tar-water is the best part 
 of it. I think it probably is desirable to let you see the 
 different sides of this remarkable volume. Accordingly, I 
 read a bit from the opening passage of the book and then 
 read also its concluding paragraph : 
 
 In certain parts of America tar-water is made by putting a quart 
 of cold water to a quart of tar and stirring them well together in a 
 vessel, Avhieli is left standing until the tar sinks to the bottom. A 
 glass of clear water being poured off for a draught, is replaced by 
 the same quantity of fresh water, the vessel being shaken and left to 
 stand for a while, and this is repeated with every glass so long as the 
 tar continues to impregnate the water. 
 
 This is minute and tells us precisely how our medicine 
 should be prepared. But see to what heights he subse- 
 quently rises : 
 
 The eye, by long use, comes to see even in the darkest cavern; and 
 there is no subject so obscure but we may discern some glimpse of 
 truth by long poring on it. Truth is the cry of all, but the game of 
 a few. Certainly where it is the chief passion, it doth not give way 
 to vulgar cares and views, nor is it contented with a little ardour in 
 the early time of life; active, perhaps, to pursue, but not so fit to 
 weigh and revise. He that would make real progress in knowledge 
 must dedicate his age as well as his youth, the later growth as well 
 as the first fruits, at the altar of truth. 
 
 Are not these just such words as you would desire your 
 patron saint to utter? Are not the splendid enthusiasms 
 of this man, and at the same time his desire for accurate 
 thought, precisely what should inspire you ? Long may he 
 remain as a power in the consciousness of the University of 
 California ! 
 

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