A Proposal for the Better Supplying of Churches in Our Foreign Plantations, and for Converting the Savage Americans to Christianity, By a College to Be Erected in the Summer Islands, Otherwise Called the Isles of Bermuda

In Short

This brief, persuasive treatise argues for the establishment of a college in the Summer Islands—known today as Bermuda—to educate both the youth of the English American colonies and the indigenous peoples of the region. By creating a secluded, frugal, and highly disciplined seminary, the author contends that the church can produce better-qualified clergy for white settlers and, crucially, train native missionaries to convert their own countrymen. It remains a historical artifact of colonial-era missionary zeal and a striking example of eighteenth-century institutional architecture, documenting the formal attempt to export an intellectual and religious framework to the New World.

The Story

The narrative begins with a stark assessment of the spiritual state of the British American colonies. The author contends that existing efforts to propagate the gospel have failed, both among the English settlers—whose clergy are described as poorly qualified and motivated by poverty—and among the indigenous populations, who remain untouched by the efforts of foreign missionaries. The core of the problem, he argues, is a failure of character and method. Because humans are more likely to emulate the behavior of those around them than to follow abstract moral rules, the current practice of sending indifferent or unskilled men from England to serve in the colonies is fundamentally flawed.

To remedy this, the author proposes a new model: a dedicated college located in a neutral, secure, and isolated environment. He argues that the continent itself is too fraught with the corruptions of trade, luxury, and social division to serve as a proper home for such an institution. Instead, he identifies Bermuda as the ideal site. He characterizes the islands as a central hub for maritime travel, possessing a temperate, healthy climate, and, most importantly, a population noted for simplicity and frugality. By removing students from the vices found in wealthy trading ports like Barbados or the populous cities of the continent, the college would function as a "pure" reservoir, training young men who would then return to the mainland to spread the gospel.

The argument extends to the necessity of training indigenous youth specifically. He posits that indigenous people are more likely to listen to missionaries of their own blood and language than to foreigners, whom they rightly suspect of harboring ulterior motives regarding their land and liberty. He details the pedagogical approach, suggesting that children under ten be recruited—before "evil habits" take root—and taught not only theology but also practical skills like mathematics and medicine. Crucially, the author insists that this education must be coupled with the introduction of "civil life," including agriculture and organized trades, to help transition these communities into settled societies.

As the proposal reaches its conclusion, the author directly addresses his detractors. He refutes the notion that such a project distracts from the duty to convert citizens at home, arguing that charity is not a finite resource. He dismisses claims that indigenous populations are inherently incapable of learning, pointing to the sophisticated history of the Mexican and Peruvian empires as evidence of their potential. The book culminates in a postscript announcing that the King has formally granted a charter for "St. Paul’s College" in Bermuda, naming a president and board of trustees. It serves as a final, urgent call for financial support from the public, framing the endeavor as a legacy-building opportunity for those who wish to do good for future generations.

How It Unfolds

The problem of the colonies The author establishes that current efforts in the American plantations are failing because the clergy sent from England are often men of little merit or learning. He observes that even the enslaved populations remain "Heathen under Christian masters," suggesting a deep failure of the existing moral and ecclesiastical structure.

The proposed solution He argues for a seminary that will provide a constant supply of both English-trained pastors and indigenous missionaries. By fostering an environment of "poverty and self-denial," he believes students can be molded into effective leaders for their respective communities.

The choice of Bermuda The text highlights Bermuda as the only location that facilitates easy travel between the disparate colonies of the continent and the islands. Its physical isolation, safety from piracy, and lack of trade-driven luxury make it the perfect "nursery of learning."

The pedagogical vision The author details a plan to recruit young students and immerse them in a curriculum of religion, history, and practical arts. He emphasizes that this is a long-term strategy, intended to create a steady, self-sustaining stream of influence that the church in Rome has already begun to replicate.

The call to action The document concludes by detailing the administrative structure of the newly chartered college. It provides a list of prominent trustees and a mechanism for collecting subscriptions, framed as a noble, lasting contribution to the glory of God and the betterment of mankind.

The People

The author, George Berkeley, serves as the primary, authoritative voice, acting as both an intellectual architect and a committed protagonist. He displays a mixture of high-minded idealism and practical, administrative focus. He is driven by the belief that the "harvest is truly great," and he acts as the bridge between the Crown’s administrative power and the philanthropic potential of the British public.

He identifies the "savage Americans"—as he terms the indigenous people—as the potential missionaries of the future. While he speaks about them from a position of profound paternalism, he views them as "teachable" and "unincumbred" by the superstitions he associates with European religious conflict. He wants to transform their "brutal customs" into a life of civility and Christian piety.

The English colonial planters are presented as an obstacle to this goal. He views them as distracted by wealth, luxury, and the pursuit of trade, which has made them cold to their religious duties and indifferent to the humanity of their own enslaved laborers. Finally, the "well-disposed persons" of England are the silent partners in this endeavor. He seeks to move them from passive sympathy to active investment, challenging them to see that a small, well-placed donation can "enlarge the very being of a man" by extending his influence across the Atlantic.

In Its Own Voice

"Forasmuch as mankind are more apt to copy characters than to practise precepts, and forasmuch as argument, to attain its full strength, doth not less require the life of zeal, than the weight of reason."

The author argues that the moral quality of the clergy is more important than their theological knowledge.

"The young Americans necessary for this purpose, may, in the beginning be procured, either by peaceable methods from those savage nations, which border on our colonies, and are in friendship with us, or by taking captive the children of our enemies."

The author describes the varied and forceful methods through which the college intended to recruit its first cohort of students.

"A benefaction of this kind seems to enlarge the very being of a man, extending it to distant places and to future times; inasmuch as unseen countries, and after ages, may feel the effects of his bounty."

The author frames the financial endowment of the college as an act of personal immortality for the wealthy donor.

What It's Really About

The central argument is that the success of any religious or civilizing mission depends entirely upon the method of its implementation. Berkeley shifts the focus from the content of the message to the architecture of the institution delivering it. He poses a question regarding whether a geographically isolated, ascetic, and strictly controlled environment can protect intellectual purity from the corrupting influence of commercial wealth. Underlying this is a tension between the universalism of Christian charity and the pragmatic, colonial realities of the eighteenth-century British Empire. It is a work that attempts to reconcile high moral philosophy with the logistics of imperial expansion, asking how one might systematically "engineer" a social and religious shift across a vast and diverse geography.

Why Read It Today

Readers interested in the history of educational philosophy, missionary work, or the early colonial mindset will find this a fascinating, if challenging, primary source. It feels like stepping into the mind of a man who firmly believes that human character can be shaped through careful, strategic design. The prose is clean and remarkably confident, reflecting the intellectual rigor of its time, though modern readers will find the terminology regarding "savage" populations and the justification of "temporal servitude" deeply jarring.

It is not an easy read in terms of its period attitudes, but it is an honest one. You will see clearly the limitations of an era that viewed colonial expansion as a spiritual responsibility and the "conversion" of indigenous people as an inherent good. What stays with you is the sheer optimism of the proposal—the belief that by gathering a few students on a small, distant island and teaching them to be scholars, one could fundamentally alter the course of history across an entire continent. It is a reminder of how past visions of the "betterment of mankind" were often inseparable from the administrative and political machinery of their empires.