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ALBERT ELLERY BERGH P v1 Y GIES, Oy! -ILLVSTRATED - WITH: NEARLY -TWO- “HVNDRED: PHOTOGRAVVRES : ETCH: 4 ‘INGS‘COLORED-PLATES:AND-FVLL: ‘PAGE: PORTRAITS: OF-GREAT:AVTHORS : CLARENCE Cook -- ArT EpITor - NEW: ‘YORK << MDCCCXCIX - VIE DSK DAE NOK OKE KOE PEDO IBODD LOO) LOGON) OYOYYOULI LE ». |e eee OMe Vevovave Vole Woe Waa Wa VeleWeWeien fae Weare Wer € Is cs —_— NAN) | A aoe > C5 > PAOP COV EO) CCP COP CC) cc rae - MOYO LOLO YOY OKO KO KOK? ‘ ©7.4¢ 407 £0) CCV COP EOP EOPEOD (CD IC) EO7 CO) aF ep A he) A be) A ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING NOVUM “ORGANUM CZ (a 4G) (OR COP: we QLOXOKOKEOK —_, - ~~ = — FRANCIS BACON (LORD VERULAM) Z) Ao — = ts WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY JAMES EDWARD CREIGHTON, P#.D. PROFESSOR OF LOGIC AND METAPHYSICS AT CORNELL UNIVERSITY REVISED EDITION CopyRIGHT, 1899, By THE COLONIAL PRESS. - ES eee en, = ee a ee = SPECIAL INTRODUCTION HE Elizabethan age may be regarded as the continuation and development in England of that new spirit which first manifested itself in Italy about the middle of the fifteenth century, and which is commonly known as the Renaissance. This new spirit involved a complete transforma- tion of the ideals of the Middle Ages, and an entire reversal of the valuations which had ruled the world for a thousand years. The Renaissance gloried in the present life, instead of despis- ing it and looking towards another; it put knowledge in the place of faith, the rational enjoyment of life and the full de- velopment of the powers of the individual in the place of asceticism, and action and achievement in the room of the old ideals of resignation and prayer. But it was in the Eng- land of Elizabeth—the England in which Bacon was born and bred—that we first find in modern times the complete re- awakening of the national consciousness, the full sense of political freedom and unity. This reawakened patriotism finds triumphant expressions in almost all the literature of the time, and in particular is heard as an exultant and ever-recurring note through the whole series of Shakespearean plays which deal with English history: Pes “ This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, This muse, this teeming womb of royal Kings Feared by their breed and famous through their birth.” There is still another aspect of the English Renaissance—an- other stage in the assertion of the free spirit—with which the name of Bacon is most intimately connected. For it was dur- - ing this period that man came proudly and joyfully to recognize that nature is his own proper heritage, that he has the power and the right in virtue of his intelligence to subdue it to himself, and make its forces minister to his wants. This spirit dom- iii iv BACON inated more or less unconsciously the daring navigators and adventurers of the time, and was also the inspiration of men of science like Galileo, Harvey, and Gilbert. But it was Bacon who saw most clearly, and set forth most eloquently, the glories of the promised land into which men were called upon to enter. He felt that under the false leadership of Aristotle and his medizval disciples humanity had wandered long cen- turies in the wilderness of empty words and vain imaginings. - Throughout the course of his busy and often troubled public life Bacon never ceased to believe that his true mission was to recall men from the study of words to that of things, to point out to them the power and advantage to be gained from a true knowledge of nature, as well as to set forth the method by means of which he believed such knowledge could be gained. Francis Bacon was born in London on January 22, 1561, according to our present method of reckoning time. He was the youngest son by a second marriage of Sir Nicholas Bacon, Lord-keeper of the Great Seal under Elizabeth, and Anne Cooke (daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke), whose sister, Mil- dred, was the wife of Lord Burleigh, perhaps the most promi- nent statesman of the time. In his twelfth year (1573) Bacon was sent with his brother, Anthony, to Trinity College, Cam- bridge, where his tutor was Whitgift, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury. He left the University at the end of 1575, going abroad the following year with Sir Amyas Paulet, the English ambassador in Paris. As an attaché of the embassy, he spent about three years in France, living at Paris, Blois, Poictiers, and Tours, and gaining much useful experience. The sudden death of his father, however, caused him to return to England; and, as his fortune was but small, he devoted himself to the study of law, and was admitted as a barrister in 1582. In 1584, he was elected to Parliament, and soon began to attract atten- tion by his ability and power in debate. The political prefer- ment which he sought was, however, long delayed, and he suf- fered the disappointment of seeing various offices for which he was a candidate given to his rivals, though he had the personal friendship and powerful support of the brilliant Essex, at that time the greatest favorite of Elizabeth. In the mean time, he was constantly harassed by financial embarrassments, until he was at length relieved by the generosity of Essex. But, dur- SPECIAL INTRODUCTION v ing these years of worldly ambitions and disappointments, Bacon seems to have constantly cherished the hope of carrying out the great purpose, which he had formed in his youth, of renewing science by pointing out to it its true mission and its only fruitful method. In a letter containing an earnest appeal for aid to his uncle, Lord Burleigh, written when he was thirty-one years of age, we find this passage: “I confess that I have as vast intellectual ends as I have moderate civil ends; for I have taken all knowl- edge to be my province; and if I could purge it of two sort of rovers, whereof the one with frivolous disputations, confuta- tions, and verbosities, the other with blind experiments and au- ricular traditions and impostures hath committed so many spoils, I hope I should bring in industrious observations, grounded conclusions, and profitable inventions and discov- eries: the best state of the province. This, whether it be curiosity or vain-glory, or nature, or (if one take it favorably) philanthropia, is so fixed in my mind as it cannot be removed.” At length, in 1595, Bacon was made a Queen’s Counsel, and employed in government business. It was in this capacity that he was called upon to take part in the prosecution of his former benefactor, the rash and unfortunate Essex. For his action in connection with this trial, Bacon has been severely criticised. A careful study of the facts, however, seems to show that so long as Bacon believed that Essex had been guilty only of folly and imprudence, he used all his influence in his be- half. When, on the other hand, it became plain that his friend had been guilty of treason, he simply did his duty as an officer of the Crown, extenuating nothing, nor setting aught down in malice. It was not until several years after James I came to the throne of England that Bacon received the recognition which his great talents merited. The part he had played in the trial of Essex (who had been a strong champion of the Scottish succes- sion) made him unpopular with that monarch. But in 1607, his good fortune began by his appointment as Solicitor-Gen- eral, and was followed by his being made Attorney-General in 1613. In 1617, he was appointed Keeper of the Great Seal, and in 1619 he was made Lord Chancellor, with the title of Baron Verulam. In the year following, he was created Viscount St. Albans. But his fall was at hand. In the same year in which vi BACON this last honor had been bestowed upon him, the Lord Chan- cellor was accused of taking bribes in the exercise of the duties of his office. When he perceived that the charges would be sustained, he made full confession; maintaining, however, that although he had in a few cases received presents while litigation was pending, he had never had any bribe or reward in his eye when he gave judgment. ‘The sentence pronounced upon him by the House of Lords directed that he should pay a fine of £40,000; that he should be imprisoned in the Tower during the King’s pleasure; that he should henceforth be incapable of holding any office, or of sitting in Parliament; and that he should not come within twelve miles of the Court. ‘The fine, however, was never collected; his imprisonment lasted but a day or two, and he was soon allowed to take up his residence at Bedford House in London. With regard to this sad ending to a brilliant political career, it is difficult to pass judgment. It cannot, of course, be main- tained that Bacon did not deserve his punishment. It is only right to remember, however, that it is not fair to judge Bacon by the standards of our time. The habit of receiving presents from litigants was by no means uncommon, even while suits were pending, and Bacon himself, while making full confession, maintained that he had never perverted justice through the in- fluence of bribes. His own statement gives perhaps the fairest possible verdict of the case: “I was the justest judge that was in England these fifty years; but it was the justest censure that was in Parliament these two hundred years.” His few re- maining years were devoted to the literary pursuits which had previously been carried on in leisure moments during his busy life. But his health had long been feeble, and, in 1626, a cold caught while engaged in an experiment to test the preservative properties of snow, led to a fever, of which he died on April gth. “The Advancement of Learning” and the “ Novum Orga- num,” to which this sketch is intended to serve as an introduc- tion, were designed as the first and second parts of a great work, planned on an ambitious scale, by the author, in six parts, to be called the “ Magna Instauratio.” Without stopping to enumerate the various parts of this plan, we may note that with the exception of the “ Sylva Syl- 99 varum ” which, together with some minor works, represents SPECIAL INTRODUCTION vii the author’s attempt to present the phenomena of the universe as data for induction, and corresponds in general to the third part of the “ Great Instauration” as originally planned, the first and second parts of the work as represented by the treatises here published were the only parts which were carried to com- pletion. The “ De Augmentis Scientiarum ” is a Latin version of the “ Advancement of Learning,” though considerably ex- tended and elaborated, and differing from the English work in several minor points. The great English work, “ The Advancement of Learning,” was published in 1605. It was the first great prose work on a secular subject in the language, and well represents the vigor of Bacon’s thought and the wonderful power and charm of his imagination, at the same time that it bears witness to the youth- ful virility and flexibility of the English tongue. Bacon’s object in this work was to show the necessity of advancing knowledge, to justify learning by setting forth its dignity and true value. In pursuance of this end, he describes and classifies the existing sciences, showing, as he himself says, “not only things invented and known, but likewise things omitted which ought to be there.” By exhibiting the defects of the existing sciences, and showing the possibility of filling up the gaps, he hoped to incite others to undertake the work. He will ring the bell, as he puts it, to call the wits together. Moreover, he feels it to be no small part of his duty to remove the hindrances which have so long retarded the advance of knowledge, and in particular to expose the pretensions of the Aristotelian philosophy, which seem to him the source of so much mischief. It was to emphasize his opposition to Aristotle, whose logical works had long borne the general title of the “ Organon,” that Bacon called the book in which he set forth his new method the “Novum Organum.” It was written in Latin, and ap- peared in 1620. The gospel which he preaches in this work is that it is the business of man to be the interpreter of nature; and, to this end, that he must turn from words to a study of things, in order to discover nature’s laws. Instead of attempting to extract truth deductively by the employment of syllogistic forms, one must employ induction, must sys- tematically observe, experiment, and employ one’s reason about things and their mode of behavior. Moreover, in observing Vili BACON nature, one must come as a little child; must rid one’s mind of all prepossessions or prejudices which serve to distort the truth. It is in this latter connection that Bacon sets forth his famous doctrine of the four classes of “idols,” or fallacies to which the mind is especially subject in its attempts to reach truth. He then proceeds to analyze and illustrate the methods of inductive research much more completely than had ever been done before his time. We cannot here discuss the merits and defects of that analysis, but merely remark that it is not too much to say that Bacon did for inductive logic what Aristotle did for the theory of the syllogism. It is, of course, incorrect to say, as has sometimes been said, that Bacon invented the inductive method of reasoning. Men have always reasoned from particular instances to general laws. But to admit this is not to lessen in any way the significance of the “ Novum Organum,” as Macaulay assumes, in his brilliant but exceedingly inaccurate and misleading essay on Bacon. For we must distinguish between using induction more or less unconsciously and thoughtlessly, and employing it with full consciousness of the various steps involved, and under the proper conditions. What Bacon endeavored to do was to an- alyze the inductive procedure, and to show what conditions must be fulfilled in order that truth may be reached in this way. He thus brought the mind to a consciousness of its own meth- ods, and provided it with a sure instrument for reaching certain conclusions. But Bacon’s services in impressing upon mankind a new ideal of culture, and in arousing them to the practical im- portance of extending their knowledge of nature, are perhaps even more important than his logical theories. What Bacon was to science from this point of view, is well expressed by the following quotation from Dean Church’s book on Bacon, in the “English Men of Letters” series: “The world has agreed to date from Bacon the systematic reform of natural philosophy, the beginning of an intelligent attempt, which has been crowned with such signal success, to place the investiga- tion of nature on a solid foundation. . . . It was some- thing, indeed, to have conceived, as clearly as he conceived it, the large and comprehensive idea of what natural knowledge must be, and must rest upon, even if he were not able to realize his idea, and were mistaken in his practical methods of a a SPECIAL INTRODUCTION ix reform. But great ideas and great principles need their ade- quate interpreter, their vates sacer, if they are to influence the history of mankind. . . . The disclosure, the interpreta- tion, the development of that great intellectual revolution, which was in the air, and which was practically carried forward in obscurity, day by day, by the fathers of modern astronomy and chemistry and physiology, had fallen to the task of a genius, second only to Shakespeare. He had the power to tell the story of what they were doing, and were to do, with a force of imaginative reason of which they were utterly in- capable. . . . The calculations of the astronomer, the in- vestigations of the physician, were more or less a subject of talk, as curious or possibly useful employments. But that which bound them together in the unity of science, which gave them their meaning beyond themselves, which raised them to a higher level and gave them their real dignity among the pursuits of men, which forced all thinking men to see what new and unsuspected possibilities in the knowledge and in the condition of mankind were open before them, was not Bacon’s own attempt at science, not even his collection of facts and his rules of method, but that great idea of the reality and boundless worth of knowledge, which Bacon’s penetrating and sure intuition had discerned, and which had taken possession of his whole nature.” = — - / . ; , : : . '" 4 , ,) ne f ae ae Se ee ES ee eet a - ae ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE AUTHOR Francis of Verulam thought thus, and such ts the method which he determined within himself, and which he thought it concerned the living and posterity to know. EING convinced, by a careful observation, that the human understanding perplexes itself, or makes not a sober and advantageous use of the real helps within its reach, whence manifold ignorance and inconveniences arise, he was determined to employ his utmost endeavors towards restoring or cultivating a just and legitimate familiarity betwixt the mind and things. But as the mind, hastily and without choice, imbibes and treasures up the first notices of things, from whence all the rest proceed, errors must forever prevail, and remain uncor- rected, either by the natural powers of the understanding or the assistance of logic; for the original notions being vitiated, con- fused, and inconsiderately taken from things, and the second- ary ones formed no less rashly, human knowledge itself, the thing employed in all our researches, is not well put together nor justly formed, but resembles a magnificent structure that has no foundation. And whilst men agree to admire and magnify the false powers of the mind, and neglect or destroy those that might be rendered true, there is no other course left but with better assistance to begin the work anew, and raise or rebuild the sciences, arts, and all human knowledge from a firm and solid basis. This may at first seem an infinite scheme, unequal to human abilities, yet it will be found more sound and judicious than the course hitherto pursued, as tending to some issue; whereas all hitherto done with regard to the sciences is vertiginous, or in the way of perpetual rotation. Nor is he ignorant that he stands alone in an experiment xi xii BACON almost too bold and astonishing to obtain credit, yet he thought it not right to desert either the cause or himself, but to boldly enter on the way and explore the only path which is pervious to the human mind. For it is wiser to engage in an undertak- ing that admits of some termination, than to involve one’s self in perpetual exertion and anxiety about what is interminable. The ways of contemplation, indeed, nearly correspond to two roads in nature, one of which, steep and rugged at the com- mencement, terminates in a plain; the other, at first view smooth and easy, leads only to huge rocks and precipices. Un- certain, however, whether these reflections would occur to an- other, and observing that he had never met any person disposed to apply his mind to similar thoughts, he determined to publish whatsoever he found time to perfect. Nor is this the haste of ambition, but anxiety, that if he should die there might remain behind him some outline and determination of the matter his mind had embraced, as well as some mark of his sincere and earnest affection to promote the happiness of mankind. CONTENTS 1 Tax Diowery ano Avvavcrnes or Leaxnne PAGE A re errr ror rrr. | O. 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PROOEMIYM. f| Fa Neaer . eee tC - 2. -_ a Shoe <> &t 7 2 = a . at bt a ake ¢ - noe * rae a . ‘ “nt —e = oe 7 ‘ - 1 7 - a ae oo = Bae ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE ‘ Venus Ge Mao... i ie | ares 4 Us haeiting fia tis original marble statee ‘ie Pace rroM A LETTER oF CoLuMBUS. . . ‘. «310 __ Fac-simile example of Printing in the Fifteenth Century ‘ Y Onratus, EuryDICE AND HERMES . ; - ° - 368 i " ed haetminadiae ae > | eit Ye at . ON THE DIGNITY AND ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING FIRST BOOK The Different Objections to Learning stated and confuted; its Dignity and Merit maintained TO THE KING S under the old law, most excellent King, there were daily sacrifices and free oblations athe one arising out of ritual observance, and the other from a pious gen- erosity, so I deem that all faithful subjects owe their kings a double tribute of affection and duty. In the first I hope I shall never be found deficient, but as regards the latter, though doubt- ful of the worthiness of my choice, I thought it more befitting to tender to your Majesty that service which rather refers to the excellence of your individual person than to the business of the state. In bearing your Majesty in mind, as is frequently my custom and duty, I have been often struck with admiration, apart from your other gifts of virtue and fortune, at the surprising develop- ment of that part of your nature which philosophers call intel- lectual. The deep and broad capacity of your mind, the grasp of your memory, the quickness of your apprehension, the pene- tration of your judgment, your lucid method of arrangement, and easy facility of speech:—at such extraordinary endow- ments I am forcibly reminded of the saying of Plato, “ that all science is but remembrance,”$ and that the human mind is orig- inally imbued with all knowledge; that which she seems ad- ventitiously to acquire in life being nothing more than a return to her first conceptions, which had been overlaid by the gross- ness of the body. Inno person so much as your Majesty does I : BACON this opinion appear more fully confirmed, your soul being apt to kindle at the intrusion of the slightest object; and even at the spark of a thought foreign to the purpose to burst into flame. As the Scripture says of the wisest king, “That his heart was as the sands of the sea,”¢ which, though one of the largest bodies, contains the finest and smallest particles of mat- ter. In like manner God has endowed your Majesty with a mind capable of grasping the largest subjects and comprehend- ing the least, though such an instrument seems an impossibility innature. As regards your readiness of speech, I am reminded of that saying of Tacitus concerning Augustus Cesar, “Augusto profluens ut que principem virum deceret, eloquentia fuit.’’d For all eloquence which is affected or overlabored, or merely imitative, though otherwise excellent, carries with it an air of servility, nor is it free to follow its own impulses. But your Majesty’s eloquence is indeed royal, streaming and branching out in nature’s fashion as from a fountain, copious and elegant, original and inimitable. And as in those things which concern your crown and family, virtue seems to contend with fortune— your Majesty being possessed of a virtuous disposition and a prosperous government, a virtuous observance of the duties of the conjugal state with most blessed and happy fruit of mar- riage, a virtuous and most Christian desire of peace at a time when contemporary princes seem no less inclined to harmony— so likewise in intellectual gifts there appears as great a conten- tion between your Majesty’s natural talents and the universality and perfection of your learning. Nor indeed would it be easy to find any monarch since the Christian era who could bear any comparison with your Majesty in the variety and depth of your erudition. Let any one run over the whole line of kings, and he will agree with me. It indeed seems a great thing in a monarch, if he can find time to digest a compendium or imbibe the simple elements of science, or love and countenance learn- ing; but that a king, and he a king born, should have drunk at the true fountain of knowledge, yea, rather, should have a foun- tain of learning in himself, is indeed little short of a miracle. And the more since in your Majesty’s heart are united all the treasures of sacred and profane knowledge, so that like Hermes your Majesty is invested with a triple glory, being distinguished no less by the power of a king than by the illumination ofa priest and the learning of a philosopher.e Since, then, your Majesty ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 3 surpasses other monarchs by this property, which is peculiarly your own, it is but just that this dignified pre-eminence should not only be celebrated in the mouths of the present age, and be transmitted to posterity, but also that it should be engraved in some solid work which might serve to denote the power of so great a king and the height of his learning. Therefore, to return to our undertaking: no oblation seemed more suitable than some treatise relating to that purpose, the sum of which should consist of two parts—the first of the ex- cellence of learning, and the merit of those who labor judiciously and with energy for its propagation and development. The second, to point out what part of knowledge has been already labored and perfected, and what portions left unfinished or en- tirely neglected ; in order, since I dare not positively advise your Majesty to adopt any particular course, that by a detailed repre- sentation of our wants, I may excite your Majesty to examine the treasures of your royal heart, and thence to extract, what- ever to your magnanimity and wisdom may seem best fitted to enlarge the boundaries of knowledge. On the threshold of the first part it is advisable to sift the merits of knowledge, and clear it of the disgrace brought upon it by ignorance, whether disguised (1) in the zeal of divines, (2) the arrogance of politicians, or (3) the errors of men of letters. Some divines pretend, 1. “ That knowledge is to be received with great limitation, as the aspiring to it was the original sin, and the cause of the fall ; 2. That it has somewhat of the serpent, and puffeth up;” 3. That Solomon says, “ Of making books there is no end: much study is weariness of the flesh ; for in much wisdom is much grief; and he that increaseth knowledge, in- creaseth sorrow: ”’f 4. “ That St. Paul cautions against being spoiled through vain philosophy: ’’s 5. ‘““That experience shows learned men have been heretics ; and learned times inclined to atheism; and that the contemplation of second causes takes from our dependence upon God, who is the first.” To this we answer, I. It was not the pure knowledge of nature, by the light whereof man gave names to all the creatures in Paradise, agreeable to their natures, that occasioned the fall; but the proud knowledge of good and evil, with an intent in man to give law to himself, and depend no more upon God. 2, Nor can any quantity of natural knowledge puff up the mind; CON 4 BA for nothing fills, much less distends the soul, but God. Whence as Solomon declares: “ That the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear with hearing; ” so of knowledge itself he says, “ God hath made all things beautiful in their seasons ; also he hath placed the world in man’s heart ; yet cannot man find out the work which God worketh from the beginning to the end ; i hereby declaring plainly that God has framed the mind like a glass, capable of the image of the universe, and desirous to re- ceive it as the eye to receive the light; and thus it is not only pleased with the variety and vicissitudes of things, but also en- deavors to find out the laws they observe in their changes and alterations. And if such be the extent of the mind, there is no danger of filling it with any quantity of knowledge. But it is merely from its quality when taken without the true corrective, that knowledge has somewhat of venom or malignity. The corrective which renders it sovereign is charity, for, according to St. Paul, “ Knowledge puffeth up, but charity buildeth.”% 3. For the excess of writing and reading books, the anxiety of spirit proceeding from knowledge, and the admonition, that we be not seduced by vain philosophy ; when these passages are rightly understood, they mark out the boundaries of human knowledge, so as to comprehend the universal nature of things. These limitations are three: the first, that we should not place our felicity in knowledge, so as to forget mortality ; the second, that we use knowledge so as to give ourselves ease and content, not distaste and repining; and the third, that we presume not by the contemplation of nature, to attain to the mysteries of God. As to the first, Solomon excellently says; “I saw that wisdom excelleth folly as far as light excelleth darkness. The wise man’s eyes are in his head, but the fool walketh in darkness; and I myself perceived also that one event happeneth to them all.”? And for the second, it is certain that no vexation or anxiety of mind results from knowl- edge, but merely by accident; all knowledge, and admiration, which is the seed of knowledge, being pleasant in itself; but when we frame conclusions from our knowledge, apply them to our own particular, and thence minister to ourselves weak fears or vast desires ; then comes on that anxiety and trouble of mind which is here meant—when knowledge is no longer the dry light of Heraclitus, but the drenched one, steeped in the humors of the affections.m 4. The third point deserves to be ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 5 more dwelt upon; for if any man shall think, by his inquiries after material things, to discover the nature or will of God, he is indeed spoiled by vain philosophy; for the contemplation of God’s works produces knowledge, though, with regard to him, not perfect knowledge, but wonder, which is broken knowledge. It may, therefore, be properly said, “ That the sense resembles the sun, which shows the terrestrial globe, but conceals the celes- tial;”’" for thus the sense discovers natural things, whilst it shuts up divine. And hence some learned men have, indeed, been heretical, whilst they sought to seize the secrets of the Deity borne on the waxen wings of the senses. 5. As to the point that too much knowledge should incline to atheism, and the ignorance of second causes make us more dependent upon God, we ask Job’s question, “‘ Will ye lie for God, as one man will do for another, to gratify him? ”o For certainly God works nothing in nature but by second causes ;/ and to assert the con- trary is mere imposture, as it were, in favor of God, and offer- ing up to the author of truth the unclean sacrifice of a lie. Un- doubtedly a superficial tincture of philosophy may incline the mind to atheism, yet a further knowledge brings it back to religion; for on the threshold of philosophy, where second causes appear to absorb the attention, some oblivion of the highest cause may ensue ; but when the mind goes deeper, and sees the dependence of causes and the works of Providence, it will easily perceive, according to the mythology of the poets, that the upper link of Nature’s chain is fastened to Jupiter’s throne.g To conclude, let no one weakly imagine that man can search too far, or be too well studied in the book of God’s word, and works, divinity, and philosophy; but rather let him en- deavor an endless progression in both, only applying all to charity, and not to pride—to use, not ostentation, without con- founding the two different streams of philosophy and revelation together. The reflections cast upon learning by politicians, are these: 1. “ That it enervates men’s minds, and unfits them for arms; 2. That it perverts their dispositions for government and poli- tics ; 3. That it makes them too curious and irresolute, by variety _of reading; too peremptory or positive by strictness of rules; too immoderate and conceited by the greatness of instances; too unsociable and incapacitated for the times, by the dissimili- tude of examples ; or at least, 4. That it diverts from action and 6 BACON business, and leads to a love of retirement ; 5. That it introduces a relaxation in government, as every man 1s more ready to argue than obey; whence Cato the censor—when Carneades came ambassador to Rome, and the young Romans, allured with his eloquence, flocked about him—gave counsel in open senate, to grant him his despatch immediately, lest he should infect the minds of the youth, and insensibly occasion an alteration in the state.’ The same conceit is manifest in Virgil, who, preferring the honor of his country to that of his profession, challenged the arts of policy in the Romans, as something superior to letters, the pre-eminence in which, he freely assigns to the Grecians. “Tu regere imperio populos, Romane memento: Hz tibi erunt artes.””—A‘neas.* And we also observe that Anytus, the accuser of Socrates, charged him in his impeachment with destroying, in the minds of young men, by his rhetorical arts, all authority and reverence for the laws of the country.s 1. But these and the like imputations have rather a show of gravity, than any just ground ; for experience shows that learn- ing and arms have flourished in the same persons and ages. As to persons, there are no better instances than Alexander and Ceesar, the one Aristotle’s scholar in philosophy, and the other Cicero’s rival in eloquence; and, again, Epaminondas and Xenophon, the one whereof first abated the power of Sparta, and the other first paved the way for subverting the Persian monarchy. This concurrence of learning and arms, is yet more visible in times than in persons, as an age exceeds a man. For in Egypt, Assyria, Persia, Greece, and Rome, the times most famous for arms are likewise most admired for learning ; so that the greatest authors and philosophers, the greatest leaders and governors, have lived in the same ages. Nor can it well be otherwise ; for as the fulness of human strength, both in body and mind, comes nearly at an age; so arms and learning, one whereof corresponds to the body, the other to the soul, have a near concurrence in point of time. 2. And that learning should rather prove detrimental than _ serviceable in the art of government, seems very improbable. It is wrong to trust the natural body to empirics, who commonly have a few receipts whereon they rely, but who know neither ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 4 the causes of diseases, nor the constitutions of patients, nor the danger of accidents, nor the true methods of cure. And so it must needs be dangerous to have the civil body of states man- aged by empirical statesmen, unless well mixed with others who are grounded in learning. On the contrary, it is almost with- out instance, that any government was unprosperous under learned governors. For however common it has been with politicians to discredit learned men, by the name of pedants, yet it appears from history, that the governments of princes in minority have excelled the governments of princes in maturity, merely because the management was in learned hands. The state of Rome for the first five years, so much magnified, during the minority of Nero, was in the hands of Seneca, a pedant: so it was for ten years, during the minority of Gordianus the younger, with great applause in the hands of Misitheus, a pedant ; and it was as happy before that, in the minority of Alex- ander Severus, under the rule of women, assisted by preceptors. And to look into the government of the bishops of Rome, par- ticularly that of Pius and Sextus Quintus, who were both at their entrance esteemed but pedantical friars, we shall find that such popes did greater things, and proceeded upon truer princi- ples of state, than those who rose to the papacy from an educa- tion in civil affairs, and the courts of princes. For though men bred to learning are perhaps at a loss in points of convenience, and present accommodations, called t reasons of state, yet they are perfect in the plain grounds of religion, justice, honor, and moral virtue, which, if well pursued, there will be as little use of reasons of state, as of physic in a healthy constitution. Nor can the experience of one man’s life furnish examples and prece- dents for another’s ; present occurrences frequently correspond to ancient examples, better than to later. And, lastly, the genius of any single man can no more equal learning, than a private purse hold way with the exchequer. 3. As to the particular indispositions of the mind for politics and government, laid to the charge of learning, if they are allowed of any force, it must be remembered, that learning affords more remedies than it breeds diseases ; for if, by a secret operation, it renders men perplexed and irresolute, on the other hand, by plain precept, it teaches when, and upon what grounds, to resolve, and how to carry things in suspense, without preju- dice : if it makes men positive and stiff, it shows what things are 8 BACON in their nature demonstrative, what conjectural; and teaches the use of distinctions and exceptions, as well as the rigidness of principles and rules. If it misleads, by the unsuitableness of examples, it shows the force of circumstances, the errors of comparisons, and the cautions of application; so that in all cases, it rectifies more effectually than it perverts: and these remedies it conveys into the mind much more effectually by the force and variety of examples. Let a man look into the errors of Clement VII, so livelily described by Guicciardini; or into those of Cicero, described by himself in his epistles to At- ticus, and he will fly from being irresolute : let him look into the errors of Phocion, and he will beware of obstinacy or inflexi- bility : let him read the fable of Ixion, and it will keep him from conceitedness: let him look into the errors of the second Cato, and he will never tread opposite to the world.v 4. For the pretence that learning disposes to retirement, privacy, and sloth; it were strange if what accustoms the mind to perpetual motion and agitation should induce indolence ; whereas no kind of men love business, for its own sake, but the learned; whilst others love it for profit, as hirelings for the wages; others for honor; others because it bears them up in the eyes of men, and refreshes their reputations, which would otherwise fade; or because it reminds them of their fortune, and gives them opportunities of revenging and obliging; or be- cause it exercises some faculty, wherein they delight, and so keeps them in good humor with themselves. Whence, as false valor lies in the eyes of the beholders, such men’s industry lies in the eyes of others, or is exercised with a view to their own designs ; whilst the learned love business, as an action ac- cording to nature, and agreeable to the health of the mind, as exercise is to that of the body: so that, of all men, they are the most indefatigable in such business as may deservedly fill and employ the mind. And if there are any laborious in study, yet idle in business, this proceeds either from a weakness of body, or a softness of disposition, and not from learning itself, as Seneca remarks, “ Quidam tam sunt umbratiles ut putent in turbido esse, quicquid in luce est.”% The consciousness of such a disposition may indeed incline a man to learning, but learning does not breed any such temper in him. If it be objected, that learning takes up much time, which might be better employed, I answer that the most active or busy ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 9 men have many vacant hours, while they expect the tides and returns of business ; and then the question is, how those spaces of leisure shall be filled up, whether with pleasure or study? Demosthenes being taunted by Aéschines, a man of pleasure, that his speeches smelt of the lamp, very pertly retorted, “ There is great difference between the objects which you and I pursue by lamp-light.”” No fear, therefore, that learning should dis- place business, for it rather keeps and defends the mind against idleness and pleasure, which might otherwise enter to the prej- ’ udice both of business and learning. 5. For the allegation that learning should undermine the reverence due to laws and government, it is a mere calumny, without shadow of truth; for to say that blind custom of obedi- ence should be safer obligation than duty, taught and under- stood, is to say that a blind man may tread surer by a guide than a man with his eyes open can by a light. And, doubtless, ' learning makes the mind gentle and pliable to government, whereas ignorance renders it churlish and mutinous; and it is always found that the most barbarous, rude, and ignorant times have been most tumultuous, changeable, and seditious. 6. As to the judgment of Cato the Censor, he was punished for his contempt of learning, in the kind wherein he offended, for when past threescore the humor took him to learn Greek, which shows that his former censure of the Grecian learning was rather an affected gravity than his inward sense.y And, in- deed, the Romans never arrived at their height of empire till they had arrived at their height of arts; for in the time of the two first Cesars, when their government was in its greatest per- fection, there lived the best poet, Virgil; the best historiogra- pher, Livy; the best antiquary, Varro; and the best, or sec- ond best orator, Cicero, that the world has known. And as to the persecution of Socrates, the time must be remembered in which it occurred, viz., under the reign of the Thirty Tyrants, of all mortals the bloodiest and basest that ever reigned, since the government had no sooner returned to its senses than that judgment was reversed. Socrates, from being a criminal, started at once into a hero, his memory loaded with honors human and divine, and his discourses, which had been pre- viously stigmatized as immoral and profane, were considered as the reformers of thought and manners. And let this suffice as an answer to those politicians who have presumed, whether sportively or in earnest, to disparage learning. 3 BACON We come now to that sort of discredit which is brought upon learning by learned men themselves; and this proceeds either (1) from their fortune, (2) their manners, or (3) the nature of their studies. ro 1. The disrepute of learning from the fortune or condition of the learned, regards either their indigence, retirement, or mean- ness of employ. As to the point, that learned men grow not so soon rich as others, because they convert not their labors to profit, we might turn it over to the friars, of whom Machiavel said, “That the kingdom of the clergy had been long since at an end, if the reputation and reverence towards the poverty of the monks and mendicants had not borne out the excesses of bishops and prelates.”@ For so the splendor and magnificence of the great had long since sunk into rudeness and barbarism, if the poverty of learned men had not kept up civility and reputation. But to drop such advantages, it is worth observing how rever- end and sacred poverty was esteemed for some ages in the Roman state, since, as Livy says, “ There never was a republic greater, more venerable, and more abounding in good examples than the Roman, nor one that so long withstood avarice and luxury, or so much honored poverty and parsimony.”b And we see, when Rome degenerated, how Julius Ceesar after his victory was counselled to begin the restoration of the state, by abolish- ing the reputation of wealth. And, indeed, as we truly say that blushing is the livery of virtue, though it may sometimes pro- ceed from guilt,¢ so it holds true of poverty that it is the attend- ant of virtue, though sometimes it may proceed from mis- management and accident. As for retirement, it is a theme so common to extol a private life, not taxed with sensuality and sloth, for the liberty, the pleasure, and the freedom from indignity it affords, that every one praises it well, such an agreement it has to the nature and apprehensions of mankind. This may be added, that learned men, forgotten in states and not living in the eyes of the world, are like the images of Cassius and Brutus at the funeral of Junia, which not being represented as many others were, Tacitus said of them that “ they outshone the rest, because not seen.’’@ As for their meanness of employ, that most exposed to con- tempt is the education of youth, to which they are commonly allotted. But how unjust this reflection is to all who measure things, not by popular opinion, but by reason, will appear in the ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING II fact that men are more careful what they put into new vessels than into those already seasoned. It is manifest that things in their weakest state usually demand our best attention and as- sistance. Hearken to the Hebrew rabbins: “ Your young men shall see visions, your old men shall dream dreams ;”e upon which the commentators observe, that youth is the worthier age, inasmuch as revelation by vision is clearer than by dreams. And to say the truth, how much soever the lives of the pedants have been ridiculed upon the stage, as the emblem of tyranny, because the modern looseness or negligence has not duly regarded the choice of proper schoolmasters and tutors; yet the wisdom of the ancientest and best times always complained that states were too busy with laws and too remiss in point of education. This excellent part of ancient discipline has in some measure been revived of late by the colleges of Jesuits abroad; in regard of whose diligence in fashioning the morals and cultivating the minds of youth, I may say, as Agesilaus said to his enemy Pharnabasus, “ Talis quum sis, utinam noster esses.” 2. The manners of learned men belong rather to their in- dividual persons than to their studies or pursuits. No doubt, as in all other professions and conditions of life, bad and good are to be found among them ; yet it must be admitted that learning and studies, unless they fall in with very depraved dis- positions, have, in conformity with the adage, “ Abire studia in mores,” a moral influence upon men’s lives. For my part I cannot find that any disgrace to learning can proceed from the habits of learned men, inherent in them as learned, unless per- adventure that may be a fault which was attributed to Demos- thenes, Cicero, the second Cato, and many others, that see- ing the times they read of more pure than their own, pushed their servility too far in the reformation of manners, and to seek to impose, by austere precepts, the laws of ancient asceti- cism upon dissolute times. Yet even antiquity should have fore- warned them of this excess; for Solon, upon being asked if he had given his citizens the best laws, replied, “ The best they were capable of receiving.”g And Plato, finding that he had fallen upon corrupt times, refused to take part in the adminis- tration of the commonwealth, saying that a man should treat his country with the same forbearance as his parents, and re- call her from a wrong course, not by violence or contest, but by entreaty and persuasion.+ Czsar’s counsellor administers the Ps BACON same caveat in the words, “ Non ad vetera instituta revocamus quz jampridem corruptis moribus ludibrio sunt.” Cicero points out the same error in the second Cato, when writing to his friend Atticus:—‘“ Cato optime sentit sed nocet interdum Reipublicee ; loquitur enim tanquam in Republica Platonis, non tanguam in fece Romuli.”* The same orator likewise excuses and blames the philosophers for being too exact in their precepts. These preceptors, said he, have stretched the lines and limits of duties beyond their natural boundaries, think- ing that we might safely reform when we had reached the highest point of perfection! And yet himself stumbled over the same stone, so that he might have said, “ Monitis sum minor ipse meis.’’™ 3. Another fault laid to the charge of learned men, and arising from the nature of their studies, is, ‘‘ That they esteem the preservation, good, and honor of their country before their own fortunes or safeties.” Demosthenes said well to the Athe- nians, ‘‘ My counsels are not such as tend to aggrandize myself and diminish you, but sometimes not expedient for me to give, though always expedient for you to follow.”” So Seneca, after consecrating the five years of Nero’s minority to the immortal glory of learned governors, held on his honest course of good counsel after his master grew extremely corrupt. Nor can this be otherwise; for learning gives men a true sense of their frailty, the casualty of fortune, and the dignity of the soul and its office; whence they cannot think any greatness of fortune a worthy end of their living, and therefore live so as to give a clear and acceptable account to God and their superiors ; whilst the corrupter sort of politicians, who are not by learning established in a love of duty, nor ever look abroad into univer- sality, refer all things to themselves, and thrust their persons in- to the centre of the world, as if all lives should meet in them and their fortunes, without regarding in storms what becomes of the ship of the state, if they can save themselves in the cock-boat of their own fortune. Another charge brought against learned men, which may rather be defended than denied, is, “ That they sometimes fail in making court to particular persons.” This want of applica- tion arises from two causes—the one the largeness of their mind, which can hardly submit to dwell in the examination and ob- servance of any one person. It is the speech of a lover rather ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 13 than of a wise man, “Satis magnum alter alteri theatrum sumus.”@ Nevertheless he who cannot contract the sight of his mind, as well as dilate it, wants a great talent in life. The sec- ond cause is, no inability, but a rejection upon choice and judg- ment ; for the honest and just limits of observation in one per- son upon another extend no further than to understand him sufficiently, so as to give him no offence, or be able to counsel him, or to stand upon reasonable guard and caution with re- spect to one’s self; but to pry deep into another man, to learn to work, wind, or govern him, proceeds from a double heart, which in friendship is want of integrity, and towards princes or superiors want of duty. The eastern custom which forbids sub- jects to gaze upon princes, though in the outward ceremony barbarous, has a good moral; for men ought not, by cunning and studied observations, to penetrate and search into the hearts of kings, which the Scripture declares inscrutable. Another fault noted in learned men is, “ That they often fail in point of discretion and decency of behavior, and commit errors in ordinary actions, whence vulgar capacities judge of them in greater matters by what they find them in small.” But this consequence often deceives ; for we may here justly apply the saying of Themistocles, who being asked to touch a lute, replied, “ He could not fiddle, but he could make a little village a great city.” Accordingly many may be well skilled in gov- ernment and policy, who are defective in little punctilios. So Plato compared his master Socrates to the shop-pots of apothe- caries painted on the outside with apes and owls and antiques, but contained within sovereign and precious remedies.r But we have nothing to offer in excuse of those unworthy practices, whereby some professors have debased both them- selves and learning, as the trencher philosophers, who, in the decline of the Roman state, were but a kind of solemn para- sites. Lucian makes merry with this kind of gentry, in the person of a philosopher riding in a coach with a great lady, who would needs have him carry her lapdog, which he doing with an awkward officiousness, the page said, “ He feared the Stoic would turn Cynic.” But above all, the gross flattery wherein many abuse their wit, by turning Hecuba into Hellena, and Faustina into Lucretia, has most diminished the value and esteem of learning.s Neither is the modern practice of dedica- tions commendable ; for books should have no patrons but truth 2 BACON and reason. And the ancient custom was, to dedicate them only to private and equal friends, or if to kings and great per- sons, it was to such as the subject suited. These and the like measures, therefore, deserve rather to be censured than de- fended. Yet the submission of learned men to those in power cannot be condemned. Diogenes, to one who asked him “ How it happened that philosophers followed the rich, and not the rich the philosophers?” answered, “ Because the philosophers know what they want, but the rich do not.’ And of the like nature was the answer of Aristippus, who having a petition to Dionysius, and no ear being given him, fell down at his feet, whereupon Dionysius gave him the hearing, and granted the suit ; but when afterwards Aristippus was reproved for of- fering such an indignity to philosophy as to fall at a tyrant’s feet, he replied, “It was not his fault if Dionysius’s ears were in his feet.” Nor was it accounted weakness, but discretion, in himv that would not dispute his best with the Emperor Adrian, excusing himself, ‘‘ That is was reasonable to yield to one that commanded thirty legions.”w These and the like con- descensions to points of necessity and convenience, cannot be disallowed; for though they may have some show of external meanness, yet in a judgment truly made, they are submissions to the occasion, and not to the person. We proceed to the errors and vanities intermixed with the studies of learned men, wherein the design is not to countenance such errors, but, by a censure and separation thereof to justify what is sound and good; for it is the manner of men, especially the evil-minded, to depreciate what is excellent and virtuous, by taking advantage over what is corrupt and degenerate. We reckon three principal vanities for which learning has been traduced. Those things are vain which are either false or frivolous, or deficient in truth or use; and those persons are vain who are either credulous of falsities or curious in things of little use. But curiosity consists either in matter or words, that is, either in taking pains about vain things, or too much | labor about the delicacy of language. There are, therefore, in reason as well as experience, three distempers of learning, viz., vain affectations, vain disputes, and vain imaginations, or effeminate learning, contentious learning, and fantastical learn- ing. The first disease, which consists in a luxuriancy of style, has ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 15 been anciently esteemed at different times, but strangely pre- vailed about the time of Luther, who, finding how great a task he had undertaken against the degenerate traditions of the Church, and being unassisted by the opinions of his own age, was forced to awake antiquity to make a party for him; whence — the ancient authors both in divinity and the humanities, that had long slept in libraries, began to be generally read. This brought on a necessity of greater application to the original languages wherein those authors wrote, for the better under- standing and application of their works. Hence also proceeded a delight in their manner of style and phrase, and an admiration of this kind of writing, which was much increased by the enmity now grown up against the schoolmen, who were generally of the contrary party, and whose writings were in a very different style and form, as taking the liberty to coin new and strange words, to avoid circumlocution and express their sentiments acutely, without regard to purity of diction and justness of phrase. And again, because the great labor then was to win and persuade the people, eloquence and variety of discourse grew into request as most suitable for the pulpit, and best adapted to the capacity of the vulgar; so that these four causes concurring, viz., I. admiration of the ancients; 2. enmity to the schoolmen; 3. an exact study of languages; and, 4. a desire of powerful preaching—introduced an affected study of eloquence and copiousness of speech, which then began to flourish. This soon grew to excess, insomuch that men studied more after words than matter, more after the choiceness of phrase, and the round and neat composition, sweet cadence of periods, the use of tropes and figures, than after weight of matter, dignity of sub- ject, soundness of argument, life of invention, or depth of judg- ment. Then grew into esteem the flowing and watery vein of Orosius,* the Portugal bishop; then did Sturmius bestow such infinite pains upon Cicero and Hermogenes; then did Car and Ascham, in their lectures and writings, almost deify Cicero and Demosthenes ; then grew the learning of the schoolmen to be utterly despised as barbarous ; and the whole bent of those times was rather upon fulness than weight. Here, therefore, is the first distemper of learning, when men study words and not matter; and though we have given an ex- ample of it from later times, yet such levities have and will be found more or less in all ages. And this must needs discredit 16 BACON learning, even with vulgar capacities, when they see learned men’s works appear like the first letter of a patent, which, though finely flourished, is still but a letter. Pygmalion’s frenzy seems a good emblem of this vanity ; y for words are but the images of matter, and unless they have life of reason and in- vention, to fall in love with them is to fall in love with a picture. ; Yet the illustrating the obscurities of philosophy with sen- sible and plausible elocution is not hastily to be condemned ; for hereof we have eminent examples in Xenophon, Cicero, Seneca, Plutarch, and Plato; and the thing itself is of great use; for although it be some hindrance to the severe inquiry after truth, and the further progress in philosophy, that it should too early prove satisfactory to the mind, and quench the desire of further search, before a just period is made ; yet when we have occasion for learning and knowledge in civil life, as for con- ference, counsel, persuasion, discourse, or the like, we find it ready prepared to our hands in the authors who have wrote in this way. But the excess herein is so justly contemptible, that as Hercules, when he saw the statue of Adonis, who was the de- light of Venus, in the temple, said with indignation, “ There is no divinity in thee’; so all the followers of Hercules in learn- ing, that is, the more severe and laborious inquirers after truth, will despise these delicacies and affectations as trivial and effeminate. The luxuriant style was succeeded by another, which, though more chaste, has still its vanity, as turning wholly upon pointed expressions and short periods, so as to appear concise and round rather than diffusive; by which contrivance the whole looks more ingenious than it is. Seneca used this kind of style profusely, but Tacitus and Pliny with greater moderation. It has also begun to render itself acceptable in our time. But to say the truth, its admirers are only the men of a middle genius, who think it adds a dignity to learning; whilst those of solid judgment justly reject is as a certain disease of learning, since it is no more than a jingle, or peculiar quaint affectation of words. And so much for the first disease of learning. The second disease is worse in its nature than the former ; for as the dignity of matter exceeds the beauty of words, so vanity in matter is worse than vanity in words; whence the precept of St. Paul is at all times seasonable: “ Avoid profane and vain ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 17 babblings, and oppositions of science falsely so called.”z He assigns two marks of suspected and falsified science: the one, novelty and strangeness of terms; the other, strictness of posi- tions ; which necessarily induces oppositions, and thence ques- tions and altercations. And indeed, as many solid substances putrefy, and turn into worms, so does sound knowledge often putrefy into a number of subtle, idle, and vermicular questions, that have a certain quickness of life, and spirit, but no strength of matter, or excellence of quality. This kind of degenerate learning chiefly reigned among the schoolmen; who, having subtle and strong capacities, abundance of leisure, and but small variety of reading, their minds being shut up in a few authors, as their bodies were in the cells of their monasteries, and thus kept ignorant both of the history of nature and times ; they, with infinite agitation of wit, spun out of a small quantity of matter, those laborious webs of learning which are extant in their books. For the human mind, if it acts upon matter, and con- templates the nature of things, and the works of God, operates according to the stuff, and is limited thereby ; but if it works up- on itself, as the spider does, then it has no end; but produces cobwebs of learning, admirable indeed for the fineness of the thread, but of no substance or profit.¢ This unprofitable subtilty is of two kinds, and appears either in the subject, when that is fruitless speculation or controversy, or in the manner of treating it, which amongst them was this: Upon every particular position they framed objections, and to those objections solutions; which solutions were generally not confutations, but distinctions; whereas the strength of all sciences is like the strength of a fagot bound. For the harmony of science, when each part supports the other, is the true and short confutation of all the smaller objections ; on the contrary, to take out every axiom, as the sticks of the fagot, one by one, you may quarrel with them, and bend them, and break them at pleasure: whence, as it was said of Seneca, that he “ weakened the weight of things by trivial expression,”b we may truly say of the schoolmen, “ That they broke the solidity of the sciences by the minuteness of their questions.” For, were it not better to set up one large light in a noble room, than to go about with a small one, to illuminate every corner thereof? Yet such is the method of schoolmen, that rests not so much upon the evi- dence of truth from arguments, authorities, and examples, as 2 18 : BACON upon particular confutations and solutions of every scruple and objection; which breeds one question, as fast as it solves an- other ; just as in the above example, when the light is carried into one corner, it darkens the rest. Whence the fable of Scylla seems a lively image of this kind of philosophy, who was trans- formed into a beautiful virgin upwards, whilst barking mon- sters surrounded her below,— “ Candida succinctam latrantibus inguina monstris.”—Virgil.* So the generalities of the schoolmen are for a while fair and proportionable; but to descend into their distinctions and de- cisions, they end in monstrous altercations and barking ques- tions. Whence this kind of knowledge must necessarily fall under popular contempt ; for the people are ever apt to contemn truth, upon account of the controversies raised about it; and so think those all in the wrong way, who never meet. And when they see such quarrels about subtilties and matters of no use, they usually give in to the judgment of Dionysius, “ That it is old men’s idle talk.”¢ But if those schoolmen, to their great thirst of truth, and unwearied exercise of wit, had joined variety of reading and contemplation, they would have proved excellent lights to the great advancement ofall kinds of arts and sciences. And thus much for the second disease of learning. The third disease, which regards deceit or falsehood, is the foulest ; as destroying the essential form of knowledge, which is nothing but a representation of truth; for the truth of ex- istence and the truth of knowledge are the same thing, or differ no more than the direct and reflected ray. This vice, therefore, branches into two; viz., delight in deceiving and aptness to be deceived ; imposture and credulity, which, though apparently different, the one seeming to proceed from cunning, and the other from simplicity, yet they generally concur. For, as in the verse, “ Percontatorem fugito; nam garrulus idem est,” f an inquisitive man is a prattler ; so a credulous man is a deceiver ; for he who so easily believes rumors, will as easily increase them. Tacitus has wisely expressed this law of our nature in these words, “ Fingunt simul creduntque.”d This easiness of belief, and admitting things upon weak authority, is of two kinds, according to the subject ; being either ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 19 a belief of history and matter of fact, or else matter of art and opinion. We see the inconvenience of the former in ecclesiasti- cal history, which has too easily received and registered re- lations of miracles wrought by martyrs, hermits, monks, and their relics, shrines, chapels, and images. So in natural history, there has not been much judgment employed, as appears from the writings of Pliny, Carban, Albertus, and many of the Arabians ; which are full of fabulous matters: many of them not only untried, but notoriously false, to the great discredit of natural philosophy with grave and sober minds. But the pro- duce and integrity of Aristotle are here worthy our observa- tion, who, having compiled an exact history of animals, dashed it very sparingly with fable or fiction, throwing all strange re- ports which he thought worth recording in a book by them- selves,e thus wisely intimating, that matter of truth which is the basis of solid experience, philosophy, and the sciences, should not be mixed with matter of doubtful credit; and yet that curiosities or prodigies, though seemingly incredible, are not to be suppressed or denied the registering. Credulity in arts and opinions, is likewise of two kinds; viz., when men give too much belief to arts themselves, or to certain authors in any art. The sciences that sway the imagination more than the reason, are principally three; viz., astrology, natural magic, and alchemy ; the ends of pretensions whereof are how- ever noble. For astrology pretends to discover the influence of the superior upon the inferior bodies; natural magic pretends to reduce natural philosophy from speculation to works; and chemistry pretends to separate the dissimilar parts, incorporated in natural mixtures, and to cleanse such bodies as are impure, throw out the heterogeneous parts, and perfect such as are immature. But the means supposed to produce these effects are, both in theory and practice, full of error and vanity, and be- a _ sides, are seldom delivered with candor, but generally concealed a by artifice and enigmatical expressions, referring to tradition, _ and using other devices to cloak imposture. Yet alchemy may q be compared to the man who told his sons, he had left them _ gold buried somewhere in his vineyard ; where they, by digging, ___ found no gold, but by turning up the mould about the roots of _ the vines, procured a plentiful vintage. So the search and en- deavors to make gold have brought many useful inventions and instructive experiments to light. 28 BACON Credulity in respect of certain authors, and making them dictators instead of consuls, is a principal cause that the sciences are no further advanced. For hence, though in mechanical arts, the first inventor falls short, time adds perfection ; whilst in the sciences, the first author goes furthest, and time only abates or corrupts. Thus artillery, sailing, and printing, were grossly managed at first, but received improvement by time; whilst the philosophy and the sciences of Aristotle, Plato, Democritus, Hippocrates, Euclid, and Archimedes, flourished most in the original authors, and degenerated with time. The reason is, that in the mechanic arts, the capacities and industry of many are collected together ; whereas in sciences, the capacities and industry of many have been spent upon the invention of some one man, who has commonly been thereby rather obscured than illustrated. For as water ascends no higher than the level of the first spring, so knowledge derived from Aristotle will at most rise no higher again than the knowledge of Aristotle. And therefore, though a scholar must have faith in his master, yet a man well instructed must judge for himself; for learners owe to their masters only a temporary belief, and a suspension of their own judgment till they are fully instructed, and not an absolute resignation or perpetual captivity. Let great authors, therefore, have their due, but so as not to defraud time, which is the author of authors, and the parent of truth. Besides the three diseases of learning above treated, there are some other peccant humors, which, falling under popular observation and reprehension, require to be particularly men- tioned. The first is the affecting of two extremes; antiquity and novelty: wherein the children of time seem to imitate their father ; for as he devours his children, so they endeavor to de- vour each other; whilst antiquity envies new improvements, and novelty is not content to add without defacing. The advice of the prophet is just in this case: ‘“ Stand upon the old ways, and see which is the good way, and walk therein.” f For antiq- uity deserves that men should stand awhile upon it, to view around which is the best way; but when the discovery is well made, they should stand no longer, but proceed with cheerful- ness. And to speak the truth antiquity, as we call it, is the young state of the world; for those times are ancient when the world is ancient ; and not those we vulgarly account ancient by com- puting backwards ; so that the present time is the real antiquity. ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 21 Another error, proceeding from the former, is, a distrust that anything should be discovered in later times that was not hit upon before; as if Lucian’s objection against the gods lay also against time. He pleasantly asks why the gods begot so many children in the first ages, but none in his days; and whether they were grown too old for generation, or were re- strained by the Papian law, which prohibited old men from marrying ?g For thus we seem apprehensive that time is worn out, and become unfit for generation. And here we have a remarkable instance of the levity and inconstancy of man’s humor ; which, before a thing is effected, thinks is impossible, and as soon as it is done, wonders it was not done before. So the expedition of Alexander into Asia was at first imagined a vast and impracticable enterprise, yet Livy afterwards makes so light of it as to say, “‘ It was but bravely venturing to despise vain opinions.”” And the case was the same in Columbus’s discovery of the West Indies. But this happens much more frequently in intellectual matters, as we see in most of the propositions of Euclid, which, till demonstrated, seem strange, but when demonstrated, the mind receives them by a kind of affinity, as if we had known them before. Another error of the same nature is an imagination that of all ancient opinions or sects, the best has ever prevailed, and suppressed the rest; so that if a man begins a new search, he must happen upon somewhat formerly rejected; and by re- jection, brought into oblivion ; as if the multitude, or the wiser sort to please the multitude, would not often give way to what is light and popular, rather than maintain what is substantial and deep. Another different error is, the over-early and peremptory re- duction of knowledge into arts and methods, from which time the sciences are seldom improved ; for as young men rarely grow in stature after their shape and limbs are fully formed, so knowledge, whilst it lies in aphorisms and observations, re- mains in a growing state; but when once fashioned into methods, though it may be further polished, illustrated, and fitted for use, it no longer increases in bulk and substance. Another error is, that after the distribution of particular arts and sciences, men generally abandon the study of nature, or universal philosophy, which stops all further progress. For as no perfect view of a country can be taken upon a flat, so it is . BACON impossible to discover the remote and deep parts of any science by standing upon the level of the same science, or without ascending to a higher. Another error proceeds from too great a reverence, and a kind of adoration paid to the human understanding; whence men have withdrawn themselves from the contemplation of nature and experience, and sported with their own reason and the fictions of fancy. These intellectualists, though commonly taken for the most sublime and divine philosophers, are cen- sured by Heraclitus, when he says, “ Men seek for truth in their own little worlds, and not in the great world without them: ”i and as they disdain to spell, they can never come to read in the volume of God’s works; but on the contrary, by continual thought and agitation of wit, they compel their own genius to divine and deliver oracles, whereby they are deservedly deluded. Another error is, that men often infect their speculations and doctrines with some particular opinions they happen to be fond of, or the particular sciences whereto they have most applied, and thence give all other things a tincture that is utterly foreign to them. Thus Plato mixed philosophy with theology ; Aristo- tle with logic; Proclus with mathematics ; as these arts were a kind of elder and favorite children with them. So the alchemists have made a philosophy from a few experiments of the furnace, and Gilbert another out of the loadstone: in like manner, Cicero, when reviewing the opinions on the nature of the soul, coming to that of a musician, who held the soul was but a harmony, he pleasantly said, “ This man has not gone out of his art.”* But of such authors Aristotle says well: “Those wh take in but a few considerations easily decide.’ | Another error is, an impatience of doubting and a blind hurry of asserting without a mature suspension of judgment. For the two ways of contemplation are like the two ways of action so frequently mentioned by the ancients ; the one plain and easy at first, but in the end impassable; the other rough and fatiguing in the entrance, but soon after fair and even: so in contempla- tion, if we begin with certainties, we shall end in doubts ; but if we begin with doubts, and are patient in them, we shall end in certainties. Another error lies in the manner of delivering knowledge, which is generally magisterial and peremptory, not ingenuous and open, but suited to gain belief without examination. And ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 23 in compendious treatises for practice, this form should not be disallowed ; but in the true delivering of knowledge, both ex- tremes are to be avoided ; viz., that of Velleius the Epicurean, who feared nothing so much as the non-appearance of doubt- ing ;™ and that of Socrates and the Academics, who ironically doubted of all things: but the true way is to propose things candidly, with more or less asseveration, as they stand in a man’s own judgment. There are other errors in the scope that men propose to themselves: for whereas the more diligent professors of any science ought chiefly to endeavor the making some additions or improvements therein, they aspire only to certain second prizes ; as to be a profound commentator, a sharp disputant, a methodical compiler, or abridger, whence the returns or rev- enues of knowledge are sometimes increased, but not the in- heritance and stock. But the greatest error of all is, mistaking the ultimate end of knowledge; for some men covet knowledge out of a natural curiosity and inquisitive temper; some to entertain the mind with variety and delight; some for ornament and reputation ; some for victory and contention; many for lucre and a liveli- *hood ; and but few for employing the Divine gift of reason to the use and benefit of mankind. Thus some appear to seek in knowledge a couch for a searching spirit ; others, a walk for a wandering mind ; others, a tower of state ; others, a fort, or com- manding ground ; and others, a shop for profit or sale, instead of a storehouse for the glory of the Creator and the endowment of human life. But that which must dignify and exalt knowledge is the more intimate and strict conjunction of contemplation and action ; a conjunction like that of Saturn, the planet of rest and contemplation ; and Jupiter, the planet of civil society and action. But here, by use and action, we do not mean the apply- ing of knowledge to lucre, for that diverts the advancement of knowledge, as the golden ball thrown before Atalanta, which, while she stoops to take up, the race is hindered. “ Declinat cursus, aurumque volubile tollit.”—Ovid.* Nor do we mean, as was said of Socrates, to call philosophy down from heaven to converse upon earth:” that is, to leave natural philosophy behind, and apply knowledge only to morality and policy: but as both heaven and earth contribute ee BACON to the use and benefit of man, so the end ought to be, from both philosophies, to separate and reject vain and empty speculations, and preserve and increase all that is solid and fruitful. We have now laid open by a kind of dissection the chief of those peccant humors which have not only retarded the advance- ment of learning, but tended to its traducement. If we have cut too deeply, it must be remembered, “ Fidelia vulnera amantis, dolosa oscula malignantis.” 9 However, we will gain credit for our commendations, as we have been severe in our censures. It is, notwithstanding, far from our purpose to enter into fulsome laudations of learning, or to make a hymn to the muses, though we are of opinion that it is long since their rites were celebrated; but our intent is to balance the dignity of knowledge in the scale with other things, and to estimate their true values according to universal testimony. Next, therefore, let us seek the dignity of knowledge in its original ; that is, in the attributes and acts of God, so far as they are revealed to man, and may be observed with sobriety. But here we are not to seek it by the name of learning; for all learn- ing is knowledge acquired, but all knowledge in God is original : we must, therefore, look for it under the name of wisdom or sapience, as the Scriptures call it. In the work of creation we see a double emanation of virtue from God; the one relating more properly to power, the other to wisdom; the one expressed in making the matter, and the other in disposing the form. This being supposed, we may observe that, for anything mentioned in the history of the creation, the confused mass of the heavens and earth was made in a moment; whereas the order and disposition of it was the work of six days: such a mark of difference seems put betwixt the works of power and the works of wisdom ; whence, it is not written that God said, “ Let there be heaven and earth,” as it is of the subsequent works ; but actually, that “ God made heaven and earth”; the one carrying the style of a manufacture, the other that of a law, decree, or counsel. To proceed from God to spirits. We find, as far as credit may be given to the celestial hierarchy of the supposed Dio- nysius the Areopagite, the first place is given to the angels of love, termed Seraphim ; the second, to the angels of light, called Cherubim ; and the third and following places to thrones, principalities, and the rest, which are all angels of power and ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 25 ministry ; so that the angels of knowledge and illumination are placed before the angels of office and domination.? To descend from §Spiritual and intellectual, to sensible and material forms ; we read the first created form was light,@ which, in nature and corporeal things, hath a relation and correspond- ence to knowledge in spirits, and things incorporeal; so, in the distribution of days, we find the day wherein God rested and completed his works, was blessed above all the days wherein he wrought them.r After the creation was finished, it is said that man was placed in the garden to work therein, which work could only be work of contemplation ; that is, the end of his work was but for ex- ercise and delight, and not for necessity: for there being then no reluctance of the creature, nor sweat of the brow, man’s em- ployment was consequently matter of pleasure, not labor. Again, the first acts which man performed in Paradise consisted of the two summary parts of knowledge, a view of the creature, and imposition of names.s In the first event after the fall, we find an image of the two states, the contemplative and the active, figured out in the per- sons of Abel and Cain, by the two simplest and most primitive trades, that of the shepherd and that of the husbandman ;t where again, the favor of God went to the shepherd, and not to the tiller of the ground. So in the age before the flood, the sacred records mention the name of the inventors of music and workers in metal.“ In the age after the flood, the first great judgment of God upon the ambition of man was the confusion of tongues,vy whereby the open trade and intercourse of learning and knowledge were chiefly obstructed. It is said of Moses, “ That he was learned in all the wisdom of the Egyptians,’w which nation was one of the most ancient schools of the world; for Plato brings in the Egyptian priest saying to Solon, “ You Grecians are ever children, having no knowledge of antiquity nor antiquity of knowledge.”” In the ceremonial laws of Moses we find, that besides the pre- figuration of Christ, the mark of the people of God to distinguish them from the Gentiles, the exercise of obe- dience, and other divine institutions, the most learned of the rabbis have observed a natural and some of them a moral sense in many of the rites and ceremonies. Thus in the law of the 26 BACON leprosy, where it is said, “ If the whiteness have overspread the flesh, the patient may pass abroad for clean ; but if there be any whole flesh remaining, he is to be shut up for unclean” »—one of them notes a principle of nature, viz., that putrefaction is more contagious before maturity than after. Another hereupon observes a position of moral philosophy, that men abandoned to vice do not corrupt the manners of others, so much as those who are but half wicked. And in many other places of the Jewish law, besides the theological sense, there are couched many philosophical matters. The book of Job likewise will be found, if examined with care, pregnant with the secrets of natural philosophy. For example, when is says, “ Qui extendit Aquilonem super vacuum, et appendit terram super nihilum,” the suspension of the earth and the convexity of the heavens are manifestly alluded to. Again, “ Spiritus ejus ornavit czlos, et obstetricante manu ejus eductus est coluber tortuosus ;’’¢ and in another place, ‘‘ Numquid conjungere valebis micantes stellas Pleiadas, aut gyrum Arcturi poteris dissipare? ”’> where the immutable configuration of the fixed stars, ever preserving the same position, is with elegance described. So in another place: “ Qui facit Arcturum, et Oriona, et Hyadas,¢ et interiora Austri,’¢ where he again refers to the depression of the south pole in the expression of “Interiora Austri,’ because the southern stars are not seen in our hemisphere. Again, what concerns the generation of living creatures he says, “ Annon sicut lac mulsisti me, et sicut caseum coagulasti me? ”e and touching mineral subjects, “ Habet argentum venarum suarum principia, et auro locus est, in quo conflatur ; ferrum de terra tollitur, et lapis solutus calore in zs vertitur,’f and so forward in the same chapter. Nor did the dispensation of God vary in the times after our Saviour, who himself first showed his power to subdue ignorance, by conferring with the priests and doctors of the law, before he showed his power to subdue nature by miracles. And the coming of the Holy Spirit was chiefly expressed in the gift of tongues, which are but the conveyance of knowledge. So in the election of those instruments it pleased God to use for planting the faith, though at first he employed persons alto- gether unlearned, otherwise than by inspiration, the more evidently to declare his immediate working, and to humble all human wisdom or knowledge, yet in the next succession he ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 27 sent out his divine truth into the world, attended with other parts of learning as with servants or handmaids; thus St. Paul, who was the only learned amongst the apostles, had his pen most employed in the writings of the New Testament. Again, we find that many of the ancient bishops and fathers of the Church were well versed in all the learning of the heathens, insomuch that the edict of the Emperor Julian pro- hibiting Christians the schools and exercises, was accounted a more pernicious engine against the faith than all the sanguinary persecutions of his predecessors.g Neither could Gregory I, bishop of Rome, ever obtain the opinion of devotion even among the pious, for designing, though otherwise an excellent person, to extinguish the memory of heathen antiquity.+ But it was the Christian Church which, amidst the inundations of the Scythians from the northwest and the Saracens from the east, preserved in her bosom the relics even of heathen learning, which had otherwise been utterly extinguished. And of late years the Jesuits, partly of themselves and partly provoked by example, have greatly enlivened and strengthened the state of learning, and contributed to establish the Roman see. There are, therefore, two principal services, besides ornament and illustration, which philosophy and human learning perform to faith and religion, the one effectually exciting to the exalta- tion of God’s glory, and the other affording a singular preserva- tive against unbelief and error. Our Saviour says, “ Ye err, . not knowing the Scriptures, nor the power of God ;”i thus laying before us two books to study, if we will be secured from error; viz., the Scriptures, which reveal the will of God, and the creation, which expresses his power; the latter whereof is a key to the former, and not only opens our understanding to conceive the true sense of the Scripture by the general notions of reason and the rules of speech, but chiefly opens our faith in drawing us to a due consideration of the omnipotence of God, which is stamped upon his works. And thus much for Divine testimony concerning the dignity and merits of learning. Next for human proofs. Deification was the highest honor among the heathens ; that is, to obtain veneration asa god wasthe supreme respect which man could pay to man, especially when given, not by a formal act of state as it usually was to the Roman emperors, but from a voluntary, internal assent and ac- knowledgment. This honor being so high, there was also con- 28 BACON stituted a middle kind, for human honors were inferior to honors heroical and divine. Antiquity observed this difference in their distribution, that whereas founders of states, lawgivers, extirp- ers of tyrants, fathers of the people, and other eminent persons in civil merit, were honored but with the titles of heroes, or demigods, such as Hercules, Theseus, Minos, Romulus, etc. Inventors, and authors of new arts or discoveries for the ser- vice of human life, were ever advanced amongst the gods, as in the case of Ceres, Bacchus, Mercury, Apollo, and others. And this appears to have been done with great justice and judgment, for the merits of the former being generally confined within the circle of one age or nation, are but like fruitful showers, which serve only for a season and a small extent, whilst the others are like the benefits of the sun, permanent and universal. Again, the former are mixed with strife and contention, whilst the latter have the true character of the Divine presence, as coming in a gentle gale without noise or tumult. The merit of learning in remedying the inconveniences aris- ing from man to man, is not much inferior to that of relieving human necessities. This merit was livelily described by the an- cients in the fiction of Orpheus’s theatre, where all the beasts and birds assembled, and forgetting their several appetites, stood sociably together listening to the harp, whose sound no sooner ceased, or was drowned by a louder, but they all returned to their respective natures ; for thus men are full of savage and unreclaimed desires, which as long as we hearken to precepts, | laws, and religion, sweetly touched with eloquence and persua- sion, so long are society and peace maintained ; but if these in- struments become silent, or seditions and tumult drown their music, all things fall back to confusion and anarchy. This appears more manifestly when princes or governors are learned ; for, though he might be thought partial to his profes- sion who said: “ States would then be happy, when either kings were philosophers, or philosophers kings;”’ yet so much is verified by experience, that the best times have happened under wise and learned princes; for though kings may have their errors and vices, like other men, yet if they are illuminated by learning, they constantly retain such notions of religion, policy, and morality, as may preserve them from destructive and irremediable errors or excesses ; for these notions will whisper to them, even whilst counsellors and servants stand mute. Such ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 29 senators likewise as are learned proceed upon more safe and substantial principles than mere men of experience—the former view dangers afar off, whilst the latter discover them not till they are at hand, and then trust to their wit toavoidthem. This felicity of times under learned princes appears eminent in the age between the death of Domitian and the reign of Commodus, comprehending a succession of six princes, all of them learned, or singular favorers and promoters of learning. And this age, for temporal respects, was the happiest and most flourishing that ever the Roman state enjoyed; as was revealed to Domi- tian in a dream the night before he was slain,! when he beheld a neck and head of gold growing upon his shoulders; a vision which was, in the golden times succeeding this divination, fully accomplished. For his successor Nerva was a learned prince, a familiar friend and acquaintance of Apollonius, who expired reciting that line of Homer—*“ Phcebus, with thy darts revenge our tears." Trajan, though not learned himself, was an ad- mirer of learning, a munificent patron of letters, and a founder of libraries. Though the taste of his court was warlike, pro- fessors and preceptors were found there in great credit and ad- miration. Adrian was the greatest inquirer that ever lived, and an insatiable explorer into everything curious and profound. Antoninus, possessing the patient and subtle mind of a scho- lastic, obtained the sobriquet of Cymini Sector, or splitter of cumin-seed." Of the two brothers who were raised to the rank of gods, Lucius Commodus was versed in a more elegant kind of learning, and Marcus was surnamed the philosopher. These princes excelled the rest in virtue and goodness as much as they surpassed them in learning. Nerva was a mild philosopher, and who, if he had done nothing else than give Trajan to the world, would have sufficiently distinguished himself. Trajan was most famous and renowned above all the emperors for the arts both of peace and war. He enlarged the bounds of em- pire, marked out its limits and its power. He was, in addition, so great a builder, that Constantine used to call him Parietaria, or Wallflower,o his name being carved upon so many walls. Adrian strove with time for the palm of duration, and repaired its decays and ruins wherever the touch of its scythe had ap- peared. Antoninus was pious in name and nature. His nature and innate goodness gained him the reverence and af- fection of all classes, ages, and conditions; and his reign, like 40 BACON his life, was long and unruffled by storms. Lucius Commodus, though not so perfect as his brother, succeeded many of the emperors in virtue. Marcus, formed by nature to be the model of every excellence, was so faultless, that Silenus, when he took his seat at the banquet of the gods, found nothing to carp at in him but his patience in humoring his wife.p Thus, in the suc- cession of these six princes, we may witness the happy fruits of learning in sovereignty painted in the great table of the world. Nor has learning a less influence on military genius than on merit employed in the state, as may be observed in the lives of Alexander the Great and Julius Cesar, a few examples of which it will not be impertinent here to notice. Alexander was bred under Aristotle,¢ certainly a great philos- opher, who dedicated several of his treatises to him. He was accompanied by Calisthenes and several other learned persons both in his travels and conquests. The value this great mon- arch set upon learning appears in the envy he expressed of Achilles’s great fortune in having so good a trumpet of his actions and prowess as Homer’s verses ; in the judgment he gave concerning what object was most worthy to be inclosed in the cabinet of Darius found among his spoils, which decided the question in favor of Homer’s works ; in his reprehensory letter to Aristotle, when chiding his master for laying bare the mys- teries of philosophy, he gave him to understand that himself esteemed it more glorious to excel others in learning and knowledge than in power andempire. As to his own erudition, evidence of its perfection shine forth in all his speeches and writing, of which, though only small fragments have come down to us, yet even these are richly impressed with the foot- steps of the moral sciences. For example, take his words to Diogenes, and judge if they do not inclose the very kernel of one of the greatest questions in moral philosophy, viz., whether the enjoyment or the contempt of earthly things leads to the greatest happiness ; for, upon seeing Diogenes contented with so little, he turned round to his courtiers, who were deriding the cynic’s condition, and said: “If I were not Alexander, I would be Diogenes.” (But Seneca, in his comparison, gives the preference to Diogenes, saying that Diogenes had more things to refuse than it was in the disposition of Alexander to confer.)r For his skill in natural science, observe his cus- tomary saying, that he felt his mortality chiefly in two things— oe ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 31 sleep and lust.s This expression, pointing as it does to the indigence and redundance of nature manifested by these two harbingers of death, savors more of an Aristotle and a Democri- tus than of an Alexander. In poesy, regard him rallying in his wounds one of his flatterers, who was wont to ascribe unto him Divine honor. “ Look,” said he, “ this is the blood of a man— not such liquor as Homer speaks of, which ran from Venus’s hand when it was pierced by Diomedes.’’* In logic, observe, in addition to his power of detecting fallacies and confuting or retorting arguments, his rebuke to Cassander, who ventured to confute the arraigners of Antipater, his father, Alexander hay- ing incidentally asked: “ Do you think these men would come so far to complain, except they had just cause?” Cassander replied : “ That was the very thing which had given them cour- age, since they hoped that the length of the journey would entirely clear them of calumnious motives.” “See,” said Alex- ander, “the subtilty of Aristotle, taking the matter pro and con.” Nevertheless, he did not shrink to turn the same art to his own advantage which he reprehended in others ; for, bear- ing a secret grudge to Calisthenes, upon that rhetorician having drawn down great applause by delivering, as was usual at ban- quets, a spontaneous discourse in praise of the Macedonian nation, Alexander remarked, that it was easy to be eloquent upon a good topic, and requested him to change his note, and let the company hear what he could say against them. Calis- thenes obeyed the request with such sharpness and vivacity, that Alexander interrupted him, saying: “ That a perverted mind, as well as a choice topic, would breed eloquence.” As regards rhetoric, consider his rebuke of Antipater, an imperious and tyrannous governor, when one of Antipater’s friends ventured to extol his moderation to Alexander, saying that he had not fallen into the Persian pride of wearing the purple, but still retained the Macedonian habit. “ But Antipater,” replied Alexander, “is all purple within.”“ Consider also that other excellent metaphor which he used to Parmenio, when that gen- eral showed him, from the plains of Arbela, the innumerable multitude of his enemies, which, viewed as they lay encamped in the night, represented a host of stars ; and thereupon advised Alexander to assail them at once. The hero rejected the proposition, saying: “I will not steal a victory.” As concerns policy, weigh that grave and wise distinction, which all ages 32 BACON have accepted, which he made between his two chief friends, Hepheestion and Craterus, saying: “ That the one loved Alex- ander, and the other the king.” Also observe how he rebuked the error ordinary with counsellors of princes, which leads them to give advice according to the necessity of their own interest and fortune, and not of their master’s. When Darius had made certain proposals to Alexander, Parmenio said: “I would accept these conditions if I were Alexander.” Alexander re- plied: “So surely would I were I Parmenio.” Lastly, con- sider his reply to his friends, who asked him what he would reserve for himself, since he lavished so many valuable gifts upon others. ‘‘ Hope,” said Alexander, who well knew that, all accounts being cleared—* hope is the true inheritance of all that resolve upon great enterprises.” This was Julius Cesar’s portion when he went into Gaul, all his estate being exhausted by profuse largess. And it was also the portion of that noble prince, howsoever transported with ambition, Henry, duke of Guise ; for he was pronounced the greatest usurer in all France, because all his wealth was in names, and he had turned his whole estate into obligations. But perhaps the admiration of this prince in the light, not of a great king, but as Aristotle’s scholar, has carried me too far. As regards Julius Cesar, his learning is not only evinced in his education, company, and speeches, but in a greater degree shines forth in such of his works as have descended to us. In the Commentary, that excellent history which he has left us, of his own wars, succeeding ages have admired the solidity of the matter, the vivid passages and the lively images of actions and persons, expressed in the greatest propriety of diction and perspicuity of narration. That this excellence of style was not the effect of undisciplined talent, but also of learning and pre- cept, is evident from that work of his, entitled “‘ De Analogia,”v in which he propounds the principles of grammatical philoso- phy, and endeavors to fashion mere conventional forms to con- gruity of expression, taking, as it were, the picture of words from the life of reason. We also perceive another monument of his genius and learning in the reformation of the Calendar, in accomplishing which he is reported to have said that he es- teemed it as great a glory to himself to observe and know the law of the heavens, as to give laws to men upon earth. In his Anti-Cato,w he contended as much for the palm of wit as he ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 33 strove in his battles for victory, and did not shrink from con- fronting the greatest champion of the pen in those times, Cicero the orator. Again, in his book of apophthegms, he deemed it more honorable to note the wise sayings of others, than to record every word of his own as an oracle or apophthegm, as many vain princes are by flattery urged to do.* And yet, should I enumerate any of them, as I did before those of Alex- ander, we should find them to be such as Solomon points to in the saying: “ Verba sapientum tanquam aculei, et tanquam clavi in altum defixi.”y Of these, however, I shall only relate three, not so remarkable for elegance as for vigor and efficacy. He who could appease a mutiny in his army by a word, must certainly be regarded as a master of language. This Cesar performed under the following circumstances. The generals always addressed the army as milites ; the magistrates, on the other hand, in their charges to the people used the word Quirites. Now the soldiers being in tumult, and feignedly praying to be disbanded, with a view to draw Cesar to other conditions, the latter resolved not to succumb, and, after a short pause, began his speech with “ Ego, Quirites,”s which implied they were at once cashiered: upon which, the soldiers were so astonished and confused that they relinquished their demands, and begged to be addressed by the old appellation of milites. The second saying thus transpired. Czesar extremely affected the name of king, and some were set on to salute him with that title as he passed by. Czsar, however, finding the cry weak and poor, put it off thus in a kind of jest, as if they had mistaken his surname: “ Non rex sum, sed Cesar,”@ I am not king, but Czsar, an expression, the pregnancy of which it is difficult to exhaust ; for, first, it was a refusal of the name, though not serious ; again, it displayed infinite confidence and magnanimity in presuming Cesar to be the greater title, a presumption which posterity has fully confirmed. But chiefly the expression is to be admired as betraying a great incentive to his designs, as if the state strove with him for a mere name, with which even mean families were invested. For Rex was a surname with the Romans, as well as King is with us. The last saying I shall mention, refers to Metellus : as soon as Czsar had seized Rome, he made straightway to the zrarium to seize the money of the state ; but Metellus being tribune, forestalled his purpose, and denied him entrance: whereupon Cesar threatened, if he did 34 BACON not desist, to lay him dead on the spot. But presently check- ing himself, added: “ Adolescens, durius est mihi hoc dicere quam facere;”” Young man, it is harder for me to say this than to do it.» A sentence compounded of the greatest terror and clemency that could proceed out of the mouth of man. But to conclude with Cesar. It is evident he was quite aware of his proficiency in this respect, from his scoffing at the idea of the strange resolution of Sylla, which some one expressed about his resignation of the dictatorship: ‘‘ Sylla,” said Czesar, “ was unlettered, and therefore knew not how to dictate.’’c And here we should cease descanting on the concurrence of military virtue with learning, as no example could come with any grace after Alexander and Cesar, were it not for an ex- traordinary case touching Xenophon, which raised that philos- opher from the depths of scorn to the highest pinnacle of admiration. In his youth, without either command or experi- ence, that philosopher followed the expedition of Cyrus the younger against Artaxerxes, as a volunteer, to enjoy the love and conversation of his friend Proxenus.d Cyrus being slain on the field, Falinus came to the remnant of his army with a message from the king, who, presuming on the fewness of their number, and the perilous nature of their position in the midst of foreign enemies, cut off from their country by many navigable rivers, and many hundred miles, had dared to command them to surrender their army, and submit entirely to his mercy. Be- fore an answer was returned, the heads of the army conferred familiarly with Falinus, and among the rest Xenophon hap- pened to say: “ Why, Falinus, we have only these two things left, our arms and our virtue, and if we yield up our arms, how can we make use of our virtue?” Falinus, with an ironical smile, replied: “If I be not deceived, young man, you are an Athenian ; and I believe you study philosophy, as you talk ad- mirably well. But you grossly deceive yourself if you think your courage can withstand the king’s power.”e Here was the scorn, but the wonder followed. This young philosopher, just emerged from the school of Socrates, after all the chieftains of the army had been murdered by treason, conducted those ten thousand foot through the heart of the king’s territories, from Babylon to Greci, untouched by any of the king’s forces. The world, at this act of the young scholar, was stricken with aston- ishment, and the Greeks encouraged in succeeding ages to ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 35 invade the kings of Persia. Jason the Thessalian proposed the plan, Agesilaus the Spartan attempted its execution, and Alex- ander the Macedonian finally achieved the conquest. To proceed from imperial and military, to moral and private virtue ; it is certain that learning softens the barbarity and fierce- ness of men’s minds, according to the poet: “ Scilicet ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes Emollit mores, nec sinit esse feros.”—Ovid.* But then it must not be superficial, for this rather works a contrary effect. Solid learning prevents all levity, temerity, and insolence, by suggesting doubts and difficulties, and inur- ing the mind to balance the reasons on both sides, and reject the first offers of things, or to accept of nothing but what is first examined and tried. It prevents vain admiration, which is the root of all weakness: things being admired either because they are new, or because they are great. As for novelty, no man can wade deep in learning, without discovering that he knows nothing thoroughly ; nor can we wonder at a puppet-show, if we look behind the curtain. With regard to greatness; as Alexander, after having been used to great armies, and the con- quests of large provinces in Asia, when he received accounts of battles from Greece, which were commonly for a pass, a fort, or some walled town, imagined he was but reading Homer’s battle of the frogs and the mice; so if a man considers the uni- * versal frame, the earth and its inhabitants will seem to him but as an ant-hill, where some carry grain, some their young, some go empty, and all march but upon a little heap of dust. Learning also conquers or mitigates the fear of death and adverse fortune, which is one of the greatest impediments to virtue and morality; for if a man’s mind be deeply seasoned with the consideration of the mortality and corruptibility of things, he will be as little affected as Epictetus, who one day seeing a woman weeping for her pitcher that was broken, and the next day a woman weeping for her son that was dead, said calmly: “ Yesterday I saw a brittle thing broken, and to-day a mortal die.” And hence Virgil excellently joined the knowl- edge of causes and the conquering of fears together as con- comitants :— “ Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas, Quique metus omnes, et inexorabile fatum, Subjecit pedibus; strepitumque Acherontis avari.”—Virgil.t 36 BACON It were tedious to enumerate the particular remedies which learning affords for all the diseases of the mind, sometimes by purging the morbific humors, sometimes by opening obstruc- tions, helping digestion, increasing the appetite, and sometimes healing exulcerations, etc. But, to sum up all, it disposes the mind not to fix or settle in defects, but to remain ever suscepti- ble of improvement and reformation ; for the illiterate person knows not what it is to descend into himself, or call himself to an account, nor the agreeableness of that life which is daily sensible of its own improvement ; he may perhaps learn to show and employ his natural talents, but not increase them; he will learn to hide and color his faults, but not to amend them, like an unskilful mower, who continues to mow on without whetting his scythe. The man of learning, on the contrary, always joins the correction and improvement of his mind with the use and employment thereof. To conclude, truth and goodness differ but as the seal and the impression ; for truth imprints goodness, whilst the storms of vice and perturbation break from the clouds of error and falsehood. From moral virtue we proceed to examine whether any power be equal to that afforded by knowledge. Dignity of command is always proportionable to the dignity of the commanded. To have command over brutes as a herdsman is a mean thing; to have command over children as a schoolmaster is a matter of small honor; and to have command over slaves is rather a dis- grace than an honor. Nor is the command of a tyrant much better over a servile and degenerate people; whence honors in free monarchies and republics have ever been more esteemed than in tyrannical governments, because to rule a willing people is more honorable than to compel. But the command of knowledge is higher than the command over a free people, as being a command over the reason, opinion, and understanding of men, which are the noblest facultiés of the mind that govern the will itself; for there is no power on earth that can set up a throne in the spirits of men but knowledge and learning; whence the detestable and extreme pleasure wherewith arch- heretics, false prophets, and impostors are transported upon finding they have a domirion over the faith and consciences of men, a pleasure so great, that if once tasted scarce any torture or persecution can make them forego it. But as this is what the Apocalypse calls the depths of Satan,g so the just and lawful ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 37 rule over men’s understanding by the evidence of truth and gentle persuasion, is what approaches nearest to the Divine sovereignty. With regard to honors and private fortune, the benefit of learning is not so confined to states as not likewise to reach particular persons ; for it is an old observation, that Homer has given more men their livings than Sylla, Cesar, or Augustus, notwithstanding their great largesses. And it is hard to say whether arms or learning has advanced the greater numbers. In point of sovereignty, if arms or descent have obtained the kingdom, yet learning has obtained the priesthood, which was ever in competition with empire. Again, the pleasure and delight of knowledge and learning surpass all others ; for if the pleasures of the affections exceed the pleasures of the senses as much as the obtaining a desire or a victory exceeds a song or a treat, shall not the pleasures of the understanding exceed the pleasures of the affections? In all other pleasures there is a satiety, and after use their verdure fades ; which shows they are but deceits and fallacies, and that it was the novelty which pleased, not the quality; whence voluptuous men frequently turn friars, and ambitious princes melancholy. But of knowledge there is no satiety, for here Pratification and appetite are perpetually interchanging, and consequently this is good in itself, simply, without fallacy or accident. Nor is that a small pleasure and satisfaction to the mind, which Lucretius describes to this effect : »—“ It is a scene of delight to be safe on shore and see a ship tossed at sea, or to be in a fortification and see two armies join battle upon a plain. But it is a pleasure incomparable for the mind to be seated by learning in the fortress of truth, and from thence to view the errors and labors of others.” To conclude. The dignity and excellence of knowledge and learning are what human nature most aspires to for the securing of immortality, which is also endeavored after by raising and ennobling families, by buildings, foundations, and monuments of fame, and is in effect the bent of all other human desires. But we see how much more durable the monuments of genius and learning are than those of the hand. The verses of Homer have continued above five and twenty hundred years without loss, in which time numberless palaces, temples, castles, and cities have been demolished and are fallen to ruin. It is im- 38 BACON possible to have the true pictures or statues of Cyrus, Alexander, Czesar or the great personages of much later date, for the orig- inals cannot last, and the copies must lose life and truth; but the images of men’s knowledge remain in books, exempt from the injuries of time, and capable of perpetual renovation. Nor are these properly called images; because they generate still, and sow their seed in the minds of others, so as to cause infinite actions and opinions in succeeding ages. If, therefore, the in- vention of a ship was thought so noble, which carries commodi- ties from place to place and consociateth the remotest regions in participation of their fruits, how much more are letters to be valued, which, like ships, pass through the vast ocean of time, and convey knowledge and inventions to the remotest ages? Nay, some of the philosophers who were most immersed in the senses, and denied the immortality of the soul, yet allowed that whatever motions the spirit of man could perform without the organs of the body might remain after death, which are only those of the understanding, and not of the affections, so im- mortal and incorruptible a thing did knowledge appear to them. And thus having endeavored to do justice to the cause of knowledge, divine and human, we shall leave Wisdom to be justified of her children. SECOND BOOK CHAPTER I General Divisions of Learning into History, Poetry, and Philosophy, in relation to the Three Faculties of the Mind—Memory, Imagination, and Reason. The same Distribution applies to Theology TO THE KING T is befitting, excellent King, that those who are blessed with a numerous offspring, and who have a pledge in their descendants that their name will be carried down to pos- terity, should be keenly alive to the welfare of future times, in which their children are to perpetuate their power and empire. Queen Elizabeth, with respect to her celibacy, was rather a sojourner than an inhabitant of the present world, yet she was an ornament to her age and prosperous in many of her under- takings. But to your Majesty, whom God has blessed with so much royal issue, worthy to immortalize your name, it particu- larly appertains to extend your cares beyond the present age, which is already illuminated with your wisdom, and extend your thoughts to those works which will interest remotest pos- terity. Ofsuch designs, if affection do not deceive me, there is none more worthy and noble than the endowment of the world with sound and fruitful knowledge. For why should a few favorite authors stand up like Hercules’s Columns, to bar fur- ther sailing and discovery, especially since we have so bright and benign a star in your Majesty to guide and conduct us? It remains, therefore, that we consider the labors which princes and others have undertaken for the advancement of learning, and this markedly and pointedly, without digression oramplification. Let it then be granted, that to the completion of any work munificent patronage is as essential as soundness of direction and conjunction of labors. The first multiplies en- ergy, the second prevents error, and the third compensates for human weakness. But the principal of these is direction, or the 39 ‘ 40 BACON pointing out and the delineation of the direct way to the com- pletion of the object in view. For “ claudus in via antevertit cursorem extra viam ”; and Solomon appositely says: “ Ifthe iron is not pointed, greater strength is to be used ; ”¢—so what really prevaileth over everything is wisdom, by which he insinu- ates that a wise selection of means leads us more directly to our object than a straining or accumulation of strength. Without wishing to derogate from the merit of those who in any way have advanced learning, this much I have been led to say, from perceiving that their works and acts have tended rather to the glory of their name than the progression or proficiency of the sciences—to augment the man of learning in the minds of philosophers, rather than reform or elevate the sciences them- selves. The institutions which relate to the extension of letters are threefold, viz., schools and universities, books, and professors. For as water, whether of the dew of heaven or spring of the earth, would speedily lose itself in the ground unless collected into conduits and cisterns, so it seemeth this excellent liquor of knowledge, whether it descend from Divine inspiration or spring from human sense, would soon hide itself in oblivion, unless collected in books, traditions, academies, and schools, it might find a permanent seat, and a fructifying union of strength. The works which concern the seats of learning are four— buildings, endowments, privileges, and charters, which all pro- mote quietness and seclusion, freedom from cares and anxieties. Such stations resemble those which Virgil prescribes for bee- hiving :— “Principio sedes apibus, statioque petenda Quo neque sit ventis aditus.” * The works which relate to books are two—first, libraries, which are as the shrines where the bones of old saints full of virtue lie buried; secondly, new editions of writers, with cor- recter impressions, more faultless versions, more useful com- mentaries, and more learned annotations. Finally, the works which pertain to the persons of the learned are, besides the general patronage which ought to be extended to them, twofold. The foundation of professorships in sciences already extant, and in those not yet begun or imperfectly elab- orated. ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 41 These are, in short, the institutions on which princes and other illustrious men have displayed their zeal for letters. To me, dwelling upon each patron of letters, that notion of Cicero occurs, which urged him upon his return not to particularize, but to give general thanks—“ Difficile non aliquem, in gratum quenquam, preterire.”’ Rather should we, conformably to Scripture, look forward to the course we have yet to run, than regard the ground already behind us. First, therefore, | express my surprise, that among so many illustrious colleges in Europe, all the foundations are engrossed by the professions, none being left for the free cultivation of the arts and sciences. Though men judge well who assert that learning should be referred to action, yet by reposing too confi- dently in this opinion, they are apt to fall into the error of the ancient fable,¢ which represented the members of the body at war with the stomach, because it alone, of all the parts of the frame, seemed to rest, and absorb all the nourishment. For if any man esteem philosophy and every study of a general char- acter to be idle, he plainly forgets that on their proficiency the state of every other learning depends, and that they supply strength and force to its various branches. I mainly attribute the lame progress of knowledge hitherto to the neglect or the incidental study of the general sciences. For if you want a tree to produce more than its usual burden of fruit, it is not anything you can do to the branches that will effect this object, but the excitation of the earth about its roots and increasing the fertility of the soil; nor must it be overlooked that this restriction of foundations and endowments to professional learning has not only dwarfed the growth of the sciences, but been prejudicial to states and governments themselves. For since there is no col- legiate course so free as to allow those who are inclined to devote themselves to history, modern languages, civil policy, and general literature; princes find a dearth of able men to manage their affairs and efficiently conduct the business of the commonwealth. _ Since the founders of colleges plant, and those who endow them water, we are naturally led to speak in this place of the mean salaries apportioned to public lectureships, whether in the sciences or the arts. For such offices being instituted not for an ephemeral purpose, but for the constant transmission and extension of learning, it is of the utmost importance that the 42 BACON men selected to fill them be learned and gifted. But it is idle to expect that the ablest scholars will employ their whole energy and time in such functions unless the reward be answerable to that competency which may be expected from the practice of a profession. The sciences will only flourish on the condition of David’s military law—that those who remain with the baggage shall have equal part with those who descend to the fight, other- wise the baggage will be neglected. Lecturers being in like manner guardians of the literary stores whence those who are engaged in active service draw, it is but just that their labors should be equally recompensed, otherwise the reward of the fathers of the sciences not being sufficiently ample, the verse will be realized— “ Et patrum invalidi referent jejunia nati.”—Virgil.* The next deficiency we shall notice is, the want of philosoph- ical instruments, in crying up which we are aided by the alchem- ists, who call upon men to sell their books, and to build furnaces, rejecting Minerva and the Muses as barren virgins, and relying upon Vulcan. To study natural philosophy, physic, and many other sciences to advantage, books are not the only essentials— other instruments are required ; nor has the munificence of men been altogether wanting in their provisions. For spheres, globes, astrolabes, maps, and the like, have been provided for the elucidation of astronomy and cosmography; and many schools of medicine are provided with gardens for the growth of simples, and supplied with dead bodies for dissection. But these concern only a few things. In general, however, there will be no inroad made into the secrets of nature unless experi- ments, be they of Vulcan or Dedalus, furnace, engine, or any other kind, are allowed for ; and therefore as the secretaries and spies of princes and states bring in bills for intelligence, so you must allow the spies and intelligences of nature to bring in their bills, or else you will be ignorant of many things worthy to be known. And if Alexander placed so large a treasure at Aris- totle’s command, for the support of hunters, fowlers, fishers, and the like, in much more need do they stand of this benefi- cence who unfold the labyrinths of nature. Another defect I discover is the neglect in vice-chancellors, heads of houses, princes, inspectors, and others, of proper super- vision or diligent inquiry into the course of studies, with a view ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 43 to a thorough reformation of such parts as are ill suited to the age, or of unwise institution. For it is one of your Majesty’s sage maxims, that as respects customs and precedents, we must consider the times in which they took their rise, since much is detracted from their authority, if such are found feeble and ig- norant. It is, therefore, all the more requisite, since the uni- versity statutes were framed in very obscure times, to institute an inquiry into their origin. Of errors of this nature I will give an example or two from such objects as are most obvious and familiar. The one is, that scholars are inducted too early into logic and rhetoric—arts which, being the cream of all others, are fitter for graduates than children and novices. Now, being the gravest of the sciences, these arts are composed of rules and directions, for setting forth and methodizing the matter of the rest, and, therefore, for rude and blank minds, who have not yet gathered that which Cicero styles sylva and supellex ¢ matter, and fecundity, to begin with those arts is as if one were to paint or measure the wind, and has no other effect than to degrade the universal wisdom of these arts into childish sophistry and contemptible affectation. This error has had the inevitable result of rendering the treatises on those sciences superficial, and dwarfing them to the capacities of children. Another error to be noticed in the present academical system is the separation between invention and memory, their exercises either being nothing but a set form of words, where no play is given to the understanding, or extemporaneous, in the delivery of which no room is left tothe memory. In practical life, however, a blend- ing of the powers of judgment and memory is alone put into requisition, so that these practices, not being adapted to the life of action, rather pervert than discipline the mind. This defect is sooner discovered by scholars than by others, when they come to the practice of the civil professions. We may con- clude our observations on university reform, with the expres- sion of Czsar in his letter to Oppius and Balbus: “ Hoc que- madmodum fieri possit, nonnulla mihi in mentem veniunt, et multa reperiri possunt: de iis rebus rogo vos, ut cogitationem suscipiatis.”¢ The next want I discover is the little sympathy and corre- spondence which exist between colleges and universities, as well throughout Europe as in the same state and kingdom. In this we have an example in many orders and sodalities, which, 44 BACON though scattered over several sovereignties and territories, yet enter into a kind of contract, fraternity, and correspondence with one another, and are associated under common provincials and generals. And, surely, as nature creates brotherhood in families, and trades contract brotherhood in communities, and the anointment of God establishes a brotherhood in kings and bishops, in like manner there should spring up a fraternity in learning and illumination, relating to that paternity which is attributed to God, who is called the Father of lights. Lastly, I may lament that no fit men have been engaged to forward those sciences which yet remain in an unfinished state. To supply this want it may be of service to perform, as it were, a lustrum of the sciences, and take account of what have been prosecuted and what omitted. For the idea of abundance is one of the causes of dearth; and the multitude of books produces a deceitful impression of superfluity. This, however, is not to be remedied by destroying the books already written, but by making more good ones, which, like the serpent of Moses, may devour the serpents of the enchanters.f The removal of the defects I have enumerated, except the last, are indeed opera basilica, towards which the endeavors of one man can be but as an image on a cross-road, which points out the way, but can- not tread it. But as the survey of the sciences which we have proposed lies within the power of a private individual, it is my intention to make the circuit of knowledge, noticing what parts lie waste and uncultivated, and abandoned by the industry of man, with a view to engage, by a faithful mapping out of the deserted tracts, the energies of public and private persons in their improvement. My attention, however, is alone confined to the discovery, not to the correction of errors. [or it is one thing to point out what land lies uncultivated, and another thing to improve imperfect husbandry. In completing this design, I am ignorant neither of the great- ness of the work nor my own incapacity. My hope, however, is, that, if the extreme love of my subject carry me too far, I may at least obtain the excuse of affection. It is not granted to man to love and be wise: “ amare et sapere.”’ On such topics opinion is free, and that liberty of judgment which I exercise myself lies equally at the disposition of all. And I for my part shall be as glad to receive correction from others as I am ready to point out defects myself. It is the common duty of human- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 45 ity: “nam qui erranti comiter monstrat viam.”g I, indeed, foresee that many of the defects and omissions I shall point out will be much censured, some as being already completed, and others as too difficult to be effected. For the first objection I must refer to the details of my subject ; with regard to the last, I take it for granted that those works are possible which may be accomplished by some person, though not by every one; which may be done by many, though not by one ; which may be completed in the succession of ages, though not within the hour- glass of one man’s life; and which may be reached by public effort, though not by private endeavor. Nevertheless, if any man prefer the sentence of Solomon—* Dicit piger, Leo est in via; "/ to that of Virgil, “ possunt, quia posse videntur ”’—I shall be content to have my labors received but as the better kind of wishes. For as it requires some knowledge to ask an apposite question, he also cannot be deemed foolish who enter- tains sensible desires. The justest division of human learning is that derived from the three different faculties of the soul, the seat of learning: history being relative to the memory, poetry to the imagination, and philosophy to the reason. By poetry we understand no more than feigned history or fable, without regard at present to the poetical style. History is properly concerned about in- dividuals, circumscribed by time and place; so likewise is poetry, with this difference, that its individuals are feigned, with a resemblance to true history, yet like painting, so as frequently to exceed it. But philosophy, forsaking individuals, fixes upon notions abstracted from them, and is employed in compounding and separating these notions according to the laws of nature and the evidence of things themselves. Any one will easily perceive the justness of this division that recurs to the origin of our ideas. Individuals first strike the sense, which is as it were the port or entrance of the under- standing. Then the understanding ruminates upon these images or impressions received from the sense, either simply reviewing them, or wantonly counterfeiting and imitating them, or forming them into certain classes by composition or separa- tion. Thus it is clearly manifest that history, poetry, and phi- losophy flow from the three distinct fountains of the mind, viz., the memory, the imagination, a1.d the reason ; without any pos- sibility of increasing their number. For history and experi- 46 BACON ence are one and the same thing; so are philosophy and the sciences. Nor does divine learning require any other division; for though revelation and sense may differ both in matter and manner, yet the spirit of man and its cells are the same; and in this case receive, as it were, different liquors through different conduits. Theology, therefore, consists—1. of sacred history ; 2. parable, or divine poesy ; and 3. of holy doctrine or precept, as its fixed philosophy. As for prophecy, which seems a part redundant, it is no more than a species of history ; divine his- tory having this prerogative over human, that the narration may precede, as well as succeed the fact. CHAPTER II History divided into Natural and Civil ;—Civil subdivided into Ecclesi- astical and Literary. The Division of Natural History according to the subject matter, into the History of Generations, of Preter- generations, and the Arts. History is either natural or civil: the natural records the works and acts of nature; the civil, the works and acts of men. Divine interposition is unquestionably seen’in both, particu- larly in the affairs of men, so far as to constitute a different species of history, which we call sacred or ecclesiastical. But such is the dignity of letters and arts, that they deserve a sepa- rate history, which, as well as the ecclesiastical, we comprehend under civil history. We form our division of natural history upon the threefold state and condition of nature; which is, 1. either free, proceed- ing in her ordinary course, without molestation ; or 2. obstructed by some stubborn and less common matters, and thence put out of her course, as in the production of monsters ; or 3. bound and wrought upon by human means, for the production of things artificial. Let all natural history, therefore, be divided into the history of generations, pratergenerations, and arts; the first to consider nature at liberty ; the second, nature in her errors; and the third, nature in constraint. The history of arts should the rather make a species of natural history, because of the prevalent opinion, as if art were a differ- ent thing from nature, and things natural different from things ee en ee oe | { (eS ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 47 artificial: whence many writers of natural history think they perform notably, if they give us the history of animals, plants, or minerals, without a word of the mechanic arts. A further mis- chief is to have art esteemed no more than an assistant to nature, so as to help her forwards, correct or set her free,and not to bend, change, and radically affect her; whence an untimely despair has crept upon mankind; who should rather be assured that artificial things differ not from natural in form or essence, but only in the efficient : for man has no power over nature in any- thing but motion, whereby he either puts bodies together, or separates them. And, therefore, so far as natural bodies may be separated or conjoined, man may do anything. Nor matters it, if things are put in order for producing effects, whether it be done by human means or otherwise. Gold is sometimes purged by the fire, and sometimes found naturally pure: the rainbow is produced after a natural way, in a cloud above; or made arti- ficially, by the sprinkling of water below. As nature, there- fore, governs all things by means—1. of her general course; 2. her excursion; and 3. by means of human assistance; these three parts must be received into natural history, as in some measure they are by Pliny. The first of these parts, the history of creatures, is extant in tolerable perfection ; but the two others, the history of monsters and the history of arts, may be noted as deficient. For I find no competent collection of the works of nature digressing from the ordinary course of generations, productions, and motions ; whether they be singularities of place and region, or strange events of time and chance; effects of unknown properties, or instances of exceptions to general rules. We have indeed many books of fabulous experiments, secrets, and frivolous impos- tures, for pleasure and strangeness ; but a substantial and well- purged collection of heteroclites, or irregularities of nature, carefully examined and described, especially with a due rejec- tion of fable and popular error, is wanting: for, as things now stand, if false facts in nature be once on foot, through the neg- lect of examination, the countenance of antiquity, and the use made of them in discourse, they are scarce ever retracted. The design of such a work, of which we have a precedent in Aristotle, is not to content curious and vain minds, but— 1. to correct the depravity of axioms and opinions, founded upon common and familiar examples ; and 2. to show the wonders of 48 BACON nature, which give the shortest passage to the wonders of art: for by carefully tracing nature in her wanderings, we may be en- abled to lead or compel her to the same again. Nor would we in this history of wonders have superstitious narrations of sor- ceries, witchcrafts, dreams, divinations, etc., totally excluded, where there is full evidence of the fact; because it is not yet known in what cases, and how far effects attributed to supersti- tion, depend upon natural causes. And, therefore, though the practice of such things is to be condemned; yet the considera- tion of them may afford light, not only in judging criminals, but in a deeper disclosure of nature. Nor should men scruple examining into these things, in order to discover truth: the sun, though it passes through dirty places, yet remains as pure as before. Those narrations, however, which have a tincture of superstition, should be kept separate, and unmixed with others, that are merely natural. But the relations of religious prodigies and miracles, as being either false or supernatural, are unfit to enter into a history of nature. As for the history of nature wrought or formed, we have some collections of agriculture and manual arts, but common- ly with a rejection of familiar and vulgar experiments, which yet are of more service in the interpretation of nature than the uncommon ones: an inquiry into mechanical matters being re- puted a dishonor to learning; unless such as appear secrets, rarities, and subtilties. This supercilious arrogance, Plato justly derides in his representation of the dispute between Hip- pias and Socrates touching beauty. Socrates is represented, in his careless manner, citing first an example of a fair virgin, then a fine horse, then a smooth pot curiously glazed. This last instance moved Hippias’s choler, who said, “Were it not for politeness’ sake, I would disdain to dispute with any that al- leged such low and sordid examples.” Whereupon Socrates replied, “You have reason, and it becomes you well, being a man so sprucely attired, and so trim in your shoes.”a@ And certainly the truth is, that they are not the highest instances that always afford the securest information; as is not unaptly ex- pressed in the tale so common of the philospher,b who, while he gazed upwards to the stars, fell into the water.c For had he looked down, he might have discovered the stars in the water; but looking up to heaven, he could not see the water in the stars ; for mean and small things often discover great ones, bet- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 49 ter than great can discover the small; and therefore Aristotle observes, “That the nature of everything is best seen in its small- est portions.”¢ Whence he seeks the nature of a common- wealth, first in a family ; and so the nature of the world, and the policy thereof must be sought in mean relations and small por- tions. The magnetic virtue of iron was not first. discovered in bars, but in needles. But in my judgment the use of mechanical history is, of all others, the most fundamental towards such a natural philoso- phy as shall not vanish in the fume of subtile, sublime, or pleas- ing speculations ; but be operative to the endowment and bene- fit of human life ; as not only suggesting, for the present, many ingenious practices in all trades, by connecting and transferring the observations of one art to the uses of another, when the ex- perience of several arts shall fall under the consideration of one man; but as giving a more true and real illumination with re- gard to causes and axioms, than has hitherto appeared. For as a man’s temper is never well known until he is crossed; in like manner the turns and changes of nature cannot appear so fully, when she is left at her liberty, as in the trials and tortures of art. We add, that the body of this experimental history should not only be formed from the mechanic arts, but also from the operative and effective part of the liberal sciences, together with numerous practices, not hitherto brought into arts; so that nothing may be omitted which has a tendency to inform the understanding. CHAPTER III Second Division of Natural History, in relation to its Use and End, into Narrative and Inductive. The most important end of Natural History is to aid in erecting a Body of Philosophy which appertains to Induction. Division of the History of Generations into the His- tory of the Heavens, the History of Meteors, the History of the Earth and Sea, the History of Massive or Collective Bodies, and the History of Species As natural history has three parts, so it has two principal uses, and affords—r. a knowledge of the things themselves that are committed to history ; and 2. the first matter of philoso- phy. But the former, though it has its advantages, is of much more inferior consideration than the other, which is a collec- 4 tion of materials for a just and solid induction, whereon philoso- phy is to be grounded. And, in this view, we again divide natural history into narrative and inductive ; the latter whereof is wanting. If the natural history extant, though apparently of great bulk and variety, were to be carefully weeded of its fables, antiquities, quotations, frivolous disputes, philology, ornaments, and table-talk, it would shrink to a slender bulk. But, besides, a history of this kind is far from what we require, as wanting the two above-mentioned parts of a natural history, viz., pretergenerations and arts, on which we lay great stress ; and only answers one part in five of the third, viz., that of gen- erations. For the history of generations has five subordinate parts; viz., 1. The celestial bodies, considered in their naked phenomena, stripped of opinions; 2. Meteors, comets, and the regions of the air ; 3. The earth and sea, as integral parts of the universe, including mountains, rivers, tides, sands, woods, and islands, with a view to natural inquiries rather than cosmog- raphy; 4. The elements, or greater assemblages of matter, as I call them—viz., fire, air, water, and earth; and 5. The species of bodies, or more exquisite collections of matter, by us called the smaller assemblages, in which alone the industry of writers has appeared, and that, too, rather in a luxurious than solid man- ner; as rather abounding in things superfluous, viz., the repre- sentation of plants and animals, etc., than careful observations, which should ever be subjoined to natural history. In fine, all the natural history we have is absolutely unfit for the end we propose, viz., to build philosophy upon; and this both in the manner and matter thereof; hence we set down inductive his- tory as deficient. CHAP AR aN, Civil History divided into Ecclesiastical and Literary. Deficiency of the latter. The Absence of Precepts for its Compilation Civil history, in general, may be divided into three particular kinds, viz., sacred, civil, and literary ; the latter whereof being wanting, the history of the world appears like the statue of Polyphemus, without its eye; the part that best shows the life and spirit of the person. In many particular sciences indeed, as the law, mathematics, and rhetoric, there are extant some ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 51 short memoirs, and jejune relations of sects, schools, books, authors, and the successions of this kind of sciences, as well as some trivial accounts of the inventors of things and arts; but we say, that a just and universal literary history has not hitherto been published. The design of this work should be, to relate from the earliest accounts of time—1. what particular kinds of learning and arts flourished, in what ages, and what parts of the world; 2. their antiquities, progress, and travels on the globe; 3. their decline, disappearance, and restoration. In each art should be ob- served, 4. its origin and occasion of invention; 5. the manner and form of its delivery ; and 6. the means of its introduction, exercise and establishment. Add to these, 7. the most famous sects and controversies of learned men; 8. the calumnies they suffered, and the praises and honors they received ; 9. all along let the best authors and books be noted; with ro. the schools, successions, academies, societies, colleges, orders, and what- ever regards the state of learning: but 11. principally let events be throughout coupled with their causes (which is the soul, as it were, of civil history), in relating the nature of countries and people, and 12. their disposition and indisposition to different kinds of learning ; 13. the accidents of time, whether favorable or destructive to the sciences; 14. the zeal and mixture of religion ; 15. the severity and lenity of laws; 16. the remarkable patronage, efforts, and endowments of illustrious men, for the promotion of learning and the like. All which we would have handled, not in the manner of critics, who barely praise and censure ; but historically, or in the way of a naked delivery of facts, with but a sparing use of private judgment. For the manner of writing this history, we particularly advise the materials of it to be drawn, not only from histories and critical works, but also that the principal books of every century be regularly consulted downwards; so far we mean, as that a taste may be had, or a judgment formed, of the subject, style, and method thereof; whence the literary genius of every age may at pleasure be raised, as it were, from the dead. The use and end of this work is not to derive honor and pomp to learning, nor to gratify an eager curiosity and fondness of knowing and preserving whatever may relate thereto; but chiefly to make learned men wise, in the prudent and sober exercise and administration of learning, and by marking out 52 BACON the virtues and vices of intellectual things, as well as the mo- tions and perturbations of states, to show how the best regula- tion and government may be thence derived ; for as the works of St. Austin or St. Ambrose will not make so wise a divine as a thorough reading of Ecclesiastical History, the same will hold true of learned men with regard to particular books and literary history : for whoever is not supported by examples and the remembrance of things, must always be exposed to con- tingencies and precipitancy. CHAPTER V The Dignity of Civil History and the Obstacles it has to encounter Civil history, particularly so called, is of prime dignity and authority among human writings ; as the examples of antiquity, the revolutions of things, the foundations of civil prudence, with the names and reputations of men, are committed to its trust. But it is attended with no less difficulty than dignity ; for it is a work of great labor and judgment, to throw the mind back upon things past, and store it with antiquity; diligently to search into, and with fidelity and freedom relate, 1. the com- motions of times ; 2. the characters of persons ; 3. the instability of counsels; 4. the courses of actions; 5. the bottoms of pre- tences; 6. the secrets of state; and 7. to set all this to view in proper and suitable language: especially as ancient transactions are uncertain, and late ones exposed to danger. Whence such a civil history is attended with numerous defects; the greater part of historians writing little more than empty and vulgar narrations, and such as are really a disgrace to history; while some hastily draw up particular relations and trivial memoirs, some only run over the general heads of actions; and others descend to the minutest particulars, which have no relation to” the principal action. These, in compliance with their genius, boldly invent many of the things they write ; whilst those stamp the image of their own affections upon what they deliver ; thus preserving fidelity to their party, but not to things themselves. Some are constantly inculcating politics, in which they take most pleasure, and seek all occasions of exhibiting themselves, thus childishly interrupting the thread of their history ; whilst others are too tedious, and show but little judgment in the ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 53 prolixity of their speeches, harangues, and accounts of actions ; so that, in short, nothing is so seldom found among the writings of men as true and perfect civil history. CHAPTER VI Division of Civil History into Memoirs, Antiquities, and Perfect History This civil history is of three kinds, and bears resemblance to three kinds of pictures ; viz., the unfinished, the finished, and the defaced: thus civil history, which is the picture of times and things, appears in memoirs, just history, and antiquities; but memoirs are history begun, or the first strokes and materials of it; and antiquities are history defaced, or remnants that have escaped the shipwreck of time. Memoirs, or memorials, are of two kinds; whereof the one may be termed commentaries, the other registers. In com- mentaries are set down naked events and actions in sequence, without the motives, designs, counsels, speeches, pretexts, occasions, etc.; for such is the true nature of a commentary, though Cesar, in modesty mixed with greatness, called the best history in the world a commentary. Registers are of two kinds; as either containing the titles of things and persons in order of time, by way of calendars and chronicles, or else after the manner of journals, preserving the edicts of princes, decrees of council, judicial proceedings, dec- larations, letters of state, and public orations, without continu- ing the thread of the narration. Antiquities are the wrecks of history, wherein the memory of things is almost lost; or such particulars as industrious per- sons, with exact and scrupulous diligence, can any way collect from genealogies, calendars, titles, inscriptions, monuments, coins, names, etymologies, proverbs, traditions, archives, in- struments, fragments of public and private history, scattered passages of books no way historical, etc. ; by which means some- thing is recovered from the deluge of time. This is a laborious work ; yet acceptable to mankind, as carrying with it a kind of reverential awe, and deserves to come in the place of those fabulous and fictitious origins of nations we: abound with; though it has the less authority, as but few have examined and exercised a liberty of thought about it. 54 BACON In these kinds of imperfect history, no deficiency need be noted, they being of their own nature imperfect: but epitomes of history are the corruption and moths that have fretted and corroded many sound and excellent bodies of history, and re- duced them to base and unprofitable dregs ; whence all men of sound judgment declare the use of them ought to be banished. CHAPTER VII Division of History into Chronicles, Biographies, and Perfect Relations. The Development of their parts Just history is of three kinds, with regard to the three objects it designs to represent; which are either a portion of time, a memorable person, or an illustrious action. The first kind we call writing annals or chronicles; the second, lives; and the third, narratives or relations. Chronicles share the greatest esteem and reputation, but lives excel in advantage and use, as relations do in truth and sincerity. For chronicles represent only grand public actions, and external shows and appearances to the people, and drop the smaller passages and motions of men and things. But as the divine artificer hangs the greatest weight upon the smallest strings, so such histories rather show the pomp of affairs, than their true and inward springs. And though it intersperses counsel, yet delighting in grandeur, it attributes more gravity and prudence to human actions, than really appears in them; so that satire might be a truer picture of human life, than cértain histories of this kind: whereas lives, if wrote with care and judgment, proposing to represent a per- son, in whom actions, both great and small, public and private, are blended together, must of necessity give a more genuine, native, and lively representation, and such as is fitter for imi- tation. Particular relations of actions, as of the Peloponnesian war, and the expedition of Cyrus, may likewise be made with greater truth and exactness than histories of times; as their subject is more level to the inquiry and capacity of the writer, whilst they who undertake the history of any large portion of time must need meet with blanks and empty spaces, which they generally fill up out of theirown invention. This exception, however, must be made to the sincerity of relations, that, if they be wrote near — = - ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 55 the times of the actions themselves, they are, in that case, to be greatly suspected of partiality or prejudice. But,as it is usual for opposite parties to publish relations of the same transactions, they, by this means, open the way to truth, which lies betwixt the two extremes: so that, after the heat of contention is allayed, a good and wise historian may hence be furnished with matter for a more perfect history. As to the deficiency in these three kinds of history, doubtless many particular transactions have been left unrecorded, to the great prejudice, in point of honor and glory, of those kingdoms and states wherein they passed. But to omit other nations, we have particular reason to complain to your Majesty of the im- perfection of the present history of England, in the main con- tinuance of it, and the partiality and obliquity of that of Scot- land, in the most copious and recent account that has been left us. As this island of Great Britain will now, as one united monarchy, descend to future ages, we cannot but deem it a work alike honorable to your Majesty, and grateful to posterity, that exploits were collected in one history, in the style of the ancient Testament, which hands down the story of the ten tribes and the two tribes as twins together. If the greatness of the undertaking, however, should prove any obstacle to its perfect execution, a shorter period of time, fraught with the greatest interest, occurs from the junction of the Roses to the union of the two kingdoms—a space of time which to me ap- pears to contain a crowd of more memorable events than ever occurred in any hereditary monarchy of similar duration. For it commences with the conjoint adoption of a crown by arms, and title, an entry by battle, and a marriage settlement. The times which follow, partaking of the nature of such beginnings, like waters after a tempest, full of workings and swellings, though without boisterous storms, being well navigated by the wisdom of the pilot,¢ one of the most able of his predecessors. Then succeeded the reign of a king, whose policy, though rather actuated by passion than counsel, exercised great influence upon the courts of Europe, balancing and variably inclining their various interests; in whose time, also, began that great change of religion, an action seldom brought on the stage. Then the reign of a minor. Then an attempt at usurpation, though it was but as a “ febris ephemera ”: then the reign of a queen, matched with a foreigner: then the reign of a queen, 56 BACON solitary and unmarried. And now, as a close, the glorious and auspicious event of the union of an island, divided from the rest of the world: so that we may say the old oracle which gave rest to Agneas, “ antiquam exquirite matrem,”O is fulfilled in the union of England and Scotland under one sceptre. Thus as massive bodies, drawn aside from their course, experience certain waverings and trepidations before they fix and settle, so this monarchy, before it was to settle in your Majesty and your heirs, in whom I hope it is established forever, seems by the providence of God to have undergone these mutations and deflections as a prelude to stability. With regard to lives, we cannot but wonder that our own times have so little value for what they enjoy, as not more fre- quently to write the lives of eminent men. For, though kings, princes, and great personages are few, yet there are many other excellent men who deserve better than vague reports and bar- ren eulogies. Here the fancy of a late poet, who has improved an ancient fiction, is not inapplicable. He feigns that at the end of the thread of every man’s life, there hung a medal, on which the name of the deceased is stamped; and that Time, waiting upon the shears of the fatal sister, as soon as the thread was cut, caught the medals, and threw them out of his bosom into the river Lethe. He also represented many birds flying over its banks, who caught the medals in their beaks, and, after carrying them about for a certain time, allowed them to fall in the river. Among these birds were a few swans, who used, if they caught a medal, to carry it to a certain temple consecrated to immortality. Such swans, however, are rare in our age. And although many, more mortal in their affections than their bodies, esteem the desire of fame and memory but a vanity, and despise praise, whilst they do nothing that is praiseworthy— “animos nil magne laudis egentes” ;c yet their philosophy springs from the root, “non prius laudes contempsimus quam laudanda facere desivimus”; and does not alter Solomon’s judgment—“ the memory of the just shall be with praises ; but the name of the wicked shall rot ” ;¢ the one flourishing, whilst the other consumes or turns to corruption. So in that laudable way of speaking of the dead, “of happy memory! of pious memory!” etc., we seem to acknowledge, with Cicero and De- mosthenes, “ that a good name is the proper inheritance of the deceased ” ;¢ which inheritance is lying waste in our time, and deserves to be noticed as a deficiency. a ee I a a i ine ee ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 57 In the business of relations it is, also, to be wished that greater diligence were employed ; for there is no signal action, but has some good pen to describe it. But very few being qualified to write a complete history, suitable to its dignity (a thing wherein so many have failed), if memorable acts were but tolerably re- lated as they pass, this might lay the foundations, and afford materials for a complete history of times, when a writer should arise equal to the work. CHAPTER VIII Division of the History of Times into Universal and Particular. The Advantages and Disadvantages of both History of times is either general or particular, as it relates the transactions of the whole world, or of a certain kingdom or nation. And there have been those who would seem to give us the history of the world from its origin; but, in reality, offer only a rude collection of things, and certain short narratives instead of a history ; whilst others have nobly, and to good ad- vantage, endeavored to describe, as in a just history, the memorable things, which in their time happened over all the globe. For human affairs are not so far divided by empires and countries, but that in many cases they still preserve a con- nection: whence it is proper enough to view, as in one picture, the fates of an age. And such a general history as this may frequently contain particular relations, which, though of value, might otherwise either be lost, or never again reprinted: at least, the heads of such accounts may be thus preserved. But upon mature consideration, the laws of just history appear so severe as scarcely to be observed in so large a field of matter, whence the bulkiness of history should rather be retrenched than enlarged; otherwise, he who has such variety of matter everywhere to collect, if he preserve not constantly the strictest watch upon his informations, will be apt to take up with rumors and popular reports, and work such kind of superficial matter into his history. And, then, to retrench the whole, he will be obliged to pass over many things otherwise worthy of relation, and often to contract and shorten his style; wherein there lies no small danger of frequently cutting off useful narrations, in order to oblige mankind in their favorite way of compendium; 58 BACON whence stich accounts, which might otherwise live of them- selves, may come to be utterly lost. CHAPIER LX Second Division of the History of Times into Annals and Journals History of times is likewise divisible into annals and journals, according to the observation of Tacitus, where, mentioning the magnificence of certain structures, he adds: “It was found suitable to the Roman dignity that illustrious things should be committed to annals, but such as these to the public journals of the city;”@ thus referring what related to the state of the commonwealth to annals, and smaller matters to journals. And so there should be a kind of heraldry in regulating the dignities of books as well as persons: for as nothing takes more from the dignity of a state than confusion of orders and degrees, so it greatly takes from the authority of history to intermix matters of triumph, ceremony, and novelty, with matters of state. And it were to be wished that this distinction prevailed ; but in our times journals are only used at sea and in military expeditions, whereas among the ancients it was a regal honor to have the daily acts of the palace recorded, as we see in the case of Ahasuerus, king of Persia.2 And the journals of Alexander the Great contained even trivial matters ;¢ yet journals are not destined for trivial things alone, as annals are for serious ones, but contain all things promiscuously, whether of greater or of less concern. CHAPTER Second Division of Special Civil History into Pure and Mixed The last division of civil history is into pure and mixed. Of the mixed there are two eminent kinds—the one principally civil, and the other principally natural : for a kind of writing has been introduced that does not give particular narrations in the continued thread of a history, but where the writer collects and culls them, with choice, out of an author, then reviewing and, as it were, ruminating upon them, takes occasion to treat of politi- cal subjects; and this kind of ruminated history we highly es- teem, provided the writers keep close to it professedly, for it is ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 59 both unseasonable and irksome to have an author profess he will write a proper history, yet at every turn introduce politics, and thereby break the thread of his narration. All wise history is indeed pregnant with political rules and precepts, but the writer is not to take all opportunities of delivering himself of them. Cosmographical history is also mixed many ways—as taking the descriptions of countries, their situations and fruits, from natural history ; the accounts of cities, governments, and man- ners, from civil history; the climates and astronomical phe- nomena, from mathematics : in which kind of history the present age seems to excel, as having a full view of the world in this light. The ancients had some knowledge of the zones and antipodes— “ Nosque ubi primus equis oriens afflavit anhelis, Illic sera rubens accendit lumina vesper,” * though rather by abstract demonstration than fact. But that little vessels, like the celestial bodies, should sail round the whole globe, is the happiness of our age. These times, more- over, may justly use not only plus ultra, where the ancients used non plus ultra, but also imitabile fulmen where the ancients said non imitabile fulmen— ““Demens qui nimbos et non imitabile fulmen.”—Virgil.t This improvement of navigation may give us great hopes of extending and improving the sciences, especially as it seems agreeable to the Divine will that they should be coeval. Thus the prophet Daniel foretells, that ““ Many shall go to and fro on the earth, and knowledge shall be increased,” as if the open- ness and thorough passage of the world and the increase of knowledge were allotted to the same age, which indeed we find already true in part: for the learning of these times scarce yields to the former periods or returns of learning—the one among the Greeks and the other among the Romans, and in many par- ticulars far exceeds them. 60 BACON CHAPTER XI Ecclesiastical History divided into the General History of the Church, History of Prophecy, and History of Providence Ecclesiastical history in general has nearly the same divisions with civil history: thus there are ecclesiastical chronicles, lives of the fathers, accounts of synods, and other ecclesiastical mat- ters; but in propriety it may be further divided—tr. Into the general history of the Church; 2. The history of prophecy ; and 3. The history of providence. The first describes the times of the Church militant, whether fluctuating, as the ark of Noah; movable, as the ark in the wilderness; or at rest, as the ark in the temple ; that is, in the states of persecution, migration, and peace. And in this part there is a redundancy rather than a deficiency, but it were to be wished the goodness and sincerity of it were equal to the bulk. The second part, viz., the history of prophecy, consists of two relatives—the prophecy and the accomplishment; whence the nature of it requires, that every Scripture prophecy be com- pared with the event, through all the ages of the world, for the better confirmation of the faith and the better information of the Church with regard to the interpretation of prophecies not yet fulfilled. But here we must allow that latitude which is peculiar and familiar to divine prophecies, which have their completion not only at stated times, but in succession, as par- ticipating of the nature of their author, “ with whom a thousand years are but as one day,”@ and therefore are not fulfilled punc- tually at once, but have a growing accomplishment through many ages, though the height or fulness of them may refer to a single age or moment. And this is a work which I find defi- cient ; but it should either be undertaken with wisdom, sobriety, and reverence, or not at all. The third part—the history of providence, has been touched by some pious pens, but not without a mixture of party. This history is employed in observing that Divine agreement which there sometimes is betwixt the revealed and secret will of God. For although the counsels and judgments of God are so secret as to be absolutely unsearchable to man,b yet the Divine good- ness has sometimes thought fit, for the confirmation of his own people, and the confutation of those who are as without God in ; . - [ | ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 61 the world, to write them in such capital letters, as they who run may read them.c Such are the remarkable events and exam- ples of God’s judgments, though late and unexpected, sudden and unhoped-for deliverances and blessings, Divine counsels dark and doubtful at length opening and explaining them- selves, etc. All which have not only a power to confirm the minds of the faithful, but to awaken and convince the con- sciences of the wicked. CHAPTER XII The Appendix of History embraces the Words of Men, as the Body of History includes their Exploits. Its Division into Speeches, Letters, and Apophthegms. And not only the actions of mankind, but also their sayings, ought to be preserved, and may doubtless be sometimes inserted in history, so far as they decently serve to illustrate the narra- tion of facts ; but books of orations, epistles, and apophthegms, are the proper repositories of human discourse. The speeches of wise men upon matters of business, weighty causes, or diffi- cult points, are of great use, not only for eloquence, but for the knowledge of things themselves. But the letters of wise men upon serious affairs are yet more serviceable in points of civil prudence, as of all human speech nothing is more solid or ex- cellent than such epistles, for they contain more of natural sense than orations, and more ripeness than occasional discourses: so letters of state affairs, written in the order of time by those that manage them, with their answers, afford the best materials for civil history. Nor do apophthegms only serve for ornament and delight, but also for action and civil use, as being the edge-tools of speech— “ Secures aut mucrones verborum,” * which cut and penetrate the knots of business and affairs: for occasions have their revolutions, and what has once been advan- tageously used may be so again, either as an old thing or a new one. Nor can the usefulness of these sayings in civil affairs be questioned, when Cesar himself wrote a book upon the subject, which we wish were extant; for all those we have yet seen of the kind appear to be collected with little choice and judgment. CHAP IT Ro xii The Second leading Branch of Learning—Poetry. Its Division into Narrative, Dramatic, and Parabolic. Three Examples of the latter species detailed Poetry is a kind of learning generally confined to the measure of words, but otherwise extremely licentious, and truly belong- ing to the imagination, which, being unrestrained by laws, may make what unnatural mixtures and separations it pleases. It is taken in two senses, or with respect to words and matter. The first is but a character of style and a certain form of speech not relating to the subject, for a true narration may be delivered in verse and a feigned one in prose; but the second is a capital part of learning, and no other than feigned history. And here, as in our divisions, we endeavor to find and trace the true sources of learning, and this frequently without giving way to custom or the established order—we shall take no particular notice of satire, elegy, epigram, ode, etc., but turn them over to philosophy and the arts of speech, and under the name of poetry treat nothing more than imaginary history. The justest division of poetry, except what it shares in com- mon with history (which has its feigned chronicles, feigned lives, and feigned relations), is—1. Into narrative ; 2. Dramatic; and, 3. Allegorical. Narrative poetry is such an exact imita- tion of history as to deceive, did it not often carry things beyond probability. Dramatic poetry is a kind of visible history, giv- ing the images of things as if they were present, whilst history represents them as past. But allegorical poetry is history with its type, which represents intellectual things to the senses. Narrative poetry, otherwise called heroic poetry, seems, with regard to this matter, not the versification, raised upon a noble foundation, as having a principal regard to the dignity of human nature. For as the active world is inferior to the rational soul, so poetry gives that to mankind which history denies, and in some measure satisfies the mind with shadows when it cannot enjoy the substance. For, upon a narrow inspection, poetry strongly shows that a greater grandeur of things, a more perfect order, and a more beautiful variety is pleasing to the mind than can anywhere be found in nature after the fall. So that, as the actions and events, which are the subjects of true history, have ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 63 not that grandeur which satisfies the mind, poetry steps in and feigns more heroical actions. And as real history gives us not the success of things according to the deserts of virtue and vice, poetry corrects it, and presents us with the fates and fortunes of persons rewarded or punished according to merit. And as real history disgusts us with a familiar and constant similitude of things, poetry relieves us by unexpected turns and changes, and thus not only delights, but inculcates morality and noble- ness of soul. Whence it may be justly esteemed of a Divine nature, as it raises the mind, by accommodating the images of things to our desires, and not, like history and reason, subject- ing the mind to things. And by these its charms, and con- gruity to the mind, with the assistance also of music, which con- veys it the sweeter, it makes its own way, so as to have been in high esteem in the most ignorant ages, and among the most bar- barous people, whilst other kinds of learning were utterly ex- cluded. Dramatic poetry, which has the theatre for its world, would be of excellent use if it were sound; for the discipline and cor- ruption of the theatre are of very great consequence. And the corruptions of this kind are numerous in our times, but the regulation quite neglected. The action of the theatre, though modern states esteem it but ludicrous, unless it be satirical and biting, was carefully watched by the ancients, that it might improve mankind in virtue: and indeed many wise men and great philosophers have thought it to the mind as the bow to the fiddle ; and certain it is, though a great secret in nature, that the minds of men in company are more open to affections and impressions than when alone. But allegorical poetry excels the others, and appears a solemn sacred thing, which religion itself generally makes use of, to preserve an intercourse between divine and human things; yet this, also, is corrupted by a levity and indulgence of genius towards allegory. Its use is ambiguous, and made to serve contrary purposes; for it envelops as well as illustrates—the first seeming to endeavor at an art of concealment, and the other at a method of instructing, much used by the ancients. For when the discoveries and conclusions of reason, though now common, were new, and first known, the human capacity could scarce admit them in their subtile state, or till they were brought nearer to sense, by such kind of imagery and examples ; 64 BACON whence ancient times are full of their fables, their allegories, and their similes. From this source arise the symbol of Pythagoras, the enigmas of Sphinx, and the fables of A¢sop. Nay, the apophthegms of the ancient sages were usually demonstrated by similitudes. And as hieroglyphics preceded letters, so parables preceded arguments ; and the force of para- bles ever was and ever will be great, as being clearer than argu- ments, and more apposite than real examples. | The other use of allegorical poetry is to envelop things, whose dignity deserves a veil; as when the secrets and mysteries of religion, policy, and philosophy, are wrapped up in fables and parables. But though some may doubt whether there be any mystical sense concealed in the ancient fables of the poets, we cannot but think there is a latent mystery intended in some of them: for we do not, therefore, judge contemptibly of them, because they are commonly left to children and gram- marians; but as the writings that relate these fables are, next to the sacred ones, the most ancient, and the fables themselves much older still, being not delivered as the inventions of the writers, but as things before believed and received, they appear like a soft whisper from the traditions of more ancient nations, conveyed through the flutes of the Grecians. But all hitherto attempted towards the interpretation of these parables proving unsatisfactory to us, as having proceeded from men of but com- mon-place learning, we set down the philosophy of ancient fables as the only deficiency in poetry. But lest any person should imagine that any of these deficiencies are rather notional than real, and that we, like augurs, only measure countries in our mind, and know not how to invade them, we will proceed to subjoin examples of the work we recommend. ‘These shall be three in number—one taken from natural philosophy, one from politics, and another from morals. PAN, OR NATURE Explained of Natural Philosophy “The ancients have, with great exactness, delineated universal nat- ure under the person of Pan. They leave his origin doubtful: some asserting him the son of Mercury, and others the common offspring of all Penelope’s suitors. The latter supposition doubtless occasioned some later writers to entitle this ancient fable, Penelope—a thing frequently | ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 65 practised when the early relations are applied to more modern char- acters and persons, though sometimes with great absurdity and ig- norance, as in the present case: for Pan was one of the ancientest gods, and long before the time of Ulysses: besides, Penelope was ven- erated by antiquity for her matronal chastity. A third sort will have him the issue of Jupiter and Hybris, that is, Reproach. But whatever his origin was, the Destinies are allowed his sisters.a “He is described by antiquity with pyramidal horns reaching up to heaven, a rough and shaggy body, a very long beard, of a biform figure, human above, half-brute helow, ending in goat’s feet. His arms, or ensigns of power, are a pipe in his left hand, composed of seven reeds; in his right a crook; and he wore for his mantle a leopard’s skin. “ His attributes and titles were, the god of hunters, shepherds, and all the rural inhabitants; president of the mountains, and after Mercury the next messenger of the gods. He was also held the leader and ruler of the Nymphs, who continually danced and frisked about him, attended with the Satyrs, and their elders the Sileni. He had also the power of striking terrors, especially such as were vain and superstitious; whence they came to be called panic terrors.b “ Few actions are recorded of him; only a principal one is, that he challenged Cupid at wrestling, and was worsted. He also catched the giant Typhon in a net, and held him fast. They relate further of him, that when Ceres growing disconsolate for the rape of Proserpine, hid herself, and all the gods took the utmost pains to find her, by going out different ways for that purpose, Pan only had the good fortune to meet her as he was hunting, and discovered her to the rest. He likewise had the assurance to rival Apollo in music; and in the judgment of Midas was preferred: but the judge had, though with great privacy and se- cresy, a pair of ass’s ears fastened on him for his sentence.c “There is very little said of his amours, which may seem strange among such a multitude of gods, so profusely amorous. He is only reported to have been very fond of Echo, who was also esteemed his wife; and one nymph more called Syrinx, with the love of whom Cupid inflamed him for his insolent challenge; so he is reported, once, to have solicited the moon to accompany him apart into the deep woods. “ Lastly, Pan had no descendant, which also is a wonder, when the male gods were so extremely prolific; only he was the reputed father of a servant girl, called Iambe, who used to divert strangers with her ridiculous and prattling stories.” This fable is, perhaps, the noblest of all antiquity, and pregnant with the mysteries and secrets of nature. Pan, as the name imports, repre- sents the universe, about whose origin there are two opinions; viz., that it either sprung from Mercury, that is, the Divine Word, accord- ing to the Scriptures and philosophical divines; or from the confused seeds of things. For some of the philosophers d held that the seeds and elements of nature were infinite in their substance; whence arose the opinion of homogeneous primary parts, which Anaxagoras either invented or propagated. Others more accurately maintain that the variety of nature can equally spring from seeds, certain and definite in substance, but only diversified in form and figure, and attribute the 5 66 BACON remaining varieties to the interior organization of the seeds themselves. From this source the doctrine of atoms is derived, which Democritus maintained, and Leucippus found out. But others teach only one prin- ciple of nature—Thales, water; Anaximenes, air; Heraclitus, fire— and defined this principle, which is one in act, to be various and dis- pensable in powers, and involving the seed of all natural essences. They who introduced—as Aristotle and Plato e—primordial matter, every way disarranged, shapeless, and indifferent to any form, approached nearer to a resemblance of the figure of the parable. For they con- ceived matter as a courtesan, and the forms as suitors; so that the whole dispute comes to these two points: viz., either that nature pro- ceeds from Mercury, or from Penelope and all her suitors. The third origin of Pan seems borrowed by the Greeks from the Hebrew mysteries, either by means of the Egyptians, or otherwise; for it relates to the state of the world, not in its first creation, but as made subject to death and corruption after the fall: and in this state it was and remains the offspring of God and Sin, or Jupiter and Re- proach. And, therefore, these three several accounts of Pan’s birth may seem true, if duly distinguished in respect of things and times. For this Pan, or the universal nature of things, which we view and contemplate, had its origin from the divine word, and confused matter, first created by God himself, with the subsequent introduction of sin, and consequently corruption. The Destinies are justly made Pan’s sisters; for the rise, preserva- tion, and dissolution of things; their depressions, exaltations, processes, triumphs, and whatever else can be ascribed to individual natures, are called fates and destinies, but generally pass unnoticed, except indeed in striking examples, as in men, cities, and nations. Pan, or the nat- ure of things, is the cause of these several changes and effects, and in regard to individuals as the chain of natural causes, and the thread of the Destinies, links them together. The ancients likewise feigned that Pan ever lived in the open air; but the Parce or the Destinies in a large subterraneous cave, from which they emerged with inconceivable swiftness, to operate on mankind, because the common face of the uni- verse is open; but the individual fates, dark, swift, and sudden. The analogy will also correspond if fate be enlarged above its ordinary acceptation as applicable to inanimate nature. Since, also, in that order nothing passes without a cause, and nothing is so absolutely great as to be independent, nature holding in her lap and bosom every event either small or great, and disclosing them in due season, it is, therefore, no marvel that the Parce are introduced as the sisters of Pan: for Fortune is the daughter of the foolish vulgar, and finds favor only with the more unsound philosophers. And the words of Epicurus savor less of dotage than profanity—“ Prestare credere fabulam Deorum quam fatum asserere” f—as if anything in the frame of nature could, like an island, stand apart from the rest. But Epicurus framed his natural philosophy on his moral, and would hear of no opinion which might press or sting his conscience, or in any way trouble that euthymia or tranquillity of mind which he had received from Democritus. Hence, being more indulgent to his own fancies than patient of truth, he fairly 5 : ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 67 cast off the yoke, and abandoned as well the necessity of fate as the ‘ear of the gods. Horns are given him broad at the roots, but narrow and sharp a-top, because the nature of all things seems pyramidal: for individuals are infinite; but being collected into a variety of species, they rise up into kinds; and these again ascend, and are contracted into generals, till at length nature may seem collected to a point, which is signified by the pyramidal figure of Pan’s horns. And no wonder if Pan’s horns reach to the heavens, since the sublimities of nature, or abstract ideas, reach in a manner to things divine. Thus Homer’s famous chain of natural causes is tied to the foot of Jupiter’s chain; and indeed no one can treat of metaphysics, or of the internal and immutable in nature, without rushing at once into natural theology. Pan’s body, or the body of nature, is, with great propriety and ele- gance, painted shaggy and hairy, as representing the rays of things: for rays are as the hair or fleece of nature, and more or less worn by all bodies. This evidently appears in vision, and in all effects or opera- tions at a distance: for whatever operates thus may be properly said to emit rays. But particularly the beard of Pan is exceeding long, be- cause the rays of the celestial bodies penetrate, and act to a prodigious distance, and have descended into the interior of the earth so far as to change its surface; and the sun himself, when clouded on its upper part, appears to the eye bearded. Again, the body of nature is justly described biform, because of the difference between its superior and inferior parts; as the former, for their beauty, regularity of motion, and influence over the earth, may be properly represented by the human figure, and the latter, because of their disorder, irregularity, and subjection to the celestial bodies, are by the brutal. This biform figure also represents the participation of one species with another, for there appear to be no simple natures, but all participate or consist of two: thus man has somewhat of the brute, the brute somewhat of the plant, the plant somewhat of the min- eral; so that all natural bodies have really two faces, or consist of a superior and inferior species. There lies a curious allegory in the making of Pan goat-footed, on account of the motion of ascent, which the terrestrial bodies have towards the air and heavens: for the goat is a clambering creature, that delights in climbing up rocks and precipices; and in the same manner the matters destined to this lower globe strongly affect to rise upwards, as appears from the clouds and meteors. And it was not without reason that Gilbert, who has written a painful and elaborate work upon the magnet, doubted whether ponderous bodies, after being separated a long distance from the earth, do not lose their gravitating tendency towards it. Pan’s arms, or the ensigns he bears in his hands, are of two kinds; the one an emblem of harmony, the other of empire. His pipe, com- posed of seven reeds, plainly denotes the consent and harmony, or the concords and discords of things, produced by the motion of the seven planets. If there be other planets yet concealed, or any greater muta- tions in the heavens, as in superlunary comets, they seem like pipes either 68 BACON altogether united or silent for a time, because their influence either does not reach so low as us, or leaves uninterrupted the harmony of the seven pipes of Pan. His crook also contains a fine representation of the ways of nature, which are partly straight and partly crooked : thus the staff, having an extraordinary bend towards the top, denotes that the works of Divine Providence are generally brought about by remote means, or in a circuit, as if somewhat else were intended, rather than the effect produced; as in the sending of Joseph into Egypt. So, likewise, in human government, they who sit at the helm manage and wind the people more successfully by pretext and oblique courses than they could by such as are direct and straight; so that in effect all sceptres are crooked on the top. Nay, in things strictly natural you may sooner deceive nature than force her, so improper and self-con- victing are open direct endeavors, whereas an oblique and insinuating way gently glides along, and secretly accomplishes the purpose. Pan’s mantle, or clothing, is with great ingenuity made of a leopard’s skin, because of the spots it has: for, in like manner, the heavens are sprinkled with stars, the sea with islands, the earth with flowers, and almost each particular thing is variegated, or wears a mottled coat. The office of Pan could not be more livelily expressed than by mak- ing him the god of hunters: for every natural action, every motioti and process, is no other than a chase; thus arts and sciences hunt out their works, and human schemes and counsels their several ends, and all living creatures either hunt out their aliment, pursue their prey, or seek their pleasures, and this in a skilful and sagacious manner:— “ Torva lena lupum sequitur, lupus ipse capellam: Florentem cytisum sequitur lasciva capella.”—Virgil.* He is also styled the god of the rural inhabitants, because men in this situation live more according to nature than they do in cities and courts, where nature is so corrupted with effeminate arts, that the saying of the poet may be verified :— “___ pars minima est ipsa puella sui.’””—Ovid.T He is likewise particularly styled president of the mountains, because in mountains and lofty places the nature of things lies more open and exposed to the eye and the understanding. In his being called the messenger of the gods, next after Mercury, lies a divine allegory; as, next after the word of God, the image of the world is the herald of the divine power and wisdom, according to the expression of the Psalmist: ‘“‘ The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork.” g Pan is delighted with the company of the Nymphs: that is, the souls of all living creatures are the delight of the world, and he is properly called their governor, because each of them follows its own nature as a leader, and all dance about their own respective rings with infinite variety and never-ceasing motion. Hence one of the moderns has ingeniously reduced all the power of the soul to motion, noting the pre- cipitancy of some of the ancients, who, fixing their thoughts prematurely ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 69 on memory, imagination, and reason, have neglected the cogitative fac- ulty, which, however, plays the chief réle in the work of conception. For he that remembers, cogitates, as likewise he who fancies or rea- sons; so that the soul of man in all her moods dances to the musical airs of the cogitations, which is that rebounding of the Nymphs. And with these continually join the Satyrs and Sileni, that is, youth and age; for all things have a kind of young, cheerful, and dancing time; and again their time of slowness, tottering, and creeping. And who- ever, in a true light, considers the motions and endeavors of both these ages, like another Democritus, will perhaps find them as odd and strange as the gesticulations and antic motions of the Satyrs and Sileni. The power he had of striking terrors contains a very sensible doc- trine, for nature has implanted fear in all living creatures, as well to keep them from risking their lives as to guard against injuries and violence; and yet this nature or passion keeps not its bounds, but with just and profitable fears always mixes such as are vain and senseless; so that all things, if we could see their insides, would appear full of panic terrors. Nor is this superstition confined to the vulgar, but some- times breaks out in wise men. As Epicurus, “ Non Deos vulgi negare profanum; sed vulgi opiniones Diis applicare profanum.”h The presumption of Pan in challenging Cupid to the conflict, denotes that matter has an appetite and tendency to a dissolution of the world, and falling back to its first chaos again, unless this depravity and in- clination were restrained and subdued by a more powerful concord and agreement of things, properly expressed by love or Cupid; it is therefore well for mankind, and the state of all things, that Pan was thrown and conquered in the struggle. His catching and detaining Typhon in the net receives a similar explanation; for whatever vast and unusual swells, which the word Typhon signifies, may sometimes be raised in nature, as in the sea, the clouds, the earth, or the like; yet nature catches, entangles, and holds all such outrages and insurrections in her inextricable net, wove as it were of adamant. That part of the fable which attributes the discovery of lost Ceres to Pan, whilst he was hunting, a happiness denied the other gods, though they diligently and expressly sought her, contains an exceed- ing just and prudent admonition; viz., that we are not to expect the discovery of things useful in common life, as that of corn, denoted by Ceres, from abstract philosophies, as if these were the gods of the first order—no, not though we used our utmost endeavors this way— but only from Pan, that is, a sagacious experience and general knowledge of nature, which is often found, even by accident, to stumble upon such discoveries, whilst the pursuit was directed another way. The event of his contending with Apollo in music, affords us a useful instruction, that may help to humble the human reason and judg- ment, which are too apt to boast and glory in themselves. There seem to be two kinds of harmony; the one of Divine Providence, the other of human reason; but the government of the world, the administration of its affairs, and the more secret divine judgments, sound harsh and G0 BACON dissonant to human ears or human judgment; and though this ignor- ance be justly rewarded with ass’s ears, yet they are put on and worn, not openly, but with great secrecy; nor 1s the deformity of the thing seen or observed by the vulgar. We must not find it strange if no amours are related of Pan, besides his marriage with Echo; for nature enjoys itself, and in itself all other things: he that loves, desires enjoyment; but in profusion there is no room for desire; and therefore Pan, remaining content with himself, had no passion, unless it be for discourse, which is well shadowed out by Echo, or talk; or when it is more accurate, by Syrinx, or writing.i But Echo makes a most excellent wife for Pan, as being no other than genuine philosophy, which faithfully repeats his words, or only transcribes exactly as nature dictates; thus representing the true image and reflection of the world, without adding a tittle. The calling the moon aside into a deeply embrowned wood, seems to refer to the convention between the sense and spiritual things. For the ear of Endymion and Pan are different, the moon of her own accord in the latter case stooping down from her sphere as Endymion lay asleep, intimating that divine illuminations oft glide gently into the understanding, cast asleep and withdrawn from the senses. But if they be called by sense, representing Pan, they afford no other light than that “ Quale, per incertam lunam, sub luce maligna, Est iter in sylvis.”—Virgil.* It tends also to the support and perfection of Pan or nature, to be without offspring; for the world generates in its parts, and not in the way of a whole, as wanting a body external to itself wherewith to generate. Lastly, for the supposed or spurious prattling daughter of Pan, it is an excellent addition to the fable, and aptly represents the talkative philosophies that have at all times been stirring, and filled the world with idle tales; being ever barren, empty, and servile, though some- times indeed diverting and entertaining, and sometimes again trouble- some and importunate. PERSEUS, OR WAR#& Explained of the Preparation and Conduct necessary to War “The fable relates, that Perseus was despatched from the east by Pailas, to cut off Medusa’s head, who had committed great ravage upon the people of the west; for this Medusa was so dire a monster, as to turn into stone all those who but looked upon her. She was a Gorgon, and the only mortal one of the three; the other two being invulnerable. Perseus, therefore, preparing himself for this grand enterprise, had presents made him from three of the gods: Mercury gave him wings for his heels; Pluto, a hemlet; and Pallas, a shield and a mirror. But though he was now so well equipped, he posted not directly to Medusa, but first turned aside to the Gree, who were half-sisters to the Gorgons. These Grez were gray-headed, and like ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 7 old women from their birth, having among them all three but one eye, and one tooth, which, as they had occasion to go out, they each wore by turns, and laid them down again upon coming back. This eye and this tooth they lent to Perseus, who, now judging himself suffi- ciently furnished, he, without further stop, flies swiftly away to Medusa, and finds her asleep. But not venturing his eyes, for fear she should | wake, he turned his head aside, and viewed her in Pallas’s mirror, and thus directing his stroke, cut off her head; when immediately, from the gushing blood, there darted Pegasus winged. Perseus now inserted Medusa’s head into Pallas’s shield, which thence retained the faculty of astonishing and benumbing all who looked on it.” This fable seems invented to show the prudent method of choosing, undertaking, and conducting a war. The chief thing to consider in undertaking a war is a commission from Pallas, certainly not from Venus, as the Trojan war was, or other slight motive. Because the designs of war ought to be justified by wise counsels. As to the choice of war, the fable propounds three grave and useful precepts. The first is, that no prince should be over-solicitous to subdue a neighboring nation: for the method of enlarging an empire is very different from that of increasing an estate. Regard is justly had to contiguity or adjacency in private lands and possessions; but in the extending of empire, the occasion, the facility, and advantage of a war, are to be regarded instead of vicinity. Thus Perseus, though an eastern prince, readily undertook an expedition into the remotest parts of the western world. An opposite instance of the wisdom of this pre- cept occurs in the different strategy of war practised by Philip and Alexander. For Philip urged war only on the frontiers of his empire, and with great strife and peril barely succeeded in bringing a few cities under his rule, but Alexander carried his invading arms into distant countries; and with a felicitous boldness undertook an ex- pedition against Persia, and subduing multitudinous nations on his journey, rested at last rather fatigued with conquest than with arms. This policy is further borne out by the propagation of the Roman power; for at the time that the arms of this martial people on the side of the west stretched no farther than Liguria, they had brought under their dominion all the provinces of the East as far as Mount Taurus. In like manner, Charles VIII, finding a war with Great Britain attended with some dangers, directed his enterprise against Naples, which he subdued with wonderful rapidity and ease. One of the causes of these wonderful successes in distant wars, is the low state of discipline and equipment, which invites the attack of the invading power, and the terror which is generally struck into the enemy from the bold audacity of the enterprise. Nor can the enemy retaliate or effect any reciprocal invasion, which always results from a war waged with the frontier nations. But the chief point is, that in subduing a neighboring state the choice of stratagems is narrowed by circum- stances; but in a distant expedition, a man may roll the tide of war where the military discipline is most relaxed, or where the strength of the nation is most torn and wasted by civil discord, or in whatev part the enemy can be the most easily subjugated. , 4 - ‘ 4 : , Ss F 72 BACON The second precept is, that the cause of the war be just and honor- able; for this adds alacrity both to the soldiers and the people who find the supplies, procure aids, alliances, and numerous other con- veniences. Now, there is no cause of war more just and laudable than the suppressing of tyranny, by which a people are dispirited, be- numbed, or left without life and vigor, as at the sight of Medusa. Such heroic acts transformed Hercules into a divinity. It was un- doubtedly a point of religion with the Romans to aid with valor and speed such of their allies and confederates as were in any way dis- tressed. So just and vindictive wars have generally met with success; as the war of the triumvirate in revenge for the death of Cesar, the war of Severus for the death of Pertinax, and of Junius Brutus for the death of Lucretia; for they who take up arms to relieve and revenge the calamities of men fight under the standard of Perseus. Lastly, it is prudently added, that as there were three of the Gorgons who represent war, Perseus singled her out for his expedition that was mortal; which affords this precept, that such kind of wars should be chosen as may be brought to a conclusion without pursuing vast and infinite hopes. Again, Perseus’s setting out is extremely well adapted to his under- taking, and in a manner commands success—he received despatch from Mercury, secrecy from Pluto, and foresight from Pallas. It also con- tains an excellent allegory, that the wings given him by Mercury were for his heels, not for his shoulders, because expedition is not so much required in the first preparation for war as in the subsequent matters that administer to the first; for there is no error more frequent in war than, after brisk preparations, to halt for subsidiary forces and effective supplies. The allegory of Pluto’s helmet rendering men invisible and secret, is sufficiently evident of itself; for secretness appertains to celerity, inasmuch as speed prevents the disclosure of counsels: it therefore succeeds in importance. Pluto’s helmet also seems to imply, that authority over the army is to be lodged in one chief; as directing committees in such cases are too apt to scatter dissensions among the troops, and to be swayed by paltry freaks and jealousies rather than by patriotism. It is not of less importance to discover the designs of the enemy, for which purpose the mirror of Pallas must be joined to the helmet of Pluto to disclose the weakness, the divisions, counsels, spies, and factions of the enemy. But as these arms are not sufficient to cope with all the casualties of war, we must grasp the shield of Pallas, i.e., of Providence, as a defence from the caprices of fortune. To this belong the despatch of spies, the fortification of camps, the equipment and position of the army, and whatever tends to promote the success of a just defensive war. For in the issue of contests the shield of Pallas is of greater consequence than the sword of Mars. But though Perseus may now seem extremely well prepared, there still remains the most important thing of all—before he enters upon the war he must of necessity consult the Gree. These Gree are treasons, half but degenerate sisters of the Gorgons, who are representatives of wars; for wars are generous and noble, but treasons base and vile. | : ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 13 The Grex are elegantly described as hoary-headed, and like old women from their birth, on account of the perpetual cares, fears, and trepidations attending traitors. Their force also, before it breaks out into open revolt, consists either in an eye or a tooth; for all faction alienated from a state is both watchful and biting, and this eye and tooth are as it were common to all the disaffected, because whatever they learn and know is transmitted from one to another, as by the hands of faction. And for the tooth they all bite with the same, and clamor with one throat, so that each of them singly expresses the multitude. These Grez, therefore, must be prevailed upon by Perseus to lend him their eye and their tooth—the eye to give him indications and make discoveries, the tooth for sowing rumors, raising envy, and stirring up the minds of the people. And when all these things are thus disposed and prepared, then follows the action of the war. He finds Medusa asleep; for whoever undertakes a war with pru-_ dence generally falls upon the enemy unprepared, and nearly in a state of security; and here is the occasion for Pallas’s mirror, for it is com- mon enough, before the danger presents, to see exactly into the state and posture of the enemy; but the principal use of the glass is in the very instant of danger, to discover the manner thereof and prevent consternation, which is the thing intended by Perseus’s turning his head aside and viewing the enemy in the glass.l Two effects here follow the conquest—1. The darting forth of Pegasus, which evidently denotes fame, that flies abroad, proclaiming the victory far and near. 2. The bearing of Medusa’s head in the shield, which is the greatest possible defence and safeguard; for one grand and memorable enterprise, happily accomplished, bridles all the motions and attempts of the enemy, stupefies disaffection, and quells commotions. DIONYSUS, OR BACCHUS m Explained of the Passions “The fable runs, that Semele, Jupiter’s mistress, having bound him by an inviolable oath to grant her an unknown request, desired he would embrace her in the same form and manner he used to embrace Juno; and the promise being irrevocable, she was burnt to death with lightning in the performance. The embryo, however, was sewed up, and carried in Jupiter’s thigh, till the complete time of its birth; but the burden thus rendering the father lame, and giving him pain, the child was thence called Dionysus. When born, he was committed for some years to be nursed by Proserpina; and when grown up, ap- peared with such an effeminate face, that his sex seemed somewhat doubtful. He also died and was buried for a time, but afterwards revived. When a youth, he first introduced the cultivation and dress- ing of vines, the method of preparing wine, and taught the use thereof; whence becoming famous, he subdued the world, even to the utmost bounds of the Indies. He rode in a chariot drawn by tigers: there 74 BACON danced about him certain deformed demons called Cobali, etc.; the Muses also joined in his train. He married Ariadne, who was deserted by Theseus. The ivy was sacred to him. He was also held the inven- tor and institutor of religious rites and ceremonies, but such as were wild, frantic, and full of corruption and cruelty. He had also the power of striking men with frenzies. Pentheus and Orpheus were torn to pieces by the frantic women at his orgies, the first for climbing a tree to behold their outrageous ceremonies, and the other for the music of his harp. But the acts of this god are much entangled and confounded with those of Jupiter.” This fable seems to contain a little system of morality, so that there .- is scarce any better invention in all ethics. Under the history of Bacchus is drawn the nature of unlawful desire, or affection and dis- order; for the appetite and thirst of apparent good is the mother of all unlawful desire, though ever so destructive; and all unlawful desires are conceived in unlawful wishes or requests, rashly indulged or granted before they are well understood or considered; and when the affection begins to grow warm, the mother of it (the nature of good) is destroyed and burnt up by the heat. And whilst an unlawful desire lies in the embryo, or unripened in the mind, which is its father, and here represented by Jupiter, it is cherished and concealed, especially in the inferior part of the mind, corresponding to the thigh of the body, where pain twitches and depresses the mind so far as to render its resolutions and actions imperfect and lame. And even after this child of the mind is confirmed, and gains strength by consent and habit, and comes forth into action, it must still be nursed by Proserpina for a time; that is, it skulks and hides its head in a clandestine manner, as it were under ground, till at length, when the checks of shame and fear are removed, and the requisite boldness acquired, it either assumes the pretext of some virtue, or openly despises infamy. And it is justly observed, that every vehement passion appears of a doubtful sex, as having the strength of a man at first, but at last the impotence of a woman. It is also excellently added, that Bacchus died and rose again; for the affections sometimes seem to die and be no more; but there is no trusting them, even though they were buried, being always apt and ready to rise again whenever the occasion or object offers. That Bacchus should be the inventor of wine carries a fine allegory with it; for every affection is cunning and subtile in discovering a pro- per matter to nourish and feed it; and of all things known to mortals, wine is the most powerful and effectual for exciting and inflaming passions of all kinds, being indeed like a common fuel to them all. It is again with great elegance observed of Bacchus, that he sub- dued provinces and undertook endless expeditions; for the affections never rest satisfied with what they enjoy, but with an endless and insatiable appetite thirst after somewhat further. And tigers are prettily feigned to draw the chariot; for as soon as any affection shall, from going on foot, be advanced to ride, it triumphs over reason, and exerts its cruelty, fierceness, and strength against all that oppose it. It is also humorously imagined, that ridiculous demons should dance and frisk about this chariot; for every passion produces indecent, dis- ‘ t ay ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 75 orderly, interchangeable, and deformed motions in the eyes, counte- nance, and gesture—so that the person under the impulse whether of anger, insult, love, etc., though to himself he may seem grand, lofty, or obliging, yet in the eyes of others appears mean, contemptible, or ridiculous. The Muses also are found in the train of Bacchus; for there is scarce any passion without its art, science, or doctrine to court and flatter it; but in this respect the indulgence of men of genius has greatly de- tracted from the majesty of the Muses, who ought to be the leaders and conductors of human life, and not the handmaids of the passions. The allegory of Bacchus falling in love with a cast mistress is ex- tremely noble; for it is certain that the affections always court and covet what has been rejected upon experience. And all those who, by serving and indulging their passions immensely raise the value of enjoyment, should know that whatever they covet and pursue, whether riches, pleasure, glory, learning, or anything else, they only pursue those things that have been forsaken, and cast off with contempt by great numbers in all ages, after possession and experience. Nor is it without a mystery that the ivy was sacred to Bacchus; and this for two reasons—First, because ivy is an evergreen, or flourishes in the winter; and, secondly, because it winds and creeps about so many things, as trees, walls, and buildings, and raises itself above them. As to the first, every passion grows fresh, strong, and vigorous by opposition and prohibition, as it were by a kind of contrast or antiperistasis, like the ivy in the winter. And for the second, the predominant passion of the mind throws itself, like the ivy, round all human actions, entwines all our resolutions, and perpetually adheres to and mixes itself in, among, or even overtops them. And no wonder that superstitious rites and ceremonies are attributed to Bacchus, when almost every ungovernable passion grows wanton and luxuriant in corrupt religions; nor again, that fury and frenzy should be sent and dealt out by him, because every passion is a short frenzy, and if it be vehement, lasting, and take deep root, it terminates in madness. And hence the allegory of Pentheus and Orpheus being torn to pieces is evident; for every headstrong passion is extremely bitter, severe, inveterate, and revengeful upon all curious inquiry, wholesome admonition, free counsel and persuasion. Lastly, the confusion between the persons of Jupiter and Bacchus will justly admit of an allegory, because noble and meritorious actions may sometimes proceed from virtue, sound reason, and magnanimity, and sometimes again from a concealed passion and secret desire of ill, however they may be extolled and praised; insomuch that it is not easy to distinguish betwixt the acts of Bacchus and the acts of Jupiter. But perhaps we remain too long in the theatre—it is time we should advance to the palace of the mind. THIRD BOOK CHAPIER & Division of Learning into Theology and Philosophy. The latter divided into the Knowledge of God, of Nature, and of Man. Con- struction of Philosophia Prima as the Mother of all the Sciences. TO THE KING LL history, excellent King, treads the earth, performing TAN the office of a guide rather than of a light: and poetry is, as it were, the stream of knowledge—a pleasing thing full of variations, and affects to be inspired with divine rapture, to which treasures also pretend. But now it is time I should awake and raise myself from the earth, and explore the liquid regions of philosophy and the sciences. Knowledge is like waters ; some descend from the heavens, some spring from the earth. For all knowledge proceeds from a twofold source— either from divine inspiration or external sense. As for that knowledge which is infused by instruction, that is cumulative, not original, as it is in waters, which, besides the head-springs, are increased by the reception of other rivers which fall into them. We shall, therefore, divide sciences into theology and philosophy. Inthe former we do not include natural theology, of which we are to speak anon, but restrict ourselves to inspired divinity, the treatment of which we reserve for the close of the work, as the fruit and sabbath of all human contemplations. Philosophy has three objects; viz., God, nature, and man; as also three kinds of rays—for nature strikes the human intellect with a direct ray, God with a refracted ray, from the inequality of the medium betwixt the Creator and the creatures, and man, as exhibited to himself, with a reflected ray: whence it is proper to divide philosophy into the doctrine of the deity, the doctrine of nature, and the doctrine of man. But as the divisions of the sciences are not like different lines that meet in one angle, but rather like the branches of trees that 76 ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 77 join in one trunk, it is first necessary that we constitute a uni- versal science as a parent to the rest, and as making a part of the common road to the sciences before the ways separate. And this knowledge we call “ philosophia prima,” primitive or pri- mative or summary philosophy ; it has no other for its opposite, and differs from other sciences rather in the limits whereby it is confined than in the subject as treating only the summits of things. And whether this should be noted as wanting may seem doubtful, though I rather incline to note it; for I find a certain rhapsody of natural theology, logics, and physics, deliv- ered in a certain sublimity of discourse, by such as aim at being admired for standing on the pinnacles of the sciences ; but what we mean is, without ambition, to design some general science, for the reception of axioms, not peculiar to any one science, but common to a number of them. Axioms of this kind are numerous ; for example, if equals be added to unequals, the wholes will be unequal. This is a rule in mathematics, which holds also in ethics, with regard to dis- tributive justice. For in commutative justice, equity requires, that equal portions be given to unequal persons; but in dis- tributive justice, that unequal portions should be distributed to unequals. Things agreeing to the same third, agree also with one another: this, likewise, is an axiom in mathematics, and, at the same time, so serviceable in logic as to be the foundation of syllogism.¢ Nature shows herself best in her smallest works. This is a rule in philosophy, that produced the atoms of Demo- critus, and was justly employed by Aristotle in politics, when he begins the consideration of a commonwealth in a family. All things change, but nothing is lost.6 This is an axiom in physics, and holds in natural theology ; for, as the sum of matter neither diminishes nor increases, so it is equally the work of omnipotence to create or to annihilate it, which even the Scrip- ture testifies : “ Didici quod omnia opera, quz fecit Deus, perse- verent in perpetuum: non possumus eis quicquam addere, nec auferre.”c Things are preserved from destruction, by bring- ing them back to their principles. This is an axiom in physics, but holds equally in politics; for the preservation of states, as is well observed by Machiavel,d depends upon little more than reforming and bringing them back to their ancient customs. A putrid malady is more contagious in its early than in its more matured stages, holds in natural as in moral philosophy; for 78 BACON wicked and desperately impious persons do not corrupt society so much as they who blend with their vices a mixture of virtue. What tends to preserve the effects of the greatest laws of nature, displays the strongest action, is a rule in natural philosophy. For the first and universal motion, that preserves the chain and contexture of nature unbroken, and prevents a vacuum, as they call it, or empty discontinuity in the world, controls the more particular law which draws heavy bodies to the earth, and pre- serves the region of gross and compacted natures. The same rule is good in politics ; for those things which conduce to the conservation of the entire commonwealth, control and modify those made for the welfare of particular members of a govern- ment. The same principle may be observed in theology ; for, among the virtues of this class, charity is the most communi- cative, and excels all the rest. The force of an agent is aug- mented by the antiperistasis of the counteracting body,e¢ is a rule in civil states as in nature, for all faction is vehemently moved and incensed at the rising of a contrary faction. A discord ending immediately in a concord sets off the har- mony. ‘This is a rule in music that holds also true in morals. A trembling sound in music gives the same pleasure to the ear, as the coruscation of water or the sparkling of a diamond to the eye— “cc — splendet tremulo sub lumine pontus.”—Virgil.* The organs of the senses resemble the organs of reflection, as we see in optics and acoustics, where a concave glass resembles the eye, and a sounding cavity the ear. And of these axioms an infinite number might be collected; and thus the celebrated Persian magic was, in effect, no more than a notation of the correspondence in the structure and fabric of things natural and civil. Nor let any one understand all this of mere similitudes, as they might at first appear, for they really are one and the same footsteps, and impressions of nature, made upon different matters and subjects. And in this light the thing has not hitherto been carefully treated. A few of these axioms may indeed be found in the writings of eminent men, here and there interspersed occasionally ; but a collected body of them, which should have a primitive and summary tendency to the sciences, is not hitherto extant, though a thing of so great moment as remarkable to show nature to be one and the same, which is supposed the office of a primary philosophy, se ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 79 There is another part of this primary philosophy regarding the adventitious or transcendental condition of things ; as little, much, like, different, possible, impossible, entity, nonentity, etc. For, as these things do not properly come under physics, and as their logical consideration rather accommodates them to argumentation than existence, it is proper that this point be not quite deserted, as being of considerable dignity and use, so as to have some place in the arrangement of the sciences. But this should be done in a manner very different from the com- mon: for example, no writer who has treated of much and little, endeavors to assign the cause why some things in nature are so numerous and large, and others so rare and small; for, doubtless, it is impossible in the nature of things, that there should be as great a quantity of gold as of iron, or roses as plenty as grass, and as great a variety of specific as of imperfect or non-specific nature. So, likewise, nobody that treats of like and different has sufficiently explained, why betwixt particular species there are almost constantly interposed some things that partake of both; as moss betwixt corruption and a plant; mo- tionless fish betwixt a plant and an animal; bats betwixt birds and quadrupeds, etc. Nor has any one hitherto discovered why iron does not attract iron, as the loadstone does ; and why gold does not attract gold, as quicksilver does, etc. But of these particulars we find no mention in the discoures of transcen- dentals ; for men have rather pursued the quirks of words than the subtilties of things. And, therefore, we would introduce into primary philosophy a real and solid inquiry into these transcendentals, or adventitious conditions of beings, accord- ing to the laws of nature, not of speech. CHAPTER II Natural Theology with its Appendix, the Knowledge of Angels and Spirits Thus having first seated the common parent of the sciences, as Berecynthia rejoicing over her celestial offspring— “Omnes ccelicolas, omnes supera alta tenentes,’’* we return to our division of philosophy into divine, natural, and human ; for natural theology may be justly called divine philos- 80 BACON ophy. Divine philosophy is a science, or rather the rudiments of a science, derivable from God by the light of nature, and the contemplation of his creatures; so that with regard to its ob- ject, it is truly divine; but with regard to its acquirement, natural. The bounds of this knowledge extend to the confuta- tion of atheism, and the ascertaining the laws of nature, but not to the establishing of religion. And, therefore, God never wrought a miracle to convert an atheist, because the light of nature is sufficient to demonstrate a deity; but miracles were designed for the conversion of the idolatrous and superstitious, who acknowledged a God, but erred in their worship of him— the light of nature being unable to declare the will of God, or assign the just form of worshipping him. For as the power and skill of a workman are seen in his works, but not his person, so the works of God express the wisdom and omnipotence of the Creator, without the least representation of his image. And in this particular, the opinion of the heathens differed from the sacred verity, as supposing the world to be the image of God, and mana little image of the world. The Scripture never gives the world that honor, but calls it the work of his hands ; making only man the image of God.a_ And, therefore, the being of a God, that he governs the world, that he is all-powerful, wise, prescient, good, a just rewarder and punisher, and to be adored, may be shown and enforced from his works; and many other wonderful secrets, with regard to his attributes, and much more as to his dispensation and government over the universe, may also be solidly deduced, and made appear from the same. And this subject has been usefully treated by several. But from the contemplation of nature, and the principles of human reason, to dispute or urge anything with vehemence, as to the mysteries of faith, or over-curiously to examine and sift them, by prying into the manner of the mystery, is no safe thing: “ Give unto faith the things that are faith’s.”’” And the heathens grant as much in that excellent and divine fable of the golden chain, where “ men and gods are represented as unable to draw Jupiter to earth, but Jupiter able to draw them up to heaven.”b So that it is a vain attempt to draw down the sublime mysteries of religion to our reason, but we should rather raise our minds to the adorable throne of heavenly truth. And in this part of natural theology, we find rather an excess than any defect ; which we have, however, turned a little aside to note, ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 8x on account of the extreme prejudice and danger which both religion and philosophy hence incur, because a mixture of these makes both a heretical religion and a fantastic and supersti- tious philosophy.¢ It is otherwise, as to the nature of spirits and angels; this being neither unsearchable nor forbid, but in a great part level to the human mind, on account of their affinity. We are, in- deed, forbid in Scripture to worship angels, or to entertain fan- tastical opinions of them,¢ so as to exalt them above the degree of creatures, or to think of them higher than we have reason; but the sober inquiry about them, which either ascends to a knowledge of their nature by the scale of corporeal beings, or views them in the mind, as in a glass, is by no means forbid. The same is to be understood of revolted or unclean spirits : con- versation with them, or using their assistance, is unlawful ; and much more in any manner to worship or adore them: but the contemplation and knowledge of their nature, power, and illu- sions, appear from Scripture, reason, and experience, to be no small part of spiritual wisdom. Thus says the apostle, “Strate- gematum ejus non ignari sumus.”e And thus it is as lawful in natural theology to investigate the nature of evil spirits, as the nature of poisons in physics, or the nature of vice in morality. But this part of knowledge relating to angels and spirits, which we call the appendage to natural theology, cannot be noted for deficient, as having been handled by many; but we may justly tax no small part of the writers in this way, either with levity, superstition, or fruitless speculation. CHAPTER III Natural Philosophy divided into Speculative and Practical. The Necessity of keeping these Two Branches distinct But to leave natural theology, and proceed to natural philoso- phy ; as it was well said by Democritus, that “the knowledge of nature lies concealed in deep mines and caves ” ; 4 and by the alchemists, that “ Vulcan is a second nature, imitating concisely what the first takes time and circuit to effect ” ; ® suppose natural philosophy were divided, as it regards the mine and the furnace, and two offices of philosophers, miners, and smelters intro- duced? This, indeed, may appear jocular, yet such a kind of 6 82 BACON division we judge extremely useful, when proposed in just and familiar terms; so that the doctrine of nature be divided into speculative and practical, or the search after causes, and the production of effects: the one entering into the bowels of nature, and the other forming her upon the anvil. Nor are we insensible of the strict union betwixt causes and effects ; so that the explanation of them must, in some measure, be coupled together: but as all solid and fruitful natural philosophy hath both an ascending and a descending scale of parts, leading from experience to axioms, and from axioms to new discoveries, it seems most advisable here, in the division of sciences, to sepa- rate speculation from operation, and treat them distinct. CHAPTHER TV Division of the Speculative Branch of Natural Philosophy into Physics and Metaphysics. Physics relates to the Investigation of Efficient Causes and Matter; Metaphysics to that of Final Causes and the Form. Division of Physics into the Sciences of the Principles of Things, the Structure of Things, and the Variety of Things. Di- vision of Physics in relation to the Variety of Things into Abstract and Concrete. Division of Concretes agrees with the Distribution of the Parts of Natural History. Division of Abstracts into the Doctrine of Material Forms and Motion. Appendix of Speculative Physics twofold: viz., Natural Problems and the Opinions of An- cient Philosophers. Metaphysics divided into the Knowledge of Forms and the Doctrine of Final Causes The speculative or theoretical part of natural philosophy we divide into physics and metaphysics; taking the word meta- physics in a sense different from that received. And here we must, once for all, declare, as to our use of words, that, though our conceptions and notions are new, and different from the common, yet we religiously retain the ancient forms of speech ; for as we hope that the method, and clear explanation, we en- deavor at, will free us from any misconstruction that might arise from an ill choice of words; so in everything else, it is our de- sire, as much as possible, without prejudice to truth and the sci- ences, not to deviate from ancient opinions and forms ef speech. And here I cannot but wonder that Aristotle should proceed in such a spirit of contradiction, as he did to all antiquity ; not only coining new terms of science at pleasure, but endeavoring to abolish all the knowledge of the ancients ; so that he never men- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 83 tions any ancient author but to reprove him, nor opinion but to confute it; which is the ready way to procure fame and fol- lowers. For certainly it happens in philosophical, as it does in divine truth: ‘“ I came in the name of my Father, and ye re- ceived me not; but if one came in his own name, ye would receive him.”@ Which divine aphorism, as applied to Anti- christ, the great deceiver, plainly shows us that a man’s coming in his own name, without regard to antiquity or paternity, is no good sign of truth, though joined with the fortune and success of being received. But for so excellent and sublime a genius as Aristotle, one would think he caught this ambition from his scholar, and affected to subdue all opinions, as Alexander did all nations ; and thus erect himself a monarchy in his own con- templation. Though for this, perhaps, he may not escape the lash of some severe pen, no more than his pupil; and be called a successful ravager of learning, as the other was of countries. Some are doubtless disposed to treat him with the same courtesy as his scholar, in saying: “Feelix doctrine predo, non utile mundo Editus exemplum.”—Lucan.* But, on the other hand, desiring, by all possible means, to cultivate and establish a free commerce betwixt ancient and modern learning, we judge it best religiously to side with antiquity, and therefore to retain ancient terms, though we fre- quently alter their sense, according to that moderate and lauda- ble usage in politics, of introducing a new state of things, without changing the styles and titles of government. Thus when we distinguish metaphysics, as may appear by what was above delivered, from primary philosophy, which has hitherto been taken from it, making this the common parent of the sciences, and that a part of natural philosophy. We have assigned the common and promiscuous axioms of the sciences to primitive philosophy ; and all relative and accidental condi- tions of essences, which we call transcendent, as multitude, paucity, identity, diversity, possible, impossible, and the like, we have included in the same province, with this understanding, that they be handled according to their effects in nature, and not logically. We have referred the inquiry concerning God, unity, goodness, angels, and spirits, to natural philosophy. But to assign the proper office of metaphysics, as contradistin- 84 BACON guished from primary philosophy, and natural theology, we must note, that as physics regards the things which are wholly immersed in matter and movable, so metaphysics regards what is more abstracted and fixed; that physics supposes only exist- ence, motion, and natural necessity, whilst metaphysics sup- poses also mind and idea. But to be more express: as we have divided natural philosophy into the investigation of causes, and the production of effects, and referred the investigation of causes to theory, which we again divide into physical and meta- physical; it is necessary that the real difference of these two be drawn from the nature of the causes they inquire into; and therefore, plainly, physics inquires into the efficient and the matter, and metaphysics into the form and the end. Physics, therefore, is vague and unstable as to causes, and treats mov- able bodies as its subjects, without discovering a constancy of causes in different subjects. Thus the same fire gives hardness to clay and softness to wax, though it be no constant cause either of hardness or softness. “ Limus ut hic durescit, et hec ut cera liquescit Uno eodemque igni.’”’—Virgil.* We divide physics into three parts; for nature is either col- lected into one total, or diffused and distributed. Nature is directed in its collocations either by the common elements in the diversity of things, or by the unity which prevails in the one integral fabric of the universe. Whence this union of nature produces two parts of physics; the one relating to the principles of things, and the other to the structure of the universe ; whilst the third exhibits all the possible varieties and lesser collections of things. And this latter is like a first gloss, or paraphrase in the interpretation of nature. None of the three are deficient entirely, but how justly and solidly they have been treated is another question. The third part we again divide into two others, with regard to concretes and abstracts, or into physics of creatures and physics of natures: the one inquiring into substances, and all the variety of their accidents; the other into accidents through all the variety of substances. Thus, if inquiry be made about a lion or an oak; these support many different accidents: so if the inquiry were about heat or gravity ; these are found in many different substances. But as all physics lies in the middle, be- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 85 twixt natural history and metaphysics ; so the former part ap- proaches nearer to natural history, and the latter to metaphysics. Concrete physics has the same division with natural history ; being conversant either about celestial appearances, meteors, and the terrestrial globe; or about the larger assemblages of matter, called the elements ; and the lesser or particular bodies ; as also about pretergenerations and mechanics. For in all these, natural history examines and relates the matters of fact ; and physics their instable, or material and efficient causes. And among these parts of physics, that is absolutely lame and in- complete, which regards the celestial bodies, though for the dignity of the subject it claims the highest regard. Astronomy, indeed, is well founded in phenomena; yet it is low and far from solid. But astrology is in many things destitute of all foundation. And to say the truth, astronomy itself seems to offer Prometheus’s sacrifice to the understanding; for as he would have imposed upon Jupiter a fair large hide, stuffed with straw, and leaves, and twigs, instead of the ox itself, so astronomy gives us the number, situation, motion, and periods of the stars, as a beautiful outside of the heavens, whilst the flesh and the entrails are wanting ; that is, a well-fabricated sys- tem, or the physical reasons and foundations for a just theory, that should not only solve phenomena, as almost any ingenious theory may do, but show the substance, motions, and influences of the heavenly bodies, as they really are. For those dogmas are long since exploded, which asserted the rapture of the first morn and the solidity of the heavens, in which the stars were supposed fastened like nails in the vaulted roof of a hall, and other opinions almost as silly ; viz., that the zodiac has several poles; that there exists a movement of resilience against the rapture of the first motion ; that all parts of the firmament are wheeled round in perfect circles, with eccentric and epicycles to preserve their circular rotation ; that the moon has no influ- ence over bodies higher in the heavens ; the absurdity of which notions have thrown men upon the extravagant idea of the diurnal motion of the earth, an opinion which we can demon- strate to be most false.c But scarce any one has inquired into the physical causes of the substance of the heavens, stellar and interstellar ; the different velocities of the celestial bodies with regard to one another ; the different accelerations of motion in the same planet; the sequences of their motion from east to 86 BACON west; the progressions, stations, and retrogradations of the planets, the stoppage and accidents of their motion in perigee and apogee, the obliquity of their motions; why the poles of rotation are principally in one quarter of the heavens ; why cer- tain planets keep a fixed distance from the sun, etc. Inquiries of this kind have hitherto been hardly touched upon, but the pains have been chiefly bestowed in mathematical observations and demonstrations ; which indeed may show how to account for all these things ingeniously, but not how they actually are in nature: how to represent the apparent motions of the heav- enly bodies, and machines of them, made according to particu- lar fancies; but not the real causes and truth of things. And therefore astronomy, as it now stands, loses its dignity by being reckoned among the mathematical arts, for it ought in justice to make the most noble part of physics. And whoever despises the imaginary separation between terrestrial and celestial things, and well understands the more general appetites and passions of matter, which are powerful in both, may receive a clear information of what happens above from that which hap- pens below; and from what passes in the heavens, he may be- come acquainted with some inferior motions hitherto undis- covered, not as these are governed by those, but as they both have the same common passions. We, therefore, report this physical part of astronomy as wanting, in comparison of which the present animated astronomy is but as the stuffed ox of Prometheus—aping the form but wanting the substance. But for astrology, it is so full of superstition, that scarce any- thing sound can be discovered in it; though we judge it should rather be purged than absolutely rejected. But if any one shall pretend that this science is founded, not in reason and physical contemplations, but in the direct experience and observation of past ages, and therefore not to be examined by physical reasons, as the Chaldeans boasted, he may at the same time bring back divination, auguries, soothsaying, and give in to all kinds of fables; for these also were said to descend from long experi- ence. But we receive astrology as a part of physics, without attributing more to it than reason and the evidence of things allow, and strip it of its superstition and conceits. Thus we banish that empty notion about the horary reign of the planets, as if each resumed the throne thrice in twenty-four hours, so as to leave three hours supernumerary: and yet this fiction pro- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 87 duced the division of the week, a thing so ancient and so uni- versally received. Thus likewise we reject, as an idle figment, the doctrine of horoscopes, and the distribution of the houses, though these are the darling inventions of astrology, which have kept revel, as it were, in the heavens. And we are sur- prised that some eminent authors in astrology should rest upon so slender an argument for erecting them, as because it appears by experience that the solstices, the equinoxes, the new and full moon, etc., have a manifest operation upon natural bodies, therefore the more curious and subtile positions of the stars must produce more exquisite and secret effects: whereas, lay- ing aside those operations of the sun, which are owing to mani- fest heat, and a certain attractive virtue of the moon, which causes the spring tide; the other effects of the planets upon nat- ural bodies are, so far as experience reaches, exceeding small, weak, and latent. Therefore the argument should run thus: since these greater revolutions are able to effect so little, those more nice and trifling differences of positions will have no force at all. And lastly, for the calculation of nativities, fortunes, good or bad hours of business, and the like fatalities, they are mere levities that have little in them of certainty and solidity, and may be plainly confuted by physical reasons. And here we judge it proper to lay down some rules for the examination of astrological matters, in order to retain what is useful therein, and reject what is insignificant. Thus, 1. Let the greater revolutions be retained, but the lesser of horoscopes and houses be rejected—the former being like ordnance, which shoot to a great distance, whilst the other are but like small bows, that do no execution. 2. The celestial operations affect not all kinds of bodies, but only the more sensible, as humors, air, and spirits. Here we except the operations of the sun’s heat, which may doubtless penetrate metals and other subter- raneous bodies, and confine the other operations chiefly to the air, the humors, and the spirits of things. 3. All the celestial operations rather extend to masses of things than to individ- uals. Though they may obliquely reach some individuals also, which are more sensible than the rest, as a pestilent constitution of the air affects those bodies which are least able to resist it. 4. All the celestial operations produce, not their effects instanta- neously and in a narrow compass, but exert them in large por- tions of time and space. Thus predictions as to the tempera- 88 BACON ture of a year may hold good, but not with regard to single days. 5. There is no fatal necessity in the stars ; and this the more pru- dent astrologers have constantly allowed. 6. We will add one thing more, which, if amended and improved, might make for astrology, viz., that we are certain the celestial bodies have other influences besides heat and light, but these influences act not otherwise than by the foregoing rules, though they lie so deep in physics as to require a fuller explanation. So that, upon the whole, we must register as defective an astrology wrote in con- formity to these principles, under the name of Astrologia Sana. This just astrology should contain—1. The doctrine of the commixture of rays, viz., the conjunctions, oppositions, and other situations, or aspect of the planets with regard to one an- other, their transits through the signs of the zodiac, and their situation in the same signs, as the situation of planets in a sign is a certain conjunction thereof with the stars of that sign; and as the conjunctions, so likewise should the oppositions and other aspects of the planets, with regard to the celestial signs, be re- marked, which has not hitherto been fully done. The commix- tures of the rays of the fixed stars with one another are of use in contemplating the fabric of the world, and the nature of the sub- jacent regions, but in no respect for predictions, because at all times alike. 2. This astrology should take in the nearest ap- proaches and the farthest removes of each planet to and from the zenith, according to the climate; for all the planets have their summer and winter, wherein they dart their rays stronger or weaker, according to their perpendicular or oblique direction. So we question not but the moon in Leo has, in the same man- ner as the sun, a greater effect upon natural bodies with us than when in Pisces, not because the moon in Leo moves the head, and under Pisces affects the feet, but by reason of her greater perpendicular elevation and nearer approach to the larger stars. 3. It should receive the apogees and perigees of the planets, with a proper inquiry into what the vigor of the planets may perform of itself, and what through their nearness to us; for a planet is more brisk in its apogee, but more communicative in its perigee. 4. It should include all the other accidents of the planets’ motions, their accelerations, retardations, courses, stations, retrogradations, distances from the sun, increase and diminutions of light, eclipses, etc. For all these things affect the rays of the planets, and cause them to act either weaker, ——— ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 89 stronger, or in a different manner. 5. This astrology should contain all that can by any means be known or discovered of the nature of the stars, both erratic and fixed, considered in their own essence and activity, viz., their magnitude, color, aspect, sparkling and vibrating of light; their situation with regard to the poles or equinoctial; the constellations, which thicker set and which thinner, which higher, which lower; what fixed stars are in the zodiac, and what out of it; the different veloci- ties of the planets, their different latitudes, which of them are retrograde, and which not; their different distances from the sun; which move swiftest in their apogee, and which in their perigee; the irregularities of Mars, the excursions of Venus, and the extraordinary phases, accidents, and appearances ob- servable in Venus and the sun; with other things of this kind. 6. Lastly, let it contain, from tradition, the particular natures and alterations of the planets and fixed stars; for as these are delivered with general consent, they are not lightly to be re- jected, unless they directly contradict physical reasons. And of such observations let a just astrology be formed: and ac- cording to these alone should schemes of the heavens be made and interpreted. Such an astrology should be used with greater confidence in prediction, but more cautiously in election, and in both cases with due moderation. Thus predictions may be made of comets, and all kinds of meteors, inundations, droughts, heats, frosts, earthquakes, fiery eruptions, winds, great rains, the sea- sons of the year, plagues, epidemic diseases, plenty, famine, wars, seditions, sects, transmigrations of people, and all com- motions or great innovations of things natural and civil. Pre- dictions may possibly be made more particular, though with less certainty, if when the general tendencies of the times are found, a good philosophical or political judgment applies them to such things as are most liable to this kind of accidents. For exam- ple, from a foreknowledge of the seasons of any year they might be apprehended more destructive to olives than grapes, more hurtful in distempers of the lungs than the liver, more pernicious to the inhabitants of hills than valleys, and, for want of provis- ions, to monks than courtiers, etc. Or if anyone, from a knowl- edge of the influence which the celestial bodies have upon the spirits of mankind, should find it would affect the people more than their rulers, learned and inquisitive men more than the 90 BACON military, etc. For there are innumerable things of this kind that require not only a general knowledge, gained from the stars, which are the agents, but also a particular one of the passive subjects. Nor are elections to be wholly rejected, though not so much to be trusted as predictions; for we find in planting, sowing, and grafting, observations of the moon are not absolutely tri- fling, and there are many particulars of this kind. But elections are more to be curbed by our rules than predictions; and this must always be remembered, that election only holds in such cases where the virtue of the heavenly bodies, and the action of the inferior bodies also, are not transient, as in the examples just mentioned; for the increases of the moon and planets are not sudden things. But punctuality of time should here be ab- solutely rejected. And perhaps there are more of these in- stances to be found in civil matters than some would imagine. There are but four ways of arriving at this science, viz., I. By future experiments; 2. Past experiments; 3. Traditions; and, 4. Physical reasons. But, 1. It is in vain at present to think of future experiments, because many ages are required to procure a competent stock of them. And, 2. As for the past, it is true they are within our reach, but it is a work of labor and much time to procure them. Thus astrologers may, if they please, draw from real history all greater accidents, as inunda- tions, plagues, wars, seditions, deaths of kings, etc., as also the positions of the celestial bodies, not according to fictitious horoscopes, but the above-mentioned rules of their revolutions, or such as they really were at the time, and where the event con- spires, erect a probable rule of prediction. 3. All traditions should be well sifted, and those thrown out that manifestly clash with physical reasons, leaving such in their full force as com- port well therewith. And, 4. Those physical reasons are best suited to this inquiry which search into the universal appetites and passions of matter, and the simple genuine motions of the heavenly bodies. And this we take for the surest guide to as- trology. There remains another piece of wild astrology, though usual- ly separated from it, and transferred to celestial magic as they callit. Itis a strange fiction of the human brain,¢ the receiving the benign action of the stars upon seals and signets of gems or metal suited to the purpose, so as to detain and fix,as it were, ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING g1 the felicity of that hour which would otherwise be volatile and fugitive, The poet passionately complains of a similar art among the ancients long since buried in oblivion— “Annulus infuso non vivit mirus Olympo, Non magis ingentes humili sub lumine Phcebos, Fert gemma, aut celso divulsas cardine lunas.”* Indeed the Roman Church has upheld the venerableness of saints’ relics and their virtues, since the flux of time has no ‘ power to abate the force and efficacy of spiritual things; but to assert that the relics of persons might be so determined as to continue and perpetuate the virtue of an hour which is past, and as it were dead, is mere superstitition and imposture. Abstract physics may be justly divided into two parts—the doctrine of the schemes of matter, and the doctrine of appetites and motions. The schemes of matter are density, rarity, grav- ity, levity, heat, cold, tangibility, intangibility, volatile, fixed, determinate, fluid, humid, dry, unctuous, crude, hard, soft, fragile, tensile, porous, united, spirituous, jejune, simple, com- pound, absolute, imperfectly mixed, fibrous and veiny, simple position, or equable, similar, dissimilar, specificate, unspecifi- cate, organical, inorganical, animate and inanimate; and fur- ther than this we proceed not. For sensible and insensible, rational and irrational, we refer to the doctrine of man. Appetites and motions are of two kinds—as being either sim- ple motions, wherein the spring of all natural actions is con- tained, that is, in respect of their schemes of matter ; or motions compounded or produced, and with these the common philoso- phy which enters but little into the body of nature, begins. But these compound motions, such as generation, corruption, etc., should be esteemed certain results or effects of simple mo- tions, rather than primitive motions themselves. The simple motions are—1I. Motion of resistance, or preventive of pene- tration of dimensions; 2. Motion of connection, preventive of a vacuum, as it is called; 3. Motion of liberty, preventive of preternatural compression, or extension; 4. Motion in a new orb, with regard to rarefaction and condensation; 5. Motion of the second connection, or preventive of solution of contin- uity; 6. Motion of the greater congregation, or with regard to masses of connatural bodies, commonly called natural mo- tion; 7. Motion of the lesser congregation, vulgarly termed g2 BACON motion of sympathy and antipathy ; 8. Disponent motion, with regard to the just placing of parts in the whole; 9. Motion of assimilation, or multiplicative of its own nature upon another body; 10. Motion of excitation, where the noble agent excites the latent and benumbed motion in another thing; 11. Motion of the seal, or impression, by an operation without communica- tion of substance; 12. Regal motion, or the restraint of other motions by a predominant one; 13. Endless motion, or spon- taneous rotation; 14. Motion of trepidation, or the motion of systole and diastole, with regard to bodies placed betwixt things advantageous and hurtful; 15. And lastly, Motion couchant, or a dread of motion, which is the cause of many effects. And such are the simple motions that really proceed out of the inward recesses of nature; and which being com- plicated, continued, used alternately, moderated, repeated, and variously combined, produce those compound motions or re- sults of motion we call generation, corruption, increase, dim- inution, alteration, translation, mixtion, separation, and con- version. The measures of motions are an attendant on physics, as showing the effects of quantity, distance, or the sphere of activ- ity, intension and remission, short and long continuance, activ- ity, dulness, and incitation. And these are the genuine parts of abstract physics, which wholly consists—1. In the schemes of matter; 2. Simple motions; 3. The results or sums of motions ; and, 4. The measures of motions. As for voluntary motion in animals—the motion in the action of the senses, the motions of the imagination, appetite, and will, the motion of mind, the determination, and other intellectual faculties—they have their own proper doctrines under which we range them, con- fining the whole of physics to matter and efficient, and assign- ing over forms and ends to metaphysics. We must annex two remarkable appendages to physics, with regard rather to the manner, than the matter of inquiry; viz., natural problems, and the opinions of the ancient philosophers. The first is an appendage of nature at large, and the other of nature united or summed up; both relating to a diligent kind of doubting, which is no contemptible part of knowledge. Now, problems contain particular doubts and opinions, gen- eral ones, as to principles and structure. In the books of Aris- totle we have a noble example of problems, deserving not only ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 93 the praises but the imitation of posterity, since new doubts are daily arising. But the utmost caution is to be used in such an undertaking. The recording and proposing of doubts has two advantages; the one, as it defends philosophy against errors, when that which is not clear is neither judged nor asserted, lest error thus should multiply error, but judgment is suspended upon it, and not made positive; the other is, that doubts once registered are like so many sponges, which perpetually suck and draw to themselves the increases of knowledge; whence those things which would have been slightly passed over, un- less they had been doubted of before, come now from this very doubting to be more attentively considered. But these two advantages will scarce balance this single inconvenience, unless well provided against; viz., that when a doubt is once admitted for just, and becomes, as it were, authentic, it presently raises up disputants on both sides, who transmit to posterity the same liberty of doubting still; so that men seem to apply their wits rather to nourish the doubt than solve it. And of this we everywhere meet with examples in lawyers and scholars ; who, when a doubt once gains admittance, would have it remain a doubt forever, and engage themselves in doubting as well as asserting; whereas the true use of wit is to render doubtful things certain, and not certain ones doubtful. And therefore I set down as wanting a calendar of doubts or problems in nat- ure, and recommend it to be undertaken, with care to blot out daily, as knowledge increases, those that are clearly discussed and settled. And this calendar we would have attended with another of no less utility; for as in every inquiry there are things plainly true, things doubtful, and things plainly false, it were exceeding proper that along with a calendar of doubts should go a calendar of falsehoods and vulgar errors, both in natural history and opinions, that they may no longer disturb the sciences. As to the opinions of the ancient philosophers, for example those of Pythagoras, Philolaus, Xenophanes, Anaxagoras, Parmenides, Leucippus, Democritus, and others, which men usually pass slightly over, it is proper to cast a modest eye upon them. For though Aristotle, after the Ottoman manner, thought he could not reign secure without putting all his brethren to death, yet those who do not affect dominion and rule, but the inquiry and illustration of truth, will find their ac- 94 BACON count in beholding, at one view, the different opinions of dif- ferent philosophers, as to the nature of things. But there is no room to expect any pure truth from these or the like theories: for as the celestial appearances are solved both upon the sup- positions of Ptolemy and Copernicus; so common experience, and the obvious face of things, may be applied to many differ- ent theories: whilst a much stricter procedure is required in the right discovery of truth. For as Aristotle accurately re- marks, that children, when they first begin to speak, call every woman mother; but afterwards learn to distinguish their own:e so a childish experience calls every philosophy its mother, but when grown up, will easily distinguish its true one. In the mean time, it is proper to read the disagreeing philoso- phies, as so many different glosses of nature. We could there- fore wish there were, with care and judgment, drawn up a work of the ancient philosophies, from the lives of old philosophers, Plutarch’s collection of their opinions, the citations of Plato, the confutations of Aristotle, and the scattered relations of other books, whether ecclesiastical or heathen; as Lactantius, Philo, Philostratus, etc. For such a work is not yet extant; and we would advise it to be done distinctly; so that each philosophy be drawn out and continued separate, and not ranged under titles and collections, as Plutarch has done. For every phi- losophy, when entire, supports itself, and its doctrines thus add light and strength to each other; which, if separated, sound strange and harsh. Thus, when we read in Tacitus the acts of Nero or Claudius, clothed with the circumstances of times, persons, and occasions, everything seems plausible; but when the same are read in Suetonius, distributed under chapters and common-places, and not described in the order of time, they look monstrous, and absolutely incredible. And the case is the same with philosophy proposed entire, and dismembered, or cut into articles. Nor do we exclude from this calendar the modern theories and opinions, as those of Paracelsus, elegantly reduced by Severinus into a body and harmony of philosophy ; or of Telesius, who, in restoring the philosophy of Parmenides, has turned their own weapons against the Peripatetics; or of Gilbert, who revived the doctrines of Philolaus ; or of any other, provided he be worthy. But as there are whole volumes of these authors extant, we would only have the result drawn out and joined to the rest. And so much for physics and its ap- pendages. ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 95 To metaphysics we assign the inquiry of formal and final causes. But an opinion has prevailed, as if the essential forms, or real differences of things, were absolutely undiscoverable by human mearis; granting, at the same time, that if they could be discovered, this, of all the parts of knowledge, would be the most worthy of inquiry. As to the possibility of the thing, there are indolent discoverers, who seeing nothing but sea and sky, absolutely deny there can be any land beyond them. But it is manifest that Plato, a man of a sublime genius, who took a view of everything as from a high rock, saw in his doctrine of ideas, that “forms were the true object of knowledge” ; f though he lost the advantage of this just opinion by contemplating and grasping at forms totally abstracted from matter, and not as determined in it; whence he turned aside to theological specu- lations, and therewith infected all his natural philosophy. But if with diligence, seriousness, and sincerity, we turn our eyes to action and use, we may find, and become acquainted with those forms, the knowledge whereof will wonderfully enrich and prosper human affairs. The forms of substances, indeed, viz. the species of creatures, are so complicated and interwoven, that the inquiry into them is either vain, or should be laid aside for a time, and resumed after the forms of a more simple nature have been duly sifted and discovered. For as it were neither easy nor useful to dis- cover the form of a sound that shall make a word, since words, by the composition and transpositions of letters are infinite; but practicable, easy, and useful to discover the form of a sound expressing a single letter, or by what collision or application of the organs of the voice, it was made; and as these forms of letters being known, we are thence directly led to inquire the forms of words: so, to inquire the form of an oak, a lion, gold, water, or air, were at present vain; but to inquire the form of density, rarity, heat, cold, gravity, levity, and other schemes of matter and motions, which, like the letters of the alphabet, are few in number, yet make and support the essences and forms of all substances, is what we would endeavor after, as constituting and determining that part of metaphysics we are now upon. Nor does this hinder physics from considering the same nat- ures in their fluxile causes only ; thus, if the cause of whiteness in snow, or froth, were inquired into, it is judged to be a subtile intermixture of air with water; but this is far from being the 96 BACON form of whiteness, since air intermixed with powdered glass or crystal is also judged to produce whiteness no less than when mixed with water: this, therefore, is only the efficient cause, and no other than the vehicle of the form. But if the inquiry be made in metaphysics, it will be found that two transparent bodies, intermixed in their optical portions, and in a simple order, make whiteness. This part of metaphysics I find de- fective; and no wonder; because in the method of inquiry hitherto used, the forms of things can never appear. The mis- fortune lies here, that men have accustomed themselves to hurry away, and abstract their thoughts too hastily, and carry them too remote from experience and particulars, and have given themselves wholly up to their own meditations and arguments. The use of this part of metaphysics is recommended by two principal things: first, as it is the office and excellence of all sciences to shorten the long turnings and windings of experi- ence, so as to remove the ancient complaint of the scantiness of life, and the tediousness of art; this is best performed by col- lecting and uniting the axioms of the sciences into more gen- eral ones, that shall suit the matter of all individuals. For the sciences are like pyramids, erected upon the single basis of his- tory and experience, and therefore a history of nature is, 1. the basis of natural philosophy; and 2. the first stage from the basis is physics; and 3. that nearest the vertex metaphysics ; but 4. for the vertex itself, “the work which God worketh from the beginning to the end,” /” or the summary law of nature, we doubt whether human inquiry can reach it. But for the other three, they are the true stages of the sciences, and are used by those men who are inflated by their own knowledge, and a dar- ing insolence, as the three hills of the giants to invade heaven. “Ter sunt conati imponere Pelio Ossam Scilicet, atque Ossze frondosum involvere Olympum.”—Virgil.i But to the humble and the meek they are the three acclama- tions, Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus; for God is holy in the multi- tude of his works, as well as in their order and union,* and there- fore the speculation was excellent in Parmenides and Plato, that all things by defined gradations ascend to unity. And as that science is the most excellent, which least burdens the under- standing by its multiplicity; this property is found in meta- physics, as it contemplates those simple forms of things, den- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING , 97 sity, rarity, etc., which we call forms of the first class ; for though these are few, yet, by their commensurations and co-ordina- tions, they constitute all truth. The second thing that ennobles this part of metaphysics, re- lating to forms, is, that it releases the human power, and leads it into an immense and open field of work; for physics direct us through narrow rugged paths, in imitation of the crooked ways of ordinary nature; but the ways of wisdom, which were _ anciently defined as “rerum divinarum:et humanarum sci- entia,” ™ are everywhere wide, and abounding in plenty, and variety of means. Physical causes, indeed, by means of new inventions, afford light and direction in a like case again; but he that understands a form knows the ultimate possibility of superinducing that nature upon all kinds of matter, and is therefore the less restrained or tied down in his working, either as to the basis of the matter or the condition of the efficient. Solomon also describes this kind of knowledge, though in a more divine manner: “Non arctabuntur gressus tui, et currens non habebis offendiculum.” * Thus denoting that the paths of wisdom are not liable to straits and perplexities. The second part of metaphysics, is the inquiry of final causes, which we note not as wanting, but as ill-placed; these causes being usually sought in physics, not in metaphysics, to the great prejudice of philosophy ; for the treating of final causes in phys- ics has driven out the inquiry of physical ones, and made men rest in specious and shadowy causes, without ever searching in earnest after such as are real and truly physical. And this was not only done by Plato, who constantly anchors upon this shore; but by Aristotle, Galen, and others, who frequently in- troduce such causes as these: “ The hairs of the eyelids are for a fence to the sight.o The bones for pillars whereon to build the bodies of animals. The leaves of trees are to defend the fruit from the sun and wind. The clouds are designed for watering the earth,” etc. All which are properly alleged in metaphysics; but in physics are impertinent, and as remoras to the ship, that hinder the sciences from holding on their course of improvement, and introducing a neglect of searching after physical causes. And therefore the natural philosophies of Democritus and others, who allow no God or mind in the frame of things, but attribute the structure of the universe to infinite essays and trials of nature, or what they call fate or fortune, and 7 98 BACON assigned the causes of particular things to the necessity of mat- ter without any intermixture of final causes, seem, so far as we can judge from the remains of their philosophy, much more solid, and to have gone deeper into nature, with regard to phys- ical causes, than the philosophy of Aristotle or Plato; and this only because they never meddled with final causes, which the others were perpetually inculcating. Though in this re- spect Aristotle is more culpable than Plato, as banishing God, the fountain of final causes, and substituting nature in his stead ; and, at the same time, receiving final causes through his affec- tion to logic, not theology. These final causes, however, are not false, or unworthy of in- quiry in metaphysics, but their excursion into the limits of phys- ical causes hath made a great devastation in that province; otherwise, when contained within their own bounds, they are not repugnant to physical causes ; for the cause, that “ the hairs of the eyelids are to preserve the sight,” is no way contradictory to this, that “ pilosity is incident to the orifices of moisture ”— “‘ Muscosi fontes,” > etc.; nor does the cause which assigns the firmness of hides in beasts to a protection against the injuries of extreme weather, militate against the other causes, which attributes the firmness to the contraction of the pores on the ex- terior of the skin, through cold and deprivation of air; and so of the rest: these two kinds of causes agreeing excellently to- © gether; the one expressing the intention, and the other the consequence only. Nor does this call Divine Providence in question, but rather highly confirms and exalts it; for as he is a greater politician, who can make others the instruments of his will, without ac- quainting them with his designs, than he who discloses himself to those he employs; so the wisdom of God appears more won- _ drous, when nature intends one thing, and Providence draws ~ out another, than if the characters of Providence were stamped upon all the schemes of matter and natural motions. So Aris- totle had no need of a God, after having once impregnated nature with final causes, and laid it down that “nature does noth- ing in vain; always obtains her ends when obstacles are re- moved,” g etc. But Democritus and Epicurus, when they ad- vanced their atoms, were thus far tolerated by some, but when they asserted the fabric of all things to be raised by a fortuitous concourse of these atoms, without the help of mind, they be- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 99 came universally ridiculous. So far are physical causes from drawing men off from God and Providence, that, on the con- trary, the philosophers employed in discovering them can find no rest, but by flying to God or Providence at last. CHAPTER V Division of the Practical Branch of Natural Philosophy into Mechanics and Magic (Experimental Philosophy), which correspond to the Speculative Division—Mechanics to Physics, and Magic to Meta- physics. The word Magic cleared from False Interpretation. Ap- pendix to Active Science twofold; viz., an Inventory of Human Helps and a Catalogue of Things of Multifarious Use The practical doctrine of nature we likewise necessarily divide into two parts, corresponding to those of speculative ; for phys- ics, or the inquiry of efficient and material causes, produces mechanics; and metaphysics, the inquiry of forms, produces magic; whilst the inquiry of final causes is a barren thing, or as a virgin consecrated to God. We here understand that me- chanics which is coupled with physical causes; for besides the bare effective or empirical mechanics, which has no dependence on physics, and belongs to natural history, there is another not absolutely operative, and yet not strictly philosophical. For all discoveries of works either had their rise from accident, and so were handed down from age to age, or else were sought by design; and the latter were either discovered by the light of causes and axioms, or acquired by extending, transferring, or compounding some former inventions, which is a thing more ingenious and sagacious than philosophical. But the mechan- ics here understood is that treated by Aristotle promiscuously, by Hero in his Pneumatics, by that very diligent writer in me- tallics, George Agricola, and by numerous others in particular subjects ; so that we have no omission to note in this point, only that the miscellaneous mechanics, after the example of Aris- totle, should have been more carefully continued by the mod- erns, especially with regard to such contrivances whose causes are more obscure, or their effects more noble; whereas the writers upon these subjects hitherto have only coasted along the shore—*“ premendo littus iniquum.”@ And it appears to us that scarce anything in nature can be fundamentally discovered, either by accident, experimental attempts, or the light of phys- 100 BACON ical causes, but only by the discovery of forms. Since, there- fore, we have set down as wanting that part of metaphysics which treats of forms, it follows that natural magic, which is relative to it, must also be wanting. We here understand magic in its ancient and honorable sense—among the Persians it stood for a sublimer wisdom, or a knowledge of the relations of universal nature, as may be observed in the title of those kings who came from the East to adore Christ. And in the same sense we would have it sig- nify that science, which leads to the knowledge of hidden forms, for producing great effects, and by joining agents to patients setting the capital works of nature to view. The common nat- ural magic found in books gives us only some childish and su- perstitious traditions and observations of the sympathies and antipathies of things, or occult and specific properties, which are usually intermixed with many trifling experiments, admired rather for their disguise than for themselves ; but as to the truth of nature, this differs from the science we propose as much as the romances of Arthur of Britain, Hugh of Bordeaux, or other imaginary heroes, do from the Commentaries of Ceesar in truth ofnarration. Czesar in reality performed greater things, though not by romantic means, than such fabulous heroes are feigned todo. This kind of learning is well represented by the fable of Ixion,6 who, thinking to enjoy Juno, the goddess of power, em- braced a cloud, and thence produced centaurs and chimeras; for so those who, with a hot and impotent desire, are carried to such things as they see only through the fumes and clouds of imagination, instead of producing works, beget nothing but vain hopes and monstrous opinions. This degenerate natural magic has also an effect like certain sleepy medicines which procure pleasing dreams; for so it first lays the understanding asleep, by introducing specific properties and occult virtues— whence men are no longer attentive to the discovery of real causes, but rest satisfied in such indolent and weak Opinions ; and thus it insinuates numberless pleasing fictions, like so many dreams. And here we may properly observe, that those sciences which depend too much upon fancy and faith, as this degenerate magic, alchemy, and astrology, have their means and their theory more monstrous than their end and action. The con- _ version of quicksilver into gold is hard to conceive, though it ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING Ior may much more probably be effected by a man acquainted with the nature of gravity, color, malleability, fixedness, volatility, the principles of metals and menstruums, than by one who is ignorant of these natures, by the bare projection of a few grains of the elixir. The same may be understood of the prolongation of youth or retarding of old age, which may more rationally be expected by dietary, regimen, bathings, anointing, and proper medicines, directed by an accurate knowledge of the hu- man frame, the nature of rarefaction, sustentation, assimila- tion, and the reciprocal action of the mind upon the body, than by a few drops or scruples of some precious liquor or quintes- sence. But men are so headstrong and notional, as not only to promise themselves things impossible, but also hope to ob- tain the most difficult ends without labor or exertion. This practical doctrine of nature requires two appendages of very great consequence. The first is, that an inventory be made of the stock of mankind, containing their whole possessions and fortunes, whether proceeding from nature or art, with the addition also of things formerly known, but now lost; so that he who goes upon new discoveries may have a knowledge of what has already been done. This inventory will be the more artificial and useful, if it also contain things of every kind, which, according to common opinion, are impossible; as likewise such as seemed next to impossible, yet have been effected, the one to whet the human invention, and the other to direct it, so that from these optatives and potentials actives may the more read- ily be deduced. The second thing is, that a calendar be made of such experi- ments as are most extensively useful, and that lead to the dis- covery of others. For example, the experiment of artificial freezing, by means of ice and bay salt, is of infinite extent, and discovers a secret method of condensation of great service to mankind; fire is ready at hand for rarefaction, but the means of condensation are wanted. And it would greatly shorten the way to discoveries, to have a particular catalogue of these lead- ing experiments. 102 BACON CHAPTER VI The Great Appendix of Natural Philosophy both Speculative and Prac- tical. Mathematics. Its Proper Position not among the Substantiai Sciences, but in their Appendix. Mathematics divided into Pure and Mixed It was well observed by Aristotle, that physics and mathe- matics produce practice, or mechanics; ¢@ therefore, as we have treated both the speculative and practical part of the doctrine of nature, we should also consider mathematics as an auxiliary science to both, which being revived into philosophy, comes in as a third part after physics and metaphysics. But upon due recollection, if we designed it as a substantial and principal science, it were more agreeable to method and the nature of the thing to make it a part of metaphysics. For quantity, the sub- ject of mathematics applied to matter, is as the dose of nature, and productive of numerous effects in natural things, and there- fore ought to be reckoned among essential forms. And so much did the power of figures and numbers prevail with the ancients, that Democritus chiefly placed the principles of the variety of things in the figures of their atoms; and Pythag- oras asserted that the nature of things consisted of numbers.c Thus much is true, that of natural forms, such as we understand them, quantity is the most abstracted and separable from mat- ter; and for this reason it has been more carefully cultivated and examined into by mankind than any other forms, which are all of them more immersed in matter. For, as to the great dis- advantage of the sciences, it is natural for men’s minds to de- light more in the open fields of generals, than in the inclosures of particulars, nothing is found more agreeable than mathemat- ics, which fully gratifies this appetite of expatiating and rang- ing at large. But as we regard not only truth and order, but also the benefits and advantages of mankind, it seems best, since mathematics is of great use in physics, metaphysics, mechanics, and magics, to make it an appendage or auxiliary to them all. And this we are in some measure obliged to do, from the fond- ness and towering notions of mathematicians, who would have their science preside over physics. It is a strange fatality, that mathematics and logic, which ought to be but handmaids to physics, should boast their certainty before it, and even exer- cise dominion against it. But the place and dignity of this ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 103 science is a secondary consideration with regard to the thing itself. Mathematics is either pure or mixed. To the pure belong the sciences employed about quantity, wholly abstracted from matter and physical axioms. This has two parts—geometry and arithmetic; the one regarding continued, and the other discrete quantity. These two sciences have been cultivated with very great subtilty and application; but in plain geometry there has nothing considerable been added to the labors of Euclid, though he lived many ages since. The doctrine of solids has not been prosecuted and extended equal to its use and excellency, neither by the ancients nor the moderns; and in arithmetic there is still wanting a sufficient variety of short and commodious methods of calculation, especially with re- gard to progressions, whose use in physics is very considerable. Neither is algebra brought to perfection. As for the Pytha- gorical and mystical arithmetic, which began to be recovered from Proclus, and certain remains of Euclid, it is a speculative excursion, the mind having this misfortune, that when it proves unequal to solid and useful things, it spends itself upon such as are unprofitable. Mixed mathematics has for its subject axioms and the parts of physics, and considers quantity so far as may be assisting to illustrate, demonstrate, and actuate those; for without the help of mathematics many parts of nature could neither be sufficient- ly comprehended, clearly demonstrated, nor dexterously fitted for use. And of this kind are perspective, music, astronomy, cosmography, architecture, and mechanics. In mixed mathe- matics we at present find no entire parts deficient, but foretell there will be many found hereafter, if men are not wanting to themselves ; for if physics be daily improving, and drawing out new axioms, it will continually be wanting fresh assistances from mathematics; so that the parts of mixed mathematics must gradually grow more numerous. We have now gone through the physical sciences, and marked out the waste ground in them. . If, however, we have departed from the ancient and received opinions, and arrayed opponents against us, we have not affected contradiction, and therefore will not enter into the lists of contention. If we have spoken the truth, “Non canimus surdis; respondent omnia sylva "é— 104 BACON the voice of nature will cry it up, though the voice of man should cry it down; and as Alexander Borgia was wont to say of the expedition of the French against Naples, that they came with chalk in their hands to mark up their lodgings, and not with weapons to fight, so we prefer that entry of truth which comes peaceably, when the minds of men capable of lodging so great a guest are signed as it were with chalk, than that which comes with pugnacity, and forces its way by contentions and contro- versies. Wherefore, having gone through the two parts of philosophy that relate to God and to Nature, we come to the third, which is man himself. * -s Pi eh ee % YR es hile Vater a" a ; 7 aay FOURTH BOOK CHAPTER I Division of the Knowledge of Man into Human and Civil Philosophy. Human Philosophy divided into the Doctrine of the Body and Soul. The Construction of one General Science, including the Nature and State of Man. The latter divided into the Doctrine of the Human Person and the Connection of the Soul with the Body. Division of the Doctrine of the Person of Man into that of his Miseries and Pre- rogatives. Division of the Relations between the Soul and the Body into the Doctrines of Indications and Impressions, Physiog- nomy and the Interpretation of Dreams assigned to the Doctrine of Indications F any man, excellent King, shall assault or wound me for any of these precepts, let him know that he infringes the code of military honor; for in addition to being under the gracious protection of your Majesty, I do not begin the fight, but am only one of those trumpeters of whom Homer speaks— Xalpere khpuxes Ads ByyeAo, HB? Kad dvdpav a— who pass inviolate even between enraged armies. Nor does our trumpet summon men to tear one another in frenzied com- bat, but rather to conclude a peace, that they who are now di- vided may direct their united forces against nature herself; and by taking her high towers and dismantling her fortified holds, enlarge as far as God will permit the borders of man’s domin- ion. We now come to the knowledge of ourselves, whither we are directed by the ancients,5 which merits a closer examination, since the knowledge of himself is to man the end and time of the sciences, of which nature only forms a portion. And here we must admonish mankind, that all divisions of the sciences are to be understood and employed, so as only to mark out and distinguish, not tear, separate, or make any solution of contin- uity in their body ;¢ the contrary practice having rendered par- ticular sciences barren, empty, and erroneous, whilst they are 105 106 BACON not fed, supported, and kept right by their common parent. Thus we find Cicero complaining of Socrates, that he first dis- joined philosophy from rhetoric, which is thence become a frothy, talkative art.¢d And it is likewise evident, that although the opinion of Copernicus about the earth’s rotation cannot be confuted by astronomical principles, because it agrees with phenomena, yet it may easily be exploded by natural philoso- _ phy. In like manner the art of medicine, without the assist- ance of natural philosophy, differs but little from empiricism. The doctrine of man divides itself into two parts, or into human and civil philosophy, as it considers man separate, or joined in society. Human philosophy consists in the sciences that regard the body, and those that regard the soul of man. But before we descend to a more particular distribution, it is proper to make one general science of the nature and state of man, which certainly deserves to be free from the rest, and reduced to a science by itself. And this will consist of such things as are common both to the body and the soul. It may, likewise, be divided into two parts; viz., according to the in- dividual nature of man, and the connection of the soul and body. The former we call the doctrine of the person of man, and the other the doctrine of union. All which, being common and mixed matters, cannot be separately referred to the sciences that regard the body, nor to those that regard the soul. The doctrine of the human person principally consists in two things: the consideration of the miseries of mankind, and its prerogatives or excellencies. There are many writings, both philosophical and theological, that elegantly and copiously be- wail the human miseries, and it is an agreeable and wholesome topic; but the prerogatives of mankind are not hitherto de- scribed. Pindar, in his praise of Hiero, says, with his usual elegance, that he cropped the tops of every virtue ;e and me- thinks it would greatly contribute to the encouragement and honor of mankind, to have these tops, or utmost extents of human nature, collected from faithful history: I mean the greatest length whereto human nature of itself has ever gone, in the several endowments of body and mind. Thus it is said of Cesar,f that he could dictate to five amanuenses at once. We read, also, of the ancient rhetoricians, as Protagoras and Gor- gias; and of the ancient philosophers, as Callisthenes, Possi- donius, and Carneades, who could with eloquence and copious- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 107 ness dispute off hand, on either side of an argument,g which shows the power of the mind to advantage. So does, also, what Cicero relates of his master Archias, viz., that he could make extempore a large number of excellent verses upon the com- mon transactions of life. It is a great honor to the memory, that Cyrus or Scipio could call so many thousands of men by their names.’ Nor are the victories gained in the moral vir- tues less signal than those of the intellectual faculties. What an example of patience is that of Anaxarchus, who, when put to the torture, bit off his own tongue, and spit it in the tyrant’s face! Nor, to come to our own times, is that a less example of scorn of suffering, which the murderer of the prince of Orange displayed in the midst of his tortures. This Burgun- dian, though scourged with iron thongs and torn with red-hot pincers, did not heave a sigh; and when a broken fragment of the scaffold fell on the head of one of the bystanders, he, even girt around with flames, could not repress his laughter. We have many instances of great serenity and composure of mind at the time of death, as particularly in the centurion mentioned by Tacitus, who being bid by his executioner to stretch out his neck, valiantly replied, “ I would thou wouldst strike as strong- ly.” John, duke of Saxony,’ whilst playing at chess, received the order for his execution the following day; whereupon, turning round to one that stood by him, he said, with a smile, “ Judge, whether so far I am not the winner of the game. For as soon as I am dead, he,” pointing to his antagonist, “ will say that the game was his own.” Sir Thomas More, the day before his execution, being waited upon by his barber, to know if he would have his hair off, refused it; with this answer, that “ the king and he had a dispute about his head, and till that were ended he would bestow no cost upon it.” And even when he had laid his head upon the block, he raised himself again a lit- tle, and gently putting his long beard aside, said, “ This surely has not offended the king.” By these examples it will appear that the miracles of human nature, and the utmost powers and faculties, both of mind and body, are what we would have col- lected into a volume, that should be a kind of register of human triumphs. And with regard to such a work, we commend the design of Valerius Maximus and Pliny, but not their care and choice. The doctrine of union, or of the common tie of soul and body, 108 BACON has two parts: for as, in all alliances, there are mutual intelli- gence and mutual offices, so the union of the mind and body re- quires a description of the manner wherein they discover, and act upon each other by notices, or indication and impression. The description by indication has produced two arts of predic- tion: the one honored with the inquiry of Aristotle, and the other with that of Hippocrates. And though later ages have debased these arts with superstitious and fantastical mixtures, yet, when purged and truly restored, they have a solid founda- tion in nature, and use in life. The first of these is physiog- nomy, which, by the lineaments of the body, discovers the dispositions of the mind; the second is the interpretation of nat- ural dreams, which, from the agitations of the mind, discovers the state and dispositions of the body. I find the former de- ficient in one part; for though Aristotle has, with great in- genuity and diligence, treated the structure of the body at rest, he dropped the consideration of it in motion or gesture, which is no less subject to the observations of art, and more useful than the other. For the lineaments of the body show the gen- eral inclinations and dispositions of the mind, whilst the mo- tions of the face, and the gestures of the other parts, not only do the same, but also express the present disposition and in- clination: for, if I may use one of your Majesty’s most forci- ble and elegant expressions, “as the tongue applies to the ear, so does gesture to the eye.” And this is well known to many subtile and designing persons, who watchfully observe the countenance and gestures of others, and value themselves for their talent of turning such discoveries to their own advantage ; and it must be acknowledged an excellent way of discovering dissimulation in others, and of admonishing men to choose proper times and opportunities for their addresses, which is no small part of civil prudence. A work upon this doctrine of gesture would not only prove useful in particular cases, but serve as a general rule; for all men laugh, weep, blush, frown, etc., alike: and this holds of nearly all the more subtile mo- tions. But for chiromancy, it is absolutely a vain thing, and unworthy to be mentioned among those we are now treating. The interpretation of natural dreams has been much labored ; but mixed with numerous extravagancies. We shall here only observe of it, that at present it stands not upon its best founda- tion; which is, that where the same thing happens from an in- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 109 ternal cause, as also usually happens from an external one, there the external action passes into a dream. Thus the stomach may be oppressed by a gross internal vapor, as well as by an external weight; whence those who have the night- mare dream that a weight is laid upon them, with a great con- currence of circumstances. So, again, the viscera being equal- ly tossed by the agitation of the waves at sea, as by a collection of wind in the hypochondria, hence melancholy persons fre- quently dream of sailing and tossing upon the waters; and in- stances of this kind are numerous. The second part of the doctrine of union, which we call im- pression, is not yet reduced to an art; and but occasionally mentioned by writers. This also has two parts: as consider- ing, ist, how, and to what degree, the humors and constitu- tion of the body may affect the soul, or act upon it; and 2d, how, and to what degree, the passions and apprehensions of the soul may affect and work upon the body. The first of these we sometimes find touched in medicine; but it has strangely insinuated itself into religion. Physicians prescribe remedies for the diseases of the mind, viz., madness, melancholy, etc., as also to cheer the spirits, strengthen the memory, etc.; but for diet, choice of meats and drinks, washings, and other obser- vances relating to the body, they are found immoderately in the sect of the Pythagoreans, the Manichean heresy, and the law of Mahomet. There are, also, numerous and strict ordinances in the ceremonial law, prohibiting the eating of blood and fat, and distinguishing the unclean animals from the clean for food. Even the Christian religion, though it has thrown off the veil of ceremonies, still retains the use of fasting, abstinence, and other things that regard the subjection and humiliation of the body; as things not merely ritual, but advantageous. The root of all these ordinances, besides the ceremony and exercise of obedience, is, that the soul should sympathize and suffer with the body. And if any man of weaker judgment thinks that such macerations question the immortality, or derogate from the sovereignty of the soul, let him find an answer in the in- stances, either of an infant in its mother’s womb, which shares in the vicissitudes, and yet is distinct from its mother’s body, or of monarchs, who, though in possession of absolute power, are frequently influenced and swayed by their servants. The other part, which considers the operations of the soul IIO BACON upon the body, has likewise been received into medicine; for every prudent physician regards the accidents of the mind as a principal thing in his cures, that greatly promote or hinder the effects of all other remedies. But one particular has been hitherto slightly touched, or not well examined, as its useful- ness and abstruse nature require; viz., how far a fixed and riveted imagination may alter the body of the imaginant; for, though this has a manifest power to hurt, it does not follow, it has the same to relieve: no more than because an air may be so pestilent as suddenly to destroy, another air should be so wholesome as suddenly to recover. This would be an inquiry of noble use; but, as Socrates would say, it requires a Delian diver, for it is deep plunged.m But among these doctrines of union, or consent of soul and body, there is none more necessary than an inquiry into the proper seat and habitation of each faculty of the soul in the body and its organs. Some, indeed, have prosecuted this sub- ject; but all usually delivered upon it is either controverted or slightly examined, so as to require more pains and accuracy. The opinion of Plato, which seats the understanding in the brain, courage in the heart, and sensuality in the liver, should neither be totally rejected nor fondly received. CHAPTER. 4 Division of the Knowledge of the Human Body into the Medicinal, Cosmetic, Athletic, and the Voluptuary Arts. Division of Medicine into Three Functions: viz., the Preservation of Health, the Cure of Diseases, and the Prolongation of Life. The last distinct from the two former The doctrine of the human body divides itself according to the perfections of the body, whereto it is subservient. These perfections are four: viz., Ist, health; 2d, comeliness; 3d, strength ; and, 4th, pleasure: to which correspond as relatives: Ist, the arts of medicine; 2d, beautifying ; 3d, gymnastics; and, 4th, the art of elegance, which Tacitus calls eruditum luxum.¢ Medicine is a noble art, and honorably descended, according to the poets, who make Apollo the primary god, and his son /Esculapius, whom they also deify, the first professor thereof: for as, in natural things, the sun is the author and fountain of ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING Iii life, so the physician, who preserves life, seems a second origin thereof. But medicine receives far greater honor from the works of our Saviour, who was physician both to soul and body, and made the latter the standing subject of his miracles, as the soul was the constant subject of his doctrine. Of all the things that nature has created, the human body is most capable of relief, though this relief be the most liable to error. For as the subtilty and variety of the subject afford many opportunities of cure, so likewise a great facility of mis- take. And, therefore, as this art, especially at present, stands among the most conjectural ones, so the inquiry into it is to be placed among the most subtile and difficult. Neither are we so senseless as to imagine, with Paracelsus and the alchemists, that there are to be found in man’s body definite analogies to all the variety of specific natures in the world, perverting very impertinently that emblem of the ancients, that man was a microcosm or model of the whole world, to countenance their idle fancies. Of all natural bodies, we find none so variously compounded as the human: vegetables are nourished by earth and water ; brutes by herbs and fruits ; but man feeds upon the flesh of living creatures, herbs, grain, fruits, different juices and liquors ; and these all prepared, preserved, dressed, and mixed in endless variety. Besides, the way of living among other creatures is more simple, and the affections that act upon the body fewer and more uniform; but man in his habitation, his exercises, passions, etc., undergoes numberless changes. So that it is evident that the body of man is more fermented, com- pounded, and organized, than any other natural substance ; the soul, on the other side, is the simplest, as is well expressed :— “ —— purumque reliquit ZEthereum sensum, atque aurai simplicis ignem;”% so that we need not marvel that the soul so placed enjoys no rest, since it is out of its place: “ Motus rerum extra locum est rapidus, placidus in loco.”¢ This variable and subtile composi- tion, and fabric of the human body, makes it like a kind of curi- ous musical instrument, easily disordered; and, therefore, the poets justly joined music and medicine in Apollo; because the office of medicine is to tune the curious organ of the human body, and reduce it to harmony. The subject being so variable has rendered the art more con- I12 BACON jectural, and left the more room for imposture. Other arts and sciences are judged of by their power and ability, and not by success or events. The lawyer is judged by the ability of his pleading, not the issue of the cause; the pilot, by directing his course, and not by the fortune of the voyage; whilst the physi- cian and statesman have no particular act that clearly demon- strates their ability, but are principally censured by the event, which is very unjust : for who can tell, if a patient die or recover, or a State fall into decay, whether the evil is brought about by art or by accident? Whence imposture is frequently extolled, and virtue decried. Nay, the weakness and credulity of menare such, that they often prefer a mountebank, or a cunning woman, to a learned physician. The poets were clear sighted in dis- cerning this folly, when they made Aésculapius and Circe brother and sister, and both children of Apollo, as in the verses :— “ Tlle repertorem medicine talis et artis, Fulmine Phcebigenam Stygias detrusit ad undas: ” and similarity of Circe, daughter of the sun :— “ Dives inaccessis ubi Solis filia lucis Urit odoratam nocturna in lumina cedrum.”—Virgil.d For in all times, witches, old women, and impostors, have, in the vulgar opinion, stood competitors with physicians. And hence physicians say to themselves, in the words of Solomon: “ Tf it befall to me, as befalleth to the fools, why should I labor to be more wise? ’e And, therefore, one cannot greatly blame them, that they commonly study some other art, or science, more than their profession. Hence, we find among them poets, antiquaries, critics, politicians, divines, and in each more know- ing than in medicine. Nor does this fall out, because as a cer- tain declamor against physicians suggests,f being so often in contact with loathsome spectacles, that they seize the first hour of leisure to draw their minds from such contemplations. For as they are men—“ Nihil humani a se alienum putent ”’—no doubt, because they find that mediocrity and excellency in their own art make no difference in profit or reputation: for men’s impatience of diseases, the solicitations of friends, the sweet- ness of life, and the inducement of hope, make them depend upon physicians with all their defects. But when this is seri- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 113 ously considered, it turns rather to the reproach than the excuse of physicians, who ought not hence to despair, but to use greater diligence. For we see what a power the subtilty of the under- standing has over the variety both of the matter and form of things. There is nothing more variable than men’s faces, yet we can remember infinite distinctions of them; and a painter with a few colors, the practice of the hand and eye, and help of the imagination, could imitate thousands if brought before him. As variable as voices are, yet we can easily distinguish them in different persons, and a mimic will express them to the life. Though the sounds of words differ so greatly, yet men can re- duce them to a few simple letters. And certainly it is not the insufficiency or incapacity of the mind, but the remoteness of the object that causes these perplexities and distrusts in the sciences: for as the sense is apt to mistake at great distances, but not near at hand, so is the understanding. Men commonly take a view of nature as from a remote eminence, and are too much amused with generalities : whereas, if they would descend, and approach nearer to particulars, and more exactly and con- siderately examine into things themselves, they might make more solid and useful discoveries. The remedy of this error, therefore, is to quicken or strengthen the organ, and thus to approach the object. No doubt, therefore, if physicians, leav- ing generalities for a while, and suspending their assent, would advance towards nature, they might become masters of that art of which the poet speaks :— “ Et quoniam variant morbi, variabimus artes Mille mali species mille salutis erunt.”—Ovid.g They should the rather endeavor this, because the philosophies whereon physicians, whether methodists or chemists, depend, are trifling, and because medicine, not founded on philosophy, is a weak thing. Therefore, as too extensive generals, though true, do not bring men home to action, there is more danger in such generals as are false in themselves, and seduce instead of directing the mind. Medicine, therefore, has been rather pro- fessed than labored, and yet more labored than advanced, as the pains bestowed thereon were rather circular than progres- sive; for I find great repetition, and but little new matter, in the writers of physic. We divide medicine into three parts, or offices: viz., 1st, the 8 114 BACON preservation of health; 2d, the cure of diseases; and 3d, the prolongation of life. For this last part, physicians seem to think it no capital part of medicine, but confound it with the other two; as supposing, that if diseases be prevented, or cured after invasion, long life must follow, of course. But, then, they do not consider that both preservation and cure regard only diseases, and such prolongation of life as is intercepted by them: whence the means of spinning out the full thread of life, or preventing, for a season, that kind of death which gradually steals upon the body by simple resolution, and the wasting of age, is a subject that no physician has treated suitably to its merit. Let none imagine we are here repealing the decrees of fate and Providence, by establishing a new office of medicine; for, doubtless, Providence alike dispenses all kinds of deaths, whether they proceed from violence, diseases, or the course and period of age; yet without excluding the use of remedies and preventions, for art and industry do not here overrule, but ad- minister to nature and fate. Many have unskilfully written upon the preservation of health, particularly by attributing too much to the choice, and too little to the quantity of meats. As to quantity, they, like the moral philosophers, highly commend moderation; whereas, both fasting changed to custom, and full feeding, where a man is used to it, are better preservatives of health than those medi- ocrities they recommend, which commonly dispirit nature, and unfit her to bear excess, or want, upon occasion. And for the several exercises, which greatly conduce to the preservation of health, no physician has well distinguished or observed them, though there be scarce any tendency to a disease, that may not be corrected by some appropriate exercise. Thus bowling is suited to the diseases of the kidneys, shooting with the long bow to those of the lungs, walking and riding to those of the stomach, etc. Great pains have been bestowed upon the cure of diseases, but to small purpose. This part comprehends the knowledge of the diseases incident to the human body, together with their causes, symptoms, and cures. In this second office of medicine there are many deficiencies. And first, we may note the discontinuance of that useful method of Hippocrates,’ in writing narratives of particular cures with diligence and exact- ness, containing the nature, the cure, and event of the distem- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 115 per. And this remarkable precedent of one accounted the father of his art, need not to be backed with examples derived from other arts, as from the prudent practice of the lawyers, who religiously enter down the more eminent cases and new decisions, the better to prepare and direct themselves in future. This discontinuation, therefore, of medicinal reports we find deficient, especially in form of an entire body, digested with proper care and judgment. But we do not mean, that this work should extend to every common case that happens every day, which were an infinite labor, and to little purpose ; nor yet to exclude all but prodigies and wonders, as several have done: for many things are new in their manner and circumstances, which are not new in their kind; and he who looks attentively will find many particulars worthy of observation, in what seems vulgar. So in anatomy, the general parts of the human body are dili- gently observed, and even to niceness: but as to the variety found in different bodies, here the diligence of physicians fails. And, therefore, though simple anatomy has been fully and clearly handled, yet comparative anatomy is deficient. For anatomists have carefully examined into all the parts, their con- sistencies, figures, and situations; but pass over the different figure and state of those parts in different persons. The reason of this defect I take to be, that the former inquiry may terminate upon seeing two or three bodies dissected ; but the other being comparative, and casual, requires attentive and strict applica- tion to many different dissections: besides, the first is a subject wherein learned anatomists may show themselves to their audi- ence ; but the other a rigorous knowledge, to be acquired only by silent and long experience. And no doubt but the internal parts, for variety and proportions, are little inferior to the ex- ternal ; and that hearts, livers, and stomachs, are as different in men, as foreheads, noses, and ears. And in these differences of the internal parts are often found the immediate causes of many dieases, which physicians not observing, sometimes un- justly accuse the humors, when the fault lies only in the mechanic structure ofa part. And in such diseases it is in vain to use alteratives, as the case admits not of being altered by them, but must be affected, accommodated, or palliated by a regimen, and familiar medicines. Again, comparative anatomy requires accurate observations 116 BACON upon all the humors, and the marks and impressions of diseases in different bodies upon dissection; for the humors are com- monly passed over in anatomy, as loathsome and excrementi- tious things; whereas it is highly useful and necessary to note their nature and the various kinds that may sometimes be found in the human body, in what cavities they principally lodge, and with what advantage, disadvantage, and the like. So the marks and impressions of diseases, and the changes and devastations they bring upon the internal parts, are to be diligently observed in different dissections; viz., imposthumes, ulcerations, solu- tions of continuity, putrefactions, corrosions, consumptions, contractions, extensions, convulsions, luxations, dislocations, obstructions, repletions, tumors, and preternatural excres- cences, as stones, carnosities, wens, worms, etc., all which should be very carefully examined and orderly digested in the comparative anatomy we speak of; and the experiments of sev- eral physicians be here collected and compared together. But this variety of accidents, is by anatomists either slightly touched or else passed over in silence. That defect in anatomy, owing to its not having been prac- tised upon live bodies, needs not be spoken to, the thing itself being odious, cruel, and justly condemned by Celsus ;7 yet the observation of the ancients is true, that many subtile pores, passages, and perforations appear not upon dissection, because, they are closed and concealed in dead bodies, that might be open and manifest in live ones. Wherefore, if we would con- sult the good of mankind, without being guilty of cruelty, this anatomy of live creatures should be entirely deserted or left to the casual inspection of chirurgeons, or may be sufficiently per- formed upon living brutes, notwithstanding the dissimilitude between their parts and those of men, so as to answer the design, provided it be done with judgment. Physicians, likewise, when they inquire into diseases, find so many which they judge incurable, either from their first appear- ance, or after a certain period, that the proscriptions of Sylla and the Triumvirate were trifling to the proscriptions of the physicians, by which, with an unjust sentence, they deliver men over to death ; numbers whereof, however, escape with less diffi- culty than under the Roman proscriptions. A work, therefore, is wanting upon the cures of reputed incurable diseases, that physicians of eminence and resolution may be encouraged and ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 117 excited to pursue this matter as far as the nature of things will permit; since to pronounce diseases incurable, is to establish negligence and carelessneess, as it were, by a law, and screen ignorance and reproach. And, further, we esteem it the office of a physician to mitigate the pains and tortures of diseases, as well as to restore health ; and this not only when such a mitigation, as of a dangerous symptom, may conduce to recovery ; but, also, when there be- ing no further hopes of recovery, it can only serve to make the passage out of life more calm and easy. For that complacency in death, which Augustus Czesar so much desired, is no small felicity.k This was also observed in the death of Antoninus Pius, who seemed not so much to die as to fall into a deep and pleasing sleep. And it is delivered of Epicurus, that he pro- cured himself this easy departure; for, after his disease was judged desperate, he intoxicated himself with wine, and died in that condition, which gave rise to the epigram :— “Hinc Stygias ebrius transit aquas.’”? But the physicians of our times make a scruple of attending the patient after the disease is thought past cure, though, in my judgment, if they were not wanting to their own profession and to humanity itself, they should here give their attendance to improve their skill, and make the dying person depart with greater ease and tranquillity. We, therefore, set down as defi- cient an inquiry after a method of relieving the agonies of the dying, calling it by the name of euthanasia exteriori, to distin- guish it from the internal composure, procured to the soul in death. Again, we generally find this deficiency in the cures of dis- eases, that though the present physicians tolerably pursue the general intentions of cures, yet they have no particular medi- cines, which, by a specific property regard particular diseases ; for they lose the benefit of traditions and approved experience by their authoritative procedure in adding, taking away, and changing the ingredients of their receipts at pleasure, after the manner of apothecaries substituting one thing for another, and thus haughtily commanding medicine, so that medicine can no longer command the disease. For except Venice treacle, mithridate, diascordium, the confection of alkermes, and a few more, they commonly tie themselves strictly to no certain re- 118 BACON ceipts: the other salable preparations of the shops being in readiness, rather for general purposes, than accommodated to any particular cures; for they do not principally regard some one disease, but have a general virtue of opening obstructions, promoting concoction, etc. And hence it chiefly proceeds, that empirics and women are often more successful in their cures than learned physicians, because the former keep strictly and invariably to the use of experienced medicines, without alter- ing their compositions. I remember a famous Jew physician in England would say: “ Your European physicians are in- deed men of learning, but they know nothing of particular cures for diseases.” And he would sometimes jest a little irrever- ently, and say: “ Our physicians were like bishops, that had the keys of binding and loosing, but no more.”’ To be serious; it might be of great consequence if some physicians, eminent for learning and practice, would compile a work of approved and experienced medicines in particular diseases. For, though one might speciously pretend, that a learned physician should rather suit his medicines occasionally, as the constitution of the pa- tient, his age, customs, the seasons, etc., require, than rest upon any certain prescriptions; yet this is a fallacious opinion that underrates experience and overrates human judgment. And as those persons in the Roman state were the most serviceable, who being either consuls, favored the people, or tribunes, and inclined to the senate; so are those the best physicians, who being either learned, duly value the traditions of experience; or men of eminent practice, that do not despise methods and the general principles of the art. But, if medicines require, at any time, to be qualified, this may rather be done in the vehicles than in the body of the medicine, where nothing should be altered without apparent necessity. Therefore, this part of physic which treats of authentic and positive remedies, we note as deficient ; but the business of supplying it is to be undertaken with great judgment, and as by a committee of physicians, chosen for that purpose. And for the preparation of medicines ; it seems strange, espe- cially as mineral ones have been so celebrated by chemists, though safer for external than internal use, that nobody hath hitherto attempted any artificial imitations of natural baths and medicinal springs, whilst it is acknowledged that these receive their virtues from the mineral veins through which they pass; ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 119 and especially since human industry can, by certain separations, discover with what kind of minerals such waters are impreg- nated, as whether by sulphur, vitriol, iron, etc. And if these natural impregnations of waters are reducible to artificial com- positions, it would then be in the power of art to make more kinds of them occasionally, and at the same time to regulate their temperature at pleasure. This part, therefore, of medi- cine, concerning the artificial imitation of natural baths and springs, we set down as deficient, and recommend as an easy as well as useful undertaking. The last deficiency we shall mention seems to us of great importance ; viz., that the methods of cure in use are too short to effect anything that is difficult or very considerable. For it is rather vain and flattering, than just and rational, to expect that any medicine should be so effectual, or so successful, as by the sole use thereof to work any great cure. It must be a powerful discourse, which, though often repeated, should cor- rect any deep-rooted and inveterate vice of the mind. Such miracles are not to be expected ; but the things of greatest efh- cacy in nature, are order, perseverance, and an artificial change of applications, which, though they require exact judgment to prescribe, and precise observance to follow, yet these are amply recompensed by the great effects they produce. To see the daily labors of physicians in their visits, consultations, and pre- scriptions, one would think that they diligently pursued the cure, and went directly in a certain beaten track about it; but whoever looks attentively into their prescriptions and direc- tions, will find, that the most of what they do is full of uncer- tainty, wavering, and irresolution, without any certain view or fore-knowledge of the course of the cure. Whereas, they should from the first, after having fully and perfectly discovered the disease, choose and resolve upon some regular process or series of cure, and not depart from it without sufficient reason. Thus physicians should know, for example, that perhaps three or four remedies rightly prescribed in an inveterate disease, and taken in due order, and at due distances of time, may perform a cure; and yet the same remedies taken independently of each other, in an inverted order, or not at stated periods, might prove absolutely prejudicial. Though we mean not, that every scrupulous and superstitious method of cure should be es- teemed the best, but that the way should be as exact as it is i40 BACON confined and difficult. And this part of medicine we note as deficient, under the name of the physicians’ clue or directory. And these are the things wanting in the doctrine of medicine, for the cure of diseases ; but there still remains one thing more, and of greater use than all the rest; viz., a genuine and active natural philosophy, whereon to build the science of physic. We make the third part of medicine regard the prolongation of life: this is a new part, and deficient, though the most noble of all; for if it may be supplied, medicine will not then be wholly versed in sordid cures, nor physicians be honored only for neces- sity, but as dispensers of the greatest earthly happiness that could well be conferred on mortals; for, though the world be but as a wilderness to a Christian travelling through it to the promised land, yet it would be an instance of the divine favor, that our clothing, that is, our bodies, should be little worn while we sojourn here. And as this is a capital part of physic, and as we note it for deficient, we shall lay down some directions about it. And, first, no writer extant upon this subject has made any great or useful discovery therein. Aristotle,m indeed, has left us a short memoir, wherein there are some admonitions after his manner, which he supposes to be all that can be said of the matter ; but the moderns have here written so weakly and super- stitiously, that the subject itself, through their vanity, is reputed vain and senseless. 2. The very intentions of physicians upon this head are of no validity, but rather lead from the point than direct to it. For they talk as if death consisted in a destitution of heat and moisture, and therefore that natural heat should be comforted, and radical moisture cherished ; as if the work were to be effected by broths, lettuce, and mallows; or, again, by spices, generous wines, spirits, or chemical oils ; all which rather do hurt than good. 3. We admonish mankind to cease their trifling, and not weakly imagine that such a great work as re- tarding the course of nature can be effected by a morning’s draught, the use of any costly medicines, pearls, or aurum pota- bile itself ; but be assured, that the prolongation of life is a labori- ous work, that requires many kinds of remedies, and a proper continuation and intermixture thereof; for it were stupidity to expect, that what was never yet done, should be effected, otherwise than by means hitherto unattempted. 4. Lastly, we admonish them rightly to observe and distinguish betwixt what ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 12t conduces to health, and what to a long life; for some things, though they exhilarate the spirits, strengthen the faculties, and prevent diseases, are yet destructive to life, and, without sick- ness, bring on a wasting old age; whilst there are others which prolong life and prevent decay, though not to be used without danger to health ; so that, when employed for the prolongation of life, such inconveniences must be guarded against, as might otherwise happen upon using them. Things seem to us preservable either in their own substance or by repair ; in their own substance, as a fly, or an ant, in amber ; a flower, an apple, etc., in conservatories of snow; or a corps of balsam; by repair, as in flame and mechanic engines. He who attempts to prolong life, must practise both these methods together ; for separate, their force is less. The human body must be preserved as bodies inanimate are; again, as flame; and, lastly, in some measure as machines are preserved. There are, therefore, three intentions for the prolongation of life ; viz., 1. to hinder waste ; 2. secure a good repair ; and 3. to renew what begins to decay. I. Waste is caused by two depredations ; viz., that of the internal spirit, and that of the external air ; and both are prevented two ways; viz., by making these agents less predatory, or the patients, that is the juices of the body, less apt to be preyed on. The spirit is rendered less predatory, if either its substance be condensed; as, 1. by the use of opiates, preparations of nitre, and in contristration ; or, 2. if it be less- ened in quantity, as by fasting and diet; and 3. if it be mod- erated in its motion, as by rest and quiet. The ambient air becomes less predatory, either when it is less heated by the sun, as in the cold countries, caves, hills; or kept from the body, as by close skins, the plumage of birds, and the use of oil and unguents, without spices. The juices of the body are rendered less subject to be preyed on, if made more hardy, or more oleaginous, as by a rough astringent diet, living in the cold, robust exercises, the use of certain mineral baths, sweet things, and abstaining from such as are salt or acid; but especially by means of such drinks as consist of subtile parts, yet without acrimony or tartness. II. Repair is procured by nourishment, and nourishment is promoted four ways: 1. by forwarding in- ternal concoction, which drives forth the nourishment, as by medicines that invigorate the principal viscera; 2. by exciting the external parts to attract the nourishment, as by exercise, 122 BACON proper frictions, unctions, and baths; 3. by preparing the ali- ment itself, that it may more easily insinuate, and require less digestion ; as in many artificial ways of preparing meats, drinks, bread, and reducing the effects of these three to one: again, 4. by the last act of assimilation, as in seasonable sleep and ex- ternal applications. III. The renovation of parts worn out is performed two ways; either by softening the habit of the body, as with suppling applications, in the way of bath, plaster, or unction, of such qualities as to insinuate into the parts, but ex- tract nothing from them; or by discharging the old, and substi- tuting new moisture, as in seasonable and repeated purging, bleeding, and attenuating diets, which restore the bloom of the body. Several rules for the conduct of the work are derivable from these indications ; but three of the more principal are the follow- ing. And first, prolongation of life is rather to be expected from stated diets, than from any common regimen of food, or the virtues of particular medicines ; for those things that have force enough to turn back the course of nature, are commonly too violent to be compounded into a medicine, much more to be mixed with the ordinary food, and must therefore be admin- istered orderly, regularly, and at set periods. 2. We next lay it down as a rule, that the prolongation of life be expected, rather from working upon the spirits, and mollifying the parts, than from the manner of alimentation. For as the human body, and the internal structure thereof, may suffer from three things, viz., the spirits, the parts, and aliments; the way of prolonging life by means of alimentation is tedious, indirect, and winding ; but the ways of working upon the spirits and the parts, much shorter; for the spirits are suddenly affected, both by effluvia and the passions, which may work strangely upon them; and the parts also by baths, unguents, or plasters, which will like- wise have sudden impressions. 3. Our last precept is, that the softening of the external parts be attempted by such things as are penetrating, astringent, and of the same nature with the body ; the latter are readily received and entertained, and prop- erly soften ; and penetrating things are as vehicles to those that mollify, and more easily convey, and deeply impress the virtue thereof; whilst themselves, also, in some measure, operate upon the parts: but astringents keep in the virtue of them both, and somewhat fix it, and also stop perspiration, which would other- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 123 wise be contrary to mollifying, as sending out the moisture; therefore the whole affair is to be effected by these three means used in order and succession, rather than together. Observe, only, that it is not the intention of mollifying to nourish the parts externally, but only to render them more capable of nour- ishment; for dry things are less disposed to assimilate. And so much for the prolongation of life, which we make the third, or a new part of medicine. The art of decoration, or beautifying, has two parts, civil and effeminate. For cleanliness and decency of the body were al- ways allowed to proceed from moral modesty and reverence; first, towards God, whose creatures we are; next, towards society, wherein we live ; and, lastly, towards ourselves, whom we ought to reverence still more than others. But false deco- rations, fucuses, and pigments, deserve the imperfections that constantly attend them ; being neither exquisite enough to de- ceive, nor commodious in application, nor wholesome in their use. And it is much that this depraved custom of painting the face should so long escape the penal laws both of the church and state, which have been very severe against luxury in apparel and effeminate trimming of the hair. We read of Jezebel, that she painted her face ; but not so of Esther and Judith. We take gymnastics, in a large sense, to signify whatever re- lates to the hability whereto the human body may be brought, whether of activity or suffering. Activity has two parts, strength and swiftness ; so has endurance or suffering, viz., with regard to natural wants, and fortitude under torture. Of all these, we have many remarkable instances in the practices of rope-dancers, the hardy lives of savages, surprising strength of lunatics, and the constancy and resolution of many under ex- quisite torments. Any other faculties that fall not within the former division, as diving, or the power of continuing long un- der water without respiration, and the like, we refer them also to gymnastics. And here, though the things themselves are common, yet the philosophy and causes thereof are usually neglected, perhaps because men are persuaded that such mas- teries over nature are only obtainable either from a peculiar and natural disposition in some men, which comes not under rules, or by a constant custom from childhood, which is rather im- posed that taught. ‘And, though this be not altogether true, yet it is here of small consequence to note any deficiency, for 124 | BACON the Olympic games are long since ceased, and a mediocrity in these things is sufficient for use, whilst excellency in them serves commonly but for mercenary show. The arts of elegance are divided with respect to the two senses of sight and hearing. Painting particularly delights the eye; so do numerous other magnificent arts, relating to build- ings, gardens, apparel, vessels, gems, etc. Music pleases the ear with great variety and apparatus of sounds, voices, strings, and instruments ; and anciently water-organs were esteemed as ereat master-pieces in this art, though now grown into disuse. The arts which relate to the eye and ear, are, above the rest, accounted liberal; these two senses being the more pure, and the sciences thereof more learned, as having mathematics to attend then. The one also has some relation to the memory and demonstrations ; the other, to manners and the passions of the mind. The pleasures of the other senses, and the arts em- ployed about then, are in less repute, as approaching nearer to sensuality than magnificence. Unguents, perfumes, the furni- ture of the table, but principally incitements to lust, should rather be censured than taught. And it has been well observed, that, while states were in their increase, military arts flourished ; when at their heights, the liberal arts ; but when upon their de- cline, the arts of luxury. With the arts of pleasure, we join also the jocular arts : for the deception of the senses may be reck- oned one of their delights. And, now, as so many things require to be considered with relation to the human body, viz., the parts, humors, functions, faculties, accidents, etc., since we ought to have an entire doctrine of the body of man, which should comprehend them all; yet lest arts should be thus too much multiplied, or their ancient limits too much disordered, we receive into the system of medicine, the doctrines of the parts, functions, and humors of the body ; respiration, sleep, generation ; the foetus, gestation in the womb; growth, puberty, baldness, fatness, and the like; though these do not properly belong either to the preservation of health, the cure of diseases, or the prolongation of life, but because the human body is, in every respect, the subject of medicine. But for voluntary motion and sense, we refer them to the doctrine of the soul as two principal parts thereof. And thus we conclude the doctrine of the body, which is but as a tabernacle to the soul. — ae. . "7" ~~ ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 125 CHAPTER III Division of the Doctrine of the Human Soul into that of the Inspired Essence and the Knowledge of the Sensible or Produced Soul. Second Division of the same Philosophy into the Doctrine of the Substance and the Faculties of the Soul. The Use and Objects of the latter. Two Appendices to the Doctrine of the Faculties of the Soul: viz. Natural Divination and Fascination (Mesmerism). The Faculties of the Sensible Soul divided into those of Motion and Sense We now come to the doctrine of the human soul, from whose treasures all other doctrines are derived. It has two parts—the one treating of the rational soul, which is divine, the other of the irrational soul, which we have in common with brutes. Two different emanations of souls are manifest in the first creation, the one proceeding from the breath of God, the other from the elements. As to the primitive emanation of the rational soul, the Scripture says, God formed man of the dust of the earth, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; but the generation of the irrational and brutal soul was in these words—Let the water bring forth ; let the earth bring forth. And this irrational soul in man is only an instrument to the rational one, and has the same origin in us as in brutes, viz., the dust of the earth ; for it is not said, God formed the body of man of the dust of the earth, but God formed man, that is, the whole man, the breath of life excepted, of the dust of the earth. We will, therefore, style the first part of the general doctrine of the human soul the doctrine of the inspired substance, and the other part the doctrine of the sensitive or produced soul. But, as we are here treating wholly of philosophy, we would not have borrowed this division from divinity, had it not also agreed with the principles of philosophy. For there are many excellencies of the human soul above the souls of brutes, manifest even to those who philosophize only according to sense. And wherever so many and such great excellencies are found, a specific difference should always be made. We do not, therefore, approve that confused and promiscuous manner of the philosophers in treat- ing the functions of the soul, as if the soul of man differed in degree rather than species from the soul of brutes, as the sun differs from the stars, or gold from other metals. There may also be another division of the general doctrine of 120 BACON the human soul into the doctrine of the substance and facul- ties of the soul, and that of the use and objects of the faculties. And these two divisions being premised, we come to particu- lars. The doctrine of the inspired substance, as also of the sub- stance of the rational soul, comprehends several inquiries with relation to its nature, as whether the soul be native or adventi- tious, separable or inseparable, mortal or immortal ; how far it is subject to the laws of matter, how far not, and the like. But the points of this kind, though they might be more thoroughly sifted in philosophy than hitherto they have been, yet in the end they must be turned over to religion, for determination and decision ; otherwise they will lie exposed to various errors and illusions of sense. For as the substance of the soul was not, in its creation, extracted or deduced from the mass of heaven and earth, but immediately inspired by God; and as the laws of heaven and earth are the proper subjects of philosophy, no knowledge of the substance of the rational soul can be had from philosophy, but must be derived from the same Divine inspira- tion, whence the substance thereof originally proceeded. But in the doctrine of the sensitive or produced soul, even its substance may be justly inquired into, though this inquiry seems hitherto wanting. For of what significancy are the terms of actus ultimus and forma corporis, and such logical trifles, to the knowledge of the soul’s substance? The sensitive soul must be allowed a corporeal substance, attenuated by heat, and rendered invisible, as a subtile breath or aura, of a flamy and airy nature, having the softness of air in receiving impressions, and the activity of fire in exerting its action, nourished partly by an oily and partly by a watery substance, and diffused through the whole body; but in perfect creatures, residing chiefly in the head, and thence running through the nerves, be- ing fed and recruited by the spirituous blood of the arteries, as Telesius @ and his follower Donius in some measure have use- fully shown. ‘Therefore, let this doctrine be more diligently inquired into, because the ignorance of it has produced super- stitious and very corrupt opinions, that greatly lessen the dig- nity of the human soul—such as the transmigration and lustra- tion of souls through certain periods of years, and the too near relation in all respects of the human soul to the soul of brutes. For this soul in brutes is a principal soul, whereof their body is ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 127 the organ ; but in man it is itself an organ of the rational soul, and may rather be called by the name spirit than soul. The faculties of the soul are well known; viz., the understand- ing, reason, imagination, memory, appetite, will, and all those wherewith logic and ethics are concerned. In the doctrine of the soul the origin of these faculties must be physically treated, as they may be innate and adhering to the soul, but their uses and objects are referred to other arts; and in this part nothing extraordinary has hitherto appeared, though we do not indeed report it as wanting. This part of the faculties of the soul has also two appendages, which, as they have yet been handled, rather present us with smoke than any clear flame of truth— one being the doctrine of natural divination, the other of fascina- tion. Divination has been anciently and properly divided into arti- ficial and natural. The artificial draws its predictions by reasoning from the indication of signs ; but the natural predicts from the internal foresight of the mind, without the assistance of signs. Artificial divination is of two kinds—one arguing from causes, the other only from experiments conducted by blind authority. The latter is generally superstitious. Such were the heathen doctrines about the inspection of entrails, the flight of birds, etc. ; and the formal astrology of the Chaldeans was little better. Both kinds of artificial divination spread themselves into various sciences. The astrologer has his pre- dictions from the aspects of the stars ; the physician, too, has his, as to death, recovery, and the subsequent symptoms of diseases, from the urine, pulse, aspect of the patient, etc. ; the politician, also, is not without his predictions—“ O urbem venalem, et cito perituram si emptorem invenerit!’’6—the event of which prophecy happened soon after, and was first accomplished in Sylla and again in Cesar. But the predictions of this kind be- ing not to our present purpose, we refer them to their proper arts, and shall here only treat of natural divination, proceeding from the internal power of the soul. This also is of two kinds—the one native, the other by influx. The native rests upon this supposition, that the mind abstracted or collected in itself, and not diffused in the organs of the body, has from the natural power of its own essence some foreknowl- edge of future things ; and this appears chiefly in sleep, ecstasies, and the near approach of death; but more rarely in waking, or 28 BACON when the body is in health and strength. And this state of the mind is commonly procured or promoted by abstinence, and principally such things as withdraw the mind from exercising the functions of the body, that it may thus enjoy its own nature without any external interruption. But divination by influx is grounded upon another supposition, viz., that the mind, as a mirror, may receive a secondary illumination from the fore- knowledge of God and spirits, whereto likewise the above-men- tioned state and regimen of the body are conducive. For the same abstraction of the mind causes it more powerfully to use its own nature, and renders it more susceptive of divine influxes, only in divinations by influx the soul is seized with a kind of rapture, and as it were impatience of the Deity’s presence, which the ancients called by the name of sacred fury, whereas in native divination the soul is rather at its ease and free. Fascination is the power and intense act of the imagination upon the body of another. And here the school of Paracelsus, and the pretenders to natural magic, abusively so called, have almost made the force and the apprehension of the imagination equal to the power of faith, and capable of working miracles ; others keeping nearer to truth, and attentively considering the secret energies and impressions of things, the irradiations of the senses, the transmissions of thought from one to another, and the conveyances of magnetic virtues, are of opinion that impres- sions, conveyances, and communications, might be made from spirit to spirit, because spirit is of all things the most powerful in operation and easiest to work on; whence many opinions have spread abroad of master spirits, of men ominous and un- lucky, of the strokes of love, envy, and the like. And this is attended with the inquiry, how the imagination may be height- ened and fortified ; for if a strong imagination has such power, it is worth knowing by what means to exalt and raise it. But here a palliative or defence of a great part of ceremonial magic would slyly and indirectly insinuate itself, under a spe- cious pretence that ceremonies, characters, charms, gesticula- tions, amulets, and the like, have not their power from any tacit or binding contract with evil spirits, but that these serve only to strengthen and raise the imagination of such as use them, in the same manner as images have prevailed in religion for fixing men’s minds in the contemplation of things and raising the de- votion in prayer. But, allowing the force of imagination to be ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 129 great, and that ceremonies do raise and strengthen it ; allowing, also, that ceremonies may be sincerely used to that end, as a physical remedy, without the least design of thereby procuring the assistance of spirits ; yet ought they still to be held unlawful, because they oppose and contradict that Divine sentence passed upon man for sin: “ In the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat thy bread.” For this kind of magic offers those excellent fruits which God had ordained should be procured by labor at the price of a few easy and slight observances. There are two other doctrines which principally regard the faculties of the inferior or sensitive soul, as chiefly communicat- ing with the organs of the body—the one is of voluntary mo- tion, the other of sense and sensibility. The former has been but superficially inquired into, and one entire part of it is almost wholly neglected. The office and proper structure of the nerves, muscle, etc., requisite to muscular motion, what parts of the body rest while others move, and how the imagination acts as director of this motion, so far that when it drops the image whereto the motion tended, the motion itself presently ceases— as in walking, if another serious thought come across our mind, we presently stand still; with many other such subtilties, have long ago been observed and scrutinized. But how the com- pressions, dilatations, and agitations of the spirit, which, doubt- less, is the spring of motion, should guide and rule the corporeal and gross mass of the parts, has not yet been diligently searched into and treated. And no wonder, since the sensitive soul itself has been hitherto taken for a principle of motion and a function, rather thana substance. But as it is now known to be material, it becomes necessary to inquire by what efforts so subtile and minute a breath can put such gross and solid bodies in motion. Therefore, as this part is deficient, let due inquiry be made con- cerning it. Sense and sensibility have been much more fully and dili- gently inquired into, as well in general treatises upon the sub- ject as in particular arts ; viz., perspective, music, etc. ; but how justly, is not to the present intention. And, therefore, we can- not note them as deficient; yet there are two excellent parts wanting in this doctrine: one upon the difference of perception and sense, and the other upon the form of light. In treating of sense and sensibility, philosophers should have premised the difference between perception and sense, as the foundation of 9 130 BACON the whole: for we find there is a manifest power of perception in most natural bodies, and a kind of appetite to choose what is agreeable, and to avoid what is disagreeable to them. Nor is this meant of the more subtile perceptions only; as when the loadstone attracts iron, or flame flies to petreol, or one drop of water runs into another ; or when the rays of light are reflected from a white object, or when animal bodies assimilate what is proper for them, and reject what is hurtful; or when a sponge attracts water, and expels air, etc. ; for in all cases, no one body placed near to another can change that other, or be changed by it, unless a reciprocal perception precede the operation. A body always perceives the passages by which it insinuates ; feels the impulse of another body, where it yields thereto; perceives the removal of any body that withheld it, and thereupon recov- ers itself; perceives the separation of its continuity, and for a time resists it ; in fine, perception is diffused through all nature. But air has such an acute perception of heat and cold, as far exceeds the human touch, which yet passes for the measure of heat and cold. This doctrine, therefore, has two defects: one, in that men have generally passed it over untouched, though a noble subject; the other, that they who did attend to it have gone too far, attributed sense to all bodies, and made it almost a sin to pluck a twig from a tree, lest the tree should groan, like Polydorus in Virgile But they ought carefully to have searched after the difference betwixt perception and sense; not only in comparing sensible with insensible things, in the entire bodies thereof, as those of plants and animals, but also to have observed in the sensible body itself, what should be the cause that so many actions are performed without any sense at all. Why the aliments are digested and discharged, the humors and juices carried up and down in the body ; why the heart and pulse beat ; why the viscera act as so many workshops, and each per- forms its respective office ; yet all this, and much more, be done without sense. But men have not yet sufficiently found of what nature the action of sense is, and what kind of body, what con- tinuance, what repetitions of the impression are required to cause pain or pleasure. Lastly, they seem totally ignorant of the difference between simple perception and sense, and how far perception may be caused without sense. Nor is this a con- troversy about words, but a matter of great importance. Wherefore let this doctrine be better examined, as a thing of ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 131 capital, and very extensive use: for the ignorance of some an- cient philosophers in this point, so far obscured the light of reason, that they thought there was a soul indifferently infused into all bodies; nor did they conceive how motion of election could be caused without sense, or sense exist without a soul. That the form of light should not have been duly inquired into, appears a strange oversight, especially as men have be- stowed so much pains upon perspective : for neither has this art, nor others, afforded any valuable discovery in the subject of light. Its radiations, indeed, are treated, but not its origin; and the ranking of perspective with mathematics has produced this defect, with others of the like nature, because philosophy is thus deserted too soon. Again, the doctrine of light, and the causes thereof, have been almost superstitiously treated in physics, as a subject of a middle nature, betwixt natural and divine ; whence certain Platonists would have light prior to matter itself: for they vainly imagined, that space was first filled with light, and afterwards with body; but the Scriptures plainly say, that the mass of heaven and earth was dark before the creation of light. And as for what is physically delivered upon this subject, and, according to sense, it presently descends to radiations, so that very little philosophical inquiry is extant about it. And men ought here to lower their contemplations a little, and inquire into the properties common to all lucid bodies, as this relates to the form of light ; how immensely soever the bodies concerned may differ in dignity, as the sun does from rotten wood, or putrefied fish. We should likewise inquire the cause why some things take fire, and when heated throw out light, and others not. Iron, metal, stones, glass, wood, oil, tallow, by fire yield either a flame, or grow red-hot. But water and air, exposed to the most intense heat they are capable of, afford no light, nor so much as shine. That it is not the property of fire alone to give light ; and that water and air are not utter enemies thereto, appears from the dashing of salt-water in a dark night, and a hot season, when the small drops of the water, struck off by the motion of the oars in rowing, seem sparkling and luminous. We have the same appearance in the agitated froth of the sea, called sea-lungs. And, indeed, it should be inquired what affinity flame and ignited bodies have with glow-worms, the Luciola, the Indian fly, which casts a light over a whole room; the eyes of certain creatures in the dark ; loaf-sugar in scraping 132 BACON or breaking ; the sweat of a horse hard ridden, etc. Men have understood so little of this matter, that most imagine the sparks, struck betwixt a flint and steel, to be air in attrition. But since the air ignites not with heat, yet apparently conceives light, whence owls, cats, and many other creatures see in the night (for there is no vision without light), there must be a native light in air; which, though weak and feeble, is proportioned to the visual organs of such creatures, so as to suffice them for sight. The error, as in most other cases, lies here, that men have not deduced the common forms of things from particular instances, which is what we make the proper business of metaphysics. Therefore, let inquiry be made into the form and origins of light ; and, in the mean time, we set it down as deficient. And so much for the doctrine of the substance of the soul, both rational and sensitive, with its faculties, and the appendages of this doctrine. = bs FIFTH BOOK CHAPTER I Division of the Use and Objects of the Faculties of the Soul into Logic and Ethics. Division of Logic into the Arts of Invention, Judg- ment, Memory, and Tradition HE doctrine of the human understanding, and of the human will, excellent King, are like twins ; for the purity of illumination, and the freedom of will, began and fell together ; nor is there in the universe so intimate a sympathy, as that betwixt truth and goodness. The more shame for men of learning, if in knowledge they are like the winged angels, but in affections like the crawling serpents, having their minds indeed like a mirror ; but a mirror foully spotted. The doctrine of the use and objects of the mental faculties has two parts, well known and generally received; viz., logic and ethics. Logic treats of the understanding and reason, and ethics of the will, appetite, and affections; the one producing resolutions, the other actions. The imagination, indeed, on both sides, performs the office of agent, or ambassador, and as- sists alike in the judicial and ministerial capacity. Sense com- mits all sorts of notions to the imagination, and the reason afterwards judges of them. In like manner reason transmits select and approved notions to the imagination before the de- cree is executed: for imagination always precedes and excites voluntary motion, and is therefore a common instrument, both to the reason and the will, only it has two faces: that turned towards reason bearing the effigy of truth; but that towards action the effigy of goodness ; yet they are faces :— ‘___. qguales decet esse sororum.”—Ovid.a But the imagination is more than a mere messenger; as be- ing invested with, or, at least, usurping no small authority, be- 133 134 BACON sides delivering the message. Thus, Aristotle well observes, that the mind has the same command over the body, as the master over the slave; but reason over the imagination, the same that a magistrate has over a free citizen, who may come to rule in his turn.b For in matters of faith and religion, the imagination mounts above reason. Not that divine illumina- tion is seated in the imagination, but, as in divine virtues, grace makes use of the motions of the will; so in illumination it makes use of the motions of the imagination; whence religion solicits access to the mind, by similitudes, types, parables, dreams, and visions. Again, the imagination has a consider- able sway in persuasion, insinuated by the power of eloquence: for when the mind is soothed, enraged, or any way drawn aside by the artifice of speech, all this is done by raising the imagina- tion; which, now growing unruly, not only insults over, but, in a manner, offers violence to reason, partly by blinding, partly by incensing it. Yet there appears no cause why we should quit our former division: for in general, the imagination does not make the sciences; since even poetry, which has been al- ways attributed to the imagination, should be esteemed rather a play of wit than a science. As for the power of the imagina- tion in natural things, we have already ranged it under the doc- trine of the soul; and for its affinity and rhetoric, we refer it to the art of rhetoric. This part of human philosophy which regards logic, is disa- greeable to the taste of many, as apearing to them no other than a net, and a snare of thorny subtilty. For as knowledge is justly called the food of the mind, so in the desire and choice of this food, most men have the appetite of the Israelites in the wilderness, who, weary of manna, as a thin though celestial diet, would have gladly returned to the fleshpots: thus gener- ally those sciences relish best that are subjective, and nearer related to flesh and blood; as civil history, morality, politics, whereon men’s affections, praises, and fortunes turn, and are employed, whilst the other dry light offends, and dries up the soft and humid capacities of most men. But of we would rate things according to their real worth, the rational sciences are the keys to all the rest; for as the hand is the instrument of instruments, and the mind the form of forms, so the rational sciences are to be esteemed the art of arts. Nor do they direct only, but also strengthen and confirm; as the use and habit ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 135 of shooting not only enables one to shoot nearer the mark, but likewise to draw a stronger bow. The logical arts are four, being divided according to the ends they lead to: for in rational knowledge man endeavors, I. either to find what he seeks ; 2. to judge of what he finds ; 3. to retain what he has approved; or 4. to deliver what he has re- tained: whence there are as many rational arts; viz., 1. the art of inquiry or invention; 2. the art of examination or judging ; 3. the art of custody or memory ; and 4. the art of elocution or delivery. CHAPTER II Division of Invention into the Invention of Arts and Arguments. The former, though the more important of them, is wanting. Division of the Invention of Arts into Literate (Instructed) Experience and a New Method (Novum Organum). An Illustration of Literate Ex- perience Invention is of two very different kinds: the one of arts and sciences, the other of arguments and discourse. The former I set down as absolutely deficient. And this deficiency appears like that, when, in taking the inventory of an estate, there is set down, in cash, nothing: for as ready money will purchase all other commodities, so this art, if extant, would procure all other arts. And as the immense regions of the West Indies had never been discovered, if the use of the compass had not first been known, it is no wonder that the discovery and ad- vancement of arts hath made no greater progress, when the art of inventing and discovering the sciences remains hitherto un- known. That this part of knowledge is wanting, seems clear: for logic professes not, nor pretends to invent, either mechani- cal or liberal arts, nor to deduce the operations of the one, or the axioms of the other; but only leaves us this instruction in passage, to believe every artist in his own art.¢ Celsus, a wise man, as well as a physician, speaking of the empirical and dog- matical sects of physicians, gravely and ingenuously acknowl- edges, that medicines and cures were first discovered, and the reasons and causes of them discoursed afterwards,> not that causes, first derived from the nature of things, gave light to the invention of cures and remedies. And Plato, more than once, observes, that particulars are infinite, that the highest generali- 136 BACON ties give no certain directions ; and, therefore, that the marrow of all sciences, whereby the artist is distinguished from the un- skilful workman, consists in middle propositions, which ex- perience has delivered and taught in each particular science.¢ Hence those who write upon the first inventors of things, and the origin of the sciences, rather celebrate chance than art, and bring in beasts, birds, fishes, and serpents, rather than men, as the first teachers of arts. “ Dictamnum genitrix Cretza carpit ab Ida, Puberibus caulem foliis, et flore comantem Purpureo: non illa feris incognita capris Gramina, cum tergo volucres hesere sagittz.”’—Virgil.d No wonder, therefore, as the manner of antiquity was to con- secrate the inventors of useful things, that the Egyptians, an ancient nation, to which many arts owe their rise, had their tem- ples filled with the images of brutes, and but a few human idols amongst them. “ Omnigentmque Detim monstra et latrator Anubis Contra Neptunum et Venerem, contraque Minervam.”—Virgil.e And if we should, according to the traditions of the Greeks, ascribe the first invention of arts to men, yet we cannot say that Prometheus studied the invention of fire; or that when he first struck the flint he expected sparks, but that he fell upon it by accident, and, as the poets say, stole it from Jupiter. So that as to the invention of arts, we are rather beholden to the wild goat for chirurgery, to the nightingale for music, to the stork for glysters, to the accidental flying off of a pot’s cover for artil- lery, and, in a word, to chance, or anything else, rather than to logic. Nor does the manner of invention, described by Virgil, differ much from the former; viz., that practice and intent thought by degrees struck out various arts. “Ut varias usus meditando extunderet artes Paulatim.”—Virgil.f For this is no other than what brutes are capable of, and fre- quently practise; viz., an intent solicitude about some one thing, and a perpetual exercise thereof, which the necessity of their preservation imposes upon them; for Cicero truly ob- served, that practice applied wholly to one thing, often con- quers both nature and art :—“ Usus uni rei deditus, et naturam ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 137 et artem spe vincit.”g And therefore, if it may be said with regard to men, that continued labor and cogent necessity mas- ter everything, ‘__— Labor omnia vincit Improbus, et duris urgens in rebus egestas;” h so it may be asked with regard to brutes, who taught them in- stinct, “ Quis expedivit Psittaco suum Xajipe ?”’ i Who taught the raven, in a drought, to drop pebbles into a hol- low tree, where she chanced to spy water, that the water might rise for her to drink ? Who taught the bee to sail through the vast ocean of air, to distant fields, and find the way back to her hive?k Who taught the ant to gnaw every grain of corn that she hoards, to prevent its sprouting ? And if we observe in Vir- gil the word extundere, which implies difficulty, and the word paulatim, which imports slowness, this brings us back to the case of the Egyptian gods; since men have hitherto made little use of their rational faculties, and none at all of art, in the inves- tigation of things. And this assertion, if carefully attended to, is proved from the form of logical induction, for finding and examining the principles of the sciences ; which form being absolutely defec- tive and insufficient, is so far from perfecting nature, that it per- verts and distorts her. For whoever attentively observes how the ethereal dew of the sciences, like that of which the poet speaks, “ Aérii mellis ccelestia dona,” / is gathered (the sciences being extracted from particular exam- ples, whether natural or artificial, as from so many flowers), will find that the mind of its own natural motion makes a better in- duction than that described by logicians. From a bare enu- meration of particulars in the logical manner, where there is no contradictory instance, follows a false conclusion; nor does such an induction infer anything more than probable conjec- ture. For who will undertake, when the particulars of a man’s own knowledge or memory appear only on one side, that some- thing directly opposite shall not lie concealed on the other ? as if Samuel should have taken up with the sons of Jesse brought before him, and not have sought David, who was in the field. And to say the truth, as this form of induction is so gross 138 BACON and stupid, it might seem incredible that such acute and subtile geniuses as have been exercised this way, could ever have ob- truded it upon the world, but that they hasted to theories and opinions, and, as it were, disdained to dwell upon particulars ; for they have used examples and particular instances but as whifflers to keep the crowd off and make room for their own opinions, without consulting them from’ the beginning, so as to make a just and mature judgment of the truth of things. And this procedure has, indeed, struck me with an awful and religious wonder, to see men tread the same paths of error, both in divine and human inquiries. For as in receiving divine truths men are averse to become as little children, so in the ap- prehending of human truths, for men to begin to read, and, like children, come back again to the first elements of induction, is reputed a low and contemptible thing. But, allowing the principles of the sciences might be justly formed by the common induction, or by sense and experience, yet it is certain that the lower axioms cannot, in natural things, be with certainty deduced by syllogism from them. For syl- logism reduces propositions to principles by intermediate prop- ositions. And this form, whether of invention or proof, has place in the popular sciences, as ethics, politics, law, etc., and even in divinity, since God has been pleased to accommodate himself to the human capacity; but in physics, where nature is to be caught by works, and not the adversary by argument, truth in this way slips through our fingers, because the subtil- ty of the operations of nature far exceeds the subtilty of words. So that syllogism thus failing, there is everywhere a necessity for employing a genuine and correct induction, as well in the more general principles, as the inferior propositions. For syl- logisms consist of propositions, propositions of words, but words are the signs of notions; wherefore if these notions, which are the souls of words, be unjustly and unsteadily ab- stracted from things, the whole structure must fall. Nor can any laborious subsequent examination of the consequences of arguments, or the truth of propositions, ever repair the ruin; for the error lies in the first digestion, which cannot be rectified by the secondary functions of nature. It was not, therefore, without cause, that many of the ancient philosophers, and some of them eminent in their way, became academics and sceptics, who denied all certainty of human ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 139 knowledge, and held that the understanding went no further than appearance and probability. It is true, some are of opin- ion that Socrates, when he declared himself certain of nothing, did it only in the way of irony, and put on the dissimulation of knowledge, that by renouncing what he certainly knew, he might be thought to know what he was ignorant of. Nor in the latter academy, which Cicero followed, was this opinion held with much reality; but those who excelled in eloquence, commonly chose this sect as the fittest for their purpose, viz., acquiring the reputation of disputing copiously on both sides of the question, thus leaving the high road of truth for private walks of pleasure. Yet it is certain there were some few, both in the old and new academies, but more among the Sceptics, who held this principle of doubting in simplicity and sincerity of heart. But their chief error lay in accusing the perceptions of the senses, and thus plucked up the sciences by their roots. For though the senses often deceive or fail us, yet, when indus- triously assisted, they may suffice for the sciences, and this not so much by the help of instruments, which also have their use, as of such experiments,as may furnish more subtile objects than are perceivable by sense. But they should rather have charged the defects of this kind upon the errors and obstinacy of the mind, which refuses to obey the nature of things; and again, upon corrupt demonstrations, and wrong ways of arguing and concluding, erroneously inferred from the perceptions of sense. And this we say, not to detract from the human mind, or as if the work were to be deserted, but that proper assistances may be procured and administered to the understanding, whereby to conquer the difficulties of things and the obscurities of nat- ture. What we endeavor is, that the mind, by the help of art, may become equal to things, and to find a certain art of indica- tion or direction, to disclose and bring other arts to light, to- gether with their axioms and effects. And this art we, upon just ground, report as deficient. This art of indication has two parts ; for indication proceeds, 1. from experiment to experiment; or 2. from experiments to axioms, which may again point out new experiments. The former we call learned experience, and the latter the interpreta- tion of nature, Novum Organum, or new machine for the mind. The first, indeed, as was formerly intimated, is not properly an art, or any part of philosophy, but a kind of sagacity ; whence 140 BACON we sometimes call it the chase of Pan, borrowing the name from the fable of that god. And as there are three ways of walking, viz., either by feeling out one’s way in the dark; or 2. when be- ing dimsighted, another leads one by the hand; and 3. by di- recting one’s steps by a light ; so when a man tries all kinds of experiments without method or order, this is mere groping in the dark ; but when he proceeds with some direction and order in his experiments, it is as if he were led by the hand; and this we understand by learned experience: but for the light itself, which is the third way, it must be derived from the Novum Organum. The design of learned experience, or the chase of Pan, is to show the various ways of making experiments; and as we note it for deficient, and the thing itself is none of the clearest, we will here give some short sketch of the work. The manner of experimenting chiefly consists in the variation, production, translation, inversion, compulsion, application, conjunction, or any other manner of diversifying, or making chance experi- ments. And all this lies without the limits of any axiom of invention; but the interpretation of nature takes in all the transitions of experiments into axioms, and of axioms into ex- periments. Experiments are varied first in the subject, as when a known experiment, having rested in one certain substance, is tried in another of the like kind; thus the making of paper is hitherto confined to linen, and not applied to silk, unless among the Chinese, nor to hair-stuffs and camblets, nor to cotton and skins; though these three seem to be more unfit for the pur- pose, and so should be tried in mixture rather than separate. Again, engrafting is practised in fruit trees, but rarely in wild ones; yet an elm grafted upon an elm is said to produce great foliage for shade. Incision likewise in flowers is very rare, though now the experiment begins to be made upon musk- roses, which are successfully inoculated upon common ones. We also place the variations on the side of the thing among the variations in the matter. Thus we see a scion grafted upon the trunk of a tree thrives better than if set in earth; and why should not onion-seed set in a green onion grow better than when sown in the ground by itself, a root being here substi- tuted for the trunk, so as to make a kind of incision in the root? An experiment may be varied in the efficient. Thus, as the ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 141 sun’s rays are so contracted by a burning-glass, and heightened to such a degree as to fire any combustible matter, may not the rays of the moon, by the same means, be actuated to some small degree of warmth, so as to show whether all the heavenly bodies are potentially hot? and as luminous heats are thus in- creased by glasses, may not opaque heats, as of stones and metals, before ignition, be increased likewise, or is there not - some proportion of light here also? Amber and jet, chafed, at- tract straws, whence query, if they will not do the same when warmed at the fire? An experiment may be varied in quantity, wherein very great care is required, as being subject to various errors. For men imagine, that upon increasing the quantity the virtue should increase proportionably ; and this they commonly pos- tulate as a mathematical certainty, and yet it is utterly false. Suppose a leaden ball of a pound weight, let fall from a steeple, reaches the earth in ten seconds, will a ball of two pounds, where the power of natural motion, as they call it, should be double, reach it in five ? No, they will fall almost in equal times, and not be accelerated according to quantity. Suppose a dram of sulphur would liquefy half a pound of steel, will, therefore, an ounce of sulphur liquefy four pounds of steel ? It does not follow; for the stubbornness of the matter in the patient is more increased by quantity than the activity of the agent. Besides, too much, as well as too little, may frustrate the effect—thus, in smelting and refining of metals, it is a com- mon error to increase the heat of the furnace or the quantity of the flux ; but if these exceed a due proportion, they prejudice the operation, because by their force and corrosiveness they turn much of the pure metal into fumes, and carry it off, whence there ensues, not only a loss in the metal, but the re- maining mass becomes more sluggish and intractable. Men should therefore remember how A} aabaa N = abbaa W = babaa F = aabab O = abbab X = babab G =>} aabba P = ‘abbba Y =} babba i ==" -aabbb Q = abbbb Z =} babbb Thus, in order to write an A, you write five a’s, or aaaaa ; and to write a B, you write four a’s and one b, or aaaab; and so of the rest, And here, by the way, we gain no small advantage, as this contrivance shows a method of expressing and signifying one’s mind to any distance, by objects that are either visible or audi- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 169 ble—provided only the objects are but capable of two differ- ences, as bells, speaking-trumpets, fireworks, cannon, etc. But for writing, let the included letter be resolved into this biliteral alphabet ; suppose that letter were the word fy, it is thus re- solved : F L Y aabab ababa babba Let there be also at hand two other common alphabets, dif- fering only from each other in the make of their letters ; so that, as well the capital as the small be differently shaped or cut at everyone’s discretion; as thus, for example, in roman and italic; each roman letter constantly representing A, and each italic letter, B. THE FIRST, OR ROMAN ALPHABET A, a H, h | Oo, o Vv, Ov B, b I i eee U, a Eat c K, k Q, q w, w D, d L 1 R;) —-F X, «x E, e M, m Ss, 8s Y gy B ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 205 speech, which may serve indifferently for all subjects; such as prefaces, conclusions, digressions, transitions, etc. For as in building, a good distribution of the frontispiece, staircases, doors, windows, entries, passages, and the like, is not only agreeable but useful; so in speeches, if the accessories or under- parts be decently and skilfully contrived and placed, they are of great ornament and service to the whole structure of the dis- course. Of these forms, we will just propose one example or two; for though they are matters of no small use, yet because here we add nothing of our own, and only take naked forms from Demosthenes, Cicero, or other select authors, they may seem of too trivial a nature to spend time therein. Examples of Lesser Forms A CONCLUSION IN THE DELIBERATIVE So the past fault may be at once amended, and future incon- venience. prevented. COROLLARY OF AN EXACT DIVISION That all may see I would conceal nothing by silence, nor cloud anything by words. A TRANSITION, WITH A CAVEAT But let us leave the subject for the present, still reserving to ourselves the liberty of a retrospection. A PREPOSSESSION AGAINST AN INVETERATE OPINION I will let you understand to the full what sprung from the thing itself, what error has tacked to it, and what envy has raised upon it. And these few examples may serve to show our meaning as to the lesser forms of speech. CHAPTER IV Two General Appendices to Tradition, viz., the Arts of Teaching and Criticism There remain two general appendages to the doctrine of de- livery ; the one relating to criticism, the other to school-learn- ing. For as the principal part of traditive prudence turns upon the writing; so its relative turns upon the reading of books. 206 BACON Now reading is either regulated by the assistance of a master, or left to everyone’s private industry; but both depend upon criticism and school-learning. Criticism regards, first, the exact correcting and publishing of approved authors; whereby the honor of such authors is pre- served, and the necessary assistance afforded to the reader. Yet the misapplied labors and industry of some have in this re- spect proved highly prejudicial to learning; for many critics have a way, when they fall upon anything they do not under- stand, of immediately supposing a fault in the copy. Thus, in that passage of Tacitus, where a certain colony pleads a right of protection in the senate, Tacitus tells us they were not favor- ably heard; so that the ambassadors distrusting their cause, endeavored to procure the favor of Titus Vinius by a present, and succeeded; upon which Tacitus has these words: “Tum dignitas et antiquitas coloniz valuit:” “Then the honor and antiquity of the colony had weight,” in allusion to the sum re- ceived.2 But a considerable critic here expunges “tum,” and substitutes “tanttim,” which quite corrupts the sense. And from this ill practice of the critics, it happens that the most cor- rected copies are often the least correct. And to say the truth, unless a critic is well acquainted with the sciences treated in the books he publishes, his diligence will be attended with danger. A second thing belonging to criticism is the explanation and illustration of authors, comments, notes, collections, etc. But here an ill custom has prevailed among the critics of skipping over the obscure passages, and expatiating upon such as are sufficiently clear, as if their design were not so much to illus- trate their author, as to take all occasions of showing their own learning and reading. It were therefore to be wished, that every original writer who treats an obscure or noble subject, would add his own explanations to his own work, so as to keep the text continued and unbroken by digressions or illustrations, and thus prevent any wrong interpretation by the notes of others. , Thirdly, there belongs to criticism the thing from whence its name is derived; viz., a certain concise judgment or censure of the authors published, and a comparison of them with other writers who have treated the same subject. Whence the stu- dent may be directed in the choice of his books, and come the better prepared to their perusal; and this seems to be the ulti- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 207 mate office of the critic, and has indeed been honored by some greater men in our age than critics are usually thought. For the doctrine of school-learning, it were the shortest way to refer it to the Jesuits, who, in point of usefulness, have here- in excelled; yet we will lay down a few admonitions about it. We highly approve the education of youth in colleges, and not wholly in private houses or schools. For in colleges, there is not only a greater emulation of the youth among their equals, but the teachers have a venerable aspect and gravity, which greatly conduces towards insinuating a modest behavior, and the forming of tender minds from the first, according to such examples ; and besides these, there are many other advantages of a collegiate education. But for the order and manner of dis- cipline, it is of capital use to avoid too concise methods and too hasty an opinion of learning, which give a pertness to the mind, and rather make a show of improvement than procure it. But excursions of genius are to be somewhat favored; so that if a scholar perform his usual exercises, he may be suffered to steal time for other things whereto he is more inclined. It must also be carefully noted, though it has, perhaps, hitherto escaped observation, that there are two correspondent ways of inuring, exercising, and preparing the genius; the one begin- ning with the easier, leads gradually on to more difficult things; and the other, commanding and imposing such as are the harder at first; so that when these are obtained, the easier may be more agreeably despatched. For it is one method to be- gin swimming with bladders, and another to begin dancing with loaded shoes. Nor is it easy to see how much a prudent intermixture of these two ways contributes to improve the fac- ulties both of body and mind. Again, the suiting of studies to the genius is of singular use; which masters should duly attend to, that the parent may thence consider what kind of life the child is fittest for. And further, it must be carefully observed, not only that everyone makes much greater progress in those things whereto he is naturally inclined, but also, that there are certain remedies in a proper choice of studies for particular in- dispositions of mind. For example, inattention and a volatil- ity of genius may be remedied by mathematics, wherein, if the mind wander ever so little, the whole demonstration must be begun anew. Exercises, also, are of great efficacy in teaching, but few have observed that these should not only be prudently 208 BACON appointed, but prudently changed. For, as Cicero well re- marks, ‘‘ Faults, as well as faculties, are generally exercised in exercises”; whence a bad habit is sometimes acquired and in- sinuated together with a good one. It is therefore safer that exercises should be intermitted, and now and then repeated, than always continued and followed. These things, indeed, may at first sight appear light and trivial, yet they are highly effectual and advantageous. For as the great increase of the Roman empire has been justly attributed to the virtue and prudence of those six rulers, who had, as it were, the tuition of it in its youth, so proper discipline, in tender years, has such a power, though latent and unobserved, as neither time nor future labor can any way subdue in our riperage. It also deserves to be remarked, that even ordinary talents in great men, used on great occa- sions, may sometimes produce remarkable effects. And of this we will give an eminent instance, the rather because the Jesuits judiciously retain the discipline among them. And though the thing itself be disreputable in the profession of it, yet it is excel- lent as a discipline; we mean the action of the theatre, which strengthens the memory, regulates the tone of the voice and the efficacy of pronunciation; gracefully composes the counte- nance and the gesture; procures a becoming degree of assur- ance; and lastly, accustoms youth to the eye of men. The ex- ample we borrow from Tacitus, of one Vibulenus, once a player, but afterwards a soldier in the Pannonian army. This fellow, upon the death of Augustus, raised a mutiny; so that Blesus, the lieutenant, committed some of the mutineers; but the sol- diers broke open the prison and released them. Upon which, Vibulenus thus harangued the army: “ You,” says he, “ have restored light and life to these poor innocents; but who gives _ back life to my brother, or my brother to me? He was sent to you from the German army for a common good, and that man murdered him last night, by the hands of his gladiators, whom he keeps about him to murder the soldiers. Answer, Blesus, where hast thou thrown his corpse ? Even enemies refuse not the right of burial. When I shall, with tears and em- braces, have performed my duty to him, command me also to death ; but let our fellow-soldiers bury us, who are murdered only for our love to the legions.” b With which words, he raised such a storm of consternation and revenge in the army, that unless the thing had presently appeared to be all a fiction, ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 209 and that the fellow never had a brother, the soldiers might have murdered their leader ; but he acted the whole as a part upon the stage. And thus much for the logical sciences. We now come to that portion of our treatise which we have allotted to rational knowledge. Let no one, however, think that we hold the received division of the sciences of small ac- count, because we have wandered out of the beaten paths. In so digressing we have been influenced by a twofold necessity— First, to unite two methods, which both in their end and nature are altogether different, viz., the ranging in the same class those things which are naturally related to each other, and to throw into one heap all those things which are likely to be called im- mediately into use. Thus, as a secretary of a prince or of some civil department ranges his papers according to their distinct heads—treaties, instructions, foreign and domestic letters— each occupying a separate corner of his study, and yet does not fail to collect in some particular cabinet those papers he is likely to use together, so in this general cabinet of knowledge we have selected our divisions according to the nature of things them- selves; but if any particular science required to be treated at length, we have followed those divisions which are most con- formable to use and practice. The second necessity arose from supplying the addenda to the sciences, and reducing them to an entire body, which completely changed the old boundaries. For, say that the existing arts are fifteen in number, and that the deficiencies increase the number to twenty, as the parts of fifteen are not the parts of twenty, two, four, and three being prime numbers in each, it is plain that a new division was forced upon us. 14 SEVENTH BOOK CHAP « Ethics divided into the Doctrine of Models and the Georgics (Culture) of the Mind. Division of Models into the Absolute and Compar- ative Good. Absolute Good divided into Personal and National E next, excellent King, proceed to ethics, which has \) \ the human will for its subject. Reason governs the will, but apparent good seduces it: its motives are the affections, and its ministers the organs and voluntary mo- tions. It is of this doctrine that Solomon says, “ Keep thy heart with all diligence,¢ for out of it are the actions of life.” The writers upon this science appear like writing-masters, who lay before their scholars a number of beautiful copies, but give them no directions how to guide their pen or shape their let- ters; for so the writers upon ethics have given us shining draughts, descriptions, and exact images of goodness, virtue, duties, happiness, etc., as the true objects and scope of the human will and desire; but for obtaining these excellent and well-described ends, or by what means the mind may be broke and fashioned for obtaining them, they either touch this sub- ject not at all or slightly. We may dispute as much as we please, that moral virtues are in the human mind by habit, not by nature; that generous spirits are led by reason, but the herd by reward and punishment; that the mind must be set straight, like a crooked stick, by bending it the contrary way, etc.6 But nothing of this kind of glance-and-touch can in any way supply the want of the thing we are now in quest of. The cause of this neglect I take to be that latent rock whereon so many of the sciences have split, viz., the aversion that writers have to treat of trite and vulgar matters, which are neither subtle enough for dispute nor eminent enough for ornament. It is not easy to see how great a misfortune hath proceeded hence— that men, through natural pride and vain-glory, should choose 210 ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 2u1 such subjects and methods of treating them, as may rather show their own capacities, than be of use to the reader. Sen- eca says excellently, ““ Eloquence is hurtful to those it inspires with a desire of itself, and not of things ” ;¢ for writings should make men in love with the subject, and not with the writer. They, therefore, take the just course who can say of their coun- sels as Demosthenes did—*“ If you put these things in execu- tion, you shall not only praise the orator for the present, but yourselves also soon after, when your affairs are in a better pos- ture.”¢ As for myself, excellent King, to speak the truth, I have frequently neglected the glory of my order, name, and learning, both in the works I now publish and those which I have already designed to execute, in following out my direct purpose of advancing the happiness of mankind; so that I may fairly say, though marked out by nature to be the architect of philosophy and the sciences, I have submitted to become a common workman and laborer, there being many mean things necessary to the erection of the structure, which others, out of a natural disdain, refused to attend to. But in ethics the phi- losophers have culled out a certain splendid mass of matter, wherein they might principally show their force of genius or power of eloquence; but for other things that chiefly conduce to practice, as they could not be so gracefully set off, they have entirely neglected them. Yet so many eminent men, surely, ought not to have despaired of a like success with Virgil, who procured as much glory for eloquence, ingenuity, and learning, by explaining the homely observations of agriculture as in re- lating the heroic acts of Aeneas— “ Nec sum animi dubius, verbis ea vincere magnum Quam sit, et angustis hunc addere rebus honorem.”—Virgil.¢ And certainly, if men were bent, not upon writing at leisure what may be read at leisure, but really to cultivate and improve active life, the georgics of the mind ought to be as highly valued as those heroical portraits of virtue, goodness, and hap- piness wherein so much pains have been taken. We divide ethics into two principal doctrines—the one of the model or image of good, the other of the regulation and culture of the mind, which I commonly express by the word georgics. The first describes the nature of good, and the other prescribes rules for conforming the mind to it. The doctrine of the image 212 | BACON of good, in describing the nature of good, considers it either as simple or compounded, and either as to the kinds or degrees thereof. In the latter of these, the Christian faith has at length abolished those infinite disputes and speculations as to the su- preme degree of good, called happiness, blessedness, or the “summum bonum,” which was a kind of heathen theology. For, as Aristotle said, “ Youth might be happy, though only in hope” ;# so, according to the direction of faith, we must put ourselves in the state of minors, and think of no other felicity, but that founded in hope. Being, therefore, thus delivered from this ostentatious heaven of the heathens, who, following Seneca, “ Vere magnum habere fragilitatem hominis, securita- tem Dei,’g exaggerated the perfectibility of man’s nature—we may, with less offence to truth and sobriety, receive much of what they deliver about the image of good. As for the nature of positive and simple good, they have certainly drawn it beau- tifully and according to the life, in several pieces exactly repre- senting the form of virtue and duty—their order, kinds, rela- tions, parts, subjects, provinces, actions, and dispensations. And all this they have recommended and insinuated to the mind with great vivacity and subtilty of argument, as well as sweet- ness of persuasion, at the same time faithfully guarding, as much as was possible by words, against depraved and popular errors and insults. And in deducing the nature of compara- tive good, they have not been wanting, but appointed three orders thereofi—they have compared contemplative and active life together ;/ distinguished between virtue with reluctance, and virtue secured and confirmed ; represented the conflict be- twixt honor and advantage; balanced the virtues, to show which overweighed, and the like—so that this part of the image of good is already nobly executed; and herein the ancients have shown wonderful abilities. Yet the pious and strenuous diligence of the divines, exercised in weighing and determining studies, moral virtues, cases of conscience, and fixing the bounds of sin, have greatly exceeded them. But if the philoso- phers, before they descended to the popular and received no- tions of virtue and vice, pain and pleasure, etc., had dwelt longer upon discovering the roots and fibres of good and evil, they would, doubtless, have thus gained great light to their sub- sequent inquiries, especially if they had consulted the nature of things, as well as moral axioms, they would have shortened ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 213 their doctrines and laid them deeper. But as they have entirely omitted this or confusedly touched it, we will here briefly touch it over again, and endeavor to open and cleanse the springs of morality, before we come to the georgics of the mind, which we set down as deficient. All things are indued with an appetite to two kinds of good —the one as the thing is a whole in itself, the other as it is a part of some greater whole ; and this latter is more worthy and more powerful than the other, as it tends to the conservation of a more ample form. The first may be called individual or self- good, and the latter, good of communion. Iron, by a particu- lar property, moves to the loadstone, but if the iron be heavy, it drops its affection to the loadstone and tends to the earth, which is the proper region of such ponderous bodies. Again, though dense and heavy bodies tend to the earth, yet rather than nature will suffer a separation in the continuity of things, and leave a vacuum, as they speak, these heavy bodies will be carried upwards, and forego their affection to the earth, to per- form their office to the world. And thus it generally happens, that the conservation of the more general form regulates the lesser appetites. But this prerogative of the good of commun- ion is more particularly impressed upon man, if he be not de- generate, according to that remarkable saying of Pompey, who, being governor of the city purveyance at a time of famine in Rome, and entreated by his friends not to venture to sea whilst a violent storm was impending, answered, “ My going is neces- sary, but not my life”;% so that the desire of life, which is greatest in the individual, did not with him outweigh his affec- tion and fidelity to the state. But no philosophy, sect, religion, law, or discipline, in any age, has so highly exalted the good of communion, and so far depressed the good of individuals, as the Christian faith; whence it may clearly appear that one and the same God gave those laws of nature to the creatures and the Christian law to men. And hence we read that some of the elect and holy men, in an ecstacy of charity and impatient desire of the good of communion, rather wished their names blotted out of the book of life than that their brethren should miss of salvation. This being once laid down and firmly established, will put an end to some of the soberest controversies in moral philosophy. And first, it determines that question about the preference of 214 BACON a contemplative to an active life, against the opinion of Aristo- tle; as all the reasons he produces for a contemplative life regard only private good, and the pleasure or dignity of an indi- vidual person, in which respects the contemplative life is doubt- less best, and like the comparison made by Pythagoras,! to as- sert the honor and reputation of philosophy, when being asked by Hiero who he was, he answered, “ 1 am a looker-on; for as at the Olympic games some come to try for the prize, others to sell, others to meet their friends and be merry, but others again come merely as spectators, I am one of the latter.” But men ought to know that in the theatre of human life it is only for God and angels to be spectators. Nor could any doubt about this matter have arisen in the Church, if a monastic life had been merely contemplative and unexercised in ecclesiastical duties— as continual prayer, the sacrifice of vows, oblations to God, and the writing of theological books, for propagating the Divine law—as Moses retired in the solitude of the mount, and Enoch, the seventh from Adam, who, though the Scripture says he walked with God, intimating he was the first founder of the spiritual life, yet enriched the Church with a book of prophe- cies cited by St. Jude. But fora mere contemplative life, which terminates in itself, and sends out no rays either of heat or light into human society, theology knows it not. It also determines the question that has been so vehemently controverted between the schools of Zeno and Socrates on the one side, who placed felicity in virtue, simple or adorned, and many other sects and schools on the other—as particularly the schools of the Cyrenaics and Epicureans, who placed felicity in pleasure ; thus making virtue a mere handmaid, without which pleasure could not be well served. Of the same side is also that other school of Epicurus, as on the reformed establishment, which declared felicity to be nothing but tranquillity and seren- ity of mind. With these also joined the exploded school of Pyrrho and Herillus, who placed felicity in an absolute exemp- tion from scruples, and the allowing no fixed and constant nat- ure of good and evil, but accounting all actions virtuous or vic- ious, as they proceed from the mind by a pure and undisturbed motion, or with aversion and reluctance. But it is plain that all things of this kind relate to private tranquillity and complac- ency of mind, and by no means to the good of communion. Again, upon the foundation above laid we may confute the ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 215 philosophy of Epictetus, which rests upon supposing felicity placed in things within our power, lest we should otherwise be exposed to fortune and contingence, as if it were not much happier to fail of success in just and honorable designs, when that failure makes for the public good, than to secure an unin- terrupted enjoyment of those things which make only for our private fortune. Thus Gonsalvo, at the head of his army, point- ing to Naples, nobly protested he had much rather, by advanc- ing a step, meet certain death, than by retiring a step prolong his life. And to this agrees the wise king, who pronounces “a good conscience to be a continual feast ” ;» thereby signifying that the consciousness of good intentions, however unsuccess- ful, affords a joy more real, pure, and agreeable to nature, than all the other means that can be furnished, either for obtaining one’s desires or quieting the mind. It likewise censures that abuse which prevailed about the time of Epictetus, when philosophy was turned into a certain art or profession of life, as if its design were not to com- pose and quiet troubles, but to avoid and remove the causes and occasions thereof, whence a particular regimen was to be en- tered into for obtaining this end, by introducing such a kind of health into the mind as was that of Herodicus in the body, men- tioned by Aristotle,o whilst he did nothing all his life long but take care of his health, and therefore abstained from numberless things, which almost deprived him of the use of his body ; ' whereas, if men were determined to perform the duties of soci- ety, that kind of bodily health is most desirable which is able to suffer and support all sorts of attacks and alterations. In the same manner, that mind is truly sound and strong which is able to break through numerous and great temptations and dis- orders ; whence Diogenes seems to have justly commended the habit which did not warily abstain, but courageously sustain ? —which could check the sallies of the soul on the steepest preci- pice, and make it, like a well-broken horse, stop and turn at the shortest warning. Lastly, it reproves that delicacy and unsociable temper ob- served in some of the most ancient philosophers of great repute, who too effeminately withdrew from civil affairs, in order to prevent indignities and trouble to themselves, and live the more free and unspotted in their own opinions ; as to which point the resolution of a true moralist should be such as Gonsalvo re- 216 BACON quired of a soldier—viz., ““ Not to weave his honor so fine, as for everything to catch and rend it.” CHAPTER At Division of Individual Good into Active and Passive. That of Passive Good into Conservative and Perfective. Good of the Common- wealth divided into General and Respective We divide individual or self-good into active and passive. This difference of good is also found impressed upon the nature of all things, but principally shows itself in two appetites of the creatures; viz., I. That of self-preservation and defence; and 2. That of multiplying and propagating. The latter, which is active, seems stronger and more worthy than the former, which is passive; for throughout the universe the celestial nature is the principal agent, and the terrestrial the patient; and in the pleasures of animals that of generation is greater than that of feeding; and the Scripture says, “ It is more blessed to give than to receive.”’@ And even in common life, no man is so soft and effeminate, as not to prefer the performing and perfecting of anything he had set his mind upon before sensual pleasures. The pre-eminence of active good is also highly exalted from the consideration of the state of mankind, which is mortal and sub- ject to fortune; for if perpetuity and certainty could be had in human pleasures, this would greatly enhance them; but as the case now stands, when we count it a happiness to die late, when we cannot boast of to-morrow, when we know not what a day may bring forth, no wonder if we earnestly endeavor after such things as elude the injuries of time; and these can be no other than our works. Accordingly it is said, “ Their works follow them.” b Another considerable pre-eminence of active good is given it, and supported by that inseparable affection of human nature— the love of novelty or variety. But this affection is greatly lim- ited in the pleasures of the senses, which make the greatest part of passive good. To consider how often the same things come over in life—as meals, sleep, and diversion—it might make not only a resolute, a wretched, or a wise, but even a delicate person wish to die.c But in actions, enterprises, and desires, there is a remarkable variety, which we perceive with great pleasure, ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 217 whilst we begin, advance, rest, go back to recruit, approach, obtain, etc.: whence it is truly said, “ That life without pursuit is a vague and languid thing ” ; d and this holds true both of the wise and unwise indifferently. So Solomon says, “ Even a brain-sick man seeks to satisfy his desire, and meddles in every- thing.”e And thus the most potent princes, who have all things at command, yet sometimes choose to pursue low and empty desires, which they prefer to the greatest affluence of sensual pleasures: thus Nero delighted in the harp, Commodus in fenc- ing, Antonius in racing, etc. So much more pleasing is it to be active than in possession ! It must, however, be well observed, that active, individual good differs entirely from the good of communion, notwith- standing they may sometimes coincide; for, although this in- dividual active good often produces works of beneficence, which is a virtue of communion, yet herein they differ, that these works are performed by most men, not with a design to assist or benefit others, but wholly for their own gratification or honor, as plainly appears when active good falls upon any- thing contrary to the good of communion; for that gigantic passion wherewith the great disturbers of the world are carried away, as in the case of Sylla and others, who would render all their friends happy and all their enemies miserable, and endea- vor to make the world carry their image, which is really war- ring against heaven—this passion, I say, aspires to an active in- dividual good, at least in appearance, though it be infinitely different from the good of communion. We divide passive good into conservative and perfective ; for everything has three kinds of appetite with regard to its own individual good—the first to preserve itself, the second to per- fect itself, and the third to multiply and diffuse itself. The last relates to active good, of which we have spoken already ; and of the other two the perfective is the most excellent ; for it is a less matter to preserve a thing in its state, and a greater to exalt its nature. But throughout the universe are found some nobler natures, to the dignity and excellence whereof inferior ones aspire, as to their origins ;—whence the poet said well of man- kind, that “ they have an ethereal vigor and a celestial origin ” : “Teneus est ollis vigor et ccelestis origo;” f for the perfection of the human form consists in approaching 218 BACON the Divine or angelic nature. The corrupt and preposterous imitation of this perfective good is the pest of human life, and the storm that overturns and sweeps away all things, whilst men, instead of a true and essential exaltation, fly with blind ambition only to a local one; for as men in sickness toss and roll from place to place, as if by change of situation they could get away from themselves, or fly from the disease, so in ambi- tion, men hurried away with a false imagination of exalting their own nature, obtain no more than change of place or emi- nence of post. Conservative good is the receiving and enjoying things agreeable to our nature; and this good, though it be the most simple and natural, yet of all others it seems the lowest and most effeminate. It is also attended with a difference, about which the judgment of mankind has been partly unsettled and the inquiry partly neglected; for the dignity and recommen- dation of the good of fruition or pleasure, as it is commonly called, consists either in the reality or strength thereof—the one being procured by uniformity, and the other by variety. The one has a less mixture of evil, the other a stronger and more lively impression of good: which of these is the best, is the question ; but whetlier human nature be not capable of both at once, has not been examined. As for the question, it began to be debated between Socrates and a Sophist. Socrates asserted that felicity lay in a constant peace and tranquillity of mind, but the Sophist placed it in great appetite and great fruition. From reasoning they fell to rail- ing, when the Sophist said, the felicity of Socrates was the felic- ity of a stock or a stone; Socrates, on the other hand, said, the felicity of the Sophist was the felicity of one who is always itch- ing and always scratching. And both opinions have their sup- porters ; g for the school even of Epicurus, which allowed that virtue greatly conduced to felicity, is on the side of Socrates ; and if this be the case, certainly virtue is more useful in appeas- ing disorders than in obtaining desires. The Sophist’s opinion is somewhat favored by the assertion above mentioned, viz., that perfective good is superior to conservative good, because every obtaining of a desire seems gradually to perfect nature, which, though not strictly true, yet a circular motion has some appearance of a progressive one. As for the other point, whether human nature is not at the ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 219 same time capable, both of tranquillity and fruition, a just deter- mination of it will render the former question unnecessary. And do we not often see the minds of men so framed and dis- posed, as to be greatly affected with present pleasures, and yet quietly suffer the loss of them ?—Whence that philosophical progression, “ Use not, that you may not wish; wish not, that you may not fear,” seems an indication of a weak, diffident, and timorous mind. And, indeed, most doctrines of the philoso- phers appear to be too distrustful, and to take more care of mankind than the nature of the thing requires. Thus they in- crease the fears of death by the remedies they bring against it; for whilst they make the life of man little more than a prepara- tion and discipline for death, it is impossible but the enemy must appear terrible, when there is no end of the defence to be made against him. The poet did better for a heathen, who placed the end of life among the privileges of nature— “ Qui spatium vite extremum inter munera ponat Naturz.”—Juvenal.4 Thus the philosophers, in all cases, endeavor to render the mind too uniform and harmonical, without inuring it to extreme and contrary motions; and the reason seems to be, that they give themselves up to a private life, free from disquiet and sub- jection to others; whereas men should rather imitate the pru- dence of a lapidary, who, finding a speck or a cloud in a dia- mond, that may be ground out without too much waste, takes it away, or otherwise leaves it untouched; and so the serenity of the mind is to be consulted without impairing its greatness. And thus much for the doctrine of self-good. The good of communion, which regards society, usually goes by the name of duty, a word that seems more properly used of a mind well disposed towards others; whilst the term virtue is used of a mind well formed and composed within itself. Duty, indeed, seems at first to be of political consideration ; but if thoroughly weighed, it truly relates to the rule and govern- ment of one’s self, not others. And as in architecture it is one thing to fashion the pillars, rafters, and other parts of the build- ing, and prepare them for the work, and another to fit and join them together, so the doctrine of uniting mankind in society differs from that which renders them conformable and well affected to the benefits of society. bea BACON This part concerning duties is likewise divided into two— the one treating of the duties of man in common, and the other of respective duties, according to the profession, vocation, state, person, and degree of particulars. The first of these, we before observed, has been sufficiently cultivated and explained by the ancient and later writers. The other also has been touched here and there, though not digested and reduced into any body of science. We do not, however, except to its being treated piecemeal, as judging it the best way to write upon this subject in separate parts ; for who will pretend he can justly discourse and define upon the peculiar and relative duties of all orders and conditions of men ? But for treatises upon this subject, which have no tincture of experience, and are only drawn from gen- eral and scholastic knowledge, they commonly prove empty and useless performances; for though a bystander may some- times see what escaped the player, and although it be a kind of proverb, more bold and true with regard to prince and people, “that a spectator in the valley takes the best view of a moun- tain,” yet it were greatly to be wished that none but the most experienced men would write upon subjects of this kind; for the contemplations of speculative men in active matters appear no better to those who have been conversant in-business than the dissertations of Phormio upon war appeared to Hannibal, who esteemed them but as dreams and dotage. One fault, however, dwells with such as write upon things belonging to their own office or art, viz., that they hold no mean in recom- mending and extolling them. In speaking of books of this kind, it would indeed be sacri- lege in me to omit mention of your Majesty’s excellent work onthe duty ofaking. This work incloses the leading treasures of divinity, politics, and ethics, besides a sprinkling of all other arts; and I am not afraid to pronounce it one of the soundest and most profitable works I have ever read. It does not swell with the heat of invention, or flag with the coldness of negli- gence. The author is nowhere seized with that dizziness which confuses his sight of the main subject, and consequently avoids those digressions which, by a sort of circuitous method, des- cants on matter foreign to the purpose. Neither are its pages disfigured with the arts of rhetorical perfumes and paintings, designed rather to please the reader than to corroborate the ar- gument. But they contain life and spirit, as well as solidity and eal ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 221 bulk, containing excellent precepts, adapted as well to theoreti- cal truth as to the expediency of use and action. The work is also entirely exempt from that vice even more censured, and which, if it were tolerable, it were so in kings, and in works on regal majesty, viz., that it does not exaggerate the privileges of the crown or invidiously exalt their power. For your Majesty has not described a king of Persia or Assyria, shining forth in all his pomp and glory, but a Moses and a David, pastors as well as rulers of their people. Nor can I forget that memo- rable saying which your Majesty delivered on an important point of judicature—That kings rule by the laws of their king- doms, as God by the laws of nature, and ought as rarely to exer- cise their prerogative, which transcends law, as God exercises his power of working miracles. And in your Majesty’s other book on a free monarchy, you give all men to understand that your Majesty knows and comprehends the plenitude of the re- gal power, as well as its limits; I, therefore, have not shrunk from citing this book as one of the best treatises ever published upon particular and respective duties. I can only assure your Majesty, that had the book been a thousand years in existence it would not have lost any of the praises I have bestowed upon it; nor am I prescribed by the adage which forbids praise in presence ; since this rule of decorum applies only to unseason- able and excessive eulogy. Surely Cicero, in his excellent ora- tion in defence of Marcellus, is only bent upon drawing a pict- ure with singular art, of Czsar’s virtues, though in his presence, as the second Pliny did for Trajan. But let us proceed with our subject. To this part of the respective duties of vocations and partic- ular professions belongs another, as a doctrine relative or op- posite to it, viz., the doctrine of cautions, frauds, impostures, and their vices ; for corruptions and vices are opposite to duties and virtues; not but some mention is already made of them in writings, though commonly but cursorily and satirically, rather than seriously and gravely ; for more labor is bestowed in invidiously reprehending many good and useful things in arts and exposing them to ridicule, than in separating what is corrupt and vicious therein from what is sound and serviceable. Solomon says excellently, “ A scorner seeks wisdom, and finds it not; but knowledge is easy to him that understands ” ;i for whoever comes to a science with an intent to deride and despise, 222 BACON will doubtless find things enough to cavil at, and few to improve by. But the serious and prudent treatment of the subject we speak of may be reckoned among the strongest bulwarks of virtue and probity ; for as it is fabulously related of the basilisk, that if he sees a man first, the man presently dies; but if the man has the first glance, he kills the basilisk ; so frauds, impos- tures, and tricks do not hurt, if first discovered; but if they strike first, it is then they become dangerous, and not other- wise: hence we are beholden to Machiavel, and writers of that kind, who openly and unmasked declare what men do in fact, and not what they ought to do; for it is impossible to join the wisdom of the serpent and the innocence of the dove, without a previous knowledge of the nature of evil; as without this, virtue lies exposed and unguarded. And further, a good and just man cannot correct and amend the vicious and the wicked, unless he has first searched into all the depths and dungeons of wickedness; for men of a corrupt and depraved judgment ever suppose that honesty proceeds from ignorance, or a cer- tain simplicity of manners, and is rooted only in a belief of our tutors, instructors, books, moral precepts, and vulgar dis- course, whence—unless they plainly perceive that their per- verse opinions, their corrupt and distorted principles, are thor- oughly known to those who exhort and admonish them as well as to themselves—they despise all wholesome advice; accord- ing to that admirable saying of Solomon, “ A fool receives not the words of the wise, unless thou speakest the very things that are in his heart.” And this part of morality, concerning cau- tions and respective vice, we set down as wanting, under the name of sober satire, or the insides of things. To the doctrine of respective duties belong also the mutual duties between husband and wife, parent and child, master and servant, as also the laws of friendship, gratitude, and the civil obligations of fraternities, colleges, neighborhoods, and the like, always understanding that these things are to be treated, not as parts of civil society, in which view they belong to poli- tics, but so far as the minds of particulars ought to be instructed and disposed to preserve these bonds of society. The doctrine of the good of communion, as well as of self- good, treats good not only simply, but comparatively, ‘and thus regards the balancing of duty betwixt man and man, case and case, private and public, present and future, etc—as we may as hot nee ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 223 observe in the cruel conduct of Lucius Brutus to his own sons, which by the generality was extolled to the skies; yet another ? “ Infelix, utcunque ferent ea facta minores.”—Virgil./ So in the discourse betwixt Brutus, Cassius, and others, as to the conspiracy against Cesar, the question was artfully intro- duced whether it were lawful to kill a tyrant; the company divided in their opinions about it, some saying it was lawful, and that slavery was the greatest of evils; others denying it, and asserting tyranny to be less destructive than civil war, whilst a third kind, as if followers of Epicurus, made it an un- worthy thing that wise men should endanger themselves for fools. But the cases of comparative duties are numerous, among which this question frequently occurs, whether justice may be strained for the safety of one’s country, or the like con- siderable good in future ? as to which Jason the Thessalian used to say, Some things must be done unjustly, that many more may be done justly. But the answer is ready—Present justice is in our power, but of future justice we have no security: let men pursue those things which are good and just at pres- ent, and leave futurity to Divine providence» And thus much for the doctrine of the image of good. CHAPTER III The Culture of the Mind divided into the Knowledge of Characteristic Differences of Affections, of Remedies and Cures. Appendix re- lating to the Harmony between the Pleasures of the Mind and the Body We next proceed to the cultivation of the mind, without which the preceding part of morality is no more than an image or beautiful statue, without life or motion. Aristotle expressly acknowledges as much—“ It is, therefore, necessary,” says he, “to speak of virtue, what it is, and whence it proceeds; for it were in a manner useless to know virtue, and yet be ignorant of the ways to acquire her.”@ Concerning virtue, therefore, we must ascertain both what kind it is and by what means it may be acquired ; for we desire a knowledge of the thing itself and the manner of procuring its pleasures.b6 And though he has more than once repeated the same thing, yet himself does 224 BACON not pursue it. And so Cicero gives it as a high commendation to the younger Cato, that he embraced philosophy, not for the sake of disputing, as most do, but of living philosophically.c And though at present few have any great regard to the culti- vation and discipline of the mind and a regular course of life, as Seneca phrases it—*De partibus vite quisque deliberat, desum- ma nemo ” d—whence this part may appear superfluous, yet we cannot be persuaded to leave it untouched, but rather conclude with the aphorism of Hippocrates, that those who labor under a violent disease, yet seem insensible of their pain, are dis- ordered in their mind. And men in this case want not only a method of cure, but a particular remedy, to bring them to their senses. If any one shall object, that the cure of the mind is the office of divinity, we allow it; yet nothing excludes moral phi- losophy from the train of theology, whereto it is as a prudentand faithful handmaid, attending and administering to all its wants. But though, as the Psalmist observes, “ the eyes of the maid are perpetually waiting on the hands of the mistress,”e yet doubt- less many things must be left to the care and judgment of the servant. So ethics ought to be entirely subservient to theol- ogy, and obedient to the precepts thereof, though it may still contain many wholesome and useful instructions within its own limits. And therefore, when we consider the excellence of this part of morality, we cannot but greatly wonder it is not hitherto reduced to a body of doctrine, which we are obliged to note as deficient ; and shall therefore give some sketch for supplying it. And first, as in all cases of practice, we must here distinguish the things in our power, and those that are not; for the one may be altered, whilst the other can only be applied. Thus the farmer has no command over the nature of the soil, or the sea- sons of the year; nor the physician over the constitution of the patient, or the variety of accidents. In the cultivation of the mind, and the cure of its diseases, there are three things to be considered ; viz., 1. the different dispositions ; 2. the affections ; and 3. the remedies: answering in physic to the constitution, the distemper, and the medicines. And of these three, only the last isin our power. Yet we ought as carefully to inquire into the things that are not in our power, as into those that are; because a clear and exact knowledge thereof is to be made the foundation of the doctrine of remedies, in order to their more SES ae RAE ,/ Ae ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 225 commodious and successful application. For clothes cannot be made to fit, unless the measure of the body be first taken. The first article, therefore, of the culture of the mind, will regard the different natures or dispositions of men. But here we speak not of the vulgar propensities to virtues and vices, or perturbations and passions, but of such as are more internal and radical. And I cannot sometimes but wonder that this par- ticular should be so generally neglected by the writers both of morality and politics; whereas it might afford great light to both these sciences. In astrological traditions, the natures and dispositions of men are tolerably distinguished according to the influences of the planets ; whence some are said to be by nature formed for contemplation, others for politics, others for war, etc. So, likewise, among the poets of all kinds, we everywhere find characters ot natures, though commonly drawn with ex- cess, and exceeding the limits of nature. And this subject of the different characters of dispositions is one of those things wherein the common discourse of men is wiser than books—a thing which seldom happens. But much the best matter of all for such a treatise may be derived from the more prudent his- torians ; and not so well from eulogies or panegyrics, which are usually written soon after the death of an illustrious person, but much rather from a whole body of history, as often as such a person appears: for such an interwoven account gives a better description than panegyric. And such examples we have in Livy, of Africanus and Cato; in Tacitus, of Tiberius, Claudius, and Nero; in Herodian, of Septimius Severus; in Philip de Comines, of Louis XI. ; in Guicciardine, of Ferdinand of Spain, the Emperor Maximilian, Pope Leo, and Pope Clement. For these writers having the image of the person to be de- scribed constantly before them, scarce ever mention any of their acts, but at the same time introduce something of their natures. So, likewise, some relations which we have seen of the conclaves at Rome give very exact characters of the cardi- nals: as the letters of ambassadors do of the counsellors of princes. Let, therefore, an accurate and full treatise be wrote upon this fertile and copious subject. But we do not mean, that these characters should be received in ethics as perfect civil images, but rather as outlines, and first draughts of the images themselves, which, being variously compounded and mixed one among another, afford all kinds of portraits. So that an 15 226 BACON artificial and accurate dissection may be made of men’s minds and natures, and the secret disposition of each particular man laid open, that, from a knowledge of the whole, the precepts concerning the cures of the mind may be more rightly formed. And not only the characters of dispositions impressed by nat- ure should be received into this treatise, but those also which are otherwise imposed upon the mind by the sex, age, country, state of health, make of body, etc. And again, those which pro- ceed from fortune, as in princes, nobles, common people, the rich, the poor, magistrates, the ignorant, the happy, the miser- able, etc. Thus we see Plautus makes it a kind of miracle to find an old man beneficent— “ Benignitas quidem hujus oppido ut adolescentuli est.” f And St. Paul, commanding a severity of discipline towards the Cretans, accuses the temper of that nation from the poet: “The Cretans are always liars, evil beasts, and slow bellies.’’g Sallust notes it of the temper of kings, that it is frequent with them to desire contradictories :—‘‘ Plerumque regize volun- tates, ut vehementes sunt; sic mobiles, szepeque ipsz sibi ad- verse.” 4 Tacitus observes, that “ honors and dignities com- monly change the temper of mankind for the worse.” “Solus Vespasianus mutatus in melius.”+ Pindar remarks that “a sudden flush of good fortune generally enervates and slackens the mind.” ? “Sunt qui magnam felicitatem concoquere non possunt.” & i The psalmist intimates, that it is easier to hold a mean in the. height, than in the increase of fortune :—“ If riches fly to thee, set not thy heart upon them.’? It is true, Aristotle, in his Rhet- orics, cursorily mentions some such observations; and so do others up and down in their writings; but they were never yet incorporated into moral philosophy, whereto they principally belong, as much as treatises of the difference of the soil and glebe belong to agriculture, or discourses of the different com- plexions or habits of the body to medicine. The thing must, therefore, be now procured, unless we would imitate the rash- ness of empirics, who employ the same remedies in all diseases and constitutions. Next to this doctrine of characters follows the doctrine of affections and perturbations, which, we observed above, are the ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 227 diseases of the mind. For as the ancient politicians said of de- mocracies, that “ the people were like the sea, and the orators like the wind ”; so it may be truly said, that the nature of the mind would be unruffled and uniform, if the affections, like the winds, did not disturb it. And here, again, we cannot but re- member that Aristotle, who wrote so many books of ethics, should never treat of the affections, which are a principal branch thereof; and yet has given them a place in his Rhetor- ics, where they come to be but secondarily considered :™ for his discourses of pleasure and pain by no means answer the ends of such a treatise, no more than a discourse of light and splen- dor would give the doctrine of particular colors: for pleasure and pain are to particular affections, as light is to colors. The Stoics, so far as may be conjectured from what we have left of them, cultivated this subject better, yet they rather dwelt upon subtile definitions than gave any full and copious treatise upon it. We also find a few short elegant pieces upon some of the affections; as upon anger, false modesty, and two or three more; but to say the truth, the poets and historians are the principal teachers of this science; for they commonly paint to the life in what particular manner the affections are to be raised and inflamed, and how to be soothed and laid ; how they are to be checked and restrained from breaking into action; how they discover themselves, though suppressed and smoth- ered; what operations they have; what turns they take; how they mutually intermix ; and how they oppose each other, etc. Among which, the latter is of extensive use in moral and civil affairs ; 1 mean, how far one passion may regulate another, and how they employ each other’s assistance to conquer some one, after the manner of hunters and fowlers, who take beast with beast, and bird with bird; which man, perhaps, without such assistance, could not so easily do. And upon this foundation rests that excellent and universal use of rewards and punish- ments in civil life. For these are the supports of states, and suppress all the other noxious affections by those two predomi- nant ones, fear and hope. And, as in civil government, one faction frequently bridles and governs another ; the case is the same in the internal government of the mind. We come now to those things which are within our own power, and work upon the mind, and affect and govern the will and the appetite; whence they have great efficacy in altering 228 BACON the manners. And here philosophers should diligently inquire into the powers and energy of custom, exercise, habit, edu- cation, example, imitation, emulation, company, friendship, praise, reproof, exhortation, reputation, laws, books, studies, etc. ; for these are the things which reign in men’s morals. By these agents the mind is formed and subdued ; and of these in- gredients remedies are prepared, which, so far as human means can reach, conduce to the preservation and recovery of the health of the mind. To give an instance or two in custom and habit, the opinion of Aristotle seems narrow and careless, which asserts that “‘ cus- tom has no power over those actions which are natural ” ;7 using this example, that if a stone be a thousand times thrown up into the air, yet it will acquire no tendency to a spontaneous ascent. And again, that “ by often seeing or hearing, we see and hear never the better.” For though this may hold in some things, where nature is absolute, yet it is otherwise in things where nat- ure admits intention and remission in a certain latitude. He might have seen, that a strait glove, by being often drawn upon the hand, will become easy ; that a stick, by use andcontinuance, will acquire and retain a bend contrary to its natural one; that the voice, by exercise, becomes stronger and more sonorous ; that heat and cold grow more tolerable by custom, etc. And these two last examples come nearer to the point than those he has produced. Be this as it will, the more certain he had found it that virtues and vices depended upon habit, the more he should have endeavored to prescribe rules how such habits were to be acquired or left off; since numerous precepts may be formed for the prudent directing of exercises, as well those of the mind asthe body. We will here mention a few of them: And the first shall be, that from the beginning we beware of imposing both more difficult, and more superficial tasks than the thing requires. For if too great a burden be laid upon a middling genius, it blunts the cheerful spirit of hope ; and if upon a confident one, it raises an opinion, from which he prom- ises himself more than he can perform, which leads to indo- lence ; and in both cases the experiment will not answer expec- tation. And this always dejects and confounds the mind. But if the tasks are too light, a great loss is sustained in the amount of the progress. Secondly, to procure a habit in the exercise of any faculty, let eS ee ee = ~~ ~ i < ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 229 two seasons be principally observed: the one when the mind is best, and the other when it is worst disposed for business ; that by the former, the greater despatch may be made; and by the latter, the obstructions of the mind may be borne down with a strenuous application; whence the intermediate times slide away the more easily and agreeably. The third example shall be the precept which Aristotle tran- siently mentions; viz., to endeavor our utmost against that whereto we are strongly impelled by nature; thus, as it were, rowing against the stream, or bending a crooked stick the con- trary way, in order to bring it straight.o A fourth precept may be founded on this sure principle, that the mind is easier, and more agreeably drawn on to those things which are not principally intended by the operator, but con- quered or obtained without premeditated design, because our nature is such, as in a manner hates to be commanded. There are many other useful precepts for the regulating of custom; and if custom be prudently and skilfully introduced, it really becomes a second nature ; but if unskilfully and casually treated, it will be but the ape of nature, and imitate nothing to the life, or awkwardly, and with deformity. So, with regard to books, studies, and influence over our manners, there are numerous useful rules and directions. One of the fathers, in great severity, called poetry the devil’s wine; as indeed it begets many temptations, desires, and vain opin- ions. And it is a very prudent saying of Aristotle, deserving to be well considered, that “ young men are improper hearers of moral philosophy,’ because the heat of their passions is not yet allayed and tempered by time and experience. And, to say the truth, the reason why the excellent writings and moral dis- courses of the ancients have so little effect upon our lives and manners, seems to be, that they are not usually read by men of ripe age and judgment, but wholly left to unexperienced youths and children. And are not young men much less fit for politics than for ethics, before they are well seasoned with religion, and the doctrines of morality and civility ? For be- ing, perhaps, depraved and corrupted in their judgment, they are apt to think that moral differences are not real and solid; but that all things are to be measured by utility and success. Thus the poet said, “ Successful villainy is called virtue ”’— “ Prosperum et felix scelus, virtus vocatur.”¢ And again, “ Ille 230 BACON crucem pretium sceleris tulit, hic diadema.”r The poets, in- deed, speak in this manner satirically, and through indigna- tion; but some books of politics suppose the same positively, and in earnest. For Machiavel is pleased to say, “ If Cesar had been conquered, he would have become more odious than Cat- iline ’’; as if there was no difference, except in point of fortune, betwixt a fury made up of lust and blood, and a noble spirit, of all natural men the most to be admired, but for his ambition. And hence we see how necessary it is for men to be fully in- structed in moral doctrines and religious duties, before they proceed to politics. For those bred up from their youth in the courts of princes, and the midst of civil affairs, can scarce ever obtain a sincere and internal probity of manners. Again, cau- tion also is to be used even in moral instructions, or at least in some of them, lest men should thence become stubborn, arro- gant, and unsociable. So Cicero says of Cato: “The divine and excellent qualities we see in him are his own; but the things he sometimes fails in are all derived, not from nature, but his instructors.”s There are many other axioms and direc- tions concerning the things which studies and books beget in the minds of men; for it is true that studies enter our manners, and so do conversation, reputation, the laws, etc. But there is another cure of the mind, which seems still more accurate and elaborate than the rest; depending upon this foundation, that the minds of all men are, at certain times, in a more perfect, and at others in a more depraved state. The design of this cure is, therefore, to improve the good times, and expunge the bad. There are two practical methods of fixing the good times; viz., I. determined resolutions; and 2. ob- servances or exercises ; which are not of so much significancy in themselves, as because they continually keep the mind in its duty. There are also two ways of expunging the bad times ; viz., by some kind of redemption, or expiration of what is past, and a new regulation of life for the future. But this part be- longs to religion, whereto moral philosophy is, as we said be- fore, the genuine handmaid. We will therefore conclude these georgics of the mind with that remedy which, of all others, is the shortest, noblest, and most effectual for forming the mind to virtue, and placing it near a state of perfection; viz., that we choose and propose to ourselves just and virtuous ends of our lives and actions, yet ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 231 such as we have in some degree the faculty of obtaining. For if the ends of our actions are good and virtuous, and the resolu- tions of our mind for obtaining them fixed and constant, the mind will directly mould and form itself at once to all kinds of virtue. And this is certainly an operation resembling the works of nature, whilst the others above mentioned seem only manual. Thus the statuary finishes only that part of the figure upon which his hand is employed, without meddling with the others at that time, which are still but unfashioned marble ; whereas nature, on the contrary, when she works upon a flower or an animal, forms the rudiments of all the parts at once. So when virtues are acquired by habit, whilst we endeavor at tem- perance, we make but little advances towards fortitude or the other virtues; but when we are once entirely devoted to just and honorable ends, whatever the virtue be which those ends recommend and direct, we shall find ourselves ready disposed, and possessed of some propensity to obtain and express it. And this may be that state of mind which Aristotle excellently describes, not as virtuous, but divine. His words are these :— “We may contrast humanity with that virtue which is above it, as being heroic and divine.” And a little farther on :—‘“ For as savage creatures are incapable of vice or virtue, so is the Deity.” For the divine state is above virtue, which is only the absence of vice. So Pliny proposes the virtue of Trajan, not as an imitation, but as an example of the divine virtue, when he says, “ Men need make no other prayers to the gods than that they would be but as good and propitious to morals as Trajan was.” But this savors of the profane arrogance of the heathens, who grasped at shadows larger than the life. The Christian religion comes to the point, by impressing charity upon the minds of men; which is most appositely called the bond of perfection,“ because it ties up and fastens all the virtues together. And it was elegantly said by Menander of sensual love, which is a bad imitation of the divine, that it was a better tutor for human life than a left-handed sophist ; intimating that the grace of carriage is better formed by love than by an awk- ward preceptor, whom he calls left-handed, as he cannot by all his operose rules and precepts, form a man so dexterously and expeditiously, to value himself justly, and behave gracefully, as love can do. So, without doubt, if the mind be possessed with the fervor of true charity, he will rise to a higher degree of 232 BACON perfection than by all the doctrine of ethics, which is but a soph- ist compared to charity. And as Xenophon well observed,v whilst the other passions, though they raise the mind, yet dis- tort and discompose it by their ecstasies and excesses; whilst love alone, at the same time composes and dilates it; so all other human endowments which we admire, whilst they exalt and enlarge our nature, are yet liable to extravagance; but of charity alone there is no excess. The angels aspiring to be like God in power, transgressed and fell: “I will ascend, and be like the Most High: ” w and man aspiring to be like God in knowledge, transgressed and fell: “‘ Ye shall be as gods, know- ing good and evil; ”’ but in aspiring to be like God in goodness or charity, neither man nor angel can or shall transgress. Nay, we are invited to an imitation of it: “ Love your enemies; do good to those that hate you; pray for those that despitefully use and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your Father, which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise upon the good and upon the evil, and sends his rain upon the just and upon the unjust.” * And thus we conclude this part of moral doctrine, relating to the georgics of the mind. So in the archetype of the Divine nature—the heathen relig- ion—the words, “ Optimus maximus,” and the Scripture pro- nounces the mercy of God to be above all his works.» We have now concluded that portion of morals which apper- tains to the georgics of the mind ; and should any one imagine, in reading the different parts of this science which we have al- ready handled, that all our labor consists in uniting into one di- gest of the sciences all that has been neglected by other writers, and that such a work is at best only supplying what is clear and evident, and easily arrived at by reflection, let him freely enjoy his judgment ; but at the same time we beg him to keep in mind our first assertion, that we sought in these researches, not the flourish and ornament of things, but their use and verity. He may also recall the ancient parable of the Two Gates of Sleep :— “Sunt geminz Somni Porte, quarum altera fertur Cornea, qua veris facilis datur exitus umbris: Altera, candenti perfecta nitens elephanto; Sed falsa ad ccelum mittunt insomnia manes.”—Virgil.2 A gate of ivory is indeed very stately, but true dreams pass through the gate of horn. ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 233 There might, however, be added, by way of appendix, this observation, that there is a certain relation and congruity found between the good of the mind and the good of the body. For as the good of the body consists in—1. Health ; 2. Comeliness ; 3. Strength ; and 4. Pleasure—so the good of the mind, consid- ered in a moral light, tends to render it—1. sound and calm; 2. graceful ; 3. strong and agile for all the offices of life; and, 4. possessed of a constant.quick sense of pleasure and noble satis- faction. But as the four former excellencies are seldom found together in the body, so are the four latter seldom found to- gether in the mind. For it is evident that many are full of wit and courage, without being either calm or elegant in their deportment, or beautiful in their person; others, again, possess an elegant and fine deportment, and yet eschew honesty and justice ; others, again, have pure minds, but without any qualifi- cations for the business of life ; others who perchance unite all these three qualities, possess a sullen humor of stoical sadness and stupidity—they practise virtue, but refuse to enjoy its pleasures ; and if, perchance, of these qualities two or three are sometimes found together, it seldom, if ever, happens that all four can be met with in the same person. And thus we have finished that principal branch of human philosophy, which con- siders man out of society, and as consisting of a body and a soul, EIGHTH BOOK CHAPTER ol Civil Knowledge divided into the Art of Conversation, the Art of Negotiation, and the Art of State Policy. HERE goes an old tradition, excellent King, that many Grecian philosophers had a solemn meeting before the ambassador of a foreign prince, where each endeavored to show his parts, that the ambassador might have somewhat to relate of the Grecian wisdom ; but one among the number kept silence, so that the ambassador, turning to him, asked: “ But what have you to say, that I may report it?”’ He answered: “Tell your king that you have found one among the Greeks who knew how to be silent.”a@ Indeed, I had forgot in this compendium of arts to insert the art of silence. For as we are now soon to be led, by the course of the work, to treat the sub- ject of government; and, knowing that I write to a king who is so perfect a master of this science since his infancy, and being also mindful of the high office I hold under your Majesty, we thought we could not have a better occasion for putting the art of silence in practice. Cicero makes mention not only of an art, but even of an eloquence to be found in silence ; and relates in an epistle to Atticus, how once in conversation he made use of this art: “ On this occasion,” says he, “ I assumed a part of your eloquence; for I said nothing.” And Pindar, who peculiarly strikes the mind unexpectedly with some short surprising sen- tence, has this among the rest: ‘ Things unsaid have some- times a greater effect than said.” And, therefore, I have de- termined either to be silent upon this subject, or, what is next to it, very concise. Civil knowledge turns upon a subject of all others the most immersed in matter, and therefore very difficult to reduce to axioms. And there are some things that ease the difficulty. For, 1. as Cato said, “ that the Romans were like sheep, easier 234 es, — > ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 235 to drive in the flock than single” ; so in this respect the office of ethics is in some degree more difficult than that of politics.) 2. Again, ethics endeavors to tinge and furnish the mind with internal goodness, whilst civil doctrine requires no more than external goodness, which is sufficient for society. Whence it often happens, that a reign may be good and the times bad. Thus we sometimes find in sacred history, when mention is made of good and pious kings, that the people had not yet turned their hearts to the Lord God of their fathers. And, therefore, in this respect, also, ethics has the harder task. 3. States are moved slowly, like machines, and with difficulty ; and consequently not soon put out of order. For, as in Egypt, the seven years of plenty supplied the seven years of famine; so in governments, the good regulation of former times will not pres- ently suffer the errors of the succeeding to prove destructive. But the resolutions and manners of particular persons are more suddenly subverted ; and this, in the last place, bears hard upon ethics, but favors politics. Civil knowledge has three parts, suitable to the three princi- pal acts of society ; viz., 1. Conversation; 2. Business; and 4. Government. For there are three kinds of good that men de- sire to procure by civil society ; viz., 1. Refuge from solitude; 2. Assistance in the affairs of life; and 3. Protection against injuries. And thus there are three kinds of prudence, very different and frequently separated from each other; viz., 1. Prudence in conversation ; 2. Prudence in business ; 3. Prudence in government. Conversation, as it ought not to be over-affected, much less should it be slighted ; since a prudent conduct therein not only expresses a certain gracefulness in men’s manners, but is also of great assistance in the commodious despatch both of public and private business. For as action, though an external thing, is so essential to an orator as to be preferred before the other weighty and more internal parts of that art, so conversation, though it consist but of externals, is, if not the principal, at least a capital thing in the man of business, and the prudent management of affairs. What effect the countenance may have, appears from the precept of the poet—“ Contradict not your words by your look ”’— “ Nec vultu destrue verba tuo.””—Ovid.c 236 BACON For a man may absolutely cancel and betray the force of speech by his countenance. And so may actions themselves, as well as words, be destroyed by the look ; according to Cicero, who, recommending affability to his brother towards the provincials, tells him, it did not wholly consist in giving easy access to them, unless he also received them with an obliging carriage. ‘“ It is doing nothing,” says he, “to admit them with an open door and a locked-up countenance.” “Nil interest habere ostium apertum, vultum clausum.”’ 4 We learn, also, that Atticus, previous to the first interview be- tween Cicero and Cesar, in which the issue of the war was in- volved, seriously advised his friend, in his letters, to compose his countenance and assume a calm tranquillity. But, if the management of the face alone has so great an effect, how much greater is that of familiar conversation, with all its attendants ? Indeed, the whole of decorum and elegance of manners seem to rest in weighing and maintaining, with an even balance, the dignity betwixt ourselves and others; which is well expressed by Livy, though upon a different occasion, in that character of a person, where he says, that I may neither seem arrogant nor obnoxious; that is, neither forget my own nor others’ liberty.e On the other side; a devotion to urbanity and external ele- gance terminates in an awkward and disagreeable affectation. For what is more preposterous than to copy the theatres in reallife? And, though we did not fall into this vicious extreme, yet we should waste time and depress the mind too much by attending to such lighter matters. Therefore, as in universi- ties, the students, too fond of company, are usually told by their tutors, that friends are the thieves of time; so the assiduous ap- plication to the decorum of conversation steals from the weight- ier considerations. Again, they who stand in the first rank for urbanity, and seem born, as it were, for this alone, seldom take pleasure in anything else, and scarce ever rise to the higher and more solid virtues. On the contrary, the consciousness of a defect in this particular makes us seek a grace from good opin- ion, which renders all things else becoming; but where this is wanting, men endeavor to supply it by good breeding. And, further, there is scarce any greater or more frequent obstruc- tion to business than an over-curious observance of external decorum, with its attendant too solicitous and scrupulous a ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 237 choice of times and opportunities. ‘Solomon admirably says: “ He that regards the winds shall not sow, and he that regards the clouds shall not reap.” For we must make opportunities oftener than we find them. In a word, urbanity is like a gar- ment to the mind, and therefore ought to have the conditions of a garment ; that is, 1. it should be fashionable ; 2. not too delicate or costly ; 3. it should be so made, as principally to show the reigning virtue of the mind, and to supply or conceal deformity ; 4. and lastly, above all things, it must not be too strait, so as to cramp the mind and confine its motions in business. But this part of civil doctrine relating to conversation is elegantly treated by some writers, and can by no means be reported as deficient. CHAPTER II The Art of Negotiation divided into the Knowledge of Dispersed Oc- casions (Conduct in Particular Emergencies), and into the Science of Rising in Life. Examples of the former drawn from Solomon. Precepts relating to Self-advancement. We divide the doctrine of business into the doctrine of various occasions, and the doctrine of rising in life. The first includes all the possible variety of affairs, and is as the amanuensis to common life; but the other collects and suggests such things only as regard the improvement of a man’s private fortune, and may therefore serve each person as a private register of his affairs. No one hath hitherto treated the doctrine of business suitably to its merit, to the great prejudice of the character both of learn- ing and learned men; for from hence proceeds the mischief, which has fixed it as a reproach upon men of letters, that learn- ing and civil prudence are seldom found together. And, if we rightly observe those three kinds of prudence, which we lately said belong to civil life, that of conversation is generally de- spised by men of learning as a servile thing and an enemy to contemplation; and for the government of states, though learned men acquit themselves well when advanced to the helm, yet this promotion happens to few of them; but, for the present subject, the prudence of business, upon which our lives princi- pally turn, there are no books extant about it, except a few civil admonitions, collected into a little volume or two, by no means 238 BACON adequate to the copiousness of the subject. But, if books were written upon this subject as upon others, we doubt not that learned men, furnished with tolerable experience, would far ex- cel the unlearned, furnished with much greater experience, and outshoot them in their own bow. Nor need we apprehend that the matter of this science is too various to fall under precept, for it is much less extensive than the doctrine of government, which yet we find very well culti- vated. There seem to have been some professors of this kina of prudence among the Romans in their best days; for Cicero declares it was the custom, a little before his time, among the senators most famous for knowledge and experience, as Corun- canius, Curius, Lzlius, etc., to walk the forum at certain hours, where they offered themselves to be consulted by the people, not so much upon law, but upon business of all kinds; as the marriage of a daughter, the education of a son, the purchasing of an estate, and other ocasions of common life.a Whence it appears, that there is a certain prudence of advising even in private affairs, and derivable from a universal knowledge of civil business, experience, and general observation of similar cases. So we find the book which Q. Cicero wrote to his brother, De Petitione Consulatus (the only treatise, so far as we know, extant upon any particular business), though it regarded chiefly the giving advice upon that present occasion, yet con- tains many particular axioms of politics, which were not only of temporary use, but prescribe a certain permanent rule for popular elections. But in this kind, there is nothing any way comparable to the aphorisms of Solomon, of whom the Script- ure bears testimony, that “ his heart was as the sand of the sea.””b For the sand of the sea encompasses the extremities of the whole earth ; so his wisdom comprehended all things, both human and divine. And in those aphorisms are found many excellent civil precepts and admonitions, besides things of a more theological nature, flowing from the depth and innermost bosom of wis- dom, and running out into a most spacious field of variety. And, as we place the doctrine of various occasions among the desiderata of the sciences, we will here dwell upon it a little, and lay down an example thereof, in the way of explaining some of these aphorisms or proverbs of Solomon. ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 239 A SPECIMEN OF THE DocrRINE oF VARIOUS OCCASIONS IN THE CoMMON BusINEss or LIFE, By WAy or APHORISM AND EXPLANATION Aphorism 1 A soft answer appeases anger If the anger of a prince or superior be kindled against you, and it be now your turn to speak, Solomon directs, 1. that an answer be made; and 2. that it be soft. The first rule contains three precepts; viz., 1. to guard against a melancholy and stub- born silence, for this either turns the fault wholly upon you, as if you could make no answer, or secretly impeaches your supe- rior, as if his ears were not open to a just defence. 2. To be- ware of delaying the thing, and requiring a longer day for your defence ; which either accuses your superior of passion, or sig- nifies that you are preparing some artificial turn or color. So that it is always best directly to say something for the present, in your own excuse, as the occasion requires. And 3. To make a real answer, an answer, not a mere confession or bare submis- sion, but a mixture of apology and excuse. For it is unsafe to do otherwise, unless with very generous and noble spirits, which are extremely rare. Then follows the second rule, that the answer be mild and soft, not stiff and irritating. Aphorism 2 A prudent servant shall rule over a foolish son, and divide the inheritance among the brethren d In every jarring family there constantly rises up some ser- vant or humble friend of sway, who takes upon him to compose their differences at his own discretion; to whom, for that rea- son, the whole family, even the master himself, is subject. If this man has a view to his own ends, he foments and aggravates the differences of the family ; but if he proves just and upright, he is certainly very deserving. So that he may be reckoned even as one of the brethren, or at least have the direction of the inheritance in trust. 240 BACON Aphorism 3 If a wise man contends with a fool, whether he be in anger or in jest, there 1s no quiet e We are frequently admonished to avoid unequal conflicts; that is, not to strive with the stronger: but the admonition of Solomon is no less useful, that we should not strive with the worthless; for here the match is very unequal, where it is no victory to conquer, and a great disgrace to be conquered. Nor does it signify if, in such a conquest, we should sometimes deal as in jest, and sometimes in the way of disdain and contempt; for what course soever we take, we are losers, and can never come handsomely off. But the worst case of all is, if our an- tagonist have something of the fool in him, that is, if he be con- fident and headstrong. Aphorism 4 Listen not to all that 1s spoken, lest thou shouldst hear thy ser- vant curse thee f It is scarce credible what uneasiness is created in life by a useless curiosity about the things that concern us; as when we pry into such secrets, as being discovered, give us distaste, but afford no assistance or relief. For 1. there follows vexation and disquiet of mind, as all human things are full of perfidious- ness and ingratitude. So that though we could procure some magic glass, wherein to view the animosities, and all that malice which is any way at work against us, it were better for us to break it directly than to use it. For these things are but as the rustling of leaves, soon over. 2. This curiosity always loads the mind with suspicion, which is a violent enemy to counsels, and renders them unsteady and perplexed. 3. It also frequent- ly fixes the evils themselves, which would otherwise have blown over: for it is a dangerous thing to provoke the consciences of men, who, so long as they think themselves concealed, are easily changed for the better; but if they once find themselves discovered, drive out one evil with another. It was therefore justly esteemed the utmost prudence in Pompey that he directly burnt all the papers of Sertorius, unperused by himself or oth- ers, ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 241 Aphorism 5 Poverty comes as a traveller, but want as an armed man g This aphorism elegantly describes how prodigals, and such as take no care of their affairs, make shipwreck of their for- tunes. For debt, and diminution of the capital, at first steal on gradually and almost imperceptibly like a traveller, but soon after want invades as an armed man; that is, with a hand so strong and powerful as can no longer be resisted; for it was justly said by the ancients, that necessity is of all things the strongest. We must, therefore, prevent the traveller, and guard against the armed man. Aphorism 6 He who instructs a scoffer, procures to himself reproach; and he who reproves a wicked man, procures to himself a stain h This agrees with the precept of our Saviour, not to throw pearls before swine.t This aphorism distinguishes betwixt the actions of precept and reproof, and again betwixt the persons of the scorner and the wicked, and lastly, the reward is distin- guished. Inthe former case, precept is repaid by a loss of labor, and in the latter, of reproof, it is repaid with a stain also. For when any one instructs and teaches a scorner, he first loses his time; in the next place, others laugh at his labor, as fruitless and misapplied; and lastly, the scorner himself disdains the knowledge delivered. But there is more danger in reproving a wicked man, who not only lends no ear, but turns again, and either directly rails at his admonisher, who has now made him- self odious to him, or, at least, afterwards traduces him to others. Aphorism 7 A wise son rejoices his father, but a foolish son is a sorrow to his mother k The domestic joys and griefs of father and mother from their children are here distinguished ; for a prudent and hopeful son is a capital pleasure to the father, who knows the value of virtue better than the mother, and therefore rejoices more at his son’s disposition to virtue. This joy may also be heightened, per- haps, from seeing the good effect of his own management, in 16 242 BACON the education of his son, so as to form good morals in him by precept and example. On the other hand, the mother suf- fers and partakes the most in the calamity of her son, because the maternal affection is the more soft and tender: and again, perhaps, because she is conscious that her indulgence has spoiled and depraved him. Aphorism 8 The memory of the just is blessed, but the name of the wicked shall rot ! We have here that distinction between the character of good and evil men, which usually takes place after death. For in the case of good men, when envy, that pursues them whilst alive, is extinguished, their name presently flourishes, and their fame increases every day. But the fame of bad men, though it may remain for a while, through the favor of friends and faction, yet soon becomes odious, and at length degenerates into infamy, and ends, as it were, in a loathsome odor. \ Aphorism 9 He who troubles his own house, shall inherit the wind m This is a very useful admonition, as to domestic jars and dif- ferences. For many promise themselves great matters from the separation of their wives, the disinheriting of their children, the frequent changing of servants, etc., as if they should thence procure greater peace of mind, or a more successful administra- tion of their affairs; but such hopes commonly turn to wind; these changes being seldom for the better. And such disturb- ers of their families often meet with various crosses and ingrati- tude, from those they afterwards adopt and choose. They, by this means, also bring ill reports, and ambiguous rumors upon themselves. For as Cicero well observes, “ All men’s charac- ters proceed from their domestics.” » And both these mischiefs Solomon elegantly expresses by the “ possession of the wind”: for the frustration of expectation, and the raising of rumors, are justly compared to the winds. Aphorism 10 The end of a discourse is better than the beginning o This aphorism corrects a common error, prevailing not only among such as principally study words, but also the more pru- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 243 dent, viz., that men are more solicitous about the beginnings and entrances of their discourses than about the conclusions, and more exactly labor their prefaces and introductions than their closes. Whereas they ought not to neglect the former, but should have the latter, as being things of far the greater con- sequence, ready prepared beforehand ; casting about with them- selves, as much as possible, what may be the last issue of the discourse, and how business may be thence forwarded and ripened. They ought further, not only to consider the wind- ings up of discourses relating to business, but to regard also such turns as may be advantageously and gracefully given upon departure, even though they should be quite foreign to the mat- ter in hand. It was the constant practice of two great and prudent privy-counsellors, on whom the weight of the kingdom chiefly rested, as often as they discoursed with their princes upon matters of state, never to end the conversation with what re- garded the principal subject; but always to go off with a jest, or some pleasant device; and as the proverb runs, “ Washing off their salt-water discourses with fresh at the conclusion.” And this was one of the principal arts they had. Aphorism 11 As dead flies cause the best ointment to yield an ill odor, so does a little folly to a man tn reputation for wisdom and honor pb The condition of men eminent for virtue is, as this aphorism excellently observes, exceeding hard and miserable; because their errors, though ever so small, are not overlooked. But as in a clear diamond, every little grain, or speck, strikes the eye disagreeably, though it would not be observed in a duller stone; so in men of eminent virtue, their smallest vices are readily spied, talked of, and severely censured; whilst in an ordinary man, they would either have lain concealed, or been easily ex- cused. Whence a little folly in a very wise man, a small slip in a very good man, and a little indecency in a polite and ele- gant man, greatly diminish their characters and reputations. It might, therefore, be no bad policy, for men of uncommon ex- cellencies to intermix with their actions a few absurdities, that may be committed without vice, in order to reserve a liberty, and confound the observation of little defects. 244 BACON Aphorism 12 Scornful men ensnare a city, but wise men prevent calamity 4 It may seem strange, that in the description of men, formed, as it were, by nature, for the destruction of states, Solomon should choose the character, not of a proud and haughty, not of a tyrannical and cruel, not of a rash and violent, not of a se- ditious and turbulent, not of a foolish or incapable man, but the character of a scorner. Yet this choice is becoming the wisdom of that king, who well knew how governments were subverted, and how preserved. For there is scarce such an- other destructive thing to kingdoms, and commonwealths, as that the counsellors, or senators, who sit at the helm, should be naturally scorners; who, to show themselves courageous advisers, are always extenuating the greatness of dangers, in- sulting, as fearful wretches, those who weigh them as they ought, and ridiculing the ripening delays of counsel and de- bate, as tedious matters of oratory, unserviceable to the general issue of business. They despise rumors as the breath of the rabble, and things that will soon pass over, though the coun- sels of princes are to be chiefly directed from hence. They ac- count the power and authority of laws but nets unfit to hold great matters. They reject, as dreams and melancholy notions, those counsels and precautions that regard futurity at a dis- tance. They satirize and banter such men as are really pru- dent and knowing in affairs, or such as bear noble minds, and are capable of advising. In short, they sap all the foundations of political government at once—a thing which deserves the greater attention, as it is not effected by open attack, but by secret undermining; nor is it, by any means, so much suspected among mankind as it deserves. Aphorism 13 The prince wno willingly hearkens to lies, has all his servants wicked r When a prince is injudiciously disposed to lend a credulous ear to whisperers and flatterers, pestilent breath seems to pro- ceed from him, corrupting and infecting all his servants; and now some search into his fears, and increase them with fictitious rumors; some raise up in him the fury of envy, especially ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 245 against the most deserving; some, by accusing of others, wash their own stains away ; some make room for the preferment and gratification of their friends, by calumniating and traducing their competitors, etc. And these agents are naturally the most vicious servants of the prince. Those again, of better principles and dispositions, after finding little security in their innocence, their master not knowing how to distinguish truth from falsehood, drop their moral honesty, go into the eddy winds of the court, and servilely submit to be carried about with them. For as Tacitus says of Claudius, “ There is no safety with that prince, into whose mind all things are infused and di- rected.”s And Comines well observes, that “ it is better being servant to a prince whose suspicions are endless, than whose credulity is great.”¢ Aphorism 14 A just man is merciful to the life of his beast, but the mercies of the wicked are cruel « Nature has endowed man with a noble and excellent princi- ple of compassion, which extends itself even to the brutes, that by divine appointment are made subject to him. Whence this compassion has some resemblance with that of a prince towards his subjects. And it is certain, that the noblest souls are most extensively merciful; for narrow and degenerate spirits think compassion belongs not to them, but a great soul, the noblest part of the creation, is ever compassionate. Thus under the old law there were numerous precepts not merely ceremonial, as the ordaining of mercy, for example, the not eating of flesh with the blood thereof, etc. So, likewise, the sects of the Es- senes and Pythagoreans totally abstained from flesh, as they do also to this day, with an inviolated superstition, in some parts of the empire of Mogul. Nay, the Turks, though a cruel and bloody nation, both in their descent and discipline, give alms to brutes, and suffer them not to be tortured. But lest this prin- ciple might seem to countenance all kinds of compassion, Solo- mon wholesomely subjoins, “ That the mercies of the wicked are cruel” ; that is, when such great offenders are spared, as ought to be cut off with the sword of justice. For this kind of mercy is the greatest of all cruelties, as cruelty affects but par- ticular persons; whilst impunity lets loose the whole army of evildoers, and drives them upon the innocent. 246 BACON Aphorism 15 A fool speaks all his mind, but a wise man reserves something for hereafter v This aphorism seems principally levelled, not against the futility of light persons, who speak what they should conceal, nor against the pertness with which they indiscriminately and injudiciously fly out upon men and things, nor against the talkative humor with which some men disgust their hearers, but against a more latent failing, viz., a very imprudent and im- politic management of speech; when a man in private conver- sation so directs his discourse as, in a continued string of words, to deliver all he can say, that any way relates to the subject, which is a great prejudice to business. For 1. discourse in- terrupted and infused by parcels, enters deeper than if it were continued and unbroken; in which case the weight of things is not distinctly and particularly felt, as having not time to fix themselves; but one reason drives out another before it had taken root. 2. Again, no one is so powerful or happy in elo- quence, as at first setting out to leave the hearer perfectly mute and silent; but he will always have something to answer, and perhaps to object in his turn. And here it happens, that those things which were to be reserved for confutation, or reply, be- ing now anticipated, lose their strength and beauty. 3. Lastly, if a person does not utter all his mind at once, but speaks by starts, first one thing, then another, he will perceive from the countenance and answer of the person spoken to, how each particular affects him, and in what sense he takes it; and thus be directed more cautiously to suppress or employ the matter still in reserve. Aphorism 16 ' Tf the displeasure of great men rise up against thee, forsake not thy place; for pliant behavior extenuates great offences w This aphorism shows how a person ought to behave, when he has incurred the displeasure of his prince. The precept hath two parts—1. that the person quit not his post; and 2. that he, with diligence and caution, apply to the cure, as of a dangerous disease. For when men see their prince incensed against them, what through impatience of disgrace, fear of renewing their wounds by sight, and partly to let their prince behold their con- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 247 trition and humiliation, it is usual with them to retire from their office or employ, and sometimes to resign their places and dignities into their prince’s hands. But Solomon disapproves this method as pernicious. For, 1. it publishes the disgrace too much; whence both our enemies and enviers are more emboldened to hurt us, and our friends the more intimidated from lending their assistance. 2. By this means the anger of the prince, which perhaps would have blown over of itself, had it not been made public, becomes more fixed; and having now begun to displace the person, ends not but in his downfall. 3. This resigning carries something of ill-will with it, and shows a dislike of the times, which adds the evil of indignation to that of suspicion. The following remedies regard the cure: 1. Let him above all things beware how by any insensibility, or ela- tion of mind, he seems regardless of his prince’s displeasure, or not affected as he ought. He should not compose his coun- tenance to a stubborn melancholy, but to a grave and decent dejection ; and show himself, in all his actions, less brisk and cheerful than usual. It may also be for his advantage to use the assistance and mediation of a friend with the prince, sea- sonably to insinuate, with how great a sense of grief the person in disgrace is inwardly affected. 2. Let him carefully avoid even the least occasions of reviving the thing which caused the displeasure ; or of giving any handle to fresh distaste, and open rebuke. 3. Let him diligently seek all occasions wherein his service may be acceptable to his prince, that he may both show | a ready desire of retrieving his past offence, and his prince per- ceive what a servant he must lose if he quit him. 4. Either let him prudently transfer the blame upon others, or insinuate that the offence was committed with no ill design, or show that their malice, who accused him to the prince, aggravated the thing above measure. 5. Lastly, let him in every respect be watch- ful and intent upon the cure. Aphorism 17 The first in his own cause is just; then comes the other party, and inquires into him * The first information in any cause, if it dwell a little with the judge, takes root, tinges, and possesses him so, as hardly to be removed again, unless some manifest falsity be found in the 248 BACON matter itself, or some artifice be discovered in delivering it. For a naked and simple defence, though just and prevalent, can scarce balance the prejudice of a prior information, or of itself reduce to an equilibrium the scale of justice that has once in- clined. It is, therefore, safest for the judge to hear nothing as to the merits of a cause, before both parties are convened; and best for the defendant, if he perceive the judge prepossessed, to endeavor, as far as ever the case will allow, principally to detect some artifice, or trick, made use of by the plaintiff to abuse the judge. Aphorism 18 He who brings up his servant delicately, shall find him stub- born in the end y Princes and masters are, by the advice of Solomon, to ob- serve moderation in conferring grace and favor upon their servants. This moderation consists in three things: 1. In pro- moting them gradually, not by sudden starts. 2. In accus- toming them sometimes to denial. And 3. as is well observed by Machiavel, in letting them always have something further to hope for. And unless these particulars be observed, princes, in the end, will doubtless find from their servants disrespect and obstinacy, instead of gratitude and duty. For from sudden promotion, arises insolence; from a perpetual obtaining one’s desires, impatience of denial; and if there be nothing further to wish, there’s an end of alacrity and industry. Aphorism 19 A man diligent in his business shall stand before kings, and not be ranked among the vulgar # Of all the virtues which kings chiefly regard and require in the choice of servants, that of expedition and resolution in the despatch of business is the most acceptable. Men of depth are held suspected by princes, as inspecting them too close, and be- ing able by their strength of capacity, as by a machine, to turn and wind them against their will and without their knowledge. Popular men are hated, as standing in the light of kings, and drawing the eyes of the multitude upon themselves. Men of courage are generally esteemed turbulent and too enterprising. Honest and just men are accounted morose, and not compliable ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 249 enough to the will of their masters. Lastly, there is no virtue but has its shade, wherewith the minds of kings are offended ; but despatch alone in executing their commands has nothing displeasing to them. Besides, the motions of the minds of kings are swift and impatient of delay; for they think them- selves able to effect anything, and imagine that nothing more is wanting but to have it done instantly. Whence despatch is to them the most grateful of all things. Aphorism 20 I saw all the living which walk under the sun, with the succeed- ing young prince that shall rise up in his stead a This aphorism points out the vanity of those who flock about the next successors of princes. The root of this is the folly nat- urally implanted in the minds of men; viz. their being too fond of their own hopes: for scarce anyone but is more delighted with hope than with enjoyment. Again, novelty is pleasing and greedily coveted by human nature; and these two things, hope and novelty, meet in the successor of a prince. The aphorism hints the same that was formerly said by Pompey to Sylla, and again by Tiberius of Macro, that the sun has more adorers ris- ing than setting.6 Yet rulers in possession are not much af- fected with this, or esteem it any great matter, as neither Sylla nor Tiberius did; but rather laugh at the levity of men, and encounter not with dreams; for hope, as was well said, is but a waking dream.¢ Aphorism 21 There was a little city manned but by a few, and a mighty king drew his army to it, erecting bulwarks against it, and in- trenched it round: now there was found within the walls a poor wise man, and he by his wisdom delivered the city; but none remembered the same poor mand This parable describes the corrupt and malevolent nature of men, who, in extremities and difficulties, generally fly to the prudent and the courageous, though they before despised them; and as soon as the storm is over, they show ingratitude to their preservers. Machiavel had reason to put the question, “Which is the more ungrateful towards the well-deserving, the prince or the people?” though he accuses both of ingrati- 250 BACON tude.e The thing does not proceed wholly from the ingratitude either of princes or people, but it is generally attended with the envy of the nobility, who secretly repine at the event, though happy and prosperous, because it was not procured by them- selves. Whence they lessen the merit of the author and bear him down. Aphorism 22 The way of the slothful is a hedge of thorns tf This aphorism elegantly shows that sloth is laborious in the end: for diligent and cautious preparation guards the foot from stumbling, and smooths the way before it is trod; but he who is sluggish, and defers all things to the last moment, must of necessity be at every step treading as upon brambles and thorns, which frequently detain and hinder him; and the same may be observed in the government of a family, where, if due care and forethought be used, all things go on calmly, and, as it were, spontaneously, without noise and bustle; but if this caution be neglected, when any great occasion arises, numerous matters crowd in to be done at once, the servants are in confusion, and the house rings. Aphorism 23 He who respects persons in judgment does ill, and will forsake the truth for a piece of bread g This aphorism wisely observes, that facility of temper is more pernicious in a judge than bribery; for bribes are not offered by all, but there is no cause wherein something may not be found to sway the mind of the judge, if he be a respecter of persons. Thus, one shall be respected for his country, another for his riches, another for being recommended by a friend, etc. So that iniquity must abound where respect of persons prevails, and judgment be corrupted for a very trifling thing, as it were for a morsel of bread. Aphorism 24 ‘A poor man, that by extortion oppresses the poor, is like a land- flood that causes famine h This parable was anciently painted by the fable of the leech, full and empty ; for the oppression of a poor and hungry wretch is much more grievous than the oppression of one who is rich ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 251 and full; as he searches into all the corners and arts of exactions and ways of raising contributions. The thing has been also usually resembled to a sponge, which sucks strongly when dry, but less when moist. And it contains a useful admonition to princes, that they commit not the government of provinces or places of power to indigent men, or such as are in debt; and again to the people, that is permit not their kings to struggle with want. Aphorism 25 A just man falling before the wicked, is a troubled fountain and a corrupted spring t This is a caution to states, that they should have a capital re- gard to the passing an unjust or infamous sentence in any great and weighty cause, where not only the guilty is acquitted, but the innocent condemned. To countenance private injuries, in- deed, disturbs and pollutes the clear streams of justice, as it were, in the brook; but unjust and great public sentences, which are afterwards drawn into precedents, infect and defile the very fountain of justice. For when once the court goes on the side of injustice, the law becomes a public robber, and one man really a wolf to another. Aphorism 26 Contract no friendship with an angry man, nor walk with a furious one k The more religiously the laws of friendship are to be observed amongst good men, the more caution should be used in making a prudent choice of friends. The nature and humor of friends, so far as concerns ourselves alone, should be absolutely toler- ated; but when they lay us under a necessity, as to the charac- ter we should put on towards others, this becomes an exceeding hard and unreasonable condition of friendship. It is therefore of great moment to the peace and security of life, according to the direction of Solomon, to have no friendship with passion- ate men, and such as easily stir up or enter into debates and quarrels. For such friends will be perpetually entangling us in strifes and contentions, so that we must either break off with them or have no regard to our own safety. 252 BACON Aphorism 27 He who conceals a fault seeks friendship, but. he who repeats a matter separates friends ! There are two ways of composing differences and reconciling the minds of men; the one beginning with oblivion and forgive- ness, the other with a recollection of the injuries, interweaving it with apologies and excuses. I remember it is the opinion of a very wise politician, ““ That he who treats of peace without repeating the conditions of the difference, rather deceives the mind with the sweetness of reconciliation than equitably makes up the matter.”’ But Solomon, a still wiser man, is of a con- trary opinion, and approves of forgetting, but forbids a repeti- tion of the difference, as being attended with these inconven- iences: I. That it rakes into the old sore; 2. that it may cause a new difference; 3. and lastly, that it brings the matter to end in excuses; whereas both sides had rather seem to forgive the injury than allow of an excuse. Aphorism 28 In every good work 1s plenty; but where words abound there is commonly a want m Solomon here distinguishes the fruit of the labor of the tongue, and that of the labor of the hand, as if from the one came want, and from the other abundance. For it almost constantly happens that they who speak much, boast much, and promise largely, are but barren, and receive no fruit from the things they talk of ; being seldom industrious or diligent in works, but feed and satisfy themselves with discourse alone as with wind; whilst, as the poet intimates, “ he who is conscious to himself that he can really effect,” feels the satisfaction inwardly, and keeps silent: “ Qui silet est firmus :” n whereas, he who knows he grasps nothing but empty air, is full of talk and strange stories. Aphorism 29 Open reproof is better than secret affection © This aphorism reprehends the indulgence of those who use not the privilege of friendship freely and boldly to admonish ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 253 their friends as well of their errors as their dangers. ‘ What shall I do?” says an easy, good-natured friend, “ or what course shall Itake? I love him as well as man can do, and would will- ingly suffer any misfortune in his stead: but I know his nature; if I deal freely with him, I shall offend him; at least chagrin him, and yet do him no service. Nay, I shall sooner alienate his friendship from me, than win him over from those things he has fixed his mind upon.” Such an effeminate and useless friend as this Solomon reprehends, and pronounces that greater advantage may be received from an open enemy ; as a man may chance to hear those things from an enemy by way of reproach, which a friend, through too much indulgence, will not speak out. Aphorism 30 A prudent man looks well to his steps, but a fool turns aside to deceit P There are two kinds of prudence; the one true and sound, the other degenerate and false: the latter Solomon calls by the name of folly. The candidate for the former has an eye to his footings, looking out for dangers, contriving remedies, and by the assistance of good men defending himself against the bad: he is wary in entering upon business, and not unprovided of a retreat; watching for opportunities, powerful against opposi- tion, etc. But the follower of the other is wholly patched up of fallacy and cuntiing, placing all his hope in the circumventing of others, and forming them to his fancy. And this the apho- rism justly rejects as a vicious and even a weak kind of pru- dence. For, 1. it is by no means a thing in our own power, nor depending upon any constant rule; but is daily inventing of new stratagems as the old ones fail and grow useless. 2. He who has once the character of a crafty, tricking man, is entirely deprived of a principal instrument of business—trust ; whence he will find nothing succeed to his wish. 3. Lastly, however, specious and pleasing these arts may seem, yet they are often frustrated ; as well observed by Tacitus, when he said, that crafty and bold counsels, though pleasant in the expectation, are hard to execute, and unhappy in the event. 254 BACON Aphorism 31 Be not over-righteous, nor make thyself over-wise: for why shouldst thou suddenly be taken off 4 There are times, says Tacitus, wherein great virtues meet with certain ruin.r And this happens to men eminent for virtue and justice, sometimes suddenly, and sometimes after it was long foreseen. But if prudence be also joined, so as to make such men cautious and watchful of their own safety, then they gain thus much, that their ruin shall come suddenly, and en- tirely from secret and dark counsels—whence they may escape envy, and meet destruction unexpected. But for that over- righteousness expressed in the aphorism, it is not understood of virtue itself, in which there is no excess, but of a vain and invidious affectation and show thereof, like what Tacitus in- timates of Lepidus—making it a kind of miracle that he never gave any servile opinion, and yet stood safe in severe times.s Aphorism 32 Give occasion to a wise man, and his wisdom will be increased t This aphorism distinguishes between that wisdom which has grown up and ripened into a true habit, and that which only floats in the brain, or is tossed upon the tongue without having taken root. The former, when occasion offers, is presently roused, got ready, and distended, so as to appear greater than itself; whereas the latter, which was pert before, stands amazed and confounded when occasion calls for it: so that the person who thought himself endowed with this wisdom, begins to question whether his preconceptions about it were not mere dreams and empty speculations. | Aphorism 33 To praise one’s friend aloud, rising early, has the same effect as cursing him u Moderate and sensible praises, dropped occasionally, are of great service to the reputation and fortunes of men; whilst immoderate, noisy, and fulsome praises do no good, but rather hurt, as the aphorism expresses it. For, 1. they plainly betray themselves to proceed from an excess of good-will, or to be purposely designed rather to gain favor with the person by ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 255 false encomiums, than to paint him justly. 2. Sparing and modest praises generally invite the company somewhat to im- prove them, but profuse and immoderate ones to detract and take off from them. 3. The principal thing is, that immod- erate praises procure envy to the person praised, as all extrava- gant commendations seem to reproach others that may be no less deserving. Aphorism 34 As the face shines in water, so are men’s hearts manifest to the wise v This aphorism distinguishes between the minds of prudent men and those of others, by comparing the former to water, or a mirror, which receives the forms and images of things; whilst the latter are like earth, or unpolished stone, which reflects noth- ing. And the mind of a prudent man is the more aptly com- pared to a glass, because therein one’s own image may, at the same time, be viewed along with those of others, which could not be done by the eye without assistance: but if the mind of a prudent man be so capacious as to observe and distinguish an infinite diversity of natures and manners in men, it remains that we endeavor to render it as various in the application as it is in the representation. “ Qui sapit, innumeris moribus aptus erit.”—Ovid. w If we have dwelt too long upon those parables, and used them for higher purposes than mere illustrations, the dignity of both author and subject must be our excuse. For thus, it was not only usual among the Jews, but very common also among the wise men of other ancient nations, when they had, by observation, hit upon anything useful in common life, to re- duce and contract it into some short sentence, parable, or fable. Fables anciently supplied the defect of examples; but now that times abound with variety of histories, it is better and more enlivening to draw from real life. But the method of writing best suited to so various and intricate a subject as the different occasions of civil business, is that which Machiavel chose for treating politics; viz., by observation or discourse upon his- tories and examples. For the knowledge which is newly drawn, and, as it were, under our own eye, from particulars, best finds the way to particulars again. And doubtless it is 256 BACON much more conducive to practice that the discourse follow the example, than that the example follow the discourse: and this regards not only the order, but the thing itself; for when an example is proposed as the basis of a discourse, it is usually pro- posed with its whole apparatus of circumstances, which may sometimes correct and supply it; whence it becomes as a model for imitation and practice; whilst examples, produced for the sake of the treatise, are but succinctly and nakedly quoted, and, as slaves, wholly attend the call of the discourse. It is worth while to observe this difference, that as the histories of times afford the best matter for discourses upon politics, such as those of Machiavel, so the histories of lives are most advantageously used for instructions of business, because they contain all the possible variety of occasions and affairs, as well great as small. Yet a more commodious foun- dation may be had for the precepts of business than either of these histories, and that is, the discoursing upon prudent and serious epistles, such as those of Cicero to Atticus ; for epistles represent business nearer and more to the life than either annals or lives. And thus we have treated of the matter and form of the first part of the doctrine of business, which regards variety of occasions, and place it among the desiderata. There is another part of the doctrine of business differing as much from the former as the being wise in general, and the being wise for one’s self; the one seems to move as from the centre to the circumference, and the other as from the circum- ference to the centre. For there is a certain prudence of giving counsel to others, and another of looking to one’s own affairs. Both these, indeed, are sometimes found united, but oftenest separate ; as many are prudent in the management of their own private concerns, and weak in public administration, or the giv- ing advice, like the ant, which is a wise creature for itself, but pernicious in a garden. This virtue of self-wisdom was not unknown even to the Romans, those great lovers of their coun- try; whence, says the comedian, “ the wise man forms his own fortune’ — “Nam pol sapiens fingit fortunam sibi;’’y and they had it proverbial amongst them—“ Every man’s for- tune lies in his own hand ”—‘“ Faber quisque fortune pro- prie.” So Livy gives this character of the elder Cato: “Such ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 257 was his force of mind and genius, that wherever he had been born he seemed formed for making his own fortune.” 4 But if any one publicly professed or made open show of this kind of prudence, it was always accounted not only impolitic, but ominous and unfortunate, as was observed of Timotheus the Athenian, who, after having performed many great exploits for the honor and advantage of his country, and giving an account of his conduct to the people, as the manner then was, he concluded the several particulars thus: “ And here fortune had no share;”@ after which time nothing ever succeeded in his hands. This was, indeed, too arrogant and haughty, like that of Pharaoh in Ezekiel: “ Thou sayest, The river is mine, and I made myself” ;b or that of Habakkuk, “ They rejoice, and sac- rifice to their net” ;¢ or, again, that of Mezentius, who called his hand and javelin his god— “ Dextra mihi deus, et telum, quod missile libro, Nunc adsint; ” 4 or, lastly, that of Julius Czsar, the only time that we find him betraying his inward sentiments ; for when the Aruspex related to him that the entrails were not prosperous, he muttered softly, “ They shall be better when I please,”’ which was said not long before his unfortunate death. And, indeed, this excessive confidence, as it is a profane thing, so it is always unhappy; whence great and truly wise men think proper to attribute all their successes to their felicity, and not to their virtue and industry. So Sylla styled himself happy, not great ; and Cesar, at another time, more advisedly said to the pilot, “ Thou carriest Czesar and his fortune.” f But these expressions—“ Every one’s fortune is in his own hand,” “ A wise man shall control the stars,” “ Every way is passable to virtue,’ etc——if understood, and used rather as spurs to industry than as stirrups to insolence, and rather to beget in men a constancy and firmness of resolution than arro- gance and ostentation, they are deservedly esteemed sound and wholesome; and hence, doubtless, it is that they find reception in the breasts of great men, and make it sometimes difficult for them to dissemble their thoughts ; so we find Augustus Cesar, who was rather different from than inferior to his uncle, though doubtless a more moderate man, required his friends, as they stood about his death-bed, to give him their applause at his 17 258 BACON exit,g as if conscious to himself that he had acted his part well upon the stage of life. And this part of doctrine also is to be reckoned as deficient, not but that it has been much used and beaten in practice, though not taken notice of in books. Where- fore, according to our custom, we shall here set down some heads upon the subject, under the title of the Self-politician, or the art of rising in life. It may seem a new and odd kind of thing to teach men how to make their fortunes—a doctrine which everyone would gladly learn before he finds the difficulties of it; for the things required to procure fortune are not fewer or less difficult than those to procure virtue. It is as rigid and hard a thing to be- come a true politician as a true moralist, yet the treating of this subject nearly concerns the merit and credit of learning. It is of great importance to the honor of learning, that men of busi- ness should know erudition is not like a lark, which flies high and delights in nothing but singing, but that it is rather like a hawk, which soars aloft indeed, but can stoop when she finds it convenient to pounce upon her prey. Again, this also regards the perfection of learning ; for the true rule of a perfect inquiry is, that nothing can be found in the material globe which has not its correspondent in the crystalline globe—the understand- ing, or that there is nothing found in practice which has not its particular doctrine and theory. But learning esteems the building of a private fortune as a work of an inferior kind; for no man’s private fortune can be an end any way worthy of his existence; nay, it frequently happens that men of eminent virtues renounce their fortune to pursue the things of a sublimer nature. Yet even private fortune, as it is the instrument of vir- tue and doing good, is a particular doctrine, worthy of con- sideration. This doctrine has its precepts, some whereof are summary or collective, and others scattered and various. The collective precepts are founded in a just knowledge—I. of ourselves ; and, 2. of others. Let this, therefore, be the first whereon the knowledge of the rest principally turns, that we procure to ourselves, as far as possible, the window once required by Momus, who, seeing so many corners and recesses in the structure of the human heart, found fault that it should want a window, through which those dark and crooked turnings might be viewed. This window may be procured by dili- ~ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 259 gently informing ourselves of the particular persons we have to deal with—their tempers, desires, views, customs, habits ; the assistances, helps, and assurances whereon they principally rely, and whence they receive their power; their defects and weaknesses, whereat they chiefly lie open and are accessible ; their friends, factions, patrons, dependants, enemies, enviers, rivals ; their times and manners of access— “Sola viri molles aditus et tempora noras;” 4 their principles, and the rules they prescribe themselves, etc. But our information should not wholly rest in the persons, but also extend to the particular actions, which from time to time come upon the anvil; how they are conducted, with what success, by whose assistance promoted, by whom op- posed, of what weight and moment they are, and what their consequences. For a knowledge of present actions is not only very advantageous in itself, but without it the knowledge of persons will be very fallacious and uncertain ; for men change along with their actions, and are one thing whilst entangled and surrounded with business, and another when they return to themselves. And these particular informations, with regard to persons as well as actions, are like the minor propositions in every active syllogism; for no truth, nor excellence of observa- tions or axioms, whence the major political propositions are formed, can give a firm conclusion, if there be an error in the minor proposition. And that such a kind of knowledge is procurable, Solomon assures us, who says, that “ counsel in the heart of man is like a deep water, but a wise man will draw it out ” ;*& for although the knowledge itself does not fall under precept, because it regards individuals, yet instructions may be given of use for fetching it out. Men may be known six different ways, viz—1. by their countenances; 2. their words; 3. their actions; 4. their tem- pers; 5. their ends; and, 6. by the relation of others. 1. As to the countenance, there is no great matter in that old proverb, “Fronti nulla fides” ;? for although this may be said with some truth of the external and general composure of the countenance and gesture, yet there lie concealed certain more subtile motions and actions of the eyes, face, looks, and be- havior, by which the gate, as it were, of the mind is unlocked and thrown open. Who was more close than Tiberius? yet 260 BACON Tacitus observes a difference between his inward thoughts and his language in eulogizing the exploits of Drusus and Ger- manicus—thus characterizing his panegyric of the latter: “Magis in speciem verbis adornatis quam ut penitus sentire crederetur ;” and then that of Drusus—‘ Paucioribus sed in- tentior, et fida oratione.”” Again, Tacitus sketches the man- ner of the emperor on other occasions when he was less crafty, and sums up his remarks thus: “ Quin ipse compositus alias atque velut eluctantium verborum; solutius promptiusque loquebatur quoties subveniret.”. 0 And indeed, it is hard to find so great and masterly a dissembler, or a countenance so well broke and commanded, as to carry on an artful and counterfeit discourse without some way or other betraying it. 2. The words of men are full of deceit; but this is well detected in two ways: viz., either when words are spoken on the sudden, or in passion. So Tiberius, being suddenly sur- prised and hurried beyond himself, with a stinging speech from Agrippina, went a step out of his natural dissimulation ; for, says Tacitus, she thus drew an uncommon expression from his secret breast, and he rebuked her as being offended because she did not rule.o Whence the poet not unjustly calls these perturbations tortures, mankind being compelled by them to betray their own secrets— ‘“‘___Vino tortus et ira.””—Horace.@ And experience shows that there are very few so true to their own secrets, and of so close a temper, as not sometimes, through anger, ostentation, love to a friend, impotence of mind, or some other affection, to reveal their own thoughts. But nothing searches all the corners of the mind so much as dissimulation practised against dissimulation, according to the Spanish pro- verb, “ Tell a lie and find a truth.” 3. Even facts themselves, though the surest pledges of the human mind, are not altogether to be trusted, unless first attentively viewed and considered as to their magnitude and propriety; for it is certain that deceit gets itself a credit in small things, that it may practise to more advantage in larger. And the Italian thinks himself upon the cross with the crier, or put up to sale, when, without manifest cause, he is treated better than usual; for small favors lull mankind, and disarm them both of caution and industry ; whence they are properly ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 261 called by Demosthenes the baits of sloth. Again, we may clearly see the crafty and ambiguous nature of some actions which pass for benefits, from that trick practised by Mucianus upon Antony; for after a pretended reconciliation he most treacherously advanced many of Antony’s friends to lieuten- ancies, tribuneships, etc., and by this cunning entirely disarmed and defeated him ; thus winning over Antony’s friends to him- self.r ; But the surest key for unlocking the minds of others turns upon searching and sifting either their tempers and natures, or their ends and designs; and the more weak and simple are best judged by their temper, but the more prudent and close by their designs. It was prudently and wittily, though in my judgment not substantially, advised by the pope’s nuncio as to the choice of another to succeed him in his residence at a foreign court, that they should by no means send one remark- ably but rather tolerably wise ; because a man wiser than ordi- nary could never imagine what the people of that nation were likely to do. It is doubtless a common error, particularly in prudent men, to measure others by the model of their own capacity ; whence they frequently overshoot the mark, by sup- posing that men project and form greater things to themselves, and practise more subtile arts than ever entered their minds. This is elegantly intimated by the Italian proverb— “ Di denari, di senno, e di fede, C’ ne manco che non crede;” s and therefore, in men of small capacities, who commit many absurdities, a conjecture must rather be formed from the pro- pensity of their nature than from their ends in view. Whence princes also, though for a quite different reason, are best judged by their tempers as private persons are by their ends; for princes, who are at the top of human desires, have seldom any ends to aspire after with ardor and perseverance, by the situa- tion and distance whereof a direction and measure might be taken of their other actions. And this among others is a prin- cipal reason why their hearts, as the Scripture declares, are un- searchable.t But every private man is like a traveller, who pro- ceeds intently to the end of his journey, where he sets up: hence one may tolerably conjecture what a private man will or will not do ; for if a thing be conducive to his ends, it is probable he will 262 BACON do it; and vice versa. And this information, from the diversity of the ends and natures of men, may be taken comparatively as well as simply, so as to discover what humor or disposition overrules the rest. Thus Tigellinus, when he found himself outdone by Turpilianus, in administering and suggesting to Nero’s pleasures, searched, as Tacitus says, into the fears of Nero, and by this means got rid of his rival.u As for that second-hand knowledge of men’s minds which is had from the relation of others, it will be sufficient to observe of it, that defects and vices are best learned from enemies, virtues and abilities from friends, manners and times from servants, and opinions and thoughts from intimate acquaint- ance; for popular fame is light, and the judgment of superiors uncertain, before whom men walk more masked and secret. The truest character comes from domestics—‘ Verior fama e domesticis emanat.” v But the shortest way to this whole inquiry rests upon three particulars; viz.—t1. In procuring numerous friendships with such as have an extensive and general knowledge both of men and things, or at least in securing a set of particular friends, who, according to the diversity of occasions, may be always ready to give a solid information upon any point that shall turn up. 2. In observing a prudent mean and moderation between the freedom of discourse and silence, using frankness of speech most frequently; but when the thing requires it, taciturnity ; for openness of speech invites and excites others to use the same towards ourselves, which brings many things to our knowledge; whilst taciturnity procures trust, and makes men willing to deposit their secrets with us as in their own bosom. 3. In gradually acquiring such a habit of watchfulness and in- tentness in all discourse and action, as at once to promote the business in hand, yet take notice of incidental matters; for, as Epictetus would have a philosopher say to himself in every action, “I will do this, yet keep to my rule,” w so.a politician should resolve with himself in every business, “ I will drive this point, and yet learn somewhat of future use.’’ And, there- fore, such tempers as are wholly intent upon a present busi- ness without at all regarding what may intervene, which Montaigne acknowledges was his own defect, make excellent ministers of state, but fail in advancing their private fortunes. ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 263 A principal caution must also be had to restrain the impetuosity and too great alacrity of the mind, lest much knowledge should drive us on to meddle in many matters; for nothing is more unfortunate and rash than such a procedure. Therefore the variety of knowledge to be here procured of men and things comes but to this, that we make a judicious choice both of the matters we undertake and of the persons whose assistance we use, that we may thence know how to manage and dispose all things with greater dexterity and safety. Next to the knowledge of others comes the knowledge of ourselves ; and it requires no less diligence, but rather more, to get a true and exact information of ourselves than others. For that oracle, “ Know thyself,” is not only a rule of general prudence, but has also a principal place in politics. And St. James excellently observes of mankind, that “ he who views his face in a glass, instantly forgets his features.” * Whence we had need be often looking. And this also holds in politics. But there is a difference in glasses,—the divine one, wherein we are to behold ourselves, is the Word of God; but the political glass is no other than the state of things and times wherein we live. A man, therefore, must make a thorough examination, not partially like a self-lover, into his own faculties, powers, and abilities, and again into his defects, inabilities, and obstacles, summing up the account, so as to make the latter constantly appear greater, and the former rather less than they are. And upon such an examination the following particulars may come to be considered. Let the first particular be, how far a man’s manners and temper suit with the times; for if they agree in all respects, he may act more freely and at large, and follow the bent of his genius; but if there be any contrariety, then he must walk more cautiously and covertly in the whole scene of his life, and appear less in public, as Tiberius did, who, being conscious that his temper suited not with the age, never frequented the public shows, and for the last twelve years of his life came not to the senate ; whereas Augustus lived continually in open sight. Let the second consideration be, how a man can relish the professions or kinds of life in use and repute, out of which he is to make a choice, so that if his profession be not already entered upon, he may take that which is most suitable to his genius; but if he be already got into a kind of life for which 264 BACON he is unfit, that he may, upon the first opportunity, quit it and take to another—as Valentine Borgia did, who, being educated by his father for the priesthood, afterwards renounced, followed his own inclination, and appeared in a military character. Let a third consideration be, how a man stands compared with his equals and rivals, who may also probably be his com- petitors in his fortune, and let him hold that course of life in which there is the greatest want of eminent men, and wherein it is most likely that himself may rise the highest, as Cesar did, who was first an orator, a pleader, and scarce anything more than a gownman; but when he found that Cicero, Hortensius, and Catullus bore away the prize of eloquence, and that none had greatly signalized themselves in war except Pompey, he quitted the gown, and taking a long farewell of civil power, went over to the arts of the general and the emperor, whereby he rose to the top pinnacle of sovereignty. Let the fourth consideration be, to regard one’s own nature and temper in the choice of friends and dependants ; for different men require different kinds of friends—some those that are grave and secret, others such as are bold and ostentatious, etc. It is worth observing of what kind the friends of Julius Czesar were; viz., Antony, Hirtius, Balbus, Dolabella, Pollio, etc., who usually swore to die that he might live; thereby express- ing an infinite affection for Cesar, but an arrogance and con- tempt towards everybody else. And they were all men dili- gent in business, but of no great fame and reputation. Let a fifth consideration be, to beware of examples, and not fondly square one’s self to the imitation of others, as if what was achieved by them must needs be achieved by us, without considering the difference there may be between our own dis- position and manners compared with theirs we propose to im1- tate. Pompey manifestly fell into this error, who, as Cicero writes of him, had these words often in his mouth—* Sylla could do this, why shall not I?’ y» In which particular he ereatly imposed upon himself; for Sylla’s temper and method of acting differed infinitely from his—the one’s being fierce, violent, and pressing to the end, the other’s composed, mindful of the laws, and directing all to majesty and reputation ; whence he was greatly curbed and restrained in executing his designs. And these considerations may serve as a specimen of the rest. But it is not enough for a man to know himself; he must ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 265 also consider how he may most commodiously and prudently —1. show, 2. express, 3. wind and fashion himself. 1. As for show, we see nothing more frequent in life than for the less capable man to make the greater figure. It is, therefore, no small excellence of prudence, by means of a certain act and grace, to represent one’s best side to others, by setting out our own virtues, merits, and fortunes to advantage, which may be done without arrogance or rendering one’s self disagreeable ; and on the other side artificially concealing our vices, defects, misfortunes, and disgraces, dwelling upon the former, and turn- ing them as it were to the light, but palliating the latter, or effacing them by a well-adapted construction or interpretation, etc. Hence Tacitus says of Mucianus, the most prudent man of his time and the most indefatigable in business, that “‘ he had an art of showing the fair side of whatever he spoke or acted.” # And certainly it requires some art to prevent this conduct from becoming fulsome and despicable; yet ostentation, though to the first degree of vanity, is a fault in ethics rather than in politics. For as it is usually said of calumny, that if laid on boldly some of it will stick, so it may be said of ostentation, unless perfectly monstrous and ridiculous, “ Paint yourself strongly, and some of it will last.” Doubtless it will dwell with the crowd, though the wiser sort smile at it ; so that the reputa- tion procured with the number will abundantly reward the contempt of a few. But if this ostentation be managed with decency and discretion, it may greatly contribute to raise a man’s reputation, as particularly if it carry the appearance of native candor and ingenuity, or be used at times surrounded with dangers, as among the military men in time of war. Or again, if our own praises are let fall as it were by accident, and be not too seriously or largely insisted on, or if any one, in praising himself, at the same time mixes it with censure and ridicule, or lastly, if he does it not spontaneously, but is pro- voked to it by the insolence and reproach of others. And there are many who, being by nature solid, and consequently wanting in this art of spreading canvas to their own honor, find them- selves punished for their modesty, with some diminution of their dignity. But however persons of weak judgment or too rigid morals may disallow this ostentation of virtue, no one will deny that we should endeavor to keep virtue from being undervalued 266 BACON through our neglect, and less esteemed than it deserves. This diminution in the esteem of virtue happens three ways; viz., I. When a person presents and thrusts himself and his service into a business unasked; for such services are thought sufficiently rewarded by accepting them. 2. When a man at the beginning of a business over-exerts himself, and performs that all at once, which should have been done gradually ; though this, indeed, gains early commendation where affairs succeed; but in the end it produces satiety. 3. When a man is too quick and light in receiving the fruit of his virtue—in praise, applause, and favor—and pleases himself therewith; against which there is this prudent admonition, “ Beware lest thou seem unaccus- tomed to great things, if such small ones delight thee.”’ A diligent concealment of defects is no less important than a prudent and artful manifestation of virtues. Defects are prin- cipally concealed and covered under three cloaks, viz.: 1. Cau- tion, 2. Pretext, and 3. Assurance.. 3, We call that. caution, when a man prudently keeps from meddling in matters to which he is unequal; whilst, on the other hand, daring and rest- less spirits are injudiciously busying themselves in things they are not acquainted with, and thereby publish and proclaim their own defects. 2. We call that pretext, when a man with sagac- ity and prudence paves and prepares himself a way for securing a favorable and commodious interpretation of his vices and de- fects; as proceeding from different principles, or having a different tendency than is generally thought. For as to the concealment of vices, the poet said well, that vice often skulks in the verge of virtue. ** Sepe latet vitium proximate boni.”—Ovid.¢ Therefore, when we find any defect in ourselves, we must en- deavor to borrow the figure and pretext of the neighboring vir- tue for a shelter; thus the pretext of dulness is gravity ; that of indolence, considerateness, etc. And it is of service to give out some probable reason for not exerting our utmost strength, and so make a necessity appear a virtue. 3. Assurance, indeed, is a daring, but a very certain and effectual remedy, whereby a man professes himself absolutely to slight and despise those things he could not obtain, like crafty merchants, who usually raise the price of their own commodities and sink the price of other men’s. Though there is another kind of assurance, more Lr ai eerie eh, Sade hae tee, ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 267 impudent than this, by which a man brazens out his own de- fects, and forces them upon others for excellencies ; and the bet- ter to secure this end, he will feign a distrust of himself in those things wherein he really excels: like poets, who, if you except to any particular verse in their composition, will presently tell you that single line cost them more pains than all the rest; and | then produce you another, as suspected by themselves, for your opinion ; whilst, of all the number, they know it to be the best and least reliable to exception. But above all, nothing con- duces more to the well-representing a man’s self, and securing his own right, than not to disarm one’s self by too much sweet- ness and good-nature, which exposes a man to injuries and re- proaches; but rather, in all cases, at times, to dart out some sparks of a free and generous mind, that have no less of the sting than the honey. This guarded behavior, attended with a ready disposition to vindicate themselves, some men have from accident and necessity, by means of somewhat inherent in their person or fortune, as we find in the deformed, illegitimate, and disgraced ; who, if they do not want virtue, generally prove for- tunate. The expressing or declaring of a man’s self is a very different thing from the showing himself, as not relating to virtue, but to the particular actions of life. And here nothing is more politic than to preserve a prudent or sound moderation or me- dium in disclosing or concealing one’s mind as to particular ac- tions. For though profound silence, the hiding of counsels, and managing all things by blind and deaf artifice, is a useful and extraordinary thing; yet it often happens that dissimula- tion produces errors which prove snares. And we see that the men of greatest repute for politics, scruple not openly and gen- erously to declare their ends without dissimulation: thus Sylla openly declared, “ He wished all mortals happy or unhappy, as they were his friends or enemies.” So Czsar, upon his first expedition into Gaul, professed “ he had rather be the first man in an obscure village, than the second at Rome.”¢ And when the war was begun, he proved no dissembler, if Cicero says truly of him, “ That he did not refuse, but in a manner required to be called tyrant, as he was.”¢ So we find, in an epistle of Cicero to Atticus, how little of a dissembler Augustus was, who, at his first entrance upon affairs, whilst he remained the delight of the senate, used to swear in this form when he har- 268 BACON angued the people: “ Ita parentis honores consequi liceat:” ¢ which was no less than tyranny itself. It is true, to salve the matter a little, he would at those times stretch his hand towards the statue of Julius Czesar erected in the place, whilst the audi- ence smiled, applauded, admired, and cried out among them- selves: “ What does the youth mean?” but never suspected him of any ill design, who thus candidly and ingenuously spoke his mind. And yet all these we have named were prosperous men. Pompey, on the other hand, who endeavored at the same ends by more dark and concealed methods, wholly bent himself, by numberless stratagems, to cover his desires and ambition, whilst he brought the state to confusion, that it might then of necessity submit to him, and he thus procure the sovereignty to appearance against his will. And when he thought he had gained his point, as being made sole consul, which no one ever was before him, he found himself never the nearer, because those who would doubtless have assisted him, understood not his intentions; so that at length he was obliged to go in the beaten path, and under pretence of opposing Cesar, procured himself arms and an army: so slow, casual, and generally un- successful, are the counsels covered with dissimulation! And Tacitus seems to have had the same sentiment, when he makes the artifice of dissimulation an inferior prudence, compared with policy, attributing the former to Tiberius, and the latter to Augustus ; for speaking of Livia, he says: “ She was well tem- pered with the arts of her husband, and the dissimulation of her son.’’f As for the bending and forming of the mind, we should doubtless do our utmost to render it pliable, and by no means stiff and refractory to occasions and opportunities ; for to con- tinue the same men, when we ought not, is the greatest obstacle business can meet with; that is, if men remain as they did, and follow their own nature after the opportunities are changed. Whence Livy, introducing the elder Cato as a skilful architect of his own fortune, adds that “ he was ofa pliant temper ” : and hence it is, that grave, solemn, and unchangeable natures gen- erally meet with more respect than felicity. This defect some men have implanted in them by nature, as being in themselves stiff, knotty, and unfit for bending; but in others it is acquired by custom, which is a second nature, or from an opinion, which easily steals into men’s minds, that they should never change ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 269 the method of acting they had once found good and prosperous. Thus Machiavel prudently observes of Fabius Maximus: “That he would obstinately retain his old inveterate custom of delay- ing and protracting the war, when now the nature was changed and required brisker measures.”’ In others again, the same defect proceeds from want of judgment, when men do not sea- sonably distinguish the periods of things and actions, but alter too late, after the opportunity is slipped. And something of this kind Demosthenes reprehended in the Athenians, when he said: “ They were like rustics in a fencing-school, who always after a blow, guard the part that was hit, and not before.’’g And lastly, this defect in others, because they are unwilling that the labor they have taken in the way once entered should be lost, and know not how to sound a retreat, but rather trust they shall conquer occasions by perseverance. But this obstinacy and restiveness of the mind, from whatever root it proceeds, is highly prejudicial to business and men’s private fortunes: on the contrary, nothing is more politic than to make the wheels of the mind concentric with the wheels of fortune, and capable of turning together with them. And thus much of the two sum- mary or collective precepts for advancing one’s fortune. The scattered precepts for rising in life are numerous: we shall single out a few by way of example. The first is, that the builder of his fortune properly use and apply his rule, that is, accustom his mind to measure and estimate the price and value of things, as they conduce more or less to his particular fortune and ends, and this with diligence, not by halves. It is surprising, yet very true, that many have the logical part of their mind set right and the mathematical wrong, and judge truly of the consequences of things, but very unskilfully of their _ value. Hence some men are fond of access to and familiarity with princes ; others of popular fame, and fancy these to be great enjoyments, whereas both of them are frequently full of envy and dangers. Others, again, measure things according to their difficulty and the labor bestowed in procuring them, imagining themselves must needs have advanced as far as they have moved. So Cesar, to describe how diligent and indefatigable the younger Cato was to little purpose, said in the way of irony, “ That he did all things with great labor.” And hence it hap- pens, that men frequently deceive themselves, when, having the assistance of some great or honorable personage, they Bae BACON promise themselves all manner of success; whilst the truth is, they are not the greatest, but the fittest instruments that per- form business best and quickest. For improving the true mathematics of the mind, it should be principally noted what ought to come first, what second, etc., in the raising and pro- moting a man’s fortune. And, in the first place, we set down the emendation of the mind; for by removing the obstacles, and levelling the inequalities of the mind, a way may be sooner opened to fortune, than the impediments of the mind be re- moved with the assistance of fortune. And, in the second place, we set down riches, whereto most, perhaps, would have as- signed the first, as their use is so extensive. But we condemn this opinion for a reason like that of Machiavel in a similar case ; for though it was an established notion, that ‘* Money is the sinews of war,’ he said, more justly, that “ War had no sinews but those of good soldiers.” In the same manner, it may be truly affirmed that the sinews of fortune are not money, but rather the powers of the mind, address, courage, resolu- tion, intrepidity, perseverance, moderation, industry, etc. In the third place come fame and reputation; and this the rather, because they have certain tides and seasons, wherein, if they be not opportunely used, it will be difficult to recover them again ; for it is a hopeless attempt to recover a lost reputation. In the last place, we set down honors, which are easier acquired by any of the former three, much more by a conjunction of them all, than any one of them can be procured by honors. But as much depends upon observing the order of things, so likewise in observing the order of time, in disturbing of which men fre- quently err and hasten to the end, when they should only have consulted the beginning, and suddenly flying at the greatest things of all, rashly skip over those in the middle—thus neg- lecting the useful precept, ‘‘ Attend to what is immediately be- fore you,’— “ Quod nunc instat agamus.”—Virgil.4 Our second precept is, to beware of being carried by great- ness and presumption of mind to things too difficult, and thus of striving against the stream. It is a prudent advice, in the raising of one’s fortune, to yield to necessity. “ Fatis accede, deisque.”—Lucan.# eat oe. si, ple hai bi ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 271 Let us look all around us, and observe where things lie open, where they are inclosed and blocked up, where they stoop, and where they mount, and not misemploy our strength where the way is impassable: in doing this we shall prevent repulse, not stick too long in particulars, win a reputation of being moderate, give little offence, and lastly, gain an opinion of felicity ; whilst the things that would probably have happened of themselves, will be attributed to our own industry. A third precept, which seems somewhat to cross the former, though not when well understood, is, that we do not always wait for opportunities, but sometimes excite and lead them. This Demosthenes intimates in a high strain, when he says, “That as it is a maxim for the general to lead his army, so a wise man should lead things, make them execute his will, and not himself be obliged to follow events.” & And if we attend, we shall find two different kinds of men held equal to the man- agement of affairs; for some know how to make an advan- tageous use of opportunities, yet contrive or project nothing of themselves; whilst others are wholly intent upon forming schemes, and neglect the laying hold of opportunities as they offer; but either of these faculties is quite lame without the other. It is a fourth precept to undertake nothing that necessarily requires much time, but constantly to remember time is ever on the wing— “Sed fugit interea, fugit irreparabile tempus.”—Virgil.! And the only reason why those who addict themselves to toil- some professions and employs, as lawyers, authors, etc., are less versed in making their fortune, is the want of time from their other studies to gain a knowledge of particulars, wait for opportunities, and project their own rising. We see in the courts of princes the most effectual men in making their own fortunes, and invading the fortunes of others, are such as have no public employ, but are continually plotting their own rise and advantage. A fifth precept is, that we in some measure imitate nature, which does nothing in vain; and this is not very difficult, if we skilfully mix and interlace our affairs of all kinds: for in every action the mind is to be so instructed and prepared, and our intentions to be so dependent upon and subordinate to each other, that if we cannot gain the highest step, we ae BACON may contentedly take up with the second, or even the third. But if we can fix on no part of our prospect, then we should direct the pains we have been at to some other end; so, as if we receive no benefit for the present, yet at least to gain some- what of future advantage. But if we can obtain no solid good from our endeavors neither in present nor in future, let us endeavor at least to gain a reputation by it, or some one thing or other; always computing with ourselves, that from every action we receive some advantage more or less, and by no means suffering the mind to despond or be astonished when we fail of our principal end. For there is nothing more contrary to political prudence than to be wholly intent upon any single thing, as he who is so must lose numberless opportunities which come sideways in business, and which perhaps would be more favorable and conducive to the things that shall turn up hereafter, than to those that were before pursued. Let men therefore well understand the rule—‘ These things should be done, but those should not be omitted.” The sixth precept is, that we do not too peremptorily oblige ourselves to anything, though it seem at first sight not liable to contingency ; but always reserve a window open to fly out, or some secret back-door for retreat. A seventh precept is, that old one of Bias, provided it be not used treacherously, but only by way of caution and moderation — Love your friend as if he were to become an enemy, and hate your enemy as if he were to become your friend:’ for it surprisingly betrays and corrupts all sorts of utility, to plunge one’s self too far in unhappy friendships, vexations, and turbu- lent quarrels, or childish and empty emulations. And so much, by way of example, upon the doctrine or art of rising in life. We are well aware that good fortune may be had upon easier conditions than are here laid down; for it falls almost spon- taneously upon some men, whilst others procure it only by dili- gence and assiduity, without much art, though still with some caution. But as Cicero, when he draws the perfect orator, does not mean that every pleader either could or should be like him ; and as in describing the prince or the politician, which some have undertaken, the model is formed to the perfect rules of art, and not according to common life—the same method is ob- served by us in this sketch of the self-politician. It must be observed that the precepts we have laid down upon this subject are all of them lawful, and not such immoral ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 273 artifices as Machiavel speaks of, who directs men to have little regard for virtue itself, but only for the show and public reputa- tion of it: “ Because,” says he, “the credit and opinion of virtue are a help to a man, but virtue itself a hindrance.” ™ He also directs his politician to ground all his prudence on this supposition, that men cannot be truly and safely worked to his purpose but by fear, and therefore advises him to en- deavor, by all possible means, to subject them to dangers and difficulties. Whence his politician may seem to be what the Italians call a sower of thorns. So Cicero cites this principle, “ Let our friends fall, provided our enemies perish ;” upon which the triumvirs acted, in purchasing the death of their enemies by the destruction of their nearest friends. So Catiline became a disturber and incendiary of the state, that he might the better fish his fortune in troubled waters, declaring, that if his fortune was set on fire, he would quench it, not with water, but destruc- tion And so Lysander would say, that children were to be decoyed with sweetmeats and men by false oaths ; and there are numerous other corrupt and pernicious maxims of the same kind, more indeed, as in all other cases, than of such as are just and sound. Now if any man delight in this corrupt or tainted prudence, we deny not but he may take a short cut to fortune, as being thus disentangled and set at large from all restraint of laws, good-nature, and virtue, and having no regard but to his own promotion—though it is in life as in a journey, where the shortest road is the dirtiest, and yet the better not much about. But if men were themselves, and not carried away with the tempest of ambition, they would be so far from studying these wicked arts, as rather to view them, not only in that general map of the world, which shows all to be vanity and vexation of spirit,o but also in that more particular one, which represents a life separate from good actions as a curse; that the more eminent this life, the greater the curse ; that the noblest reward of virtue is virtue itself ; that the extremest punishment of vice is vice itself; and that as Virgil excellently observes, good actions are rewarded, as bad ones also are punished—by the conscious- ness that attends them. “ Que vobis, quz digna, viri, pro laudibus istis Premia posse rear solvi? Pulcherrima primum Dii moresque dabunt vestri.’””—Virgil.? 18 274 BACON And indeed, whilst men are projecting and every way rack- ing their thoughts to provide and take care for their fortunes, they ought, in the midst of all, to have an eye to the Divine Providence, which frequently overturns and brings to naught the machinations and deep devices of the wicked, according to that of the Scripture, “He has conceived iniquity, and shall bring forth vanity.”q And although men were not in this pursuit to practise injustice and unlawful arts, yet a con- tinual and restless search and striving after fortune, takes up too much of their time, who have nobler things to observe, and prevents them from paying their tribute to God, who exacts from all men the tenth part of their substance and the seventh of their time. Even the heathens observed, that man was not made to keep his mind always on the ground; and, like the serpent, eating the dust— “ Atque affigit humo divine particulam aure.’”—Horace." And again— “Os homini sublime dedit, coelumque tueri Jussit; et erectos ad sidera tollere vultus.”—Ovid.s Some, however, may flatter themselves, that, by what sinister means soever their fortune be procured, they are determined to use it well when obtained; when it was said of Augustus Czesar and Septimus Severus, that “they ought never to have been born, or never to have died :” so much evil they committed in aspiring, and so much good they did when seated. But let such men know that this recompensing of evil with good, though it may be approved after the action, yet is justly con- demned in the design. Lastly, it may not be amiss, in this eager pursuit of fortune, for men to cool themselves a little with the saying of Charles V to his son; viz. “ Fortune is like the ladies, who generally scorn and discard their over-earnest admirers.” But this last remedy belongs to such as have their taste vitiated by a disease of the mind. Let mankind rather rest upon the corner-stone of divinity and philosophy, both which nearly agree in the thing that ought first to be sought. For Divinity says: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all other things shall be added unto you:” # so philosophy directs us first to seek the goods of the mind, and the rest will either be supplied, or are not much wanted. For although this foundation, laid by ee ae se _— ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 275 human hands, is sometimes placed upon the sand, as in the case of Brutus, who, at his death, cried out, “ O virtue, I have reverenced thee as a being, but alas, thou art an empty name!” « yet the same foundation is ever, by the Divine hand, fixed upon arock. And here we conclude the doctrine of rising in life, and the general doctrine of business, together. CHAPTER III The Arts of Empire or State Policy omitted. Two Deficiencies alone noticed. The Art of Enlarging the Bounds of Empire, and the Knowledge of Universal Justice drawn from the Fountains of Law We come now to the art of empire, or the doctrine of govern- ing a state, which includes economics, as a city includes a family. But here, according to my former resolution, I impose . silence upon myself; how well qualified soever I might seem to treat the subject, from the constant course of life, studies, em- ploys, and the public posts I have, for a long series of years, sus- tained, even to the highest in the kingdom, which, through his majesty’s favor, and no merit of my own, I held for four years. And this I speak to posterity, not out of ostentation; but be- cause I judge it may somewhat import the dignity of learn- ing, to have a man born for letters rather than anything else, who should, by a certain fatality, and against the bent of his genius, be compelled into active life, and yet be raised, by a prudent king, to the greatest posts of honor, trust, and civil employ. And if I should hereafter have leisure to write upon government, the work will probably either be posthumous or abortive. But in the meantime, having now seated all the sciences, each in its proper place, lest such a high chair as that of government should remain absolutely vacant, we here observe, that two parts of civil doctrine, though belonging not to the secrets of state, but of a more open and vulgar nature, are deficient, and shall, therefore, in our manner, give specimens for supplying them. The art of government includes the political offices; viz., 1. the preservation; 2. the happiness; and 3. the enlargement of a state. The two former have, in good measure, been excel- lently treated by some ;¢ but there is nothing extant upon the last; which we, therefore, note as deficient, and propose the 276 BACON plowne sketch, by way of example, for supplying it, under the title of the Military Statesman, or the Doctrine of Extending the Bounds of Empire. THE MILITARY STATESMAN; Or, a Specimen of the Doctrine of Enlarging the Bounds of Empire The saying of Themistocles, if applied to himself, was indecent and haughty; but if meant in general, contains a very prudent observation, and as grave a censure. Being asked, at a feast, to touch a lute, he answered, “ He could not fiddle; but he could raise a small village to a great city.” Which words, if taken in a political sense, excellently describe and distinguish two very different faculties in those who are at the helm of states. For upon an exact survey, we shall find some, though but very few, that, being raised to the council-board, the sen- ate, or other public office, can enlarge a small state, or city, and yet have little skill in music; but many more, who, having a good hand upon the harp, or the lute, that is, at the trifles of a court, are so far from enlarging a state, that they rather seem designed by nature to overturn and ruin it, though ever so happy and flourishing. And, in- deed, those base arts and tricks by which many counsellors and men of great place procure the favor of their sovereign, and a popular char- acter, deserve no other name than a certain knack of fiddling; as being things more pleasing for the present, and more ornamental to the practitioner, than useful, and suited to enlarge the bounds, or increase the riches of the state, whereof they are ministers. Again, there are, doubtless, counsellors and governors, who, though equal to business, and of no contemptible abilities, may commodiously manage things so as to preserve them from manifest precipices and inconveniences, though they by no means have the creative power of building and ex- tending an empire. But whatever the workmen be, let us regard the work itself; viz., what is to be deemed the true extent of kingdoms and republics, and by what means this may be procured—a subject well deserving to lie continually before princes, for their diligent medita- tion; lest, by over-rating their own strength, they should rashly engage in too difficult and vain enterprises, or, thinking too meanly of their power, submit to timorous and effeminate counsels. The greatness of an empire, in point of bulk and territory, is subject to mensuration, and for its revenue, to calculation. The number of inhabitants may be known by valuation or tax, and the number and extent of cities and towns, by survey and maps; yet in all civil affairs there is not a thing more liable to error than the making a true and intrinsic estimate of the strength and riches of a state. The kingdom of heaven is compared, not to an acorn, or any large nut, but to a grain of mustard-seed; which, though one of the least grains, has in it a certain quick property, and native spirit, whereby it rises soon, and spreads itself wide: so some states of very large compass are little suited to extend their limits, or procure a wider command, whilst oth- ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 277 ers of small dimension prove the foundations of the greatest mon- archies. Fortified towns, well-stored arsenals, noble breeds of war-horses, armed chariots, elephants, engines, all kinds of artillery, arms, and the like, are nothing more than a sheep in a lion’s skin, unless the nation itself be, from its origin and temper, stout and warlike. Nor is num- ber of troops itself of any great service, where the soldiers are weak and enervate: for, as Virgil well observes, “ The wolf cares not how large the flock is.””*« The Persian army in the plains of Arbela, ap- peared to the eyes of the Macedonians as an immense ocean of people; insomuch that Alexander’s leaders, being struck at the sight, coun- selled their general to fall upon them by night; but he replied, “I will not steal the victory”’;¢ and it was found an easier conquest than he expected. Tigranes, encamped upon a hill, with an army of four hun- dred thousand men, seeing the Roman army, consisting but of four- teen thousand, making up to him, he jested at it, and said, ‘‘ Those men are too many for an embassy, but much too few for a battle”’: ¢ yet before sunset he found them enough to give him chase, with in- finite slaughter. And we have abundant examples of the great inequal- ity betwixt number and strength. This, therefore, may be first set down as a sure and certain maxim, and the capital of all the rest, with regard to the greatness of a state, that the people be of a military race,f or both by origin and disposition warlike. The sinews of war are not money, if the sinews of men’s arms be wanting, as they are in a soft and effeminate nation. It was a just answer of Solon to Creesus, who showed him all his treasure: ‘ Yes, sir, but if another should come with better iron than you, he would be master of all this gold.’ And, therefore, all princes whose native subjects are not hardy and military, should make a very modest estimate of their power; as, on the other hand, those who rule a stout and martial people, may well enough know their own strength, if they be not otherwise wanting to them- selves. As to hired forces, which is the usual remedy when native forces are wanting, there are numerous examples, which clearly show, that whatever state depends upon them, though it may perhaps for a time extend its feathers beyond its nest, yet they will mew soon after. The blessing of Judah and Issachar can never meet; so that the same tribe, or nation, should be both the lion’s whelp, and the ass under the burden: nor can a people, overburdened with taxes, ever be strong and warlike. It is true, that taxes levied by public consent less dispirit and sink the minds of the subject than those imposed in absolute gov- ernments; as clearly appears by what is called excise in the Nether- lands, and in some measure by the contributions called the subsidies in England. We are now speaking of the minds, and not of the wealth of the people: for tributes by consent, though the same thing with tributes imposed, as to exhausting the riches of a kingdom, yet very differently affect the minds of the subject. So that this also must be oN maxim of state, “ That a people oppressed with taxes is unfit to e.” States and kingdoms that aspire to greatness, must be very careful sa8 BACON that their nobles and gentry increase not too much; otherwise, the common people will be dispirited, reduced to an abject state, and be- come little better than slaves to the nobility: as we see in coppices, if the staddles are left too numerous, there will never be clean under- wood; but the greatest part degenerates into shrubs and bushes. So in nations, where the nobility 1s too numerous, the commonalty will be base and cowardly; and, at length, not one head in a hundred among them prove fit for a helmet, especially with regard to the in- fantry, which is generally the prime strength of an army. Whence, though a nation be full-peopled, its force may be small. We need no clearer proof of this than by comparing England and France. For though England be far inferior in extent and number of inhabitants, yet it has almost constantly got the better of France in war: for this reason, that the rustics, and lower sort of people in England, make better soldiers than the peasants of France. And in this respect it was a very political and deep foresight of Henry the Seventh of Eng- land, to constitute lesser settled farms, and houses of husbandry, with a certain fixed and inseparable proportion of land annexed, sufficient for a life of plenty: so that the proprietors themselves, or at least the renters, and not hirelings, might occupy them. For thus a nation may acquire that character which Virgil gives of ancient Italy: “A country strong in arms, and rich of soil,”’— “Terra potens armis, atque ubere glebe.’’—Virgil.# We must not here pass over a sort of people, almost peculiar to Eng- land, viz., the servants of our nobles and gentry; as the lowest of this kind are no way inferior to the yeomanry for foot-service. And it is certain that the hospitable magnificence and splendor, the attendance and large train, in use among the nobility and gentry of England, add much to our military strength; as, on the other hand, a close retired life among the nobility causes a want of forces. It must be earnestly endeavored, that the tree of monarchy, like the tree of Nebuchadnezzar, have its trunk sufficiently large and strong, to support its branches and leaves; or that the natives be sufficient to keep the foreign subjects under: whence those states best consult their greatness, which are liberal of naturalization. For it were vain to think a handful of men, how excellent soever in spirit and counsel, should hold large and spacious countries under the yoke of empire. This, indeed, might perhaps be done for a season, but it cannot be lasting. The Spartans were reserved and difficult in receiving for- eigners among them; and, therefore, so long as they ruled within their own narrow bounds, their affairs stood firm and strong; but soon after they began to widen their borders, and extend their dominion farther than the Spartan race could well command the foreign crowd, their power sunk of a sudden. Never did commonwealth receive new citi- zens so profusely as the Roman; whence its fortune was equal to so prudent a conduct: and thus the Romans acquired the most extensive empire on the globe. It was their custom to give a speedy denization, and in the highest degree; that is, not only a right of commerce, of ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 279 marriage and inheritance, but also the right of suffrage, and of candi- dature for places and honors.* And this not only to particular per- sons; but they conferred it upon entire families, cities, and sometimes whole nations at once. Add to this their custom of settling colonies, whereby Roman roots were transplanted in foreign soil. And to con- sider these two practices together, it might be said, that the Romans did not spread themselves over the globe, but that the globe spread itself over the Romans: which is the securest method of extending an empire. I have often wondered how the Spanish government could with so few natives inclose and curb so many kingdoms and provinces. But Spain may be esteemed a sufficiently large trunk, as it contains a much greater tract of country than either Rome or Sparta did at first. And although the Spaniards are very sparing of naturalization, yet they do what comes next to it: promiscuously receive the subjects of all nations into their army; and even their highest military office is often conferred upon foreign leaders. Nay, it appears that Spain at length begins to feel their want of natives, and are now endeavoring to supply it. It is certain, that the sedentary mechanic arts, practised within doors, and the more curious manufactures, which require the finger rather than the arm, are in their own nature opposite to a military spirit. Men of the sword universally delight in exemption from work, and dread dangers less than labor. And in this temper they must be somewhat indulged, if we desire to keep their minds in vigor. It was, therefore, a great advantage to Sparta, Athens, Rome, and other an- cient republics, that they had the use, not of freemen, but generally of slaves for this kind of domestic arts. But after the Christian religion gained ground, the use of slaves was in great measure abolished. What comes nearest this custom is to leave such arts chiefly to strang- ers, who for that purpose should be invited to come in, or at least be easily admitted. The native vulgar should consist of three kinds; viz., husbandmen, free servants, and handicraftsmen, used to the strong masculine arts; such as smithery, masonry, carpentry, etc., without including the soldiery. But above all, it is most conducive to the greatness of empire, for a nation to profess the skill of arms as its principal glory and most honorable employ; for the things hitherto spoken of are but pre- paratory to the use of arms; and to what end this preparation, if the thing itself be not reduced to action? Romulus, as the story goes, left it in charge to his people at his death, that of all tifings they should cultivate the art of war, as that which would make their city the head of the world.! The whole frame and structure of the Spartan govern- ment tended, with more diligence, indeed, than prudence, only to make its inhabitants warriors. Such was also the practice of the Per- sians and Macedonians, though not so constant and lasting. The Britons, Gauls, Germans, Goths, Saxons, and Normans, for some time also principally cultivated military arts. The Turks did the same, be- ing not a little excited thereto by their law, and still continue the dis- cipline, notwithstanding their soldiery be now on its decline. Of all 280 BACON ~ Christian Europe, the only nation that still retains and professes this discipline is the Spanish. But it is so plain, that every one advances farthest in what he studies most, as to require no enforcing. It 1s suf- ficient to intimate, that unless a nation professedly studies and practises arms and military discipline, so as to make them a principal business, it must not expect that any remarkable greatness of empire will come of its own accord. On the contrary, it is the most certain oracle of time, that those nations which have longest continued in the study and profession of arms, as the Romans and the Turks have principally done, make the most surprising progress in enlarging the bounds of empire. And again, those nations which have flourished, though but for a single age, in military glory, yet during that time have obtained such a greatness of empire as has remained with them long after, when their martial discipline was slackened. ; It bears some relation to the foregoing precept, that ‘‘a state should have such laws and customs as may readily administer just causes, or at least pretexts, of taking arms.’”’ For there is such a natural notion of justice imprinted in men’s minds, that they will not make war, which is attended with so many calamities, unless for some weighty or at least some specious reason. The Turks are never unprovided of a cause of war, viz., the propagation of their law and religion. The Romans, though it was a high degree of honor for their emperors to extend the borders of their empire, yet never undertook a war for that sole end. Let it, therefore, be a rule to all nations that aim at empire, to have a quick and lively sensibility of any injury done to their fron- tier subjects, merchants, or public ministers. And let them not sit too long quiet after the first provocation. Let them also be ready and cheerful in sending auxiliaries to their friends and allies, which the Romans constantly observed, insomuch that if an invasion were made upon any of their allies, who also had a defensive league with others, and the former begged assistance severally, the Romans would ever be the first to give it, and not suffer the honor of the benefit to be snatched from them by others. As for the wars anciently waged from a certain conformity or tacit correspondence of states, I cannot see on what law they stood. Such were the wars undertaken by the Romans for restoring liberty to Greece; such were those of the Lacedzemonians and Athenians, for establishing or overturning democracies or oli- garchies; and such sometimes are those entered into by republics or kingdoms, under pretext of protecting the subjects of other nations, or delivering them from tyranny. It may suffice for the present pur- pose, that no state expect any greatness of empire, unless it be im- mediately ready to seize any just occasion of a war. No one body, whether natural or political, can preserve its health without exercise; and honorable war is the wholesome exercise of a kingdom or commonwealth. Civil wars, indeed, are like the heat of a fever, but a war abroad is like the heat of motion—wholesome; for men’s minds are enervated and their manners corrupted by sluggish and inactive peace. And, however it may be as to the happiness of a state, it is doubtless best for its greatness to be as it were always in ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 281 arms. A veteran army, indeed, kept constantly ready for marching, is expensive, yet it gives a state the disposal of things among its neighbors, or at least procures it a great reputation in other respects, as may be clearly seen in the Spaniard, who has now, for a long suc- cession of years, kept a standing army, though not always in the same part of the country. The dominion of the sea is an epitome of monarchy. Cicero, in a letter to Atticus, writing of Pompey’s preparation against Czsar, says, the designs of Pompey are like those of Themistocles; for he thinks they who command the séa command the empire. And doubtless Pompey would have wearied Cesar out, and brought him under, had he not, through a vain confidence, abandoned his design. It is plain, from many examples, of how great consequence sea-fights are. The fight at Actium decided the empire of the world; the fight at Lepanto struck a hook in the nose of the Turk; and it has frequently happened that victories or defeats at sea have put a final end to the war, that is, when the whole fortune of it has been committed to them. Doubtless the being master of the sea leaves a nation at great liberty to act, and to take as much or as little of the war as it pleases, whilst those who are superior in land forces have yet numerous difficulties to struggle with. And at present, amongst the European nations, a naval strength, which is the portion of Great Britain, is more than ever of the greatest im- portance to sovereignty, as well because most of the kingdoms of Europe are not continents, but in good measure surrounded by the sea, as because the treasures of both Indies seem but an accessory to the dominion of the seas. The wars of later times seem to have been waged in the dark, com- pared with the variety of glory and honor usually reflected upon the military men of former ages. If is true, we have at this day certain military honors designed perhaps as incentives to courage, though common to men of the gown as well as the sword; we have also some coats of arms and public hospitals, for soldiers worn out and disabled in the service; but among the ancients, when a victory was obtairied, there were trophies, funeral orations, and magnificent monuments for such as died in the wars. Civic crowns and military garlands were be- stowed upon all the soldiers. The very name of emperor was after- wards borrowed by the greatest kings from leaders in the wars; they had solemn triumphs for their successful generals, they had donatives and great largesses for the soldiers, when the army was disbanded; these are such great and dazzling things in the eyes of mortals, as to be capable of firing the most frozen spirits and inflaming them for war. In particular, the manner of triumph among the Romans was not a thing of pageantry or empty show, but deserving to be reckoned among the wisest and most noble of their customs, as being attended with these three particulars; viz., 1. The glory and honor of their leaders; 2. The enriching of the treasury with the spoils; and, 3. Donatives to the army. But their triumphal honors were, perhaps, unfit for monarchies, unless in the person of the king or his son, which also obtained at Rome in the times of its emperors, who reserved the eas BACON honor of the triumph as peculiar to themselves and their sons upon re- turning from the wars whereat they were present, and had brought to a conclusion, only conferring their vestments and triumphal ensigns upon the other leaders. But to conclude, though no man, as the Scripture testifies, can by taking care add one cubit to his stature, that is, in the little model of the human body; yet in the vast fabric of kingdoms and common- wealths, it is in the power of kings and rulers to extend and enlarge the bounds of empire; for by prudently introducing such laws, orders, and customs as those above mentioned, and the like, they might sow the seeds of greatness for posterity and future ages. But these coun- sels seldom reach the ears of princes, who generally commit the whole to the direction and disposal of fortune. The other desideratum we note in the art of government, is the doc- trine of universal justice, or the fountains of law. They who have hith- erto written upon laws were either as philosophers or lawyers; the philosophers advance many things that appear beautiful in discourse, but lie out of the road of use; whilst the lawyers, being bound and subject to the decrees of the laws prevailing in their several countries, whether Roman or pontifical, have not their judgment free, but write as in fetters. This doctrine, doubtless, properly belongs to states- men, who best understand civil society, the good of the people, nat- ural equity, the customs of nations, and the different forms of states; whence they are able to judge of laws by the principles and precepts, as well of natural justice as of politics. The present view, therefore, is to discover the fountains of justice and public good, and in all the parts of equity to give a certain character and idea of what is just, according whereto those who desire it may examine the laws of par- ticular kingdoms and states, and thence endeavor to amend them. And of this doctrine we shall, in our usual way, give an example, aphoristically, in a single title. A SPECIMEN OF THE METHOD OF TREATING UNIVERSAL JUSTICE; OR, THE FouNTAINS OF EQuITY Introduction ApPHorisM I. Either law or force prevails in civil society. But there is some force that resembles law, and some law that resembles force more than justice; whence there are three fountains of injustice; viz., 1. Mere force; 2. Malicious ensnaring under color of law; and, 3. The severity of the law itself. 2. The ground of private right is this: He who does an injury receives profit or pleasure in the action, and incurs danger by the example; whilst others partake not with him in that profit or pleasure, but think the example concerns them; whence they easily agree to defend them- selves by laws, lest each particular should be injured in his turn. But if it should happen, from the nature of the times, and a communion of guilt, that the greater or more powerful part should be subject to danger, rather than defended from it by law, faction here disannuls the law; and this case frequently happens, ) Seger et’ Se i. + FS joe wii iat i ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 283 3. But private right lies under the protection of public laws; for law guards the people, and magistrates guard the laws. But the authority of the magistrate is derived from the majesty of the government, the form of the constitution, and its fundamental laws; whence, if the political constitution be just and right, the laws will be of excellent use; but if otherwise, of little security. 4. Public law is not only the preserver of private right, so as to keep it unviolated and prevent injuries, but extends also to religion, arms, discipline, ornaments, wealth, and all things that regard the good of a state. 5. For the end and scope of laws, whereto all their decrees and sanctions ought to tend, is the happiness of the people; which is pro- curable—1. By rightly instructing them in piety, religion, and the duties of morality; 2. securing them by arms against foreign enemies; 3. guarding them by laws against faction and private injuries; 4. ren- dering them obedient to the government and magistracy; and, 5. thus causing them to flourish in strength and plenty. But laws are the in- struments and sinews for procuring all this. 6. The best laws, indeed, secure this good end, but many other laws fail of it; for laws differ surprisingly from one another, insomuch that some are—I. excellent; others, 2. of a middle nature; and 3. others again absolutely corrupt. We shall, therefore, here offer, according to the best of our judgment, certain laws, as it were, of laws; from whence an information may be derived as to what is well or what is ill laid down, or established by particular laws. 7. But before we proceed to the body of particular laws, we will briefly touch upon the excellencies and dignities of laws in general. Now, that may be esteemed a good law which is—1. clear and certain in its sense; 2. just in its command; 3. commodious in the execution; 4. agreeable to the form of government; and, 5. productive of virtue in the subject. TITLE I Of that primary dignity of the law, certainty 8. Certainty is so essential to a law, that a law without it cannot be just; for if the trumpet gives an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?» So if the law has an uncertain sense, who shall obey it? A law, therefore, ought to give warning before it strikes: and it is a true maxim, that the best law leaves least to the breast of the judge; which is effected by certainty. 9. Laws have two uncertainties—the one where no law is prescribed, the other when a law is ambiguous and obscure; wherefore we must first speak of the cases omitted by the law, that in these also may be found some rules of certainty. Cases omitted in law 1o. The narrowness of human prudence cannot foresee all the cases that time may produce. Whence new cases, and cases omitted, fre- quently turn up. And for these there are three remedies or supplies; 284 BACON viz., I. by proceeding upon analogy; 2. by the use of precedents, though not yet brought into law; and 3. by juries, which decree ac- cording to conscience and discretion, whether in the courts of equity or of common law. Application and extension of laws 11. I. In cases omitted, the rule of law is to be deduced from similar cases, but with caution and judgment. And here the following rules are to be observed: Let reason be esteemed a fruitful, and custom a barren thing, so as to breed no cases. And therefore what is received against the reason of a law, or where its reason is obscure, should not be drawn into precedents. : 12. A great public good must draw to itself all cases omitted; and therefore, when a law remarkably, and in an extraordinary manner, regards and procures the good of the public, let its interpretation be full and extensive. 13. It is a cruel thing to torture the laws, that they may torture men; whence penal laws, much less capital laws, should not be extended to new offences. But if the offence be old, and known to the law, and its prosecution fall upon a new case not provided for by law, the law must rather be forsaken than offences go unpunished. 14. Statutes that repeal the common law, especially in common and settled cases, should not be drawn by analogy to cases omitted; for when the republic has long been without an entire law, and that in express cases, there is little danger if cases omitted should wait their remedy from a new statute. 15. It is enough for such statutes as were plainly temporary laws, en- acted upon particular urgent occasions of state, to contain themselves within their proper cases after those occasions cease; for it were pre- posterous to extend them in any measure to cases omitted. 16. There is no precedent of a precedent; but extension should rest in immediate cases, otherwise it would gradually slide on to dissimilar cases, and so the wit of men prevail over the authority of laws. 17. In such laws and statutes as are concise, extension may be more freely allowed; but in those which express particular cases, it should be used more cautiously. For as exception strengthens the force of a law in unaccepted cases, so enumeration weakens it in cases not enumerated. 18. An explanatory statute stops the current of a precedent statute; nor does either of them admit extension afterwards. Neither should the judge make a super-extension where the law has once begun one. 19. The solemnity of forms and acts admits not of extension to similar cases: for it is losing the nature of solemnity to go from custom to opinion, and the introduction of new things takes from the majesty of the old. 20. The extension of law is easy to after cases, which had no existence at the time when the law was made: for where a case could not be described because not then in being, a case omitted is deemed a case expressed, if there be the same reason for it. ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 285 Precedents and the use of forms 21. Il. We come next to precedents; from which justice may be de- rived where the law is deficient, but reserving custom, which is a kind of law, and the precedents which, through frequent use, are passed into custom, as into a tacit law; we shall at present only speak of such precedents as happen but rarely, and have not acquired the force of a law, with a view to show how and with what caution a rule of justice may be derived from them when the law is defective. 22. Precedents are to be derived from good and moderate times, and not from such as are tyrannical, factious, or dissolute; for this latter kind are a spurious birth of time, and prove more prejudicial than instructive. : 23. Modern examples are to be held the safest. For why may not what was lately done, without any inconvenience be safely done again? Yet recent examples have the less authority; and, where things require a restoration, participate more of their own times than of right reason. 24. Ancient precedents are to be received with caution and choice; for the course of time alters many things; so that what seems ancient, in time may, for disturbance and unsuitableness, be new at the present; and therefore the precedents of intermediate times are the best, or those of such times as have most agreement with the present, which ancient times may happen to have more than later. 25. Let the limits of a precedent be observed, and rather kept within than exceeded; for where there is no rule of law, everything should be suspected: and therefore, as this is a dark road, we should not be hasty to follow. 26. Beware of fragments and epitomes of examples, and rather con- sider the whole of the precedent with all its process; for if it be absurd to judge upon part of a law without understanding the whole, this should be much rather observed of precedents, the use whereof is pre- carious, without an evident correspondence. 27. It is of great consequence through what hands the precedents pass, and by whom they have been allowed. For if they have obtained only among clerks and secretaries, by the course of the court, without any manifest knowledge of their superiors; or have prevailed among that source of errors, the populace, they are to be rejected or lightly esteemed. But if they come before senators, judges, or principal courts, so that of necessity they must have been strengthened, at least by the tacit approval of proper persons, their dignity is the greater. 28. More authority is to be allowed to those examples which, though less used, have been published and thoroughly canvassed; but less to those that have lain buried and forgotten in the closet or archives: for examples, like waters, are wholesomest in the running stream. 29. Precedents in law should not be derived from history, but from public acts and accurate traditions; for it is a certain infelicity, even among the best historians, that they dwell not sufficiently upon laws and judicial proceedings; or if they happen to have some regard thereto, yet their accounts are far from being authentic. 286 BACON 30. An example rejected in the same, or next succeeding age, should not easily be received again when the same case recurs; for it makes not so much in its favor that men sometimes used it, as in its disfavor that they dropped it upon experience. 31. Examples are things of direction and advice, not rules or orders, and therefore should be so managed as to bend the authority of former times to the service of the present. Pretorian and censorian courts 32. III. There should be both courts and juries, to judge according to conscience and discretion, where the rule of the law is defective; for laws, as we before observed, cannot provide against all cases, but are suited only to such as frequently happen: time, the wisest of all things, daily introducing new cases. 33. But new cases happen both in criminal matters, which require punishment; and in civil causes, which require relief. The courts that regard the former, we call censorial, or courts of justice; and those that regard the latter, prztorial, of courts of equity. 34. The courts of justice should have jurisdiction and power, not only to punish new offences, but also to increase the penalties ap- pointed by the laws for old ones, where the cases are flagrant and notorious, yet not capital; for every enormous crime may be esteemed a new one. 35. In like manner, the courts of equity should have power as well to abate the rigor of the law as to supply its defects; for if a remedy be afforded to a person neglected by the law, much more to him who is hurt by the law. 36. Both the censorial and prztorial courts should absolutely confine themselves to enormous and extraordinary cases, without invading the ordinary jurisdictions; lest otherwise the law should rather be supplanted than supplied. 37. These jurisdictions should reside only in supreme courts, and not be communicated to the lower; for the power of supplying, extend- ing, or moderating the laws, differs but little from a power of making them. 38. These courts of jurisdiction should not be committed to a single person, but consist of several; and let not their verdict be given in silence, but let the judges produce the reasons of their sentence openly and in full audience of the court; so that what is free in power may yet be limited by regard to fame and reputation. 39. Let there be no records, of blood, nor sentence of capital crimes, passed in any court, but upon known and certain laws: God himself first pronounced, and afterwards inflicted death. Nor should a man lose his life without first knowing that he had forfeited it. 40. In the courts of justice, let there be three returns of the jury, that the judges may not only lie under no necessity of absolving or con- demning, but also have a liberty of pronouncing the case not clear. And let there be, besides penalty, a note of infamy or punishment by way of admonishing others, and chastising delinquents, as it were, by putting them to blush with shame and scandal. ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 287 41. In courts of justice, let the first overtures and intermediate parts of all great offences be punished, though the end were not accom- plished. And this should be the principal use of such courts; for it is the part of discipline to punish the first buddings of offences; and the part of clemency, to punish the intermediate actions, and prevent their taking effect. 42. Great regard must be had in courts of equity, not to afford relief in those cases which the law has not so much omitted as despised for their levity, or, for their odiousness, judged unworthy of a remedy. 43. But above all, it is of the greatest moment to the certainty of the laws we now speak of, that courts of equity keep from swelling and overflowing, lest, under pretense of mitigating the rigor of the law, they should cut its sinews and weaken its strength by wresting all things to their own disposal. 44. No court of equity should have a right of decreeing against a statute, under any pretext of equity whatever; otherwise the judge would become the legislator, and have all things dependent upon his will. 45. Some conceive the jurisdiction which decrees according to equity and conscience, and that which proceeds according to strict justice, should be deputed to the same courts, whilst others would have them kept distinct; which seems much the better way. There will be no distinction of cases where there is a mixture of jurisdictions; but arbitration will at length supersede the law. 46. The use of the preztor’s table stood upon a good foundation among the Romans, as that wherein he set down and published in what manner he would administer justice. According to which example, the judges in courts of equity should propose to themselves certain rules to go by, and fix them up to public view: for as that law is ever _ the best, which leaves least to the breast of the judge; so is that judge the best, who leaves least to himself. Retrospect and relation of laws 47. There is also another way of supplying cases omitted; viz., when one law is made upon another, and brings the cases omitted along with it. This happens in those laws or statutes, which, according to the common phrase, look backwards. But laws of this kind are to be seldom used, and with great caution; for a Janus-face is not to be admired in the law. 48. He who captiously and fraudulently eludes and circumscribes the words or intention of a law, deserves to be hampered by a sub- sequent law. Whence, in fraudulent and evasive cases, it is just for laws to carry a retrospection, and prove of mutual assistance to each other; so that he who invents loopholes and plots the subversion of present laws, may at least be awed by future. 49. Such laws as strengthen and confirm the true intentions of acts and instruments against the defects of forms and solemnities, very justly include past actions; for the principal fault of a retrospective law is, its causing disturbance; but these confirming laws regard the peace 288 BACON and settlement of transactions. Care, however, must be had not to disturb things once adjudged. 50. It should be carefully observed, that not only such laws as look back to what is past invalidate former transactions, but such also as prohibit and restrain things future, which are necessarily connected with things past: so, if any law should prohibit certain artificers the sale of their wares in future, this law, though it speaks for hereafter, yet operates upon times past, though such artificers had then no other lawful means of subsisting. 51. All declaratory laws, though they make no mention of time past, yet are, by the very declaration itself, entirely to regard past matters; for the interpretation does not begin with the declaration, but, as it were, is made contemporary with the law itself. And therefore de- claratory laws should not be enacted, except in cases where the law may be retrospected with justice. And so much for the uncertainty of laws, where the law is extant. We proceed to the other part, where the laws, though extant, are perplexed and obscure. Obscurity of laws 52. The obscurity of laws has four sources; viz., 1. An accumulation of laws, especially if mixed with such as are obsolete. 2. An ambiguous description, or want of clear and distinct delivery. 3. A neglect or failure in instituting the method of interpreting justice. 4. And lastly, a clashing and uncertainty of judgments. Excessive accumulation of laws 53. The prophet says, ‘It shall rain snares upon them:” o but there are no worse snares than the snares of laws, especially the penal, which, growing excessive in number, and useless through time, prove not a lantern, but nets to the feet. 54. There are two ways in use of making new statutes; the one con- firms and strengthens the former statutes in the like cases, at the same time adding or altering some particulars; the other abrogates and cancels all that was enacted before, and instead thereof, substitutes a new uniform law. And the latter method is the best: for in the former the decrees become complicate and perplexed, and though the business be performed, yet the body of laws in the mean time becomes corrupt; but in the latter, greater diligence must be used when the law itself comes to be weighed anew, and what was before enacted to be re- considered antecedent to its passing; by which means the future agree- ment and harmony of the laws is well consulted. 55. It was in the use among the Athenians for six persons annually to examine the contradictory titles of their laws, and propose to the people such of them as could not be reconciled, that some certain resolution might be taken about them. According to which example, the legislators of every state should once in three or five years, as it shall seem proper, take a review of these contrarieties in law; but let them first be inspected and prepared by committees appointed for ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 289 the purpose, and then brought in for the general assembly to fix and establish what shall be approved by vote. 56. But let not an over-diligent and scrupulous care be used in re- conciling the contradictory titles of laws, by subtile and far-fetched distinctions; for this is the weaving of the wit; and whatever appear- ance it may have of modesty and reverence, it is to be deemed pre- judicial, as rendering the whole body of the laws dissimilar and in- coherent. It were therefore, much better to suppress the worst, and suffer the best to stand alone. 57. Obsolete laws, that are grown into disuse, should in the same manner be cancelled. For as an express statute is not regularly abrogated by disuse, it happens that, from a contempt of such as are obsolete, the others also lose part of their authority; whence follows that torture of Mezentius, whereby the living laws are killed in the embraces of the dead ones. But above all things a gangrene in the laws is to be prevented. 58. And let courts of equity have a right of decreeing contrary to obsolete laws and statutes not newly enacted; for although, as is well observed, nobody should be wiser than the laws, yet this should be understood of the laws when they are awake, and not when they sleep. But let it be the privilege, not of judges in the courts of equity, but of kings, solemn councils, and the higher powers, to overrule later statutes found prejudicial to public justice, and to suspend the execution thereof by edicts or public acts, till those meetings are held which have the true power of repealing them, lest otherwise the safety of the people should be endangered. New digests of laws 59. But if laws heaped upon laws shall swell to such a vast bulk, and labor under such confusion as renders it expedient to treat them anew, and reduce them into one sound and serviceable corps, it be- comes a work of the utmost importance, deserving to be deemed heroical, and let the authors of it be ranked among legislators, and the restorers of states and empires. 60. Such an expurgation and new Ccigest of laws is to be affected by five particulars; viz., 1. By omitting all the obsolete laws, which Justinian calls ancient fables; 2. By receiving the most approved con- tradictories, and abolishing the rest; 3. By expunging laws of the same purport, and retaining only one, or the most perfect; 4. By throwing out such laws as determine nothing—only propose questions, and leave them undecided; 5. And lastly, by contracting and abridging those that are too verbose and prolix. 61. And it would be very useful in such a new digest, separately to range and bring together all those laws received for common law which have a kind of immemorial origin, and on the other side the statutes superadded from time to time; because in numerous particulars in the practice of the law, the interpretation and administration of the com- mon law differs from the statute law. And this method was observed . by Trebonianus in his digest and code. 19 62. But in such a second birth of the law, and such a recompilement of the ancient books and laws, the very words and text of the law itself should be retained; and though it were necessary to collect them by fragments and small portions, they may afterwards be regularly wove together. For allowing it might perhaps be more commodious, and with regard to the true reason of the thing, better, to do it by a new text than by such kind of patchwork, yet in the law, style and de- scription are not so much to be regarded as authority, and its patron antiquity; otherwise this might rather seem a work of mere scholarship and method than a corps of majestic laws. 63. ’T'were advisable, in making this new digest, not utterly to abolish the ancient volumes, and give them up to oblivion, but suffer them at least to remain in some library, though with a prohibition of their common use; because in weighty cases it might be proper to consult and inspect the revolutions and series of ancient laws. ’Tis also a solemn thing to intermix antiquity with things present. And such a new body of laws ought to receive the sanction of all those who have any legislative power in the state, lest under a pretence of digesting the old laws new ones should be secretly obtruded. 64. ’Twere to be wished that such a recompilement of the laws might be undertaken in such times as excel the ancient (whose acts and works they model anew) in point of learning and universal knowledge; the contrary whereof happened in the work of Justinian. For ’tis an un- fortunate thing to have the works of the ancients mangled, and set together again at the discretion and choice of a less prudent and less learned age. But it often happens that what is necessary is not best. Obscure and involved exposition of laws 65. Laws are obscurely described either—1. through their loquacity and superfluity of words; 2. through over-conciseness; or, 3. through their preambles contradicting the body of the law. 66. We at present treat of the obscurity which arises from their ill description, and approve not the loquacity and prolixity now used in drawing up the laws, which in no degree obtains what is intended by it, but rather the contrary; for whilst it endeavors to comprehend and express all particular cases in apposite and proper diction (as expect- ing greater certainty from thence), it raises numerous questions about terms, which renders the true and real design of the law more difficult to come at through a huddle of words. 67. Nor yet can we approve of a too concise and affected brevity, used for the sake of majesty and authority, especially in this age; lest the laws should become like the Lesbian rule. A mediocrity, therefore, is to be observed, and a well defined generality of words to be found, which though it does not accurately explain the cases it comprehends, yet clearly excludes those it does not comprehend. 68. Yet in the ordinary politic laws and edicts, where lawyers are seldom consulted, but the politicians trust to their own judgment, things ought to be largely explained and pointed out to the capacity of the vulgar. 2) or ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 291 69. Nor do we approve of tedious preambles at the head of laws: they were anciently held impertinent, as introducing laws in the way of dispute, not in the way of command. But as we do not suit our- selves to the manners of the ancients, these prefaces are now generally used of necessity, not only as explanations, but as persuasives to the passing of the law in the assemblies of states, and likewise to satisfy the people; yet as much as possible let preambles be avoided, and the law begin with commanding. 70. Though the intent and mind of the law may be sometimes drawn from these preambles, yet its latitude and extent should by no means be derived from them; for the preamble frequently fixes upon a few of the more plausible and specious particulars, by way of example, whilst the law itself contains many more; or on the contrary, the law re- strains and limits many things, the reason whereof it were not neces- sary to insert in the preamble; wherefore the extent of the law is to be derived from the body of the law, the preamble often exceeding or falling short of this extent. 71. There is one very faulty method of drawing up the laws, viz., when the case is largely set forth in the preamble, and then by the force of the word which, or some such relative, the body of the law is reflected back upon the preamble, and the preamble inserted and incor- porated in the body of the law; whence proceed both obscurity and danger, because the same care is not usually employed in weighing and examining the words of the preamble, as the words of the law itself. Different methods of expounding laws and solving doubts 72. There are five ways of interpreting the law, and making it clear; viz., I. by recording of judgments; 2. by instituting authentic writers; 3. by auxiliary books; 4. by readings; and, 5. by the answers or counsel of qualified persons. A due use of all these affords a great and ready assistance in clearing the laws of their obscurity. Reports of judgments 73. And above all, let the judgments of the supreme and principal courts be diligently and faithfully recorded, especially in weighty causes, and particularly such as are doubtful, or attended with difficulty or novelty. For judgments are the anchors of the laws, as laws are the anchors of states. 74. And let this be the method of taking them down:—I. Write the case precisely, and the judgments exactly, at length; 2. Add the rea- sons alleged by the judges for their judgment; 3. Mix not the authority of cases, brought by way of example, with the principal case; 4. And for the pleadings, unless they contain anything very extraordinary, omit them. 75. Let those who take down these judgments be of the most learned counsel in the law, and have a liberal stipend allowed them by the public. But let not the judges meddle in these reports, lest, favoring their own opinions too much, or relying upon their own authority, they exceed the bounds of a recorder. 202 BACON 76. Let these judgments be digested in the order of time, and not in method and titles; for such writings are a kind of histories or narra- tives of the laws; and not only the acts themselves, but also their times, afford light to a prudent judge. Authentic writers 77, Let a body of law be wholly compiled, 1. of the iaws that con- stitute the common law; 2. of the statutes; and, 3. of the judgments on record: and besides these, let nothing be deemed authentic, or else be sparingly received. 78. Nothing conduces more to the certainty of laws, whereof we now speak, than that the authentic writings should be kept within moderate bounds; and that vast multitude of authors and learned men in the law excluded, which otherwise rend the mind of the laws, distract the judge, make lawsuits endless: and the lawyer himself, finding it impossible to peruse and digest so many books, hence takes up with compendiums. Perhaps some good glossary, a few of the exactest writers, or rather a very few portions of a few authors, might be use- fully received for authentic. But let the books be still reserved in lib- raries, for the judges and counsel to inspect occasionally, without per- mitting them to be cited in pleading at the bar, or suffering them to pass into authority. Auxiliary writing 79. But let not the knowledge and practice of the law want its auxiliary books, which are of six kinds; viz., 1. Institutes; 2. Ex- planations of words; 3. The rules of law; 4. The antiquities of law; 5. Summaries or abridgments; and 6. Forms of pleading. 80. Students are to be trained up to the knowledge and higher parts of the law by institutes, which should be written in a clear method. Let the whole private right, of the laws of Meum and Tuum, be gone over in these elements, not omitting some things and dwelling too much upon others, but giving a little taste of all, that when the student comes to peruse the corps of law, he may meet with nothing entirely new, or without having received some previous notion thereof. But the public law is not to be touched in these institutes, this being to be drawn from the fountains themselves. 81. Let a commentary be made of the terms of the law, without en- deavoring too curiously and laboriously to give their full sense and explanation; the purport hereof being not to search the exact de- finitions of terms, but to afford such explanations only as may open an easy way to reading the books of the law. And let not this treatise be digested alphabetically—rather leave that to the index; but place all those words together which relate to the same thing, so that one may help to the understanding of another. 82. It principally conduces to the certainty of laws, to have a just and exact treatise of the different rules of law; a work deserving the diligence of the most ingenious and prudent lawyers; for we are not satisfied with what is already extant of this kind. Not only the known FT) =, wre wage’ * k ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 293 and common rules are to be here collected, but others also, more subtile and latent, which may be drawn from the harmony of laws and adjudged cases; such as are sometimes found in the best records. And these rules or maxims are general dictates of reason running through the different matters of law, and make, as it were, its ballast. 83. But let not the positions or placets of law be taken for rules, as they usually are, very injudiciously; for if this were received, there would be as many rules as there are laws: a law being no other than a commanding rule. But let those be held for rules which cleave to the very form of justice; whence in general the same rules are found through the civil law of different states, unless they sometimes vary with regard to the form of government. 84. After the rule is laid down in a short and solid expression, let examples and clear decisions of cases be subjoined by way of ex- planation; distinctions and exceptions by way of limitation; and things of the same kind by way of amplification to the rule. 85. It is justly directed not to take laws from rules, but to make the rules from the laws in being: neither must the proof be derived from the words of the rule, as if that were the text of the law; for the rule, like the magnetic needle, does not make, but indicate the law. 86. Besides the body of the law, it is proper to take a view of the antiquities of laws, which, though they have lost their authority, still retain their reverence. Those writings upon laws and judgments, whether published or unpublished, are to be held for antiquities of law, which preceded the body of the laws in point of time; for these anti- quities should not be lost, but the most useful of them being collected, and such as are frivolous and impertinent rejected, they should be brought into one volume without mixing ancient fables, as Tre- bonianus calls them, with the laws themselves. 87. But for practice, ’tis highly proper to have the whole law orderly digested under heads and titles, whereto any one may occasionally turn on a sudden, as to a storehouse furnished for present use. These sum- maries bring into order what lay dispersed, and abridge what was diffusive and prolix in the law. But care must be had lest these abridg- ments should make men ready for practice, and indolent in the science itself; for their office is to serve but as remembrancers, and not as perfect teachers of the law. And they are to be made with great diligence, fidelity, and judgment, that they may fairly represent, and not steal from the laws. 88. Let different forms of pleading be collected in every kind, for this tends to practice; and doubtless they lay open the oracles an mysteries of the law, which conceals many such. And these are better and more fully displayed in forms of pleading than otherwise, as the hand is better seen when opened. Answers and consultations 89. Some method ought to be taken for solving and putting an end to particular doubts which arise from time to time; for it is a hard thing, if they who desire to keep clear of error, should find no one to Fey BACON set them right, but that their actions must be still endangered, with- out any means of knowing the law, before the case is determined. go. But we approve not that the answers of prudent men, whether counsellors or professors of law, given to such as ask their advice, should have so great authority, as that the judge might not lawfully depart from their opinion. Let points of law be taken from sworn judges. o1. We approve not that judgments should be tried by feigned causes and persons, with a view to predetermine what will be the rule of law; for this dishonors the majesty of laws, and should be judged as a pre- varication. Besides, ’tis monstrous for judgments to copy the stage. 92. Therefore let as well judgments as answers and advice proceed from none but the judges, the former in suits depending, and the latter in the way of opinion upon difficult points of law. But these notices, whether in private or public affairs, are not to be expected from the judges themselves, for that were to make the judge a pleader; but from the prince or state: and let them recommend it to the judges, who, in- vested with such authority, are to hear the arguments on both sides, and the pleadings of the counsel employed either by those whom it concerns, or appointed by the judges themselves if necessary; and after the matter is weighed, let the judges declare the law, and give their opinion; and such kind of opinions should be recorded and published among judged cases, and be reckoned of equal authority with them. Prelections 93. Let the readings upon the law, and the exercises of such as study it, be so instituted and ordered, that all things may tend to the resolving and putting an end, and not to the raising and maintaining of questions and controversies in the law. But at present a school seems every- where opened for multiplying disputes, wranglings, and altercations about the laws, in the way of showing the wit of the disputants; though this is also an ancient evil, for it was esteemed a piece of glory of old to support numerous questions of law, as it were by sects and fashions, rather than to end them. But this ought to be prevented. Instability of judgments 94. Judgments prove uncertain, either 1. through an untimely and hasty passing of sentence; 2. the emulation of courts; 3. a wrong and unskilful recording of judgments; or, 4. through a too easy and ready way opened for their reversion. Therefore let care be taken, 1. that judgments proceed upon mature deliberation; 2. that courts preserve a due reverence for each other; 3. the judgments be faithfully and prudently recorded; and 4. that the way for reversing of judgments be made narrow, craggy, and thorny. 95. If judgment be given upon a case in any principal court, and a like case come into another court, proceed not to judgment before a consultation be held in some considerable assembly of the judges. For if decrees are of necessity to be cut off, at least let them be honor- ably interred. ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 295 96. For courts to quarrel and contend about jurisdiction is a piece of human frailty, and the more, because of a childish opinion, that it is the duty of a good and able judge to enlarge the jurisdiction of his court; whence this disorder is increased, and the spur made use of instead of the bridle. But that courts, through this heat of contention, should on all sides uncontrollably reverse each other’s decrees which belong not to jurisdiction, is an intolerable evil, and by all means to be suppressed by kings, the senate, or the government. For it is a most pernicious example that courts, which make peace among the subjects, should quarrel among themselves. 97. Let not too easy a passage be opened for the repealing of sentence by appeal, writ of error, rehearing, etc. Some are of opinion, that a cause should be removed to a higher court as a new cause, and the judgment given upon it in the lower be entirely laid aside and suspended; whilst others again would have the judgment remain in its force, and only the execution to be stopped. We approve of neither, unless the court where the sentence passed were of a very inferior nature; but would rather have both the judgment stand and its ex- ecution proceed, provided a caveat be put in by the defendant for costs and damages if the sentence should be reversed. Let this title, of the certainty of laws, serve for a specimen of that digest we propose, and have in hand. And thus we conclude the head of civil doctrine, and with it human philosophy; as with human phi- losophy, philosophy in general. And now standing still to breathe, and look back upon the way we have passed, we seem all along to have been but tuning and trying the instruments of the muses, for a concert to be played upon them by other hands; or to have been grating men’s ears, that they may have the better music hereafter. And indeed, when I set before me the present state of the times, wherein learning makes her third visit to mankind; and carefully reflect how well she finds us prepared and furnished with all kinds of helps, the sublimity and penetration of many geniuses of the age, those excellent monuments of the ancient writings which shine as so many great lights before us; the art of printing, which largely supplies men of all fortunes with books; the open traffic of the globe, both by sea and land, whence we receive numer- ous experiments, unknown to former ages, and a large accession to the mass of natural history; the leisure which the greatest minds in the kingdoms and provinces of Europe everywhere enjoy, as being less immersed in business than the ancient Greeks, by reason of their populous states; or the Romans, through the extensiveness of their empire; the peace at present spread over Britain, Spain, Italy, France, and many other countries; the exhaustion of all that can be invented or said in religious controversies, which have so long diverted many of the best geniuses from the study of other arts; the uncommon learning of his present Britannic majesty, about whom, as about a pheenix, the fine geniuses flock from all quarters; and lastly, the in- separable property of time, which is daily to disclose truth: when all these things, I say, are considered by us, we cannot but be raised into 296 BACON a persuasion that this third period of learning may far exceed the two former of the Greeks and Romans, provided only that men would well and prudently understand their own powers and the defects thereof; receive from each other the lamps of invention, and not the firebrands of contradiction; and esteem the search after truth as a certain noble enterprise, not a thing of delight or ornament, and bestow their wealth and magnificence upon matters of real worth and excellence, not upon such as are vulgar and obvious. As to my own labors, if any one shall please himself or others in reprehending them, let him do it to the full, provided he observe the ancient request, and weigh and consider what he says—‘“ Verbera, sed audi.”* And certainly the appeal is just, though the thing perhaps may not require it, from men’s first thoughts to their second, and from the present age to posterity. We come, lastly, to that science which the two former periods of time were not blessed with; viz., sacred and inspired theology: the sabbath of all our labors and peregrinations. | a » We sae 4 Renae mY ae. 4 NINTH BOOK The Compartments of Theology omitted. Three Deficiencies pointed out. The Right Use of Reason in Matters of Faith. The Knowl- edge of the Degrees of Unity in the City of God. The Emanations of the Holy Scriptures AVING now, excellent King, with our small bark of H knowledge, sailed over, and surrounded the globe of the sciences, as well the old world as the new (let pos- terity judge with what success), we should pay our vows and conclude ; did there not still remain another part to be viewed; viz., sacred or inspired theology. But if we were disposed to survey it, we must quit the small vessel of human reason, and put ourselves on board the ship of the Church, which alone pos- sesses the divine needle for justly shaping the course. Nor will the stars of philosophy, that have hitherto principally lent their light, be of farther service to us; and, therefore, it were not improper to be silent, also, upon this subject, as well as upon that of government. For which reason, we will omit the just distribution of it, and only contribute, according to our slender ability, a few particulars in the way of good wishes. And this we do the rather, because we find no tract in the whole region of divinity, that is absolutely deserted or uncultivated: so great has the diligence of men been, in sowing either wheat or tares. We shall, therefore, only propose three appendages of theology ; treating not of the matter already formed or to be formed by di- vinity, but only of the manner of forming it. Neither will we here, as we have hitherto practised, give any sketches, annex any specimens, or lay down any precepts for these treatises ; but leave all this to divines. The prerogative of God extends over the whole man, and reaches both to his will and his reason; so that man must ab- solutely renounce himself, and submit to God: and therefore, as we are obliged to obey the divine law, though our will mur- mur against it, so are we obliged to believe the word of God, 297 aes BACON though our reason be shocked at it. For if we should believe only such things as are agreeable to our reason, we assent to the matter, and not to the author: which is no more than we do to a suspected witness. But the faith imputed to Abraham for righteousness consisted in a particular, laughed at by Sarah,o who, in that respect, was an image of the natural reason. And, therefore, the more absurd and incredible any divine mystery is, the greater honor we do to God in believing it; and so much the more noble the victory of faith: as sinners, the more they are oppressed in conscience, yet relying upon the mercy of God for salvation, honor him the more; for all despair is a kind of reproaching the deity. And if well considered, belief is more worthy than knowledge; such knowledge, I mean, as we have at present: for in knowledge, the human mind is acted upon by sense, which results from material things; but in faith, the spirit is affected by spirit, which is the more worthy agent. It is otherwise in the state of glory: for, then, faith shall cease, and we shall know as we are known. Let us, therefore, conclude, that sacred theology must be drawn from the word and oracles of God;¢ not from the light of nature, or the dictates of reason. It is written, that “ the heavens declare the glory of God:” but we nowhere find it, that the heavens declare the will of God, which is pronounced a law, and a testimony, that men should do according to it, etc. Nor does this hold only in the great mysteries of the Godhead, of the creation, and of the redemption, but belongs, also, to the true interpretation of the moral law. ‘“ Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you,” etc., “ that ye may be the children of your heavenly father, who sends his rain upon the just and the unjust.””¢@ Which words are more than human— ““Nec vox hominem sonat.” ¢ and go beyond the light of nature. So the heathen poets, es- pecially when they speak pathetically, frequently expostulate with laws and moral doctrines, (though these are far more easy and indulgent than divine laws), as if they had a kind of ma- lignant opposition to the freedom of nature— — “Et quod natura remittit Invida jura negant.”—Ovid.f according to the expression of Dendamis, the Indian, to the messengers of Alexander; viz., ‘“‘ That he had heard, indeed, ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 299 somewhat of Pythagoras, and the other wise men of Greece, and believed them to have been great men ; but that they held a cer- tain fantastical thing, which they called law and morality, in too great veneration and esteem.” g We cannot doubt, there- fore, that a large part of the moral law is too sublime to be at- tained by the light of nature: though it is still certain, that men, even from the light and law of nature, have some notions of vir- ' tue, vice, justice, wrong, good, and evil. We must observe, that the light of nature has two significa- tions; I. as it arises from sense, induction, reason, and argu- ment, according to the laws of heaven and earth; and 2. as it shines in the human mind, by internal instinct, according to the law of conscience, which is a certain spark, and, as it were, a relic of our primitive purity. And in this latter sense, chiefly, the soul receives some light, for beholding and discern- ing the perfection of the moral law; though this light be not perfectly clear, but of such a nature as rather to reprehend vice than give a full information of duty; whence religion, both with regard to mysteries and morality, depends upon divine revelation. Yet the use of human reason in spiritual things is various, and very extensive: for religion is justly called a reasonable service.t The types and ceremonies of the old law were ra- tional and significative, differing widely from the ceremonies of idolatry and magic: which are a kind of deaf and dumb show, and generally uninstructive even by innuendo. But the Chris- tian faith, as in all things else, excels in this, that it preserves the golden mean in the use of reason, and dispute the child of rea- son, between the laws of the heathens and of Mahomet, which go into extremes: for the heathen religion had no constant be- lief or confession, and the Mahometan forbids all disputes in re- ligion: whence one appears with the face of manifold error, the other as a crafty and subtile imposture ; whilst the sacred Chris- tian faith both receives and rejects the use of reason and dis- pute under due limitation.# The use of human reason in matters of religion is of two kinds; the one consisting in the explanation of mysteries, the other in the deductions from them. As to the explanation of mysteries, we find that God himself condescends to the weak- ness of our capacity, and opens his mysteries, so as they may be best understood by us; inoculating, as it were, his revelations ee BACON into the notions and comprehensions of our reason, and accom- modating his inspirations to the opening of our understanding, as a key is fitted to open the lock. Though, in this respect, we should not be wanting to ourselves: for as God makes use of our reason in his illuminations, so ought we likewise to exer- cise it every way, in order to become more capable of receiving and imbibing mysteries; provided the mind be enlarged, ac- cording to its capacity, to the greatness of the mysteries, and not the mysteries contracted to the narrowness of the mind. With regard to inferences, we must know that we have a cer- tain secondary and respective, not a primitive and absolute, use of reason and arguing left us about mysteries. For after the articles and principles of religion are so seated, as to be entirely removed from the examination of reason, we are then permitted to draw inferences from them, agreeable to their analogy. But this holds not in natural things, where principles themselves are subject to examination by induction, though not by syllogism, and have, besides, no repugnancy to reason: so that both the first and middle propositions are derivable from the same foun- tain. It is otherwise in religion, where the first propositions are self-existent, and subsist of themselves, uncontrolled by that reason which deduces the subsequent propositions. Nor is this the case in religion alone, but likewise in other sciences, as well the serious as the light, where the primary propositions are postulated: as things wherein the use of reason cannot be ab- solute. Thus in chess, or other games of the like nature, the first rules and laws of the play are merely positive posulates, which ought to be entirely received, not disputed: but the skilful playing of the game is a matter of art and reason. So, in human laws, there are numerous maxims, or mere placets of law received, which depend more upon authority than reason, and come not into dispute. But, then, for the inquiry, what is not absolutely, but relatively most just herein: viz., in conform- itv with those maxims; this, indeed, is a point of reason, and af- fords a large field for dispute. Such, therefore, is that second- ary reason which has place in sacred theology, and is founded upon the good pleasure of God. And as the use of human reason, in things divine, is of two kinds, so it is attended with two excesses: 1. the one, when it too curiously inquires into the manner of a mystery; 2. the other, when it attributes an equal authority to the inference as et ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 301 to the principles. For he may seem a disciple of Nicodemus, who shall obstinately inquire, “‘ How can a man be born when he is old?” But he can be esteemed no disciple of St. Paul, who does not sometimes insert in his doctrine, “I, not the Lord,” or, according to my judgment,! which is the style that generally suits with inferences. Whence it seems a thing of capital use and. benefit, to have a sober and diligent treatise wrote concerning the proper use of human reason in divinity, by way ofa divine logic. For this would be like an opiate in medi- cine; and not only lay asleep those empty speculations which sometimes disturb the schools, but also allay that fury of con- troversy which raises such tumults in the Church. This trea- tise, therefore, we place among the things that are wanted, under the name of the Moderator, or the true Use of Human Reason in Theology. It is of the utmost importance to the peace of the Church, to have the covenant of Christians prescribed by our Saviour in two particulars that seem somewhat contradictory, well and clearly explained ; the one whereof runs thus: ‘ He who is not with us is against us; ™ and the other thus: “ He who is not against us is for us ;” * whence it plainly appears, that there are some points wherein he who differs is to be excluded the coven- ant; and others again, wherein Christians may differ, and yet keep terms. The bonds of the Christian communion are, one faith, one baptism,° etc., not one ceremony, one opinion, etc. Our Saviour’s coat was seamless; but the garment of the — Church of many colors. The chaff must be separated from the wheat, but the tares in the field are not to be hastily plucked up from the corn. Moses, when he saw the Egyptian contending with the Israelite, did not say, “ Why strive ye?” but drew his sword, and killed the Egyptian; but when he saw two Israelites fighting together, though the cause of one of them might have been unjust, yet he says to them, “ Ye are brethren, why strive ye?’ q All which being well considered, it seems a thing of great use and moment to define what, and of how great latitude those matters are, which totally cut off men from the body of the Church, and exclude them the communion of the faithful. -And if any one shall imagine this done already, we advise him seri- ously to reflect, with what justice and moderation. But it is highly probable, that whoever speaks of peace will meet with that answer of Jehu to the messenger: “ What has peace to do oe BACON with Jehu ?—What hast thou to do with peace?—Turn, and fol- low me.”r For the hearts of most men are not set upon peace, but party. And yet we think proper to place among the things wanting, a discourse upon the degrees of unity in the city of God, as a wholesome and useful undertaking. The holy Scriptures having so great a share in the constitu- tion of theology, a principal regard must be had to their inter- pretation. We speak not of the authority of interpreting, estab- lished by the consent of the Church, but of the manner of interpreting, which is either methodical or loose. For the pure waters of divinity are drawn and employed, nearly in the same manner as the natural waters of spring; viz., 1. either received in cisterns, and thence derived through different pipes, for the more commodious use of men; or 2. immediately poured into vessels for present occasions. The former methodical way has produced the scholastic divinity, whereby the doctrine of the- ology is collected into an art, as in a cistern; and thence dis- tributed around, by the conveyance of axioms and positions. But the loose way of interpreting has two excesses: the one supposes such a perfection in the Scriptures, that all philosophy should be derived from their fountains, as if every other philoso- phy were a profane and heathenish thing. And this distemper principally reigned in the school of Paracelsus, and some others, though originally derived from the rabbis and cabal- ists. But these men fail of their end; for they do not, by this means, honor the Scriptures as they imagine, but rather debase and pollute them. For they who seek a material heaven, and a material earth, in the word of God, absurdly seek for transitory things among eternal. To look for theology in philosophy is looking for the living among the dead, and to look for philoso- phy in theology is to look for the dead among the living. The other excess, in the manner of interpretation, appears, at first sight, just and sober; yet greatly dishonors the Scriptures, and greatly injures the Church, by explaining the inspired writ- ings in the same manner as human writings are explained. For we must remember, that to God, the author of the Scriptures, those two things lie open which are concealed from men; the secrets of the heart, and the successions of time. Therefore, as the dictates of Scripture are directed to the heart, and include the vicissitudes of all ages, along with an eternal and certain foreknowledge of all heresies, contradictions, and the mutable ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 3°03 states of the Church, as well in general as in particulars, these Scriptures are not to be interpreted barely according to the obvious sense of the place, or with regard to the occasion upon which the words were spoken, or precisely by the context, or the principal scope of the passage, but upon a knowledge of their containing, not only in gross or collectively, but also dis- tributively, in particular words and clauses, numberless rivulets and veins of doctrine, for watering all the parts of the Church and all the minds of the faithful. For it is excellently observed, that the answers of our Saviour are not suited to many of the questions proposed to him, but appear, in a manner, imperti- nent: and this for two reasons, I. because, as he knew the thoughts of those who put the question, not from their words as men know them, but immediately, and of himself, he answered to their thoughts, and not to their words; and 2. because he spoke not to those alone who were present, but to us, also, now living, and to the men of every age and place, where tne gospel shall be preached. And this observation holds in other parts of Scripture. We find, among theological writings, too many books of con- troversy; a vast mass of that we call positive theology, com- mon-places, particular treatises, cases of conscience, sermons, homilies, and numerous prolix comments upon the several books of the Scriptures: but the thing we want and propose, as our third appendix to theology, is, a short, sound, and judi- cious collection of notes and observations upon particular texts of Scripture; without running into common-place, pursuing controversies, or reducing these notes to artificial method; but leaving them quite loose and native—a thing we find some- thing done in the more learned kind of sermons, which are seldom of long duration, though it has not hitherto prevailed in books designed for posterity. But certainly, as those wines which flow from the first treading of the grape are sweeter and better than those forced out by the press, which gives them the roughness of the husk and the stone; so are those doctrines best and wholesomest, which flow from a gentle crush of the Scripture, and are not wrung into controversies and common- place. And this treatise we set down as wanting, under the title of the first flowings of the Scriptures. And now we have finished our small globe of the intellectual world with all the exactness we could, marking out and describ-. on BACON ing those parts of it which we find either not constantly inhabi- ed or not sufficiently cultivated. And if through the course of the work we should anywhere seem to depart from the opinion of the ancients, we would have it remembered that this is not done for the sake of novelty, or striking into different paths from them, but with a desire of improving; for we could neither act consistently with ourselves nor the design, without resolv- ing to add all we could to the inventions of others, at the same time wishing that our own discoveries may be exceeded by those of posterity. And how fairly we have dealt in this matter may appear from hence, that our opinions are everywhere proposed naked and undefended, without endeavoring to bribe the liberty of others by confutations; for where the things advanced prove just, we hope that if any scruple or objection arise in the first reading, an answer will of itself be made in the second. And wherever we have erred, we are certain to have done no violence to the truth by litigious arguments, the effect whereof is the procuring authority to error, and detracting from what is well invented ; for error receives honor and truth a repulse from con- tention. And here I cannot but reflect how appositely that answer of Themistocles may be applied to myself which he made to the deputy of a small village haranguing upon great things, “ Friend, thy words require a city.” For so it may be said of my views, that they require an age, perhaps a whole age, to prove, and numerous ages to execute. But as the greatest things are owing to their beginnings, it will be enough for me to have sown for posterity, and the honor of the Immortal Being, whom I humbly entreat, through his Son, our Saviour, favorably to accept these, and the like sacrifices of the human understanding, seasoned with religion, and offered up to his glory! THE CoAstT OF THE NEw INTELLECTUAL WorLD : or, a Recapitulation of the Deficiencies of Knowledge, Pointed out in the Preceding Work, to be Supplied by Posterity The History of Monsters; or irregular productions of nature, in all the three kingdoms—vegetable, animal, and mineral. The History of Arts; or nature formed and wrought by human industry. ay ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 305 A well-purged History of Nature in her extent ; ; or the phenomena of the universe. Inductive History ; or historical matters consequentially de- ducted from phenomena, facts, observations, experiments, arts, and the active sciences. An Universal Literary History; or the affairs relating to learning and knowledge, in all ages and countries of the world. Biography ; or the lives of all eminent persons. The History of Prophecy; or the accomplishment of Divine predictions, to serve as a guide in the interpretation of proph- ecies. The Philosophy of the Ancient Fables; or a just interpreta- tion of the mythology of the ancients. Primary Philosophy ; or a collection of general axioms, sub- servient to all the sciences. Physical Astronomy; or a philosophical history of the heavens. A Just Astrology; or the real effects of the celestial bodies upon the terrestrial. A Calendar of Doubts; or natural problems, to be continued through all ages, along with a calendar of vulgar errors. A Collection of the Opinions of the Ancient Philosophers. An Inquiry into the Simple Forms of Things; or that which constitutes their essences and differences. Natural Magic; relative to the doctrine of forms. An Inventory of Knowledge; or an account of the stock of learning among mankind. _ A Calendar of leading Experiments; for the better interpre- tation of nature. Short and commodious Methods of Calculation, in business, astronomy, etc. The Doctrine of Gesture; or the motions of the body, with a view to their interpretation. Comparative Anatomy betwixt different Human Bodies. A work upon Incurable Diseases, to lessen their number, and fix a true notion of incurable in medicine. The Laudable Means of procuring easy Deaths. A set of approved and effectual Remedies for Diseases. The Ways of Imitating Natural Springs and Bath Waters. The Filum Medicinale; or Physician’s Clue in Prescription. A Natural Philosophy fundamental to Physic. 20 306 BACON The Ways of Prolonging Life. An Inquiry into the Nature and Substance of the sensitive Soul. The Doctrine of Muscular Motion; or the efficacy of the spirits in moving the body. The Doctrine of Sense and Sensibility ; or the difference be- twixt perception and sense. An Inquiry into the Origin and Form of Light; or the foun- dation of optics. The Art of Inventing Arts. The True Use of Induction in Philosophy. The Art of Indication or Direction in Philosophy. A Learned or Sagacious Kind of Experience, different from the vulgar, and leading to the direct improvement of arts. A Particular Topical Invention, directed by the light of lead- ing questions, or proper heads of inquiry. The Doctrine of Idols; or a detection and confutation of the prejudices, false conceptions, and errors of the mind. A New Engine; or helps for the mind corresponding to those of the hand. An Appendix to the Art of Judgment; assigning the kinds of demonstration proper to every subject. An Interpretation of the Marks, Signatures, or Impressions of things. A Philosophical Grammar; or an account of the various properties of different languages, in order to form one perfect pattern of speech. The Traditive Lamp; or the proper method of delivering down the sciences to posterity. The Doctrine of Prudence in private discourse ; or colors of good and ill. A collection of Sophisms, with their confutations. A collection of studied Antithets; or short and strong sen- tences, on both sides of the question, in a variety of subjects. A collection of lesser Forms of Speech, for all the occasions of writing and speaking. Sober Satire ; or the insides of things. The Georgics of the Mind ; or the means of procuring the true moral habit of virtue. An Account of the Characters or Natures of Persons. ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING 3°7 The. Doctrine of the Affections, Passions, or Perturbations of the Mind. The Secretary to the Uses of Life; or the doctrine of various occasions. The Doctrine of Business; or books upon all kinds of civil employments, arts, trades, etc. Self-policy, the doctrine of rising in life ; or the means of ad- vancing a man’s private fortune. The Military Statesman; or the political doctrine of enlarg- ing the bounds of empire. The Doctrine of Universal Justice ; or the fountains of equity. The Moderator in Divinity ; or the true use of human reason in the business of revelation. The Degrees of Unity in Religion adjusted, with a view to preserve the peace of the Church. The First Flowings of the Scriptures; or a set of short, sound, and judicious notes upon particular texts, tending to use and practice. "TRUE SUGGESTIONS FOR THE INTERPRETATION OF | NATURE ea =- - om tA s4 , | hy Nv cares | oO nn oa ‘ 4 P | | » o. ~ Pigs : ” W pe ASnfulis nuper inuentis Epiftola Chriftoferi Colom (cuietas noftra muls tum debet: de Infulis in mari Indico nuper muen- tis:ad quas perquirendas octauo antea menfe:aue fpiciis & ere inuictiffimi Fernandi Hifpaniarai Ree is miffus fuerat ad Magnifici dominé R.aphae- ae Sanxis:eiufdem fereniflimi Regis Thefaurari um miffa : quam nobilis aclitteratus vir Aliander deCofco: ab Hifpano ideomate;in-latinum con= uertit:tercio Kalendas Maii.M.cccc.xcitj.Pontifie catus Alexandri Sexti Anno primo. Voniam fufcepte prouincie rem perfedta me confecuti fuiffe:gratum tibi fore fcio. as conftitui exarare: que te vniufcuiufgs rei in hoc noftro itinere gefteinueteg admoneat . Tricefimotercio die volt Gadibus difceffi:in ma re Indica perueni:vbi plurimas Iufulas innumeris habitatas hominibus reperi: quarii omnium p foe= liciffimo Regenoftro:praconio celebrato/& vexil lis extenfis:c6tradicente nemine pofleflion€ acce= pi.primeg earum: diui Saluatoris nome impofui. cuius fretus auxilio:tam ad hancg ad ceteras alias puenimus.Eam vero Indi Guanahanyn vocant . Aliage etiam vnaquang nouo nomine nicupaui. Quippe aliam Infulam Sanéte Marie Conceptios mis. iam Pernandinam.aliam Hyfabellam. alia yi . ‘ * e . : ‘ . : a \ F \ Pa ' a * = PF, “~ ‘ PREFACE HEY who have presumed to dogmatize on nature, as on some well investigated subject, either from self-con- ceit or arrogance, and in the professorial style, have inflicted the greatest injury on philosophy and learning. For they have tended to stifle and interrupt inquiry exactly in pro- portion as they have prevailed in bringing others to their opin- ion; and their own activity has not counterbalanced the mis- chief they have occasioned by corrupting and destroying that of others. They again who have entered upon a contrary course, and asserted that nothing whatever can be known, whether they have fallen into this opinion from their hatred of the ancient sophists, or from the hesitation of their minds, or from an exuberance of learning, have certainly adduced reasons for it which are by no means contemptible. They have not, however, derived their opinion from true sources, and, hurried on by their zeal and some affectation, have certainly exceeded due moderation. But the more ancient Greeks (whose writ- ings have perished), held a more prudent mean, between the arrogance of dogmatism, and the despair of scepticism; and though too frequently intermingling complaints and indigna- tion at the difficulty of inquiry, and the obscurity of things, and champing, as it were, the bit, have still persisted in pressing their point, and pursuing their intercourse with nature ; think- ing, as it seems, that the better method was not to dispute upon the very point of the possibility of anything being known, but to put it to the test of experience. Yet they themselves, by only employing the power of the understanding, have not adopted a fixed rule, but have laid their whole stress upon intense meditation, and a continual exercise and perpetual agitation of the mind. Our method, though difficult in its operation, is easily ex- plained. It consists in determining the degrees of certainty, whilst we, as it were, restore the senses to their former rank, but generally reject that operation of the mind which follows close upon the senses, and open and establish a new and certain course for the mind from the first actual perceptions of the senses themselves. This, no doubt, was the view taken by those who have assigned so much to logic; showing clearly thereby 311 that they sought some support for the mind, and suspected its natural and spontaneous mode of action. But this is now em- ployed too late as a remedy, when all is clearly lost, and after the mind, by the daily habit and intercourse of life, has come prepossessed with corrupted doctrines, and filled with the vain- est idols. The art of logic, therefore, being (as we have men- tioned), too late a precaution, and in no way remedying the matter, has tended more to confirm errors, than to disclose truth. Our only remaining hope and salvation is to begin the whole labor of the mind again; not leaving it to itself, but di- recting it perpetually from the very first, and attaining our end as it were by mechanical aid. If men, for instance, had at- tempted mechanical labors with their hands alone, and without the power and aid of instruments, as they have not hesitated to carry on the labors of their understanding with the unaided efforts of their mind, they would have been able to move and overcome but little, though they had exerted their utmost and united powers. And just to pause awhile on this comparison, and look into it as a mirror; let us ask, if any obelisk of a re- markable size were perchance required to be moved, for the purpose of gracing a triumph or any similar pageant, and men were to attempt it with their bare hands, would not any sober spectator avow it to be an act of the greatest madness? And if they should increase the number of workmen, and imagine that they could thus succeed, would he not think so still more? But if they chose to make a selection, and to remove the weak, and only employ the strong and vigorous, thinking by this means, at any rate, to achieve their object, would he not say’ that they were more fondly deranged? Nay, if not content with this, they were to determine on consulting the athletic art, and were to give orders for all to appear with their hands, arms, and muscles regularly oiled and prepared, would he not exclaim that they were taking pains to rave by method and design? Yet men are hurried on with the same senseless energy and useless combination in intellectual matters, as long as they expect great results either from the number and agreement, or the ex- cellence and acuteness of their wits; or even strengthen their minds with logic, which may be considered as an athletic prep- aration, but yet do not desist (if we rightly consider the mat- ter) from applying their own understandings merely with all this zeal and effort. Whilst nothing is more clear, than that in every great work executed by the hand of man without ma- chines or implements, it is impossible for the strength of indi- viduals to be increased, or that of the multitude to combine. Having premised so much, we lay down two points on which we would admonish mankind, lest they should fail to see or to observe them. The first of these is, that it is our good fortune NOVUM ORGANUM 313 (as we consider it), for the sake of extinguishing and removing contradiction and irritation of mind, to leave the honor and rev- erence due to the ancients untouched and undiminished, so that we can perform our intended work, and yet enjoy the benefit of our respectful moderation. For if we should profess to offer something better than the ancients, and yet should pursue the same course as they have done, we could never, by any artifice, contrive to avoid the imputation of having engaged in a contest or rivalry as to our ‘respective wits, excellencies, or talents; which, though neither inadmissible or new (for why should we not blame and point out anything that is imperfectly discovered or laid down by them, of our own right, a right common to all), yet however just and allowable, would perhaps be scarcely an equal match, on account of the disproportion of our strength. But since our present plan leads up to open an entirely different course to the understanding, and one unattempted and un- known to them, the case is altered. There is an end to party zeal, and we only take upon ourselves the character of a guide, which requires a moderate share of authority and good fortune, rather than talents and excellence. The first admonition re- lates to persons, the next to things. We make no attempt to disturb the system of philosophy that now prevails, or any other which may or will exist, either more correct or more complete. For we deny not that the received system of philosophy, and others of a similar nature, encourage discussion, embellish harangues, are employed, and are of ser- vice in the duties of the professor, and the affairs of civil life. Nay, we openly express and declare that the philosophy we offer will not be very useful in such respects. It is not obvi- ous, nor to be understood in a cursory view, nor does it flatter the mind in its preconceived notions, nor will it descend to the oe of the generality of mankind unless by its advantages and effects. Let there exist, then (and may it be of advantage to both), two sources, and two distributions of learning, and in like man- ner two tribes, and as it were kindred families of contemplators or philosophers, without any hostility or alienation between them; but rather allied and united by mutual assistance. Let there be, in short, one method of cultivating the sciences, and another of discovering them. And as for those who prefer and more readily receive the former, on account of their haste or from motives arising from their ordinary life, or because they are unable from weakness of mind to comprehend and em- brace the other (which must necessarily be the case with by far the greater number), let us wish that they may prosper as they desire in their undertaking, and attain what they pursue. But if any individual desire, and is anxious not merely to ad- 314 BACON here to, and make use of present discoveries, but to penetrate still further, and not to overcome his adversaries in disputes, but nature by labor, not in short to give elegant and specious opin- ions, but to know to a certainty and demonstration, let him, as a true son of science (if such be his wish), join with us; that when he has left the antechambers of nature trodden by the multitude, an entrance may at last be discovered to her inner apartments. And in order to be better understood, and to render our meaning more familiar by assigning determinate names, we have accustomed ourselves to call the one method the anticipation of the mind, and the other the interpretation of nature. We have still one request left. We have at least reflected and taken pains, in order to render our propositions not only true, but of easy and familiar access to men’s minds, however wonderfully prepossessed and limited. Yet it is but just that we should obtain this favor from mankind (especially in so great a restoration of learning and the sciences), that whosoever may be desirous of forming any determination upon an opinion of this our work either from his own perceptions, or the crowd of authorities, or the forms of demonstrations, he will not expect to be able to do so in a cursory manner, and whilst attending to other matters ; but in order to have a thorough knowledge of the subject, will himself, by degrees, attempt the course which we describe and maintain; will be accustomed to the subtilty of things which is manifested by experience; and will correct the depraved and deeply-rooted habits of his mind by a season- able, and, as it were, just hesitation: and then, finally (if he will), use his judgment when he has begun to be master of himself. . APHORISMS BOOK I On the Interpretation of Nature and the Empire of Man AN, as the minister and interpreter of nature, does and understands as much as his observations on the order of nature, either with regard to things or the mind, permit him, and neither knows nor is capable of more. 2. The unassisted hand and the understanding left to itself possess but little power. Effects are produced by the means of instruments and helps, which the understanding requires no less than the hand; and as instruments either promote or regu- late the motion of the hand, so those that are applied to the mind prompt or protect the understanding. 3. Knowledge and human power are synonymous, since the ignorance of the cause frustrates the effect; for nature is only subdued by submission, and that which in contemplative phi- losophy corresponds with the cause in practical science becomes the rule. 4. Man whilst operating can only apply or withdraw natural bodies ; nature internally performs the rest. 5. Those who become practically versed in nature are, the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician, but all (as matters now stand) with faint efforts and meagre success. 6. It would be madness and inconsistency to suppose that things which have never yet been performed can be performed without employing some hitherto untried means. 7. The creations of the mind and hand appear very numer- ous, if we judge by books and manufactures ; but all that variety consists of an excessive refinement, and of deductions from a few well-known matters—not of a number of axioms. 8. Even the effects already discovered are due to chance and experiment, rather than to the sciences; for our present sci- ences are nothing more than peculiar arrangements of matters already discovered, and not methods for discovery or plans for new operations. 9. The sole cause and root of almost every defect in the sci- 315 316 BACON ences is this, that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind, we do not search for its real helps. 10. The subtilty of nature is far beyond that of sense or of the understanding; so that the specious meditations, specula- tions, and theories of mankind are but a kind of insanity, only there is no one to stand by and observe it. 11. As the present sciences are useless for the discovery of effects, so the present system of logic is useless for the discov- ery of the sciences. 12. The present system of logic rather assists in confirming and rendering inveterate the errors founded on vulgar notions than in searching after truth, and is therefore more hurtful than useful. 13. The syllogism is not applied to the principles of the sci- ences, and is of no avail in intermediate axioms, as being very unequal to the subtilty of nature. It forces assent, therefore, and not things. 14. The syllogism consists of propositions, propositions of words ; words are the signs of notions. If, therefore, the notions (which form the basis of the whole) be confused and carelessly abstracted from things, there is no solidity in the superstructure. Our only hope, then, is in genuine induction. 15. We have no sound notions either in logic or physics; substance, quality, action, passion, and existence are not clear notions; much less weight, levity, density, tenuity, moisture, dryness, generation, corruption, attraction, repulsion, element, matter, form, and the like. They are all fantastical and ill-de- fined. 16. The notions of less abstract natures, as man, dog, dove, and the immediate perceptions of sense, as heat, cold, white, black, do not deceive us materially, yet even these are some- times confused by the mutability of matter and the intermixture of things. All the rest which men have hitherto employed are errors, and improperly abstracted and deduced from things. 17. There is the same degree of licentiousness and error in forming axioms as in abstracting notions, and that in the first principles, which depend on common induction; still more is this the case in axioms and inferior propositions derived from syllogisms. 18. The present discoveries in science are such as lie im- mediately beneath the surface of common notions. It is neces- sary, however, to penetrate the more secret and remote parts of nature, in order to abstract both notions and axioms from things by a more certain and guarded method. 19. There are and can exist but two ways of investigating and discovering truth. The one hurries on rapidly from the senses and particulars to the most general axioms, and from NOVUM ORGANUM 317 them, as principles and their supposed indisputable truth, de- rives and discovers the intermediate axioms. This is the way now in use. The other constructs its axioms from the senses and particulars, by ascending continually and gradually, till it finally arrives at the most general axioms, which is the true but unattempted way. 20. The understanding when left to itself proceeds by the same way as that which it would have adopted under the guid- ance of logic, namely, the first ; for the mind is fond of starting off to generalities, that it may avoid labor, and after dwelling a little on a subject is fatigued by experiment. But those evils are augmented by logic, for the sake of the ostentation of dis- pute. 21. The understanding, when left to itself in a man of a steady, patient, and reflecting disposition (especially when un- impeded by received doctrines), makes some attempt in the right way, but with little effect, since the understanding, un- directed and unassisted, is unequal to and unfit for the task of vanquishing the obscurity of things. . 22, Each of these two ways begins from the senses and par- ticulars, and ends in the greatest generalities. But they are immeasurably different ; for the one merely touches cursorily the limits of experiment and particulars, whilst the other runs duly and regularly through them—the one from the very out- set lays down some abstract and useless generalities, the other gradually rises to those principles which are really the most common in nature. 23. There is no small difference between the idols of the hu- man mind and the ideas of the Divine mind—that is to say, between certain idle dogmas and the real stamp and impression of created objects, as they are found in nature. 24. Axioms determined upon in argument can never assist in the discovery of new effects; for the subtilty of nature is vastly superior to that of argument. But axioms properly and regularly abstracted from particulars easily point out and de- fine new particulars, and therefore impart activity to the sci- ences. 25. The axioms now in use are derived from a scanty hand- ful, as it were, of experience, and a few particulars of frequent occurrence, whence they are of much the same dimensions or extent as their origin. And if any neglected or unknown in- stance occurs, the axiom is saved by some frivolous distinction, when it would be more consistent with truth to amend it. 26. We are wont, for the sake of distinction, to call that hu- man reasoning which we apply to nature the anticipation of nature (as being rash and wiporbente and that which is prop- erly deduced from things the interpretation of nature. 318 BACON 27. Anticipations are sufficiently powerful in producing unanimity, for if men were all to become even uniformly mad, they might agree tolerably well with each other. 28. Anticipations, again, will be assented to much more read- ily than interpretations, because being deduced from a few instances, and these principally of familiar occurrence, they im- mediately hit the understanding and satisfy the imagination ; whilst on the contrary interpretations, being deduced from various subjects, and these widely dispersed, cannot suddenly strike the understanding, so that in common estimation they must appear difficult and discordant, and almost like the mys- teries of faith. 29. In sciences founded on opinions and dogmas, it is right to make use of anticipations and logic if you wish to force as- sent rather than things. 30. If all the capacities of all ages should unite and combine and transmit their labors, no great progress will be made in learning by anticipations, because the radical errors, and those which occur in the first process of the mind, are not cured by the excellence of subsequent means and remedies. 31. It is in vain to expect any great progress in the sciences by the superinducing or engrafting new matters upon old. An instauration must be made from the very foundations, if we do not wish to revolve forever in a circle, making only some slight and contemptible progress. 32. The ancient authors and all others are left in undisputed possession of their honors; for we enter into no comparison of capacity or talent, but of method, and assume the part of a guide rather than of a critic. 33. To speak plainly, no correct judgment can be formed either of our method or its discoveries by those anticipations which are now in common use; for it is not to be required of us to submit ourselves to the judgment of the very method we ourselves arraign. 34. Nor is it an easy matter to deliver and explain our senti- ments ; for those things which are in themselves new can yet be only understood from some analogy to what is old. 35. Alexander Borgia said of the expedition of the French into Italy that they came with chalk in their hands to mark up their lodgings, and not with weapons to force their passage. Even so do we wish our philosophy to make its way quietly into those minds that are fit for it, and of good capacity ; for we have no need of contention where we differ in first prin- ciples, and in our very notions, and even in our forms of demon- stration. 36. We have but one simple method of delivering our senti- ments, namely, we must bring men to particulars and their NOVUM ORGANUM 319 regular series and order, and they must for a while renounce their notions, and begin to form an acquaintance with things. 37. Our method and that of the sceptics agree in some re- spects at first setting out, but differ most widely, and are com- pletely opposed to each other in their conclusion; for they roundly assert that nothing can be known; we, that but a small part of nature can be known, by the present method ; their next step, however, is to destroy the authority of the senses and un- derstanding, whilst we invent and supply them with assistance. 38. The idols and false notions which have already preoccu- pied the human understanding, and are deeply rooted in it, not only so beset men’s minds that they become difficult of access, but even when access is obtained will again meet and trouble us in the instauration of the sciences, unless mankind when ake aa guard themselves with all possible care against them. 39. Four species of idols beset the human mind, to which sad distinction’s sake) we have assigned names, calling the rst Idols of the Tribe, the second Idols of the Den, the third Idols of the Market, the fourth Idols of the Theatre. 40. The formation of notions and axioms on the foundation of true induction is the only fitting remedy by which we can ward off and expel these idols. It is, however, of great service to point them out; for the doctrine of idols bears the same rela- tion to the interpretation of nature as that of the confutation of sophisms does to common logic. 41. The idols of the tribe are inherent in human nature and the very tribe or race of man; for man’s sense is falsely asserted to be the standard of things ; on the contrary, all the perceptions both of the senses and the mind bear reference to man and not to the universe, and the human mind resembles those uneven | mirrors which impart thir own properties to different objects, from which rays are emitted and distort and disfigure them. 42. The idols of the den are those of each individual; for everybody (in addition to the errors common to the race of man) has his own individual den or cavern, which intercepts and corrupts the light of nature, either from his own peculiar and singular disposition, or from his education and intercourse with others, or from his reading, and the authority acquired by those whom he reverences and admires, or from the different impressions produced on the mind, as it happens to be pre- occupied and predisposed, or equable and tranquil, and the like ; so that the spirit of man (according to its several disposi- tions), is variable, confused, and, as it were, actuated by chance; and Heraclitus said well that men search for knowledge in les- ser worlds, and not in the greater or common world. 43. There are also idols formed by the reciprocal intercourse 4 BACON and society of man with man, which we call idols of the market, from the commerce and association of men with each other; for men converse by means of language, but words are formed at the will of the generality, and there arises from a bad and unapt formation of words a wonderful obstruction to the mind. Nor can the definitions and explanations with which learned men are wont to guard and protect themselves in some in- stances afford a complete remedy—words still manifestly force the understanding, throw everything into confusion, and lead mankind into vain and innumerable controversies and fallacies. 44. Lastly, There are idols which have crept into men’s minds from the various dogmas of peculiar systems of philoso- phy, and also from the perverted rules of demonstration, and these we denominate idols of the theatre: for we regard all the systems of philosophy hitherto received or imagined, as so many plays brought out and performed, creating fictitious and theatrical worlds. Nor do we speak only of the present sys- tems, or of the philosophy and sects of the ancients, since nu- merous other plays of a similar nature can be still composed and made to agree with each other, the causes of the most opposite errors being generally the same. Nor, again, do we allude merely to general systems, but also to many elements and ax- ioms of sciences which have become inveterate by tradition, implicit credence, and neglect. We must, however, discuss each species of idols more fully and distinctly in order to guard the human understanding against them. 45. The human understanding, from its peculiar nature, eas- ily supposes a greater degree of order and equality in things than it really finds; and although many things in nature be sui generis and most irregular, will yet invent parallels and conju- gates and relatives, where no such thing is. Hence the fiction, that all celestial bodies move in perfect circles, thus rejecting entirely spiral and serpentine lines (except as explanatory terms). Hence also the element of fire is introduced with its peculiar orbit, to keep square with those other three which are objects of our senses. The relative rarity of the elements (as they are called) is arbitrarily made to vary in tenfold progres- sion, with many other dreams of the like nature. Nor is this folly confined to theories, but it is to be met with even in simple notions. 46. The human understanding, when any proposition has been once laid down (either from general admission and belief, or from the pleasure it affords), forces everything else to add fresh support and confirmation ; and although most cogent and abundant instances may exist to the contrary, yet either does not observe or despises them, or gets rid of and rejects them by some distinction, with violent and injurious prejudice, rather NOVUM ORGANUM (321 than sacrifice the authority of its first conclusions. It was well answered by hime who has shown in a temple the votive tablets suspended by such as had escaped the peril of shipwreck, and was pressed as to whether he would then recognize the power of the gods, by an inquiry, But where are the portraits of those who have perished in spite of their vows? All superstition is much the same, whether it be that of astrology, dreams, omens, retributive judgment, or the like, in all of which the deluded believers observe events which are fulfilled, but neglect and pass over their failure, though it be much more common. But this evil insinuates itself still more craftily in philosophy and the sciences, in which a settled maxim vitiates and governs every other circumstance, though the latter be much more worthy of confidence. Besides, even in the absence of that eagerness and want of thought (which we have mentioned), it is the peculiar and perpetual error of the human understanding to be more moved and excited by affirmatives than negatives, whereas it ought duly and regularly to be impartial; nay, in establishing any true axiom the negative instance is the mos powerful. | 47. The human understanding is most excited by that which strikes and enters the mind at once and suddenly, and by which the imagination is immediately filled and inflated. It then be- gins almost imperceptibly to conceive and suppose that every- thing is similar to the few objects which have taken possession of the mind, whilst it is very slow and unfit for the transition to the remote and heterogeneous instances by which axioms are tried as by fire, unless the office be imposed upon it by severe regulations and a powerful authority. 48. The human understanding is active and cannot halt or rest, but even, though without effect, still presses forward. Thus we cannot conceive of any end or external boundary of the world, and it seems necessarily to occur to us that there must be something beyond. Nor can we imagine how eternity has flowed on down to the present day, since the usually received distinction of an infinity, a parte ante and a parte post cannot hold good ; for it would thence follow that one infinity is greater than another, and also that infinity is wasting away and tending toanend. There is the same difficulty in considering the in- finite divisibility of lines arising from the weakness of our minds, which weakness interferes to still greater disadvantage with the discovery of causes; for although the greatest gen- eralities in nature must be positive, just as they are found, and in fact not causable, yet the human understanding, incapable of resting, seeks for something more intelligible. Thus, how- ever, whilst aiming at further progress, it falls back to what is actually less advanced, namely, final causes ; for they are clearly 21 322 BACON more allied to man’s own nature, than the system of the uni- verse, and from this source they have wonderfully corrupted philosophy. But he would be an unskilful and shallow philoso- pher who should seek for causes in the greatest generalities, and not be anxious to discover them in subordinate objects. 49. The human understanding resembles not a dry light, but admits a tincture of the will and passions, which generate their own system accordingly ; for man always believes more readily that which he prefers. He, therefore, rejects difficulties for want of patience in investigation; sobriety, because it limits his hope; the depths of nature, from superstition ; the light of experiment, from arrogance and pride, lest his mind should appear to be occupied with common and varying objects ; para- doxes, from a fear of the opinion of the vulgar; in short, his feelings imbue and corrupt his understanding in innumerable and sometimes imperceptible ways. 50. But by far the greatest impediment and aberration of the human understanding proceeds from the dulness, incompe- tency, and errors of the senses; since whatever strikes the senses preponderates over everything, however superior, which does not immediately strike them. Hence contemplation mostly ceases with sight, and a very scanty, or perhaps no regard is paid to invisible objects. The entire operation, therefore, of spirits enclosed in tangible bodies is concealed, and escapes us. All that more delicate change of formation in the parts of coarser substances (vulgarly called alteration, but in fact a change of position in the smallest particles) is equally un- known ; and yet, unless the two matters we have mentioned be explored and brought to light, no great effect can be produced in nature. Again, the very nature of common air, and all bodies of less density (of which there are many) is almost un- known; for the senses are weak and erring, nor can instru- ments be of great use in extending their sphere or acuteness— all the better interpretations of nature are worked out by in- stances, and fit and apt experiments, where the senses only judge of the experiment, the experiment of nature and the thing itself. 51. The human understanding is, by its own nature, prone to abstraction, and supposes that which is fluctuating to be fixed. But it is better to dissect than abstract nature; such was the method employed by the school of Democritus, which made greater progress in penetrating nature than the rest. It is best to consider matter, its conformation, and the changes of that conformation, its own action, and the law of this action or motion ; for forms are a mere fiction of the human mind, unless you will call the laws of action by that name. 52. Such are the idols of the tribe, which arise either from NOVUM ORGANUM 323 the uniformity of the constitution of man’s spirit, or its preju- dices, or its limited faculties or restless agitation, or from the interference of the passions, or the incompetency of the senses, or the mode of their impressions. 53. The idols of the den derive their origin from the peculiar nature of each individual’s mind and body, and also from edu- cation, habit, and accident ; and although they be various and manifold, yet we will treat of some that require the greatest caution, and exert the greatest power in polluting the under- standing. 54. Some men become attached to particular sciences and contemplations, either from supposing themselves the authors and inventors of them, or from having bestowed the greatest pains upon such subjects, and thus become most habituated to them. If men of this description apply themselves to philoso- phy and contemplations of a universal nature, they wrest and corrupt them by their preconceived fancies, of which Aristotle affords us a signal instance, who made his natural philosophy completely subservient to his logic, and thus rendered it little more than useless and disputatious. The chemists, again, have formed a fanciful philosophy with the most confined views, from a few experiments of the furnace. Gilbert, too, having employed himself most assiduously in the consideration of the magnet, immediately established a system of philosophy to co- incide with his favorite pursuit. a5: The greatest and, perhaps, radical distinction between different men’s dispositions for philosophy and the sciences is this, that some are more vigorous and active in observing the differences of things, others in observing their resemblances ; for a steady and acute disposition can fix its thoughts, and dwell upon and adhere to a point, through all the refinements of dif- ferences, but those that are sublime and discursive recognize and compare even the most delicate and general resemblances ; each of them readily falls into excess, by catching either at nice distinctions or shadows of resemblance. 56. Some dispositions evince an unbounded admiration of antiquity, others eagerly embrace novelty, and but few can pre- serve the just medium, so as neither to tear up what the ancients have correctly laid down, nor to despise the just innovations ofthe moderns. But this is very prejudicial to the sciences and philosophy, and instead of a correct judgment we have but the factions of the ancients and moderns. Truth is not to be sought in the good fortune of any particular conjuncture of time, which is uncertain, but in the light of nature and experi- ence, which is eternal. Such factions, therefore, are to be ab- jured, and the understanding must not allow them to hurry it on to assent. 424 BACON 57. The contemplation of nature and of bodies in their in- dividual form distracts and weakens the understanding; but the contemplation of nature and of bodies in their general com- position and formation stupefies and relaxes it. We have a good instance of this in the school of Leucippus and Democri- tus compared with others, for they applied themselves so much to particulars as almost to neglect the general structure of things, whilst the others were so astounded whilst gazing on the structure that they did not penetrate the simplicity of nature. These two species of contemplation must, therefore, be inter- changed, and each employed in its turn, in order to render the understanding at once penetrating and capacious, and to avoid the inconveniences we have mentioned, and the idols that result from them. 58. Let such, therefore, be our precautions in contemplation, that we may ward off and expel the idols of the den, which mostly owe their birth either to some predominant pursuit, or, secondly, to an excess in synthesis and analysis, or, thirdly, to a party zeal in favor of certain ages, or, fourthly, to the extent or narrowness of the subject. In general, he who contemplates nature should suspect whatever particularly takes and fixes his understanding, and should use so much the more caution to preserve it equable and unprejudiced. 59. The idols of the market are the most troublesome of all, those namely which have entwined themselves round the un- derstanding from the associations of words and names. For men imagine that their reason governs words, whilst, in fact, words react upon the understanding; and this has rendered philosophy and the sciences sophistical and inactive. Words are generally formed in a popular sense, and define things by those broad lines which are most obvious to the vulgar mind; but when a more acute understanding, or more diligent obser- vation is anxious to vary those lines, and to adapt them more accurately to nature, words oppose it. Hence the great and solemn disputes of learned men often terminate in controversies about words and names, in regard to which it would be better (imitating the caution of mathematicians) to proceed more ad- visedly in the first instance, and to bring such disputes to a regular issue by definitions. Such definitions, however, can- not remedy the evil in natural and material objects, because they consist themselves of words, and these words produce oth- ers; so that we must necessarily have recourse to particular in- stances, and their regular series and arrangement, as we shall mention when we come to the mode and scheme of determining notions and axioms. | 60. The idols imposed upon the understanding by words are of two kinds. They are either the names of things which have NOVUM ORGANUM 325 no existence (for as some objects are from inattention left with- out a name, so names are formed by fanciful imaginations which are without an object), or they are the names of actual objects, but confused, badly defined, and hastily and irregularly ab- stracted from things. Fortune, the primum mobile, the plan- etary orbits, the element of fire, and the like fictions, which owe their birth to futile and false theories, are instances of the first kind. And this species of idols is removed with greater facility, because it can be exterminated by the constant refutation or the desuetude of the theories themselves. The others, which are created by vicious and unskilful abstraction, are intricate and deeply rooted. Take some word for instance, as moist, and let us examine how far the different significations of this word are consistent. It will be found that the word moist is nothing but a confused sign of different actions admitted of no settled and defined uniformity. For it means that which easily dif- fuses itself over another body ; that which is indeterminable and cannot be brought to a consistency ; that which yields easily in every direction ; that which is easily divided and dispersed ; that which is easily united and collected ; that which easily flows and is put in motion ; that which easily adheres to, and wets another body; that which is easily reduced to a liquid state though previously solid. When, therefore, you come to predicate or impose this name, in one sense flame is moist, in another air is not moist, in another fine powder is moist, in another glass is moist; so that it is quite clear that this notion is hastily ab- stracted from water only, and common ordinary liquors, with- out any due verification of it. There are, however, different degrees of distortion and mis- take in words. One of the least faulty classes is that of the names of substances, particularly of the less abstract and more defined species (those then of chalk and mud are good, of earth bad) ; words signifying actions are more faulty, as to generate, to corrupt, to change; but the most faulty are those denoting ualities (except the immediate objects of sense), as heavy, light, rare, dense. Yet in all of these there must be some no- tions a little better than others, in proportion as a greater or less number of things come before the senses. 61. The idols of the theatre are not innate, nor do they in- troduce themselves secretly into the understanding, but they are manifestly instilled and cherished by the fictions of theories and depraved rules of demonstration. To attempt, however, or undertake their confutation would not be consistent with our declarations. For since we neither agree in our principles nor our demonstrations, all argument is out of the question. And it is fortunate that the ancients are left in possession of their honors. We detract nothing from them, seeing our whole 506 BACON doctrine relates only to the path to be pursued. The lame (as they say) in the path outstrip the swift who wander from it, and it is clear that the very skill and swiftness of him who runs not in the right direction must increase his aberration. Our method of discovering the sciences is such as to leave little to the acuteness and strength of wit, and indeed rather to level wit and intellect. For as in the drawing of a straight line, or accurate circle by the hand, much depends on its steadiness and practice, but if a ruler or compass be employed there is little occasion for either; so it is with our method. Although, however, we enter into no individual confutations, yet a little must be said, first, of the sects and general divisions of these species of theories; secondly, something further to show that there are external signs of their weakness; and, lastly, we must consider the causes of so great a misfortune, and so long and general a unanimity in error, that we may thus render the ac- cess to truth less difficult, and that the human understanding may the more readily be purified, and brought to dismiss its idols. 62. The idols of the theatre, or of theories, are numerous, and may, and perhaps will, be still more so. For unless men’s minds had been now occupied for many ages in religious and theological considerations, and civil governments (especially monarchies), had been averse to novelties of that nature even in theory (so that men must apply to them with some risk and injury to their own fortunes, and not only without reward, but subject to contumely and envy), there is no doubt that many other sects of philosophers and theorists would have been in- troduced, like those which formerly flourished in such diversi- fied abundance amongst the Greeks. For as many imaginary theories of the heavens can be deduced from the phenomena of the sky, so it is even more easy to found many dogmas upon the phenomena of philosophy—and the plot of this our theatre resembles those of the poetical, where the plots which are in- vented for the stage are more consistent, elegant, and pleasur- able than those taken from real history. In general, men take for the groundwork of their philosophy either too much from a few topics, or too little from many ; in either case their philosophy is founded on too narrow a basis of experiment and natural history, and decides on too scanty grounds. For the theoretic philosopher seizes various com- mon circumstances by experiment, without reducing them to certainty or examining and frequently considering them, and relies for the rest upon meditation and the activity of his wit. There are other philosophers who have diligently and accu- rately attended to a few experiments, and have thence presumed to deduce and invent systems of philosophy, forming every- thing to conformity with them. NOVUM ORGANUM 327 A third set, from their faith and religious veneration, intro- duce theology and traditions; the absurdity of some among them having proceeded so far as to seek and derive the sciences from spirits and genii. There are, therefore, three sources of error and three species of false philosophy ; the sophistic, em- piric, and superstitious. 63. Aristotle affords the most eminent instance of the first; for he corrupted natural philosophy by logic—thus he formed the world of categories, assigned to the human soul, the noblest of substances, a genus determined by words of secondary oper- ation, treated of density and rarity (by which bodies occupy a greater or lesser space), by the frigid distinctions of action and power, asserted that there was a peculiar and proper motion in all bodies, and that if they shared in any other motion, it was owing to an external moving cause, and imposed innumerable arbitrary distinctions upon the nature of things; being every- where more anxious as to definitions in teaching and the accu- racy of the wording of his propositions, than the internal truth of things. And this is best shown by a comparison of his philosophy with the others of greatest repute among the Greeks. For the similar parts of Anaxagoras, the atoms of Leucippus and Democritus, the heaven and earth of Parmen- ides, the discord and concord of Empedocles, the resolution of bodies into the common nature of fire, and their condensation according to Heraclitus, exhibit some sprinkling of natural philosophy, the nature of things, and experiment; whilst Aris- totle’s physics are mere logical terms, and he remodelled the same subject in his metaphysics under a more imposing title, and more as a realist than a nominalist. Nor is much stress to be laid on his frequent recourse to experiment in his books on animals, his problems, and other treatises; for he had al- ready decided, without having properly consulted experience as the basis of his decisions and axioms, and after having so decided, he drags experiment along as a captive constrained to accommodate fedseil. to his decisions ; so that he is even more to be blamed than his modern followers (of the scholastic school) who have deserted her altogether. 64. The empiric school produces dogmas of a more deformed and monstrous nature than the sophistic or theoretic school; not being founded in the light of common notions (which, however poor and superstitious, is yet in a manner universal, and of a general tendency), but in the confined obscurity of a few experiments. Hence this species of philosophy appears probable, and almost certain to those who are daily practised in such experiments, and have thus corrupted their imagina- tion, but incredible and futile to others. We have a strong instance of this in the alchemists and their dogmas; it would 328 ; BACON be difficult to find another in this age, unless perhaps in the philosophy of Gilbert. We could not, however, neglect to cau- tion others against this school, because we already foresee and argue, that if men be hereafter induced by our exhortations to apply seriously to experiments (bidding farewell to the sophis- tic doctrines), there will then be imminent danger from em- pirics, owing to the premature and forward haste of the un- derstanding, and its jumping or flying to generalities and the principles of things. We ought, therefore, already to meet the evil. 65. The corruption of philosophy by the mixing of it up with superstition and theology, is of a much wider extent, and is most injurious to it both as a whole and in parts. For the human understanding is no less exposed to the impressions of fancy, than to those of vulgar notions. The disputatious and sophistic school entraps the understanding, whilst the fanciful, bombastic, and, as it were, poetical school, rather flatters it. There is a clear example of this among the Greeks, especially in Pythagoras, where, however, the superstition is coarse and overcharged, but it is more dangerous and refined in Plato and his school. This evil is found also in some branches of other systems of philosophy, where it introduces abstracted forms, final and first causes, omitting frequently the intermediate and the like. Against it we must use the greatest caution; for the apotheosis of error is the greatest evil of all, and when folly is worshipped, it is, as it were, a plague spot upon the under- standing. Yet some of the moderns have indulged this folly with such consummate inconsiderateness, that they have en- deavored to build a system of natural philosophy on the first chapter of Genesis, the book of Job, and other parts of Script- ure; seeking thus the dead amongst the living. And this folly is the more to be prevented and restrained, because not only fantastical philosophy, but heretical religion spring from the ab- surd mixture of matters divine and human. It is therefore ae wise soberly to render unto faith the things that are aith’s. 66. Having spoken of the vicious authority of the systems founded either on vulgar notions, or on a few experiments, or on superstition, we must now consider the faulty subjects for contemplation, especially in natural philosophy. The human understanding is perverted by observing the power of me- chanical arts, in which bodies are very materially changed by composition or separation, and is induced to suppose that some- thing similar takes place in the universal nature of things. Hence the fiction of elements, and their co-operation in form- ing natural bodies. Again, when man reflects upon the entire liberty of nature, he meets with particular species of things, as NOVUM ORGANUM his 329 animals, plants, minerals, and is thence easily led to imagine that there exist in nature certain primary forms which she strives to produce, and that all variation from them arises from some impediment or error which she is exposed to in com- pleting her work, or from the collision or metamorphosis of different species. The first hypothesis has produced the doc- trine of elementary properties, the second that of occult proper- ties and specific powers; and both lead to trifling courses of reflection, in which the mind acquiesces, and is thus diverted from more important subjects. But physicians exercise a much more useful labor in the consideration of the secondary qualities of things, and the operations of attraction, repulsion, attenuation, inspissation, dilation, astringency, separation, ma- turation, and the like; and would do still more if they would not corrupt these proper observations by the two systems I have alluded to, of elementary qualities and specific powers, by which they either reduce the secondary to first qualities, and their subtile and immeasurable composition, or at any rate neglect to advance by greater and more diligent observation to the third and fourth qualities, thus terminating their con- templation prematurely. Nor are these powers (or the like) to be investigated only among the medicines for the human body, but also in all changes of other natural bodies. A greater evil arises from the contemplation and investiga- tion rather of the stationary principles of things from which, than of the active by which things themselves are created. For the former only serve for discussion, the latter for practice. Nor is any value to be set on those common differences of motion which are observed in the received system of natural philosophy, as generation, corruption, augmentation, diminu- tion, alteration, and translation. For this is their meaning: if a body, unchanged in other respects, is moved from its place, this is translation; if the places and species be given, but the quantity changed, it is alteration; but, if from such a change, the mass and quantity of the body do not continue the same, this is the motion of augmentation and diminution; if the change be continued so as to vary the species and substance, and transfuse them to others, this is generation and corruption. All this is merely popular, and by no means penetrates into nature ; and these are but the measures and bounds of motion, and not different species of it ; they merely suggest how far, and not how or whence. For they exhibit neither the affections of bodies nor the process of their parts, but merely establish a division of that motion, which coarsely exhibits to the senses matter in its varied form. Even when they wish to point out something relative to the causes of motion, and to establish a division of them, they most absurdly introduce natural and vio- one BACON lent motion, which is also a popular notion, since every violent motion is also in fact natural, that is to say, the external efficient puts nature in action in a different manner to that which she had previously employed. But if, neglecting these, any one were for instance to observe that there is in bodies a tendency of adhesion, so as not to suffer the unity of nature to be completely separated or broken, and a vacuum to be formed, or that they have a tendency to return to their natural dimensions or tension, so that, if compressed or extended within or beyond it, they immediately strive to recover themselves, and resume their former volume and extent; or that they have a tendency to congregate into masses with sim- ilar bodies—the dense, for instance, towards the circumference of the earth, the thin and rare towards that of the heavens. These and the like are true physical genera of motions, but the others are clearly logical and scholastic, as appears plainly from a comparison of the two. Another considerable evil is, that men in their systems and contemplations bestow their labor upon the investigation and discussion of the principles of things and the extreme limits of nature, although all utility and means of action consist in the intermediate objects. Hence men cease not to abstract nature till they arrive at potential and shapeless matter, and still per- sist in their dissection, till they arrive at atoms; and yet were all this true, it would be of little use to advance man’s estate. 67. The understanding must also be cautioned against the intemperance of systems, so far as regards its giving or with- holding its assent; for such intemperance appears to fix and perpetuate idols, so as to leave no means of removing them. These excesses are of two kinds. The first is seen in those who decide hastily, and render the sciences positive and dicta- torial. The other in those who have introduced scepticism, and vague unbounded inquiry. The former subdues, the latter enervates the understanding. The Aristotelian philosophy, after destroying other systems (as the Ottomans do their breth- ren) by its disputatious confutations, decided upon everything, and Aristotle himself then raises up questions at will, in order to settle them; so that everything should be certain and de- cided, a method now in use among his successors. ; The school of Plato introduced scepticism, first, as it were in joke and irony, from their dislike to Protagoras, Hippias, and others, who were ashamed of appearing not to doubt upon any subject. But the new academy dogmatized in their scepticism, and held it as their tenet. Although this method be more hon- est than arbitrary decision (for its followers allege that they by no means confound all inquiry, like Pyrrho and his disciples, but hold doctrines which they can follow as probable, though NOVUM ORGANUM 331 they cannot maintain them to be true), yet when the human mind has once despaired of discovering truth, everything be- gins to languish. Hence men turn aside into pleasant contro- versies and discussions, and into a sort of wandering over subjects rather than sustain any rigorous investigation. But as we observed at first, we are not to deny the authority of the human senses and understanding, although weak, but rather to furnish them with assistance. 68. We have now treated of each kind of idols, and their qualities, all of which must be abjured and renounced with firm and solemn resolution, and the understanding must be complete- ly freed and cleared of them, so that the access to the kingdom of man, which is founded on the sciences, may resemble that to the kingdom of heaven, where no admission is conceded except to children. 69. Vicious demonstrations are the muniments and support of idols, and those which we possess in logic, merely subject and enslave the world to human thoughts, and thoughts to words. But demonstrations are in some manner themselves systems of philosophy and science; for such as they are, and accordingly as they are regularly or improperly established, such will be the resulting systems of philosophy and contem- plation. But those which we employ in the whole process leading from the senses and things to axioms and conclusions, are fallacious and incompetent. This process is fourfold, and the errors are in equal number. In the first place the impres- sions of the senses are erroneous, for they fail and deceive us. We must supply defects by substitutions, and fallacies by their correction. condly, notions are improperly abstracted from the senses, and indeterminate and confused when they ought to be the reverse. Thirdly, the induction that is employed is improper, for it determines the principles of sciences by simple enumeration, without adopting exclusions and resolutions, or just separations of nature. Lastly, the usual method of dis- covery and proof, by first establishing the most general prop- ositions, then applying and proving the intermediate axioms according to them, is the parent of error and the calamity of every science. But we will treat more fully of that which we now slightly touch upon, when we come to lay down the true way of interpreting nature, after having gone through the above expiatory process and purification of the mind. 70. But experience is by far the best demonstration, pro- vided it adhere to the experiment actually made, for if that ex- periment be transferred to other subjects apparently similar, unless with proper and methodical caution it becomes fal- lacious. The present method of experiment is blind and stupid ; hence men wandering and roaming without any deter- or BACON mined course, and consulting mere chance, are hurried about to various points, and advance but little—at one time they are happy, at another their attention is distracted, and they always find that they want something further. Men generally make their experiments carelessly, and as it were in sport, making some little variation in a known experiment, and then if they fail they become disgusted and give up the attempt; nay, if they set to work more seriously, steadily, and assiduously, yet they waste all their time on probing some solitary matter, as Gilbert on the magnet, and the alchemists on gold. But such conduct shows their method to be no less unskilful than mean; for no- body can successfully investigate the nature of any object by considering that object alone; the inquiry must be more gen- erally extended. Even when men build any science and theory upon experi- ment, yet they almost always turn with premature and hasty zeal to practise, not merely on account of the advantage and benefit to be derived from it, but in order to seize upon some security in a new undertaking of their not employing the re- mainder of their labor unprofitably, and by making themselves conspicuous, to acquire a greater name for their pursuit. Hence, like Atalanta, they leave the course to pick up the gold- en apple, interrupting their speed, and giving up the victory. But in the true course of experiment, and in extending it to new effects, we should imitate the Divine foresight and order; for God on the first day only created light, and assigned a whole day to that work without creating any material substance there- on. In like manner we must first, by every kind of experiment, elicit the discovery of causes and true axioms, and seek for experiments which may afford light rather than profit. Ax- ioms, when rightly investigated and established, prepare us not for a limited but abundant practice, and bring in their train whole troops of effects. But we will treat hereafter of the ways of experience, which are not less beset and interrupted than those of judgment; having spoken at present of common ex- perience only as a bad species of demonstration, the order of our subject now requires some mention of those external signs of the weakness in practice of the received systems of philoso- phy and contemplation b which we referred to above, and of the causes of a circumstance at first sight so wonderful and in- credible. For the knowledge of these external signs prepares the way for assent, and the explanation of the causes removes the wonder; and these two circumstances are of material use in extirpating more easily and gently the idols from the under- standing. 71. The sciences we possess have been principally derived from the Greeks; for the additions of the Roman, Arabic, or NOVUM ORGANUM 333 more modern writers, are but few and of small importance, and such as they are, are founded on the basis of Greek invention. But the wisdom of the Greeks was professional and disputa- tious, and thus most adverse to the investigation of truth. The name, therefore, of sophists, which the contemptuous spirit of those who deemed themselves philosophers, rejected and trans- ferred to the rhetoricians—Gorgias, Protagoras, Hippias, Polus—might well suit the whole tribe, such as Plato, Aris- totle, Zeno, Epicurus, ‘Theophrastus, and their successors— Chrysippus, Carneades, and the rest. There was only this dif- ference between them—the former were mercenary vagabonds, travelling about to different states, making a show of their wis- dom, and requiring pay; the latter more dignified and noble, in possession of fixed habitations, opening schools, and teach- ing philosophy gratuitously. Both, however (though differing in other respects), were professorial, and reduced every subject to controversy, establishing and defending certain sects and dogmas of philosophy, so that their doctrines were nearly (what Dionysius not unaptly objected to Plato) the talk of idle old men to ignorant youths. But the more ancient Greeks, as Empedocles, Anaxagoras, Leucippus, Democritus, Parmen- ides, Heraclitus, Xenophanes, Philolaus, and the rest (for I omit Pythagoras as being superstitious), did not (that we are aware) open schools, but betook themselves to the investiga- tion of truth with greater silence and with more severity and simplicity, that is, with less affectation and ostentation. Hence in our opinion they acted more advisedly, however their works may have been eclipsed in course of time by those lighter productions which better correspond with and please the apprehensions and passions of the vulgar; for time, like a river, bears down to us that which is light and inflated, and sinks that which is heavy and solid. Nor were even these more ancient philosophers free from the national defect, but inclined too much to the ambition and vanity of forming a sect, and captivating public opinion, and we must despair of any inquiry after truth when it condescends to such trifles. Nor must we omit the opinion, or rather prophecy, of an Egyp- tian priest with regard to the Greeks, that they would forever remain children, without any antiquity of knowledge or knowl- edge of antiquity ; for they certainly have this in common with children, that they are prone to talking, and incapable of gen- eration, their wisdom being loquacious and unproductive of effects. Hence the external signs derived from the origin and birthplace of our present philosophy are not favorable. 72. Nor are those much better which can be deduced from the character of the time and age, than the former from that of the country and nation ; for in that age the knowledge both of 334 BACON time and of the world was confined and meagre, which is one of the worst evils for those who rely entirely on experience— they had not a thousand years of history worthy of that name, but mere fables and ancient traditions; they were acquainted with but a small portion of the regions and countries of the world, for they indiscriminately called all nations situated far towards the north Scythians, all those to the west Celts; they knew nothing of Africa but the nearest part of Ethiopia, or of Asia beyond the Ganges, and had not even heard any sure and clear tradition of the regions of the New World. Besides, a vast number of climates and zones, in which innumerable na- tions live and breathe, were pronounced by them to be unin- habitable ; nay, the travels of Democritus, Plato, and Pythago- ras, which were not extensive, but rather mere excursions from home, were considered as something vast. But in our times many parts of the New World, and every extremity of the Old are well known, and the mass of experiments has been infinitely increased ; wherefore, if external signs were to be taken from the time of the nativity or procreation (as in astrology), nothing extraordinary could be predicted of these early systems of philosophy. ' 73, Of all signs there is none more certain or worthy than that of the fruits produced, for the fruits and effects are the sureties and vouchers, as it were, for the truth of philosophy. Now, from the systems of the Greeks and their subordinate divisions in particular branches of the sciences during so long a period, scarcely one single experiment can be culled that has a tendency to elevate or assist mankind, and can be fairly set down to the speculations and doctrines of their philosophy. Celsus candidly and wisely confesses as much, when he ob- serves that experiments were first discovered in medicine, and that men afterwards built their philosophical systems upon them, and searched for and assigned causes, instead of the in- verse method of discovering and deriving experiments from philosophy and the knowledge of causes; it is not, therefore, wonderful that the Egyptians (who bestowed divinity and sacred honors on the authors of new inventions) should have consecrated more images of brutes than of men, for the brutes by their natural instinct made many discoveries, whilst men derived but few from discussion and the conclusions of reason. The industry of the alchemists has produced some effect, by chance, however, and casualty, or from varying their experi- ments (as mechanics also do), and not from any regular art or theory, the theory they have imagined rather tending to disturb than to assist experiment. Those, too, who have occupied themselves with natural magic (as they term it) have made but few discoveries, and those of small import, and bordering on NOVUM ORGANUM 335 imposture ; for which reason, in the same manner as we are cautioned by religion to show our faith by our works, we may very properly apply the principle to philosophy, and judge of it by its works, accounting that to be futile which is unproductive, and still more so if, instead of grapes and olives, it yield but the thistle and thorns of dispute and contention. 74. Other signs may be selected from the increase and prog- ress of particular systems of philosophy and the sciences; for those which are founded on nature grow and increase, whilst those which are founded on opinion change and increase not. If, therefore, the theories we have mentioned were not like plants, torn up by the roots, but grew in the womb of nature, and were nourished by her, that which for the last two thousand years has taken place would never have happened, namely, that the sciences still continue in their beaten track, and nearly stationary, without having received any important increase, nay, having on the contrary rather bloomed under the hands of their first author, and then faded away. But we see that the case is reversed in the mechanical arts, which are founded on nature and the light of experience, for they (as long as they are popular) seem full of life, and uninterruptedly thrive and grow, being at first rude, then convenient, lastly polished, and perpetually improved. 75. There is yet another sign (if such it may be termed, being rather an evidence, and one of the strongest nature), namely, the actual confession of those very authorities whom men now follow ; for even they who decide on things so daringly, yet at times, when they reflect, betake themselves to complaints about the subtilty of nature, the obscurity of things, and the weakness of man’s wit. If they would merely do this, they might per- haps deter those who are of a timid disposition from further inquiry, but would excite and stimulate those of a more active and confident turn to further advances. They are not, how- ever, satisfied with confessing so much of themselves, but con- sider everything which has been either unknown or unattempt- ed by themselves or their teachers, as beyond the limits of possibility, and thus, with most consummate pride and envy, convert the defects of their own discoveries into a calumny on nature and a source of despair to every one else. Hence arose the New Academy, which openly professed scepticism, and consigned mankind to eternal darkness; hence the notion that forms, or the true differences of things (which are in fact the laws of simple action), are beyond man’s reach, and cannot pos- sibly be discovered; hence those notions in the active and operative branches, that the heat of the sun and of fire are totally different, so as to prevent men from supposing that they can elicit or form, by means of fire, anything similar to the 546 BACON operations of nature; and again, that composition only is the work of man and mixture of nature, so as to prevent men from expecting the generation or transformation of natural bodies by art. Men will, therefore, easily allow themselves to be per- suaded by this sign not to engage their fortunes and labor in speculations, which are not only desperate, but actually devoted to desperation. 76. Nor should we omit the sign afforded by the great dis- sension formerly prevalent among philosophers, and the variety of schools, which sufficiently show that the way was not well prepared that leads from the senses to the understanding, since the same groundwork of philosophy (namely, the nature of things), was torn and divided into such widely differing and multifarious errors. And although in these days the dissensions and differences of opinions with regard to first principles and entire systems are nearly extinct, yet there remain innumerable questions and controversies with regard to particular branches of philosophy. So that it is manifest that there is nothing sure or sound either in the systems themselves or in the methods of demonstration. 77. With regard to the supposition that there is a general unanimity as to the philosophy of Aristotle, because the other systems of the ancients ceased and became obsolete on its pro- mulgation, and nothing better has been since discovered ; whence it appears that it is so well determined and founded, as to have united the suffrages of both ages; we will observe— Ist. That the notion of other ancient systems having ceased after the publication of the works of Aristotle is false, for the works of the ancient philosophers subsisted long aiter that event, even to the time of Cicero, and the subsequent ages. But at a later period, when human learning had, as it were, been wrecked in the inundation of barbarians into the Roman em- pire, then the systems of Aristotle and Plato were preserved in the waves of ages, like planks of a lighter and less solid nature. 2d. The notion of unanimity, on a clear inspection, is found to be fallacious. For true unanimity is that which proceeds from a free judgment, arriving at the same conclusion, after an in- vestigation of the fact. Now, by far the greater number of those who have assented to the philosophy of Aristotle, have bound themselves down to it from prejudice and the authority of others, so that it is rather obsequiousness and concurrence than unanimity. But even if it were real and extensive unanim- ity, so far from being esteemed a true and solid confirmation, it should even lead to a violent presumption to the contrary. For there is no worse augury in intellectual matters than that derived from unanimity, with the exception of divinity and politics, where suffrages are allowed to decide. For nothing NOVUM ORGANUM 337 pleases the multitude, unless it strike the imagination or bind down the understanding, as we have observed above, with the shackles of vulgar notions. Hence we may well transfer Pho- cion’s remark from morals to the intellect: “ That men should immediately examine what error or fault they have committed, when the multitude concurs with, and applauds them.” This then is one of the most unfavorable signs. All the signs, there- fore, of the truth and soundness of the received systems of hilosophy and the sciences are unpropitious, whether taken rom their origin, their fruits, their progress, the confessions of their authors, or from unanimity. 78. We now come to the causes of errors,¢ and of such per- severance in them for ages. These are sufficiently numerous and powerful to remove all wonder, that what we now offer should have so long been concealed from, and have escaped the notice of mankind, and to render it more worthy of astonish- ment, that it should even now have entered any one’s mind, or become the subject of his thoughts; and that it should have done so, we consider rather the gift of fortune than of aay ex- traordinary talent, and as the offspring of time rather than wit. But, in the first place, the number of ages is reduced to very nar- row limits, on a proper consideration of the matter. For out of twenty-five centuries, with which the memory and learning of man are conversant, scarcely six can be set apart and selected as fertile in science and favorable to its progress. For there are deserts and wastes in times as in countries, and we can only reckon up three revolutions and epochs of philosophy. 1. The Greek. 2. The Roman. 3. Our own, that is the philosophy of the western nations of Europe: and scarcely two centuries can with justice be assigned to each. The intermediate ages of the world were unfortunate both in the quantity and richness of the sciences produced. Nor need we mention the Arabs, or the scholastic philosophy, which, in those ages, ground down the sciences by their numerous treatises, more than they in- creased their weight. The first cause, then, of such insignifi- cant progress in the sciences, is rightly referred to the small pro- portion of time which has been favorable thereto. 79. A second cause offers itself, which is certainly of the greatest importance ; namely, that in those very ages in which men’s wit and literature flourished considerably, or even mod- erately, but a small part of their industry was bestowed on nat- ural philosophy, the great mother of the sciences. For ev art and science torn from this root may, perhaps, be polished, and put into a serviceable shape, but can admit of little growth. It is well known, that after the Christian religion had been ac- knowledged, and arrived at maturity, by far the best wits were busied upon theology, where the highest rewards offered them- 22 358 BACON selves, and every species of assistance was abundantly supplied, and the study of which was the principal occupation of the west- ern European nations during the third epoch; the rather be- cause literature flourished about the very time when controver- sies concerning religion first began to bud forth. 2. In the preceding age, during the second epoch (that of the Romans), philosophical meditation and labor were chiefly occupied and wasted in moral philosophy (the theology of the heathens): be- sides, the greatest minds in these times applied themselves to civil affairs, on account of the magnitude of the Roman empire, which required the labor of many. 3. The age during which the natural philosophy appeared principally to flourish among the Greeks, was but a short period, since in the more ancient times the seven sages (with the exception of Thales) applied themselves to moral philosophy and politics, and at a later pe- riod, after Socrates had brought down philosophy from heaven to earth, moral philosophy became more prevalent, and di- verted men’s attention from natural. Nay, the very period during which physical inquiries flourished, was corrupted and rendered useless by contradictions, and the ambition of new opinions. Since, therefore, during these three epochs, natural philosophy has been materially neglected or impeded, it is not at all surprising that men should have made but little progress in it, seeing they were attending to an entirely different matter. 80. Add to this that natural philosophy, especially of late, has seldom gained exclusive possession of an individual free from all other pursuits, even among those who have applied them- selves to it, unless there may be an example or two of some monk studying in his cell, or some nobleman in his villa. She has rather been made a passage and bridge to other pursuits. Thus has this great mother of the sciences been degraded most unworthily to the situation of a handmaid, and made to wait upon medicine or mathematical operations, and to wash the immature minds of youth, and imbue them with a first dye, that they may afterwards be more ready to receive and retain another. In the mean time, let no one expect any great prog- ress in the sciences (especially their operative part), unless natural philosophy be applied to particular sciences, and partic- ular sciences again referred back to natural philosophy. For want of this, astronomy, optics, music, many mechanical arts, medicine itself, and (what perhaps is more wonderful) moral and political philosophy, and the logical sciences have no depth, but only glide over the surface and variety of things; because these sciences, when they have been once partitioned out and established, are no longer nourished by natural philosophy, which would have imparted fresh vigor and growth to them from the sources and genuine contemplation of motion, rays, NOVUM ORGANUM 339 sounds, texture, and conformation of bodies, and the affections and capacity of the understanding. But we can little wonder that the sciences grow not when separated from their roots. 81. There is another powerful and great cause of the little advancement of the sciences, which is this: it is impossible to advance properly in the course when the goal is not properly fixed. But the real and legitimate goal of the sciences, is the endowment of human life with new inventions and riches. The great crowd of teachers know nothing of this, but consist of dictatorial hirelings ; unless it so happen that some artisan of an acute genius, and ambitious of fame, gives up his time to a new discovery, which is generally attended with a loss of property. The majority, so far from proposing to themselves the augmen- tations of the mass of arts and sciences, make no other use of an inquiry into the mass already before them, than is afforded by the conversion of it to some use in their lectures, or to gain, or to the acquirement of a name, and the like. But if one out of the multitude be found, who courts science from real zeal, and on his own account, even he will be seen rather to follow contemplation, and the variety of theories, than a severe and strict investigation of truth. Again, if there even be an unus- ually strict investigator of truth, yet will he propose to himself, as the test of truth, the satisfaction of his mind and understand- ing, as to the causes of things long since known, and not such a test as to lead to some new earnest of effects, and a new light in axioms. If, therefore, no one have laid down the real end of science, we cannot wonder that there should be error in points subordinate to that end. 82. But, in like manner, as the end and goal of science is ill defined, so, even were the case otherwise, men have chosen an erroneous and impassable direction. For it is sufficient to as- tonish any reflecting mind, that nobody should have cared or wished to open and complete a way for the understanding, set- ting off from the senses, and regular, well-conducted experi- ment; but that everything has been abandoned either to the mists of tradition, the whirl and confusion of argument, or the waves and mazes of chance, and desultory, ill-combined experi- ment. Now, let anyone but consider soberly and diligently the nature of the path men have been accustomed to pursue in the investigation and discovery of any matter, and he will doubtless first observe the rude and inartificial manner of discovery most familiar to mankind: which is no other than this. When any- one prepares himself for discovery, he first inquires and obtains a full account of all that has been said on the subject by others, then adds his own reflections, and stirs up and, as it were, in- vokes his own spirit, after much mental labor, to disclose its oracles. All which is a method without foundation, and mere- ly turns on opinion. ae BACON Another, perhaps, calls in logic to assist him in discovery, which bears only a nominal relation to his purpose. For the discoveries of logic are not discoveries of principles and lead- ing axioms, but only of what appears to accord with them. And when men become curious and importunate, and give trouble, interrupting her about her proofs, and the discovery of princi- ples or first axioms, she puts them off with her usual answer, referring them to faith, and ordering them to swear allegiance to each art in its own department. There remains but mere experience, which, when it offers it- self, is called chance ; when it is sought after, experiment.¢d But this kind of experience is nothing but a loose fagot; and mere groping in the dark, as men at night try all means of discover- ing the right road, whilst it would be better and more prudent either to wait for day, or procure a light, and then proceed. On the contrary, the real order of experience begins by setting up a light, and then shows the road by it, commencing with a reg- ulated and digested, not a misplaced and vague course of ex- periment, and thence deducing axioms, and from those axioms new experiments; for not even the divine word proceeded to operate on the general mass of things without due order. Let men, therefore, cease to wonder if the whole course of science be not run, when all have wandered from the path; quit- ting it entirely, and deserting experience, or involving them- selves in its mazes, and wandering about, whilst a regularly combined system would lead them in a sure track through its wilds to the open day of axioms. 83. The evil, however, has been wonderfully increased by an opinion, or inveterate conceit, which is both vainglorious and prejudicial, namely, that the dignity of the human mind is lowered by long and frequent intercourse with experiments and particulars, which are the objects of sense, and confined to mat- ter; especially since such matters generally require labor in investigation, are mean subjects for meditation, harsh in dis- course, unproductive in practice, infinite in number, and deli- cate in their subtilty. Hence we have seen the true path not only deserted, but intercepted and blocked up, experience be- ing rejected with disgust, and not merely neglected or improp- erly applied. 84. Again, the reverence for antiquity, and the authority of men who have been esteemed great in philosophy, and general unanimity, have retarded men from advancing in science, and almost enchanted them. As to unanimity, we have spoken of it above. __The opinion which men cherish of antiquity is altogether idle and scarcely affords with the term. For the old age and increasing years of the world should in reality be considered as NOVUM ORGANUM 341 antiquity, and this is rather the character of our own times than of the less advanced age of the world in those of the ancients ; for the latter, with respect to ourselves, are ancient and elder, with respect to the world modern and younger. And as we expect a greater knowledge of human affairs, and more mature judgment from an old man than from a youth, on account of his experience, and the variety and number of things he has seen, heard, and meditated upon, so we have reason to expect much greater things of our own age (if it knew but its strength and would essay and exert it) than from antiquity, since the world has grown older, and its stock has been increased and accu- mulated with an infinite number of experiments and observa- tions. We must also take into our consideration that many objects in nature fit to throw light upon philosophy have been exposed to our view, and discovered by means of long voyages and trav- els, in which our times have abounded. It would, indeed, be dishonorable to mankind, if the regions of the material globe, the earth, the sea, and stars, should be so prodigiously devel- oped and illustrated in our age, and yet the boundaries of the intellectual globe should be confined to the narrow discoveries of the ancients. With regard to authority, it is the greatest weakness to at- tribute infinite credit to particular authors, and to refuse his own prerogative to time, the author of all authors, and, therefore, of all authority. For truth is rightly named the daughter of time, not of authority. It is not wonderful, therefore, if the bonds of antiquity, authority, and unanimity, have so enchained the power of man, that he is unable (as if bewitched) to become familiar with things themselves. 85. Nor is it only the admiration of antiquity, authority, and unanimity, that has forced man’s industry to rest satisfied with present discoveries, but, also, the admiration of the effects al- ready placed within his power. For whoever passes in review the variety of subjects, and the beautiful apparatus collected and introduced by the mechanical arts for the service of man- kind, will certainly be rather inclined to admire our wealth than to perceive our poverty: not considering that the observations of man and operations of nature (which are the souls and first movers of that variety) are few, and not of deep research; the rest must be attributed merely to man’s patience, and the deli- cate and well regulated motion of the hand or of instruments. To take an instance, the manufacture of clocks is delicate and accurate, and appears to imitate the heavenly bodies in its wheels, and the pulse of animals in its regular oscillation, yet it only depends upon one or two axioms of nature. Again, if one consider the refinement of the liberal arts, or ve BACON even that exhibited in the preparation of natural bodies in me- chanical arts and the like, as the discovery of the heavenly motions in astronomy, of harmony in music, of the letters of the alphabet (still unadopted by the Chinese) in grammar; or, again, in mechanical operations, the productions of Bacchus and Ceres, that is, the preparation of wine and beer, the making of bread, or even the luxuries of the table, distillation, and the like; if one reflect also, and consider for how long a period of ages (for all the above, except distillation, are ancient) these things have been brought to their present state of perfection, and (as we instanced in clocks) to how few observations and axioms of nature they may be referred, and how easily, and, as it were, by obvious chance or contemplation, they might be discovered, one would soon cease to admire and rather pity the human lot, on account of its vast want and dearth of things and discoveries for so many ages. Yet even the discoveries we have mentioned were more ancient than philosophy and the intellectual arts; so that (to say the truth), when contemplation and doctrinal science began, the discovery of useful works ceased. But if anyone turn from the manufactories to libraries, and be inclined to admire the immense variety of books offered to our view, let him but examine and diligently inspect the matter and contents of these books, and his astonishment will certainly change its object: for when he finds no end of repetitions, and how much men do and speak the same thing over again, he will pass from admiration of this variety to astonishment at the pov- erty and scarcity of matter, which has hitherto possessed and filled men’s minds. But if anyone should condescend to consider such sciences as are deemed rather curious than sound, and take a full view of the operations of the alchemists or magi, he will perhaps hes- itate whether he ought rather to laugh or to weep. For the alchemist cherishes eternal hope, and when his labors succeed not, accuses his own mistakes, deeming, in his self-accusation, that he has not properly understood the words of art or of his authors ; upon which he listens to tradition and vague whispers, or imagines there is some slight unsteadiness in the minute de- tails of his practice, and then has recourse to an endless repe- tition of experiments: and in the mean time, when, in his casual experiments, he falls upon something in appearance new, or of some degree of utility, he consoles himself with such an earnest, and ostentatiously publishes them, keeping up his hope of the final result. Nor can it be denied that the alchemists have made several discoveries, and presented mankind with useful inventions. But we may well apply to them the fable of the old man, who bequeathed to his sons some gold buried in his gar- NOVUM ORGANUM 343 den, pretending not to know the exact spot, whereupon they worked diligently in digging the vineyard, and though they found no gold, the vintage was rendered more abundant by their labor. The followers of natural magic, who explain everything by sympathy and antipathy, have assigned false powers and mar- vellous operations to things by gratuitous and idle conjec- tures: and if they have ever produced any effects, they are rather wonderful and novel than of any real benefit or utility. In superstitious magic (if we say anything at all about it) we must chiefly observe, that there are only some peculiar and definite objects with which the curious and superstitious arts have, in every nation and age, and even under every religion, been able to exercise and amuse themselves. Let us, therefore, pass them over. In the mean time we cannot wonder that the false notion of plenty should have occasioned want. 86. The admiration of mankind with regard to the arts and sciences, which is of itself sufficiently simple and almost puerile, has been increased by the craft and artifices of those who have treated the sciences, and delivered them down to posterity. For they propose and produce them to our view so fashioned, and as it were masked, as to make them pass for perfect and com- plete. For if you consider their method and divisions, they appear to embrace and comprise everything which can relate to the subject. And although this frame be badly filled up and resemble an empty bladder, yet it presents to the vulgar under- standing the form and appearance of a perfect science. The first and most ancient investigators of truth were wont, on the contrary, with more honesty and success, to throw all the knowledge they wished to gather from contemplation, and to lay up for use, into aphorisms, or short scattered sentences unconnected by any method, and without pretending or pro- fessing to comprehend any entire art. But according to the present system, we cannot wonder that men seek nothing be- yond that which is handed down to them as perfect, and already extended to its full complement. 87. The ancient theories have received additional support and credit from the absurdity and levity of those who have pro- moted the new, especially in the active and practical part of natural philosophy. For there have been many silly and fantas- tical fellows who, from credulity or imposture, have loaded man- kind with promises, announcing and boasting of the prolonga- tion of life, the retarding of old age, the alleviation of pains, the remedying of natural defects, the deception of the senses, the restraint and excitement of the passions, the illumination and exaltation of the intellectual faculties, the transmutation of sub- stances, the unlimited intensity and multiplication of motion, 344 BACON the impressions and changes of the air, the bringing into our power the management of celestial influences, the divination of future events, the representation of distant objects, the revela- tion of hidden objects, and the like. One would not be very wrong in observing with regard to such pretenders, that there is as much difference in philosophy, between their absurdity and real science, as there is in history between the exploits of Czesar or Alexander, and those of Amadis de Gaul and Arthur of Britain. For those illustrious generals are found to have actually performed greater exploits than such fictitious heroes are even pretended to have accomplished, by the means, how- ever, of real action, and not by any fabulous and portentous power. Yet itis not right to suffer our belief in true history to be diminished, because it is sometimes injured and violated by fables. In the mean time we cannot wonder that great preju- dice has been excited against any new propositions (especially when coupled with any mention of effects to be produced), by the conduct of impostors who have made a similar attempt ; for their extreme absurdity, and the disgust occasioned by it, have even to this day overpowered every spirited attempt of the kind. 88. Want of energy, and the littleness and futility of the tasks that human industry has undertaken, have produced much greater injury to the sciences: and yet (to make it still worse) that very want of energy manifests itself to conjunction with arrogance and disdain. For, in the first place, one excuse, now from its repetition become familiar, is to be observed in every art, namely, that its promoters convert the weakness of the art itself into a calumny upon nature: and whatever it in their hands fails to effect, they pronounce to be physically impossible. But how can the art ever be condemned whilst it acts as judge in its own cause? Even the present system of philosophy cherishes in its bosom certain positions or dogmas, which (it will be found on diligent inquiry) are calculated to produce a full conviction that no diffi- cult, commanding, and powerful operation upon nature ought to be anticipated through the means of art; we instanced ¢ above the alleged different quality of heat in the sun and fire, and composition and mixture. Upon an accurate observation the whole tendency of such positions is wilfully to circumscribe man’s power, and to produce a despair of the means of inven- tion and contrivance, which would not only confound the promises of hope, but cut the very springs and sinews of indus- try, and throw aside even the chances of experience. The only object of such philosophers is to acquire the reputation of per- fection for their own art, and they are anxious to obtain the most silly and abandoned renown, by causing a belief that whatever has not yet been invented and understood can never NOVUM ORGANUM 345 be so hereafter. But if anyone attempt to give himself up to things, and to discover something new, yet he will only propose and destine for his object the investigation and discovery of some one invention, and nothing more; as the nature of the magnet, the tides, the heavenly system, and the like, which ap- pear enveloped in some degree of mystery, and have hitherto been treated with but little success. Now it is the greatest proof of want and skill, to investigate the nature of any object in itself alone; for that same nature, which seems concealed and hidden in some instances, is manifest and almost palpable in others, and excites wonder in the former, whilst it hardly attracts at- tention in the latter. Thus the nature of consistency is scarcely observed in wood or stone, but passed over by the term solid without any further inquiry about the repulsion of separation or the solution of continuity. But in water-bubbles the same circumstance appears matter of delicate and ingenious research, for they form themselves into thin pellicles, curiously shaped into hemispheres, so as for an instant to avoid the solution of continuity. In general, those very things which are considered as secret are manifest and common in other objects, but will never be clearly seen if the experiments and contemplation of man be directed to themselves only. Yet it commonly happens, that if, in the mechanical arts, anyone bring old discoveries to a finer polish, or more elegant height of ornament, or unite and com- pound them, or apply them more readily to practice, or exhibit them on a less heavy and voluminous scale, and the like, they will pass off as new. We cannot, therefore, wonder that no magnificent discover- ies worthy of mankind, have been brought to light, whilst men are satisfied and delighted with such scanty and puerile tasks, nay, even think that they have pursued or attained some great object in their accomplishment. 89. Nor should we neglect to observe that natural philoso- phy has, in every age, met with a troublesome and difficult op- ponent: I mean superstition, and a blind and immoderate zeal for religion. For we see that, among the Greeks, those who first disclosed the natural causes of thunder and storms to the yet untrained ears of man were condemned as guilty of impiety towards the gods. Nor did some of the old fathers of Christian- ity treat those much better who showed by the most positive proofs (such as no one now disputes) that the earth is spherical, and thence asserted that there were antipodes. Even in the present state of things the condition of discus- sions on natural philosophy is rendered more difficult and dan- gerous by the summaries and methods of divines, who, after re- ducing divinity into such order as they could and brought it 346 BACON into a scientific form, have proceeded to mingle an undue pro- portion of the contentious and thorny philosophy of Aristotle with the substance of religion. The fictions of those who have not feared to deduce and con- firm the truth of the Christian religion by the principles and authority of philosophers, tend to the same end, though in a different manner. ‘They celebrate the union of faith and the senses as though it were legitimate, with great pomp and solem- nity, and gratify men’s pleasing minds with a variety, but in the mean time confound most improperly things divine and human. Moreover, in these mixtures of divinity and philosophy the re- ceived doctrines of the latter are alone included, and any nov- elty, even though it be an improvement, scarcely escapes ban- ishment and extermination. In short, you may find all access to any species of philosophy, however pure, intercepted by the ignorance of divines. Some in their simplicity are apprehensive that a too deep inquiry into nature may penetrate beyond the proper bounds of decorum, transferring and absurdly applying what is said of sacred mys- teries in Holy Writ against those who pry into divine secrets, to the mysteries of nature, which are not forbidden by any pro- hibition. Others with more cunning imagine and consider, that if secondary causes be unknown, everything may more eas- ily be referred to the Divine hand and wand, a matter, as they think, of the greatest consequence to religion, but which can only really mean that God wishes to be gratified by means of falsehood. Others fear, from past example, lest motion and change in philosophy should terminate in an attack upon re- ligion. Lastly, there are others who appear anxious lest there should be something discovered in the investigation of nature to overthrow, or at least shake, religion, particularly among the unlearned. The two last apprehensions appear to resemble animal instinct, as if men were diffident, in the bottom of their minds and secret meditations, of the strength of religion and the empire of faith over the senses, and therefore feared that some danger awaited them from an inquiry into nature. But anyone who properly considers the subject will find natural philosophy to be, after the Word of God, the surest remedy against superstition, and the most approved support of faith. She is, therefore, rightly bestowed upon religion as a most faith- ful attendant, for the one exhibits the will and the other the power of God. Nor was he wrong who observed, “ Ye err, not knowing the Scriptures and the power of God,” thus unit- ing in one bond the revelation of his will and the contemplation of his power. In the mean while, it is not wonderful that the progress of natural philosophy has been restrained, since re- ligion, which has so much influence on men’s minds, has been NOVUM ORGANUM 347 led and hurried to oppose her through the ignorance of some and the imprudent zeal of others. go. Again, in the habits and regulations of schools, univer- sities, and the like assemblies, destined for the abode of learned men and the improvement of learning, everything is found to be opposed to the progress of the sciences; for the lectures and exercises are so ordered, that anything out of the common track can scarcely enter the thoughts and contemplations of the mind. If, however, one or two have perhaps dared to use their liberty, they can only impose the labor on themselves, without deriving any advantage from the association of others; and if they put up with this, they will find their industry and spirit of no slight disadvantage to them in making their fortune; for the pursuits of men in such situations are, as it were, chained down to the writings of particular authors, and if anyone dare to dissent from them he is immediately attacked as a turbulent and revolutionary spirit. Yet how great is the difference be- tween civil matters and the arts, for there is not the same danger from new activity and new light. In civil matters even a change for the better is suspected on account of the commotion it occasions, for civil government is supported by authority, unan- imity, fame, and public opinion, and not by demonstration. In the arts and sciences, on the contrary, every department should resound, as in mines, with new works and advances. And this is the rational, though not the actual view of the case, for that administration and government of science we have spoken of is wont too rigorously to repress its growth. gt. And even should the odium I have alluded to be avoided, yet it is sufficient to repress the increase of science that such attempts and industry pass unrewarded; for the cultivation of science and its reward belong not to the same individual. The advancement of science is the work of a powerful genius, the prize and reward belong to the vulgar or to princes, who (with a few exceptions) are scarcely moderately well informed. Nay, such progress is not only deprived of the rewards and beneficence of individuals, but even of popular praise; for it is above the reach of the generality, and easily overwhelmed and extinguished by the winds of common opinions. It is not won- derful, therefore, that little success has attended that which has been little honored. 92. But by far the greatest obstacle to the advancement of the sciences, and the undertaking of any new attempt or depart- ment, is to be found in men’s despair and the idea of impos- sibility; for men of a prudent and exact turn of thought are altogether diffident in matters of this nature, considering the obscurity of nature, the shortness of life, the deception of the senses, and weakness of the judgment. They think, therefore, 348 BACON that in the revolutions of ages and of the world there are certain floods and ebbs of the sciences, and that they grow and flourish at one time, and wither and fall off at another, that when they have attained a certain degree and condition they can proceed no further. If, therefore, any one believe or promise greater things, they impute it to an uncurbed and immature mind, and imagine that such efforts begin pleasantly, then become laborious, and end in confusion. And since such thoughts easily enter the minds of men of dignity and excellent judgment, we must really take heed lest we should be captivated by our affection for an excel- lent and most beautiful object, and relax or diminish the severity of our judgment; and we must diligently examine what gleam of hope shines upon us, and in what direction it manifests itself, so that, banishing her lighter dreams, we may discuss and weigh whatever appears of more sound importance. We must consult the prudence of ordinary life, too, which is diffident upon prin- ciple, and in all human matters augurs the worst. Let us, then, speak of hope, especially as we are not vain promisers, nor are willing to enforce or ensnare men’s judgment, but would rather lead them willingly forward. And although we shall employ the most cogent means of enforcing hope when we bring them to particulars, and especially those which are digested and ar- ranged in our Tables of Invention (the subject partly of the second, but principally of the fourth part of the Instauration), which are, indeed, rather the very object of our hopes than hope itself ; yet to proceed more leniently we must treat of the prepa- ration of men’s minds, of which the manifestation of hope forms no slight part; for without it all that we have said tends rather to produce a gloom than to encourage activity or quicken the industry of experiment, by causing them to have a worse and more contemptuous opinion of things as they are than they now entertain, and to perceive and feel more thoroughly their unfor- tunate condition. We must, therefore, disclose and prefix our reasons for not thinking the hope of success improbable, as Columbus, before his wonderful voyage over the Atlantic, gave reasons of his conviction that new lands and continents might be discovered besides those already known; and these reasons, though at first rejected, were yet proved by subsequent experi- ence, and were the causes and beginnings of the greatest events. 93. Let us begin from God, and show that our pursuit from its exceeding goodness clearly proceeds from him, the author of good and father of light. Now, in all divine works the small- est beginnings lead assuredly to some result, and the remark in spiritual matters that “the kingdom of God cometh without observation,” is also found to be true in every great work of Divine Providence, so that everything glides quietly on without NOVUM ORGANUM 349 confusion or noise, and the matter is achieved before men either think or perceive that it is commenced. Nor should we neglect to mention the prophecy of Daniel, of the last days of the world, “Many shall run to and fro, and knowledge shall be in- creased,” f thus plainly hinting and suggesting that fate (which is Providence) would cause the complete circuit of the globe (now accomplished, or at least going forward by means of so many distant voyages), and the increase of learning to happen at the same epoch. 94. We will next give a most potent reason for hope deduced from the errors of the past, and the ways still unattempted ; for well was an ill-governed state thus reproved, “ That which is worst with regard to the past should appear most consolatory for the future; for if you had done all that your duty com- manded, and your affairs proceeded no better, you could not even hope for their improvement; but since their present unhappy situation is not owing to the force of circumstances, but to your own errors, you have reason to hope that by ban- ishing or correcting the latter you can produce a great change for the better in the former.” So if men had, during the many years that have elapsed, adhered to the right way of discovering and cultivating the sciences without being able to advance, it would be assuredly bold and presumptuous to imagine it pos- sible to improve; but if they have mistaken the way and wasted their labor on improper objects, it follows that the difficulty does not arise from things themselves, which are not in our power, but from the human understanding, its practice and application, which is susceptible of remedy and correction. Our best plan, therefore, is to expose these errors ; for in proportion as they impeded the past, so do they afford reason to hope for the future. And although we have touched upon them above, yet we think it right to give a brief, bare, and simple enumera- tion of them in this place. 95. Those who have treated of the sciences have been either empirics or dogmatical. The former like ants only heap up and use their store, the latter like spiders spin out their own webs. The bee, a mean between both, extracts matter from the flowers of the garden and the field, but works and fashions it by its own efforts. The true labor of philosophy resembles hers, for it neither relies entirely nor principally on the powers of the mind, nor yet lays up in the memory the matter afforded by the ex- periments of natural history and mechanics in its raw state, but changes and works it in the understanding. We have good reason, therefore, to derive hope from a closer and purer alli- ance of these faculties (the experimental and rational) than has yet been attempted. 96. Natural philosophy is not yet to be found unadulterated, a6 BACON but is impure and corrupted—by logic in the school of Aristotle, by natural theology in that of Plato, by mathematics in the second school of Plato (that of Proclus and others) which ought rather to terminate natural philosophy than to generate or create it. We may, therefore, hope for better results from pure and unmixed natural philosophy. 97. No one has yet been found possessed of sufficient firm- ness and severity to resolve upon and undertake the task of entirely abolishing common theories and notions, and applying the mind afresh, when thus cleared and leveled, to particular researches; hence our human reasoning is a mere farrago and crude mass made up of a great deal of credulity and accident, and the puerile notions it originally contracted. But if a man of mature age, unprejudiced senses, and clear mind, would betake himself anew to experience and particulars, we might hope much more from such a one; in which respect we promise ourselves the fortune of Alexander the Great, and let none accuse us of vanity till they have heard the tale, which is intended to check vanity. For A*schines spoke thus of Alexander and his exploits: “We live not the life of mortals, but are born at such a period that posterity will relate and declare our prodigies ;’ as if he considered the exploits of Alexander to be miraculous. But in succeeding ages Livy took a better view of the fact, and has made some such observation as this upon Alexander: “That he did no more than dare to despise insignificance.” So in Our opinion posterity will judge of us, that we have achieved no great matters, but only set less account upon what is con- sidered important; for the mean time (as we have before ob- served) our only hope is in the regeneration of the sciences, by regularly raising them on the foundation of experience and building them anew, which I think none can venture to affirm to have been already done or even thought of. 98. The foundations of experience (our sole resource) have hitherto failed completely or have been very weak; nor has a store and collection of particular facts, capable of informing the mind or in any way satisfactory, been either sought after or amassed. On the contrary, learned, but idle and indolent, men have received some mere reports of experience, traditions as it were of dreams, as establishing or confirming their philosophy, and have not hesitated to allow them the weight of legitimate evidence. So that a system has been pursued in philosophy with regard to experience resembling that of a kingdom or state which would direct its councils and affairs according to the gossip of city and street politicians, instead of the letters and reports of ambassadors and messengers worthy of credit. Noth- ing is rightly inquired into, or verified, noted, weighed, or NOVUM ORGANUM 351 measured, in natural history; indefinite and vague observation produces fallacious and uncertain information. If this appear strange, or our complaint somewhat too unjust (because Aris- totle himself, so distinguished a man and supported by the wealth of so great a king, has completed an accurate history of animals, to which others with greater diligence but less noise have made considerable additions, and others again have com- posed copious histories and notices of plants, metals, and fos- sils), it will arise from a want of sufficiently attending to and comprehending our present observations; for a natural history compiled on its own account, and one collected for the mind’s information as a foundation for philosophy, are two different things. They differ in several respects, but principally in this— the former contains only the varieties of natural species without the experiments of mechanical arts; for as in ordinary life every person’s disposition, and the concealed feelings of the mind and passions are most drawn out when they are disturbed —so the secrets of nature betray themselves more readily when tormented by art than when left to their own course. We must begin, therefore, to entertain hopes of natural philosophy then only, when we have a better compilation of natural history, its real basis and support. 99. Again, even in the abundance of mechanical experiments, there is a very great scarcity of those which best inform and assist the understanding. For the mechanic, little solicitous about the investigation of truth, neither directs his attention, nor applies his hand to anything that is not of service to his business. But our hope of further progress in the sciences will then only be well founded, when numerous experiments shall be received and collected into natural history, which, though of no use in themselves, assist materially in the discovery of causes and axioms; which experiments we have termed enlightening, to distinguish them from those which are profitable. They possess this wonderful property and nature, that they never de- ceive or fail you; for being used only to discover the natural cause of some object, whatever be the result, they equally satisfy your aim by deciding the question. 100. We must not only search for, and procure a greater number of experiments, but also introduce a completely differ- ent method, order, and progress of continuing and promoting experience. For vague and arbitrary experience is (as we have observed), mere groping in the dark, and rather astonishes than instructs. But when experience shall proceed regularly and uninterruptedly by a determined rule, we may entertain better hopes of the sciences. 1o1. But after having collected and prepared an abundance and store of natural history, and of the experience required for 352 BACON the operations of the understanding or philosophy, still the un- derstanding is as incapable of acting on such materials of itself, with the aid of memory alone, as any person would be of retain- ing and achieving, by memory, the computation of an almanac. Yet meditation has hitherto done more for discovery than writ- ing, and no experiments have been committed to paper. We cannot, however, approve of any mode of discovery without writing, and when that comes into more general use, we may have further hopes. 102. Besides this, there is such a multitude and host, as it were, of particular objects, and lying so widely dispersed, as to distract and confuse the understanding; and we can, therefore, hope for no advantage from its skirmishing, and quick move- ments and incursions, unless we put its forces in due order and array, by means of proper and well arranged, and, as it were, living tables of discovery of these matters, which are the subject of investigation, and the mind then apply itself to the ready prepared and digested aid which such tables afford. 103. When we have thus properly and regularly placed be- fore the eyes a collection of particulars, we must not immedi- ately proceed to the investigation and discovery of new par- ticulars or effects, or, at least, if we do so, must not rest satisfied therewith. For, though we do not deny that by transferring the experiments from one art to another (when all the experi- ments of each have been collected and arranged, and have been acquired by the knowledge, and subjected to the judgment of a single individual), many new experiments may be discovered tending to benefit society and mankind, by what we term literate | experience; yet comparatively insignificant results are to be expected thence, whilst the more important are to be derived from the new light of axioms, deduced by certain method and rule from the above particulars, and pointing out and defining new particulars in their turn. Our road is not a long plain, but rises and falls, ascending to axioms, and descending to effects. 104. Nor can we suffer the understanding to jump and fly from particulars to remote and most general axioms (such as are termed the principles of arts and things), and thus prove and make out their intermediate axioms according to the sup- posed unshaken truth of the former. This, however, has always been done to the present time from the natural bent of the un- derstanding, educated too, and accustomed to this very method, by the syllogistic mode of demonstration. But we can then only augur well for the sciences, when the ascent shall proceed by a true scale and successive steps, without interruption or breach, from particulars to the lesser axioms, thence to the intermediate (rising one above the other), and lastly, to the most general. For the lowest axioms differ but little from bare experiments ; NOVUM ORGANUM 353 the highest and most general (as they are esteemed at present), are notional, abstract, and of no real weight. The intermediate are true, solid, full of life, and upon them depend the business and fortune of mankind; beyond these are the really general, but not abstract, axioms, which are truly limited by the inter- mediate. We must not then add wings, but rather lead and ballast to the understanding, to prevent its jumping or flying, which has not yet been done; but.whenever this takes place, we may entertain greater hopes of the sciences. 105. In forming axioms, we must invent a different form of induction from that hitherto in use; not only for the proof and discovery of principles (as they are called), but also of minor, intermediate, and, in short, every kind of axioms. The induc- tion which proceeds by simple enumeration is puerile, leads to uncertain conclusions, and is exposed to danger from one con- tradictory instance, deciding generally from too small a number of facts, and those only the most obvious. But a really useful induction for the discovery and demonstration of the arts and sciences, should separate nature by proper rejections and ex- clusions, and then conclude for the affirmative, after collecting a sufficient number of negatives. Now this has not been done, nor even attempted, except perhaps by Plato, who certainly uses this form of induction in some measure, to sift definitions and ideas. But much of what has never yet entered the thoughts of man must necessarily be employed, in order to exhibit a good and legitimate mode of induction or demonstration, so as even to render it essential for us to bestow more pains upon it than have hitherto been bestowed on syllogisms. The assistance of induction is to serve us not only in the discovery of axioms, but also in defining our notions. Much indeed is to be hoped from such an induction as has been described. 106. In forming our axioms from induction, we must ex- amine and try whether the axiom we derive be only fitted and calculated for the particular instances from which it is deduced, or whether it be more extensive and general. If it be the latter, we must observe, whether it confirm its own extent and gen- erality by giving surety, as it were, in pointing out new par- ticulars, so that we may neither stop at actual discoveries, nor with a careless grasp catch at shadows and abstract forms, in- stead of substances of a determinate nature: and as soon as we act thus, well authorized hope may with reason, be said to beam upon us. _ 107. Here, too, we may again repeat what we have said above, concerning the extending of natural philosophy and re- ducing particular sciences to that one, so as to prevent any 23 354 BACON schism or dismembering of the sciences; without which we cannot hope to advance. 108. Such are the observations we would make in order to remove despair and excite hope, by bidding farewell to the errors of past ages, or by their correction. Let us examine whether there be other grounds for hope. And, first, if many useful discoveries have occurred to mankind by chance or op- portunity, without investigation or attention on their part, it must necessarily be acknowledged that much more may be brought to light by investigation and attention, it if be regular and orderly, not hasty and interrupted. For although it may now and then happen that one falls by chance upon something that had before escaped considerable efforts and laborious in- quiries, yet undoubtedly the reverse is generally the case. We may, therefore, hope for further, better, and more frequent re- sults from man’s reason, industry, method, and application, than from chance and mere animal instinct, and the like, which have hitherto been the sources of invention. 109. We may also derive some reason for hope from the cir- cumstance of several actual inventions being of such a nature, that scarcely any one could have formed a conjecture about them previously to their discovery, but would rather have ridiculed them as impossible. For men are wont to guess about new subjects from those they are already acquainted with, and the hasty and vitiated fancies they have thence formed: than which there cannot be a more fallacious mode of reasoning, be- cause much of that which is derived from the sources of things does not flow in their usual channel. If, for instance, before the discovery of cannon, one had described its effects in the following manner: There is a new in- vention by which walls and the greatest bulwarks can be shaken and overthrown from a considerable distance ; men would have begun to contrive various means of multiplying the force of projectiles and machines by means of weights and wheels, and other modes of battering and projecting. But it is improbable that any imagination or fancy would have hit upon a fiery blast, expanding and developing itself so suddenly and violently, because none would have seen an instance at all resembling it, except perhaps in earthquakes or thunder, which they would have immediately rejected as the great operations of nature, not to be imitated by man. So, if before the discovery of silk thread, any one had ob- served, That a species of thread had been discovered, fit for dresses and furniture, far surpassing the thread of worsted or flax in fineness, and at the same time in tenacity, beauty, and softness; men would have begun to imagine something about Chinese plants, or the fine hair of some animals, or the feathers NOVUM ORGANUM 355 or down of birds, but certainly would never have had an idea of its being spun by a small worm, in so copious a manner, and renewed annually. But if anyone had ventured to suggest the silkworm, he would have been laughed at as if dreaming of some new manufacture from spiders. So again, if before the discovery of the compass, any one had said, That an instrument had been invented, by which the quar- ters and points of the heavens could be exactly taken and dis- tinguished, men would have entered into disquisitions on the refinement of astronomical instruments, and the like, from the excitement of their imaginations; but the thought of anything being discovered, which, not being a celestial body, but a mere mineral or metallic substance, should yet in its motion agree with that of such bodies, would have appeared absolutely in- credible. Yet were these facts, and the like (unknown for so many ages) not discovered at last either by philosophy or rea- soning, but by chance and opportunity; and (as we have ob- served), they are of a nature most heterogeneous, and remote from what was hitherto known, so that no previous knowledge could lead to them. We may, therefore, well hope that many excellent and useful matters are yet treasured up in the bosom of nature, bearing no relation or analogy to our actual discoveries, but out of the com- mon track of our imagination, and still undiscovered, and which will doubtless be brought to light in the course and lapse of years, as the others have been before them; but in the way we now point out, they may rapidly and at once be both repre- sented and anticipated. 110. There are, moreover, some inventions which render it probable that men may pass and hurry over the most noble dis- coveries which lie immediately before him. For however the discovery of gunpowder, silk, the compass, sugar, paper, or the like, may appear to depend on peculiar properties of things and nature, printing at least involves no contrivance which is not clear and almost obvious. But from want of observing that although the arrangement of the types of letters required more trouble than writing with the hand, yet these types once ar- ranged serve for innumerable impressions, whilst manuscript only affords one copy; and again, from want of observing that ink might be thickened so as to stain without running (which was necessary, seeing the letters face upwards, and the impres- sion is made from above), this most beautiful invention (which assists so materially the propagation of learning) remained un- known for so many ages. The human mind is often so awkward and ill-rerulated in the career of invention that it is at first diffident, and then despises itself. For it appears at first incredible that any such discovery 456 BACON should be made, and when it has been made, it appears incred- ible that it should so long have escaped men’s research. All which affords good reason for the hope that a vast mass of in- ventions yet remains, which may be deduced not only from the investigation of new modes of operation, but also from trans- ferring, comparing, and applying these already known, by the method of what we have termed literate experience. 111. Nor should we omit another ground of hope. Let men only consider (if they will) their infinite expenditure of talent, time, and fortune, in matters and studies of far inferior impor- tance and value; a small portion of which applied to sound and solid learning would be sufficient to overcome every difficulty. And we have thought right to add this observation, because we candidly own that such a collection of natural and experimental history as we have traced in our own mind, and as is really necessary, is a great and as it were royal work, requiring much labor and expense. 112. In the mean time let no one be alarmed at the multitude of particulars, but rather inclined to hope on that very account. For the particular phenomena of the arts and nature are in reality but as a handful, when compared with the fictions of the imagination removed and separated from the evidence of facts. The termination of our method is clear, and I had almost said near at hand; the other admits of no termination, but only of infinite confusion. For men have hitherto dwelt but little, or rather only slightly touched upon experience, whilst they have wasted much time on theories and the fictions of the imagina- tion. If we had but anyone who could actually answer our interrogations of nature, the invention of all causes and sciences would be the labor of but a few years. 113. We think some ground of hope is afforded by our own example, which is not mentioned for the sake of boasting, but as a useful remark. Let those who distrust their own powers observe myself, one who have amongst my contemporaries been the most engaged in public business, who am not very strong in health (which causes a great loss of time), and am the first ex- plorer of this course, following the guidance of none, nor even communicating my thoughts to a single individual; yet having once firmly entered in the right way, and submitting the powers of my mind to things, I have somewhat advanced (as I make bold to think) the matter I now treat of. Then let others con- sider what may be hoped from men who enjoy abundant leisure, from united labors, and the succession of ages, after these sug- gestions on our part, especially in a course which is not con- fined, like theories, to individuals, but admits of the best dis- tribution and union of labor and effect, particularly in collecting experiments. For men will then only begin to know their own NOVUM ORGANUM 357 power, when each performs a separate part, instead of under- taking in crowds the same work. 114. Lastly, though a much more faint and uncertain breeze of hope were to spring up from our new continent, yet we con- sider it necessary to make the experiment, if we would not show a dastard spirit. For the risk attending want of success is not to be compared with that of neglecting the attempt; the former is attended with the loss of a little human labor, the latter with that of an immense benefit. For these and other reasons it appears to us that there is abundant ground to hope, and to induce not only those who are sanguine to make experiment, but even those who are cautious and sober to give their assent. 115. Such are the grounds for banishing despair, hitherto one of the most powerful causes of the delay and restraint to which the sciences have been subjected; in treating of which we have at the same time discussed the signs and causes of the errors, idleness, and ignorance, that have prevailed; seeing especially that the more refined causes, which are not open to popular judgment and observation, may be referred to our remarks on the idols of the human mind. Here, too, we should close the demolishing branch of our in- stauration, which is comprised in three confutations: 1, the confutation of natural human reason left to itself; 2, the con- futation of demonstration; 3, the confutation of theories, or received systems of philosophy and doctrines. Our confutation has followed such a course as was open to it, namely, the expos- ing of the signs of error, and the producing evidence of the causes of it; for we could adopt no other, differing as we do both in first principles and demonstrations from others. It is time for us therefore to come to the art itself, and the rule for the interpretation of nature: there is, however, still something which must not be passed over. For the intent of this first book of aphorisms being to prepare the mind for under- standing, as well as admitting, what follows, we must now, after . having cleansed, polished, and levelled its surface, place it in a good position, and as it were a benevolent aspect towards our propositions; seeing that prejudice in new matters may be pro- duced not only by the strength of preconceived notions, but also by a false anticipation or expectation of the matter proposed. We shall therefore endeavor to induce good and correct opin- ions of what we offer, although this be only necessary for the moment, and as it were laid out at interest, until the matter itself be well understood. 116. First, then, we must desire men not to suppose that we are ambitious of founding any philosophical sect, like the ancient Greeks, or some moderns, as Telesius, Patricius, and Severinus. For neither is this our intention, nor do we think that peculiar 358 BACON abstract opinions on nature and the principles of things are of much importance to men’s fortunes, since it were easy to revive many ancient theories, and to introduce many new ones; as for instance, many hypotheses with regard to the heavens can be formed, differing in themselves, and yet sufficiently according with the phenomena. We bestow not our labor on such theoretical, and, at the same time, useless topics. On the contrary, our determination iS that of trying, whether we can lay a firmer foundation, and ex- tend to a greater distance the boundaries of human power and dignity. And although here and there, upon some particular points, we hold (in our own opinion) more true and certain, and I might even say, more advantageous tenets than those in gen- eral repute (which we have collected in the fifth part of our Instauration), yet we offer no universal or complete theory. The time does not yet appear to us to be arrived, and we entertain no hope of our life being prolonged to the completion of the sixth part of the instauration (which is destined for philosophy dis- covered by the interpretation of nature), but are content if we proceed quietly and usefully in our intermediate pursuit, scat- tering, in the mean time, the seeds of less adulterated truth for posterity, and, at least, commence the great work. 117. And, as we pretend not to found a sect, so do we neither offer nor promise particular effects; which may occasion some to object to us, that since we so often speak of effects, and con- sider everything in its relation to that end, we ought also to give some earnest of producing them. Our course and method, however (as we have often said, and again repeat), are such as not to deduce effects from effects, nor experiments from experi- ments (as the empirics do), but in our capacity of legitimate in- terpreters of nature, to deduce causes and axioms from effects and experiments; and new effects and experiments from those causes and axioms. And although anyone of moderate intelligence and ability will observe the indications and sketches of many noble effects in our tables of inventions (which form the fourth part of the Instauration), and also in the examples of particular instances cited in the second part, as well as in our observations on his- tory (which is the subject of the third part); yet we candidly confess that our present natural history, whether compiled from books or our own inquiries, is not sufficiently copious and well ascertained to satisfy, or even assist, a proper interpretation. If, therefore, there be any one who is more disposed and pre- pared for mechanical art, and ingenious in discovering effects, than in the mere management of experiment, we allow him to employ his industry in gathering many of the fruits of our his- tory and tables in this way, and applying them to effects, re- NOVUM ORGANUM 359 ceiving them as interest till he can obtain the principal. For our own part, having a greater object in view, we condemn all hasty and premature rest in such pursuits as we would Ata- lanta’s apple (to use a common allusion of ours); for we are not childishly ambitious of golden fruit, but use all our efforts to make the course of art outstrip nature, and we hasten not to reap moss or the green blade, but wait for a ripe harvest. 118. There will be some, without doubt, who, on a perusal of our history and tables of invention, will meet with some un- certainty, or perhaps fallacy, in the experiments themselves, and will thence perhaps imagine that our discoveries are built on false foundations and principles. There is, however, really nothing in this, since it must needs happen in beginnings. For it is the same as if in writing or printing one or two letters were wrongly turned or misplaced, which is no great inconvenience to the reader, who can easily by his own eye correct the error; let men in the same way conclude, that many experiments in natural history may be erroneously believed and admitted, which are easily expunged and rejected afterwards, by the dis- covery of causes and axioms. It is, however, true, that if these errors in natural history and experiments become great, fre- quent, and continued, they cannot be corrected and amended by any dexterity of wit or art. If then, even in our natural his- tory, well examined and compiled with such diligence, strict- ness, and (I might say) reverential scruples, there be now and then something false and erroneous in the details, what must we say of the common natural history, which is so negligent and careless when compared with ours, or of systems of phi- losophy and the sciences, based on such loose soil (or rather quicksand)? Let none then be alarmed by such observations. 119. Again, our history and experiments will contain much that is light and common, mean and illiberal, too refined and merely speculative, and, as it were, of no use, and this perhaps may divert and alienate the attention of mankind. With regard to what is common; let men reflect, that they have hitherto been used to do nothing but refer and adapt the causes of things of rare occurrence to those of things which more frequently happen, without any investigation of the causes of the latter, taking them for granted and admitted. Hence, they do not inquire into the causes of gravity, the rotation of the heavenly bodies, heat, cold, light, hardness, soft- ness, rarity, density, liquidity, solidity, animation, inanimation, similitude, difference, organic formation, but taking them to be self-evident, manifest, and admitted, they dispute and decide upon other matters of less frequent and familiar occurrence. But we (who know that no judgment can be formed of that which is rare or remarkable, and much less anything new 360 BACON brought to light, without a previous regular examination and discovery of the causes of that which is common, and the causes again of those causes) are necessarily compelled to admit the most common objects into our history. Besides, we have ob- served that nothing has been so injurious to philosophy as this circumstance, namely, that familiar and frequent objects do not arrest and detain men’s contemplation, but are carelessly ad- mitted, and their causes never inquired after; so that informa- tion on unknown subjects is not more often wanted than at- tention to those which are known. 120. With regard to the meanness, or even the filthiness of particulars, for which (as Pliny observes), an apology is requi- site, such subjects are no less worthy of admission into natural history than the most magnificent and costly; nor do they at all pollute natural history, for the sun enters alike the palace and the privy, and is not thereby polluted. We neither dedi- cate nor raise a capitol or pyramid to the pride of man, but rear a holy temple in his mind, on the model of the universe, which model therefore we imitate. For that which is deserving of existence is deserving of knowledge, the image of existence. Now the mean and splendid alike exist. Nay, as the finest odors are sometimes produced from putrid matter (such as musk and civet), so does valuable light and information ema- nate from mean and sordid instances. But we have already said too much, for such fastidious feelings are childish and ef- feminate. 121. The next point requires a more accurate consideration, namely, that many parts of our history will appear to the vulgar, or even any mind accustomed to the present state of things, fantastically and uselessly refined. Hence, we have in regard to this matter said from the first, and must again repeat, that we look for experiments that shall afford light rather than profit, imitating the divine creation, which, as we have often ob- served, only produced light on the first day, and assigned that whole day to its creation, without adding any material work. If anyone, then, imagine such matters to be of no use, he might equally suppose light to be of no use, because it is neither solid nor material. Jor, in fact, the knowledge of simple nat- ures, when sufficiently investigated and defined, resembles light, which, though of no great use in itself, affords access to the general mysteries of effects, and with a peculiar power com- prehends and draws with it whole bands and troops of effects, and the sources of the most valuable axioms. So also the elements of letters have of themselves separately no meaning, and are of no use, yet are they, as it were, the original matter in the composition and preparation of speech. The seeds of sub- stances, whose effect is powerful, are of no use except in their NOVUM ORGANUM 361 growth, and the scattered rays of light itself avail not unless collected. But if speculative subtilties give offence, what must we say of the scholastic philosophers who indulged in them to such ex- cess? And those subtilties were wasted on words, or, at least, common notions (which is the same thing), not on things or nature, and alike unproductive of benefit in their origin and their consequences: in no way resembling ours, which are at resent useless, but, in their consequences of infinite benefit. t men be assured that all subtle disputes and discursive ef- forts of the mind are late and preposterous, when they are intro- duced subsequently to the discovery of axioms, and that their true, or, at any rate, chief opportunity is, when experiment is to be weighed and axioms to be derived from it. They other- wise catch and grasp at nature, but never seize or detain her: and we may well apply to nature that which has been said of op- pecan or fortune, that she wears a lock in front, but is bald ind. In short, we may reply decisively to those who despise any part of natural history as being vulgar, mean, or subtile, and useless in its origin, in the words of a poor woman to a haughty prince,g who had rejected her petition as unworthy, and be- neath the dignity of his majesty: ‘‘ Then cease to reign,” for it is quite certain that the empire of nature can neither be ob- tained nor administered by one who refuses to pay attention to such matters as being poor and too minute. 122. Again, it may be objected to us as being singular and harsh, that we should with one stroke and assault, as it were, banish all authorities and sciences, and that too by our own ef- forts, without requiring the assistance and support of any of the ancients. Now we are aware, that had we been ready to act otherwise than sincerely, it was not difficult to refer our present method to remote ages, prior to those of the Greeks (since the sciences in all probability flourished more in their natural state, though silently, than when they were paraded with the fifes and trum- pets of the Greeks) ; or even (in parts, at least), to some of the Greeks themselves, and to derive authority and honor from thence; as men of no family labor to raise and form nobility for themselves in some ancient line, by the help of genealogies. Trusting, however, to the evidence of facts, we reject every kind of fiction and imposture; and think it of no more conse- quence to our subject, whether future discoveries were known to the ancients, and set or rose according to the vicissitudes of events and lapse of ages, than it would be of importance to mankind to know whether the new world be the island of At- lantis,# and known to the ancients, or be now discovered for the first time. ce BACON With regard to the universal censure we have bestowed, it is quite clear to any one who properly considers the matter, that it is both more probable and more modest than any partial one could have been. For if the errors had not been rooted in the primary notions, some well conducted discoveries must have corrected others that were deficient. But since the errors were fundamental, and of such a nature, that men may be said rather to have neglected or passed over things, than to have formed a wrong or false judgment of them, it is little to be wondered at, that they did not obtain what they never aimed at, nor arrive at a goal which they had not determined, nor perform a course which they had neither entered upon nor adhered to. With regard to our presumption, we allow that if we were to assume a power of drawing a more perfect straight line or cir- cle than anyone else, by superior steadiness of hand or acute- ness of eye, it would lead to a comparison of talent; but if one merely assert that he can draw a more perfect line or circle with a ruler or compasses, than another can by his unassisted hand or eye, he surely cannot be said to boast of much. Now this applies not only to our first original attempt, but also to those who shall hereafter apply themselves to the pursuit. For our method of discovering the sciences merely levels men’s wits, and leaves but little to their superiority, since it achieves every- thing by the most certain rules and demonstrations. Whence (as we have often observed), our attempt is to be attributed to fortune rather than talent, and is the offspring of time rather than of wit. For a certain sort of chance has no less effect upon our thoughts than on our acts and deeds. 123. We may, therefore, apply to ourselves the joke of him who said, that water and wine drinkers could not think alike,i especially as it hits the matter so well. For others, both an- cients and moderns, have in the sciences drank a crude liquor like water, either flowing of itself from the understanding, or drawn up by logic as the wheel draws up the bucket. But we drink and pledge others with a liquor made of many well ripened grapes, collected and plucked from particular branches, squeezed in the press, and at last clarified and fermented in a vessel. It is not, therefore, wonderful that we should not agree with others. 124. Another objection will without doubt be made, name- ly, that we have not ourselves established a correct, or the best goal or aim of the sciences (the very defect we blame in others). For they will say that the contemplation of truth is more dig- nified and exalted than any utility or extent of effects; but that our dwelling so long and anxiously on experience and matter, and the fluctuating state of particulars, fastens the mind to earth, or rather casts it down into an abyss of confusion and NOVUM ORGANUM 353 disturbance, and separates and removes it from a much more di- vine state, the quiet and tranquillity of abstract wisdom. We willingly assent to their reasoning, and are most anxious to ef- fect the very point they hint at and require. For we are found- ing a real model of the world in the understanding, such as it is found to be, not such as man’s reason has distorted. Now this cannot be done without dissecting and anatomizing the world most diligently ; but we declare it necessary to destroy complete- ly the vain little, and-as it were, apish imitations of the world, which have been formed in various systems of philosophy b men’s fancies. Let men learn (as we have said above), the dif- ference that exists between the idols of the human mind and the ideas of the divine mind. The former are mere arbitrary abstractions; the latter the true marks of the Creator on his creatures, as they are imprinted on, and defined in matter, by true and exquisite touches. Truth, therefore, and utility, are here perfectly identical, and the effects are of more value as pledges of truth than from the benefit they confer on men. 125. Others may object that we are only doing that which has already been done, and that the ancients followed the same course as ourselves. They may imagine, therefore, that, after all this stir and exertion, we shall at last arrive at some of those systems that prevailed among the ancients: for that they, too, when commencing their meditations, laid up a great store of instances and particulars, and digested them under topics and titles in their common-place books, and so worked out their sys- tems and arts, and then decided upon what they discov- ered, and related now and then some examples to confirm and throw light upon their doctrine; but thought it superfluous and troublesome to publish their notes, minutes, and common- places, and therefore followed the example of builders who re- move the scaffolding and ladders when the building is fin- ished. Nor can we indeed believe the case to have been otherwise, But to anyone, not entirely forgetful of our previous observa- tions, it will be easy to answer this objection, or rather scruple ; for we allow that the ancients had a particular form of investi- gation and discovery, and their writings show it. But it was of such a nature, that they immediately flew from a few in- stances and particulars (after adding some common notions, and a few generally received opinions most in vogue) to the most general conclusions or the principles of the sciences, and then by their intermediate propositions deduced their inferior conclusions, and tried them by the test of the immovable and settled truth of the first, and so constructed their art. Lastly, if some new particulars and instances were brought forward, which contradicted their dogmas, they either with great subtilty reduced them to one system, by distinctions or explanations 364 BACON of their own rules, or got rid of them clumsily as excep- tions, laboring most pertinaciously in the mean time to accom- modate the causes of such as were not contradictory to their own principles. Their natural history and their experience were both far from being what they ought to have been, and their flying off to generalities ruined everything. 126. Another objection will be made against us, that we prohibit decisions, and the laying down of certain principles, till we arrive regularly at generalities by the intermediate steps, and thus keep the judgment in suspense and lead to uncertain- ty. But our object is not uncertainty but fitting certainty, for we derogate not from the senses but assist them, and despise not the understanding but direct it. It is better to know what is necessary, and not to imagine we are fully in possession of it, than to imagine that we are fully in possession of it, and yet in reality to know nothing which we ought. : 127. Again, some may raise this question rather than objec- tion, whether we talk of perfecting natural philosophy alone ac- cording to our method, or the other sciences also, such as logic, ethics, politics. We certainly intend to comprehend them all. And as common logic, which regulates matters by syllogisms, is applied not only to natural, but also to every other science, so our inductive method likewise comprehends them all. For we form a history and tables of invention for anger, fear, shame, and the like, and also for examples in civil life, and the mental operations of memory, composition, division, judgment, and the rest, as well as for heat and cold, light, vegetation, and the like. But since our method of interpretation, after preparing and arranging a history, does not content itself with examining the operations and disquisitions of the mind like common logic, . but also inspects the nature of things, we so regulate the mind that it may be enabled to apply itself in every respect correctly to that nature. On that account we deliver numerous and vari- ous precepts in our doctrine of interpretation, so that they may apply in some measure to the method of discovering the quality and condition of the subject matter of investigation. 128. Let none even doubt whether we are anxious to destroy and demolish the philosophy, arts, and sciences, which are now inuse. On the contrary, we readily cherish their practice, cul- tivation, and honor; for we by no means interfere to prevent the prevalent system from encouraging discussion, adorning discourses, or being employed serviceably in the chair of the professor or the practice of common life, and being taken, in short, by general consent as current coin. Nay, we plainly de- clare, that the system we offer will not be very suitable for such purposes, not being easily adapted to vulgar apprehensions, except by effects and works. To show our sincerity in pro- NOVUM ORGANUM 365 fessing our regard and friendly disposition towards the received sciences, we can refer to the evidence of our published writings (especially our books on the Advancement of Learning). We will not, therefore, endeavor to evince it any further by words; but content ourselves with steadily and professedly premising, that no great progress can be made by the present methods in the theory or contemplation of science, and that they cannot be made to produce any very abundant effects. 129. It remains for use to say a few words on the excellence of our proposedend. If we had done so before, we might have appeared merely to express our wishes, but now that we have excited hope and removed prejudices, it will perhaps have greater weight. Had we performed and completely accom- plished the whole, without frequently calling in others to assist in our labors, we should then have refrained from saying any more, lest we should be thought to extol our own deserts. Since, however, the industry of others must be quickened, and their courage roused and inflamed, it is right to recall some points to their memory. First, then, the introduction of great inventions appears one of the most distinguished of human actions, and the ancients so considered it; for they assigned divine honors to the authors of inventions, but only heroic honors to those who displayed civil merit (such as the founders of cities and empires, legis- lators, the deliverers of their country from lasting misfortunes, the quellers of tyrants,and the like). And if anyone rightly com- re them, he will find the judgment of antiquity to be correct ; or the benefits derived from inventions may extend to mankind in general, but civil benefits to particular spots alone; the lat- ter, moreover, last but for a time, the former forever. Civil reformation seldom is carried on without violence and confu- sion, whilst inventions are a blessing and a benefit without in- juring or afflicting any. Inventions are also, as it were, new creations and imitations of divine works, as was expressed by the poet :— “ Primum frugiferos foetus mortalibus xgris Dididerant quondam prestanti nomine Athenz Et recreaverunt vitam legesque rogarunt.”—Lucretius.* And it is worthy of remark in Solomon, that whilst he flourished in the possession of his empire, in wealth, in the magnificence of his works, in his court, his household, his fleet, the splendor of his name, and the most unbounded admiration of mankind, he still placed his glory in none of these, but declared / that it is the glory of God to conceal a thing, but the glory of a king to search it out. Again, let anyone but consider the immense difference be- 366 BACON tween men’s lives in the most polished countries of Europe, and in any wild and barbarous region of the new Indies, he will think it so great, that man may be said to be a god unto man, not only on account of mutual aid and benefits, but from their com- parative states—the result of the arts, and not of the soil or climate. Again, we should notice the force, effect, and consequences of inventions, which are nowhere more conspicuous than in those three which were unknown to the ancients; namely, print- ing, gunpowder, and the compass. For these three have changed the appearance and state of the whole world: first in literature, then in warfare, and lastly in navigation; and in- numerable changes have been thence derived, so that no em- pire, sect, or star, appears to have exercised a greater power and influence on human affairs than these mechanical dis- coveries. It will, perhaps, be as well to distinguish three species and degrees of ambition. First, that of men who are anxious to enlarge their own power in their country, which is a vulgar and degenerate kind; next, that of men who strive to enlarge the power and empire of their country over mankind, which is more dignified but not less covetous; but if one were to endeavor to renew and enlarge the power and empire of mankind in general over the universe, such ambition (if it may be so termed) is both more sound and more noble than the other two. Now the em- pire of man over things is founded on the arts and sciences alone, for nature is only to be commanded by obeying her. Besides this, if the benefit of any particular invention has had such an effect as to induce men to consider him greater than a man, who has thus obliged the whole race, how much more ex- alted will that discovery be, which leads to the easy discovery of everything else! Yet (to speak the truth) in the same manner as we are very thankful for light which enables us to enter on our way, to practise arts, to read, to distinguish each other, and yet sight is more excellent and beautiful than the various uses of light; so is the contemplation of things as they are, free from superstition or imposture, error or confusion, much more digni- fied in itself than all the advantage to be derived from dis- coveries. Lastly, let none be alarmed at the objection of the arts and sciences becoming depraved to malevolent or luxurious purposes and the like, for the same can be said of every worldly good; talent, courage, strength, beauty, riches, light itself, and the rest. Only let mankind regain their rights over nature, assigned to them by the gift of God, and obtain that power, whose exer- cise will be governed by right reason and true religion. 130. But it is time for us to lay down the art of interpreting NOVUM ORGANUM 367 nature, to which we attribute no absolute necessity (as if noth- ing could be done without it) nor perfection, although we think that our “oar ts are most useful and correct. For we are of opinion, that if men had at their command a proper history of nature and experience, and would apply themselves steadily to it, and could bind themselves to two things: 1. to lay aside received opinions and notions; 2. to restrain themselves, till the proper season, from generalization, they might, by the proper and genuine exertion of their minds, fall into our way of inter- pretation without the aid of any art. For interpretation is the true and natural act of the mind, when all obstacles are re- moved: certainly, however, everything will be more ready and better fixed by our precepts. Yet do we not affirm that no addition can be made to them; on the contrary, considering the mind in its connection with things, and not merely relatively to its own powers, we ought to be persuaded that the art of invention can be made to grow with the inventions themselvcs. APHORISMS BOOK II On the Interpretation of Nature, or the Reign of Man 1. To generate and superinduce a new nature or new natures, upon a given body, is the labor and aim of human power: whilst to discover the form or true difference of a given nature, or the nature @ to which such nature is owing, or source from which it emanates (for these terms approach nearest to an explanation of our meaning), is the labor and discovery of human knowl- edge; and subordinate to these primary labors are two others of a secondary nature and inferior stamp. Under the first must be ranked the transformation of concrete bodies from one to another, which is possible within certain limits; under the second, the discovery, in every species of generation and mo- tion, of the latent and uninterrupted process from the manifest efficient and manifest subject matter up to the given form: and a like discovery of the latent conformation of bodies which are at rest instead of being in motion. 2. The unhappy state of man’s actual knowledge is mani- fested even by the common assertions of the vulgar. It is rightly laid down that true knowledge is that which is deduced from causes. The division of four causes also is not amiss: matter, form, the efficient, and end or final cause.b Of these, however, the latter is so far from being beneficial, that it even corrupts the sciences, except in the intercourse of man with man. _The discovery of form is considered desperate. As for the effi- cient cause and matter (according to the present system of in- quiry and the received opinions concerning them, by which they are placed remote from, and without any latent process towards form), they are but desultory and superficial, and of scarcely any avail to real and active knowledge. Nor are we unmindful of our having pointed out and corrected above the error of the human mind, in assigning the first qualities of es- sence to forms.¢ For although nothing exists in nature except individual bodies, exhibiting clear individual effects according to particular laws, yet in each branch of learning, that very law, its investigation, discovery, and development, are the foun- dation both of theory and practice. This law, therefore, and its 368 * ite ; a “ Die oF eG Af BE ” we . . (Ft ep pee, a7 oo Pee Ex Ah SS oes ere yer . Fok a Ft Sa - tv. NOVUM ORGANUM 369 parallel in each science, is what we understand by the term form, adopting that word because it has grown into common use, and is of familiar occurrence. 3. He who has learnt the cause of a particular nature (such as whiteness or heat), in particular subjects only, has acquired but an imperfect knowledge: as he who can induce a certain effect upon particular substances only, among those which are susceptible of it, has acquired but an imperfect power. But he who has only learnt the efficient and material cause (which causes are variable and mere vehicles conveying form to particu- lar substances) may perhaps arrive at some new discoveries in matters of a similar nature, and prepared for the purpose, but does not stir the limits of things which are much more deeply rooted: whilst he who is acquainted with forms, comprehends the unity of nature in substances apparently most distinct from each other. He can disclose and bring forward, therefore, (though it has never yet been done) things which n-'ther the vicissitudes of nature, nor the industry of experiment, nor chance itself, would ever have brought about, and which wc uld forever have escaped man’s thoughts; from the discovery of forms, therefore, results genuine theory and free practice. 4. Although there is a most intimate connection, and almost an identity between the ways of human power and human knowledge, yet, on account of the pernicious and inveterate habit of dwelling upon abstractions, it is by far the safest method to commence and build up the sciences from those foundations which bear a relation to the practical division, and to let them mark out and limit the theoretical. We must consider, there- fore, what precepts, or what direction or guide, a person would most desire, in order to generate and superinduce any nature upon a given body: and this not in abstruse, but in the plainest language. For instance, if a person should wish to superinduce the yel- low color of gold upon silver, or an additional weight (observ- ing always the laws of matter) or transparency on an opaque stone, or tenacity in glass, or vegetation on a substance which is not vegetable, we must (I say) consider what species of pre- _ cept or guide this person would prefer. And firstly, he will doubtless be anxious to be shown some method that will neither fail in effect, nor deceive him in the trial of it; secondly, he will be anxious that the prescribed method should not restrict him and tie him down to peculiar means, and certain particular methods of acting; for he will, perhaps, be at loss, and without the power or opportunity of collecting and procuring such means. Now if there be other means and methods (besides those prescribed) of creating such a nature, they will perhaps - be of such a kind as are in his power, yet by the confined limits 24 — BACON of the precept he will be deprived of reaping any advantage from them; thirdly, he will be anxious to be shown something not so difficult as the required effect itself, but approaching more nearly to practice.. : We will lay this down, therefore, as the genuine and perfect rule of practice, that it should be certain, free, and preparatory, or having relation to practice. And this is the same thing as the discovery of a true form; for the form of any nature 1s such, that when it is assigned the particular nature infallibly follows. It is, therefore, always present when that nature is present, and universally attests such presence, and is inherent in the whole of it. The same form is of such a character, that if it be removed the particular nature infallibly vanishes. It 1s, therefore, absent, whenever that nature is absent, and perpetu- ally testifies such absence, and exists in no other nature. Lastly, the true form is such, that it deduces the particular nature from some source of essence existing in many subjects, and more known (as they term it) to nature, than the form itself. Such, then, is our determination and rule with regard to a genuine and perfect theoretical axiom, that a nature be found convertible with a given nature, and yet such as to limit the more known nature, in the manner of a real genus. But these two rules, the practical and theoretical, are in fact the same, and that which is most useful in practice is most correct in theory. 5. But the rule or axiom for the transformation of bodies is of two kinds. The first regards the body as an aggregate or combination of simple natures. Thus, in gold are united the following circumstances: it is yellow, heavy, of a certain weight, malleable and ductile to a certain extent; it is not volatile, loses part of its substance by fire, melts in a particular manner, is separated and dissolved by particular methods, and so of the other natures observable in gold. An axiom, therefore, of this kind deduces the subject from the forms of simple natures; for he who has acquired the forms and methods of superinducing yellowness, weight, ductility, stability, deliquescence, solution, and the like, and their degrees and modes, will consider and contrive how to unite them in any body, so as to transform it into gold. And this method of operating belongs to primary action; for it is the same thing to produce one or many simple natures, except that man is more confined and restricted in his operations, if many be required, on account of the difficulty of uniting many natures together. It must, however, be observed, that this method of operating (which considers natures as sim- ple though in a concrete body) sets out from what is constant, eternal, and universal in nature, and opens such broad paths to human power, as the thoughts of man can in the present state of things scarcely comprehend or figure to itself. NOVUM ORGANUM “371 The second kind of axiom (which depends on the discovery of the latent process) does not proceed by simple natures, but by concrete bodies, as they are found in nature and in its usual course. For instance, suppose the inquiry to be, from what beginnings, in what manner, and by what process gold or any metal or stone is generated from the original menstruum, or its elements, up to the perfect mineral: or, in like manner, by what process plants are generated, from the first concretion of juices in the earth, or from seeds, up to the perfect plant, with the whole successive motion, and varied and uninterrupted efforts of nature; and the same inquiry be made as to a regularly de- duced system of the generation of animals from coition to birth, and so on of other bodies. Nor is this species of inquiry confined to the mere generation of bodies, but it is applicable to other changes and labors of nature. For instance, where an inquiry is made into the whole series and continued operation of the nutritive process, from the first reception of the food to its complete assimilation to the recipient ; or into the voluntary motion of animals, from the first impression of the imagination, and the continuous effects of the spirits, up to the bending and motion of the joints; or into the free motion of the tongue and lips, and other accessories which give utterance to articulate sounds. For all these investi- gations relate to concrete or associated natures artificially brought together, and take into consideration certain particular and special habits of nature, and not those fundamental and gen- eral laws which constitute forms. It must, however, be plainly owned, that this method appears more prompt and easy, and of greater promise than the primary one. In like manner the operative branch, which answers to this contemplative branch, extends and advances its operation from that which is usually observed in nature, to other subjects im- mediately connected with it, or not very remote from such immediate connection. But the higher and radical operations upon nature depend entirely on the primary axioms. Besides, even where man has not the means of acting, but only of ac- quiring knowledge, as in astronomy (for man cannot act upon, change, or transform the heavenly bodies), the investigation of facts or truth, as well as the knowledge of causes and coinci- dences, must be referred to those primary and universal axioms that regard simple natures; such as the nature of spontaneous rotation, attraction, or the etic force, and many others which are more common than the heavenly bodies themselves. For let no one hope to determine the question whether the earth or heaven revolve in the diurnal motion, unless he have first comprehended the nature of spontaneous rotation. 6. But the latent process of which we speak, is far from being Ae BACON obvious to men’s minds, beset as they now are. For we mean not the measures, symptoms, or degrees of any process which can be exhibited in the bodies themselves, but simply a con- tinued process, which, for the most part, escapes the observa- tion of the senses. ; ; For instance, in all generations and transformations of bodies, we must inquire, what is in the act of being lost and escaping, what remains, what is being added, what is being diluted, what is being contracted, what is being united, what is being sepa- rated, what is continuous, what is broken off, what is urging forward, what impedes, what predominates, what is subservient, and many other circumstances. Nor are these inquiries again to be made in the mere genera- tion and transformation of bodies only, but in all other altera- tions and fluctuations, we must in like manner inquire; what precedes, what succeeds, what is quick, what is slow, what pro- duces and what governs motion, and the like. All which mat- ters are unknown and unattempted by the sciences, in their present heavy and inactive state. For, since every natural act is brought about by the smallest efforts, or, at least, such 1s are too small to strike our senses, let no one hope that he will be able to direct or change nature unless he have properly compre- hended and observed these efforts. 7. In like manner, the investigation and discovery of the latent conformation in bodies is no less new, than the discovery of the latent process and form. For we as yet are doubtless only admitted to the ante-chamber of nature, and do not prepare an entrance into her presence-room. But nobody can endue a given body with a new nature, or transform it successfully and appropriately into a new body, without possessing a complete knowledge of the body so to be changed or transformed. For he will run into vain, or, at least, into difficult and perverse methods, ill adapted to the nature of the body upon which he operates. A clear path, therefore, towards this object also must be thrown open, and well supported. Labor is well and usefully bestowed upon the anatomy of ' organized bodies, such as those of men and animals, which ap- pears to be a subtile matter, and a useful examination of nature. The species of anatomy, however, is that of first sight, open to the senses, and takes place only in organized bodies. It is ob- vious, and of ready access, when compared with the real an- atomy of latent conformation in bodies which are considered similar, particularly in specific objects and their parts; as those of iron, stone, and the similar parts of plants and animals, as the root, the leaf, the flower, the flesh, the blood, and bones, etc. Yet human industry has not completely neglected this species of anatomy; for we have an instance of it in the separation of NOVUM ORGANUM 373 similar bodies by distillation, and other solutions, which shows the dissimilarity of the compound by the union of the homo- geneous parts. These methods are useful, and of importance to our inquiry, although attended generally with fallacy: for many natures are assigned and attributed to the separate bodies, as if they had previously existed in the compound, which, in reality, are recently bestowed and superinduced by fire and heat, and the other modes of separation. Besides, it is, after all, but a small part of the labor of discovering the real conformation in the compound, which is so subtile and nice, that it is rather con- fused and lost by the operation of the fire, than discovered and brought to light. A separation and solution of bodies, therefore, is to be ef- fected, not by fire indeed, but rather by reasoning and true in- duction, with the assistance of experiment, and by a comparison with other bodies, and a reduction to those simple natures and their forms which meet, and are combined in the compound; and we must assuredly pass from Vulcan to Minerva, if we wish to bring to light the real texture and conformation of bodies, upon which every occult and (as it is sometimes called) specific property and virtue of things depends, and whence also every rule of powerful change and transformation is deduced. For instance, we must examine what spirit is in every body, what tangible essence; whether that spirit is copious and exuberant, or meagre and scarce, fine or coarse, aeriform or igniform, active or sluggish, weak or robust, progressive or retrograde, abrupt or continuous, agreeing with external and surrounding objects,or differing from them,etc. Inlike manner must we treat tangible essence (which admits of as many dis- tinctions as the spirit), and its hairs, fibres, and varied texture. | Again, the situation of the spirit in the corporeal mass, its pores, passages, veins, and cells, and the rudiments or first essays of the organic body, are subject to the same examination. In these, however, as in our former inquiries, and therefore in the whole investigation of latent conformation, the only genuine and clear light which completely dispels all darkness and subtile difficul- ties, is admitted by means of the primary axioms. 8. This method will not bring us to atoms, which takes for granted the vacuum, and immutability of matter (neither of which hypotheses is correct), but to the real particles such as we discover them to be. Nor is there any ground for alarm at this refinement as if it were inexplicable, for, on the contrary, the more inquiry is directed to simple natures, the more will every- thing be placed in a plain and perspicuous light, since we trans- fer our attention from the complicated to the simple, from the incommensurable to the commensurable, from surds to rational quantities, from the indefinite and vague to the definite and certain; as when we arrive at the elements of letters, and the simple tones of concords. The investigation of nature 1s best conducted when mathematics are applied to physics. Again, let none be alarmed at vast numbers and fractions, for in calcula- tion it is as easy to set down or to reflect upon a thousand as a unit, or the thousandth part of an integer as an integer itself. g. From the two kinds of axioms above specified, arise the two divisions of philosophy and the sciences, and we will use the commonly adopted terms which approach the nearest to our meaning, in our own sense. Let the investigation of forms, which (in reasoning at least, and after their own laws), are eternal and immutable, constitute metaphysics, and let the in- vestigation of the efficient cause of matter, latent process, and latent conformation (which all relate merely to the ordinary course of nature, and not to her fundamental and eternal laws), constitute physics. Parallel to these, let there be two practical divisions; to physics that of mechanics, and to met7»ohysics that of magic, in the purest sense of the term, as applied to its ample means, and its command over nature. 10. The object of our philosophy being thus laid down, we proceed to precepts, in the most clear and regular order. The signs for the interpretation of nature comprehend two divisions, the first regards the eliciting or creating of axioms from ex- periment, the second the deducing or deriving of new experi- ments from axioms. The first admits of three subdivisions into munistrations: 1. ‘To the senses: 2. To the menor. 719 the mind or reason. For we must first prepare as a foundation for the whole, a complete and accurate natural and experimental history. We must not imagine or invent, but discover the acts and properties of nature. But natural and experimental history is so varied and dif- fuse, that it confounds and distracts the understanding unless it be fixed and exhibited in due order. We must, therefore, form tables and co-ordinations of instances, upon such a plan, and in such order, that the understanding may be enabled to act upon them. Even when this is done, the understanding, left to itself and to its own operation, is incompetent and unfit to construct its axioms without direction and support. Our third ministration, therefore, must be true and legitimate induction, the very key of interpretation. We must begin, however, at the end, and go back again to the others. _Ir. The investigation of forms proceeds thus: a nature being given, we must first present to the understanding all the known instances which agree in the same nature, although the subject matter be considerably diversified. And this collection must be NOVUM ORGANUM 375 made as a mere history, and without any premature reflection, or too great degree of refinement For instance; take the investi- gation of the form of heat. Instances agreeing in the Form of Heat I. The rays of the sun, particularly in summer, and at noon. - Il. The same reflected and condensed, as between mountains, or alony walls, and particularly in burning mirrors. III. Ignited meteors. IV. Burning lightning. V. Eruptions of flames from the cavities of mountains, etc. VI. Flame of every kind. VII. Ignited solids. VIII. Natural warm baths. IX. Warm or heated liquids. X. Warm vapors and smoke; and the air itself, which admits a most powerful and violent heat if confined, as in reverberating furnaces. . XI. Damp hot weather, arising from the constitution of the air, without any reference to the time of the year. XII. Confined and subterraneous air in some caverns, particularly in winter. XIII. All shaggy substances, as wool, the skins of animals, and the =v of birds, contain some heat. XIV. All bodies, both solid and liquid, dense and rare (as the air itself), placed near fire for any time. XV. Sparks arising from the violent percussion of flint and steel. XVI. All bodies rubbed violently, as stone, wood, cloth, etc., so that rudders, and axles of wheels, sometimes catch fire, and the West In- dians obtain fire by attrition. XVII. Green and moist vegetable matter confined and rubbed to- gether, as roses, peas in baskets; so hay, if it be damp when stacked, often catches fire. XVIII. Quick lime sprinkled with water. XIX. Iron, when first dissolved by acids in a glass, and without | eg ene: to fire; the same of tin, but not so intensely. . Animals, particularly internally; although the heat is not per- ceivable by the touch in insects, on account of their small size. XXI. Horse dung, and the like excrement from other animals, when resh. XXII. Strong oil of sulphur and of vitriol exhibit the operation of heat in burning linen. XXIII. As does the oil of marjoram, and like substances, in burn- S bony substance of the teeth. XIV. Strong and well rectified spirits of wine exhibit the same effects; so that white of eggs when thrown into it grows hard and white, almost in the same manner as when boiled, and bread becomes burnt and brown as if toasted. XXV. Aromatic substances and warm plants, as the dracunculus {arum], old nasturtium, etc., which, though they be not warm to the touch (whether whole or ee), yet are discovered by the tongue and palate to be warm and almost burning when slightly masticated. XXVI. Strong vinegar and all acids, on any part of the body not clothed with the epidermis, as the eye, tongue, or any wounded or where the skin is removed, excite a pain differing but little from that produced by heat. r- ‘ 376 BACON X XVII. Even a severe and intense cold produces a sensation of burning. a cae “Nec Boreze penetrabile frigus adurit. —Virgil.¢@ XXVIIL Other instances. Weare wont to call this a table of existence and presence. 12. We must next present to the understanding instances which do not admit of the given nature, for form (as we have observed) ought no less to be absent where the given nature is absent, than to be present where it is present. If, however, we were to examine every instance, our labor would be infinite. Negatives, therefore, must be classed under the affirmatives, and the want of the given nature must be inquired into more particularly in objects which have a very close connection with those others in which it is present and manifest. And this we are wont to term a table of deviation or of absence in proximity. Proximate Instances wanting the Nature of Heat The rays of the moon, stars, and comets, are not found to be warm to the touch, nay, the severest cold has been observed to take place at the full of the moon. Yet the larger fixed stars are supposed to increase and render more intense the heat of the sun, as he approaches them, when the sun is in the sign of the Lion for instance, and in the dog-days. The rays of the sun in what is called the middle region of the air give no heat, to account for which the commonly assigned reason is satisfactory; namely, that that region is neither suff- ciently near to the body of the sun whence the rays emanate, nor to the earth whence they are reflected. And the fact is manifested by snow being perpetual on the tops of mountains, unless extremely lofty. But it is observed on the other hand by some, that at the Peak of Teneriffe, and also among the Andes of Peru, the tops of the mountains are free from snow, which only lies in the lower part as you ascend. Besides, the air on the summit of these mountains is found to be by no means cold, but only thin and sharp; so much so, that in the Andes it pricks and hurts the eyes from its extreme sharpness, and even excites the orifice of the stomach and produces vomiting. The ancients also observed, that the rarity of the air on the summit of Olym- pus was such, that those who ascended it were obliged to carry sponges moistened with vinegar and water, and to apply them now and then to their nostrils, as the air was not dense enough for their respiration ; on the summit of which mountain it is also related, there reigned so great a serenity and calm, free from rain, snow, or wind, that the letters traced upon the ashes of the NOVUM ORGANUM 377 sacrifices on the altar of Jupiter, by the fingers of those who had offered them, would remain undisturbed till the next year. Those even, who at this day go to the top of the Peak of Tene- riffe, walk by night and not in the day-time, and are advised and pressed by their guides, as soon as the sun rises, to make haste in their descent, on account of the danger (apparently arising from the rarity of the atmosphere), lest their breathing should be relaxed and suffocated. The reflection of the solar rays in the polar regions is found to be weak and inefficient in producing heat, so that the Dutch, who wintered in Nova Zembla, and expected that their vessel would be freed about the beginning of July from the obstruction of the mass of ice which had blocked it up, were disappointed and obliged to embark in their boat. Hence the direct rays of the sun appear to have but little power even on the plain, and when reflected, unless they are multiplied and condensed, which takes place when the sun tends more to the perpendicular; for, then, the incidence of the rays occurs at more acute angles, so that the reflected rays are nearer to each other, whilst, on the con- trary, when the sun is in a very oblique position, the angles of incidence are very obtuse, and the reflected rays at a greater dis- tance. In the mean time it must be observed, that there may be many operations of the solar rays, relating, too, to the nature of heat, which are not proportioned to our touch, so that, with re- gard to us, they do not tend to produce warmth, but, with re- gard to some other bodies, have their due effect in producing it. Let the following experiment be made. Take a lens the re- verse of a burning glass, and place it between the hand and the solar rays, and observe whether it diminish the heat of the sun as a burning glass increases it. For it is clear, with regard to the visual rays, that in proportion as the lens is made of un- equal thickness in the middle and at its sides, the images appear either more diffused or contracted. It should be seen, therefore, if the same be true with regard to heat. Let the experiment be well tried, whether the lunar rays can be received and collected by the strongest and best burning glasses, so as to produce even the least degree of heat. But if that degree be, perhaps, so subtile and weak, as not to be per- ceived or ascertained by the touch, we must have recourse to those glasses which indicate the warm or cold state of the atmos- phere, and let the lunar rays fall through the burning glass on the top of this thermometer, and then notice if the water be de- pressed by the heat. Let the burning glass be tried on warm objects which emit no luminous rays, as heated but not ignited iron or stone, or hot water, or the like; and observe whether the heat become in- creased and condensed, as happens with the solar rays. 378 BACON Let it be tried on common flame. The effect of comets (if we can reckon them amongst me- teors) in augmenting the heat of the season is not found to be constant or clear, although droughts have generally been ob- served to follow them. However, luminous lines, and pillars, and openings, and the like, appear more often in winter than in summer, and especially with the most intense cold but joined with drought. Lightning, and coruscations, and thunder, how- ever, rarely happen in winter, and generally at the time of the greatest heats. The appearances we term falling stars are gen- erally supposed to consist of some shining and inflamed viscous substance, rather than of violently hot matter ; but let this be further investigated. Some coruscations emit light without burning, but are never accompanied by thunder. Eructations and eruptions of flame are to be found in cold climates as well as in hot, as in Iceland and Greenland; just as the trees of cold countries are sometimes inflammable and more pitchy and resinous than in warm, as the fir, pine, and the like. But the position and nature of the soil, where such eruptions are wont to happen, are not yet sufficiently investigated to enable us to subjoin a negative instance to the affirmative. All flame is constantly more or less warm, and this instance is not altogether negative; yet it is said that the ignis fatuus (as it is called), and which sometimes is driven against walls, has but little heat; perhaps it resembles that of spirits of wine, which is mild and gentle. That flame, however, appears yet milder, which in some well authenticated and serious histories is said to have appeared round the head and hair of boys and virgins, and instead of burning their hair, merely to have played about it. And it is most certain that a sort of flash, without any evident heat, has sometimes been seen about a horse when sweating at night, or in damp weather. It is also a well-known fact, and it was almost considered as a miracle, that a few years since a girl’s apron sparkled when a little shaken or rubbed, which was, perhaps, occasioned by the alum or salts with which the apron was imbued, and which, after having been stuck to- gether and incrusted rather strongly, were broken by the fric- tion. It is well known that all sugar, whether candied or plain, if it be hard, will sparkle when broken or scraped in the dark. In like manner sea and salt water is sometimes found to shine at night when struck violently by the oar. The foam of the sea when agitated by tempests also sparkles at night, and the Span- iards call this appearance the sea’s lungs. It has not been suffi- ciently ascertained what degree of heat attends the flame which the ancient sailors called Castor and Pollux, and the moderns call St. Ermus’s fire. NOVUM ORGANUM 379 Every ignited body that is red-hot is always warm, although without flame, nor is any negative instance subjoined to this affirmative. Rotten wood, however, approaches nearly to it, for it shines at night, and yet is not found to be warm; and the putrefying scales of fish which shine in the same manner are not warm to the touch, nor the body of the glowworm, or of the fly called Lucciola. The situation and nature of the soil of natural warm baths have not been sufficiently investigated, and therefore a negative instance is not subjoined. To the instances of warm liquids we may subjoin the negative one of the peculiar nature of liquids in general; for no tangible liquid is known that is at once warm in its nature and constantly continues warm; but their heat is only superinduced as an ad- ventitious nature for a limited time, so that those which are extremely warm in their power and effect, as spirits of wine, chemical aromatic oils, the oils of vitriol and sulphur, and the like, and which speedily burn, are yet cold at first to the touch, and the water of natural baths, poured into any vessel and sepa- rated from its source, cools down like water heated by the fire. It is, however, true that oily substances are rather less cold to the touch than those that are aqueous, oil for instance than water, silk than linen; but this belongs to the table of degrees of cold. In like manner we may subjoin a negative instance to that of warm vapor, derived from the nature of vapor itself, as far as we are acquainted with it. For exhalations from oily substances, though easily inflammable, are yet never warm unless recently exhaled from some warm substance. The same may be said of the instance of air; for we never perceive that air is warm unless confined or pressed, or mani- — festly heated by the sun, by fire, or some other warm body. A negative instance in exhibited in weather by its coldness with an east or north wind, beyond what the season would lead us to expect, just as the contrary takes place with the south or west winds. An inclination to rain (especially in winter) at- tends warm weather, and to frost cold weather. A negative instance as to air confined in caverns may be ob- served in summer. Indeed, we should make a more diligent inquiry into the nature of confined air. For in the first place the qualities of air in its own nature with regard to heat and cold may reasonably be the subject of doubt; for air evidently derives its heat from the effects of celestial bodies, and possibly its cold from the exhalation of the earth, and in the mid region of air (as it is termed) from cold vapors and snow, so that no judgment can be formed of the nature of air by that which is out of ics and exposed, but a more correct one might be derived from confined air. It is necessary, however, that the air should 380 BACON be enclosed in a vessel of such materials as would not imbue it with heat or cold of itself, nor easily admit the influence of the external atmosphere. The experiment should be made therefore with an earthen jar, covered with folds of leather to protect it from the external air, and the air should be kept three or four days in this vessel well closed. On opening the jar, the degree of heat may be ascertained either by the hand or a gradu- ated glass tube. There is a similar doubt as to whether the warmth of wool, skins, feathers, and the like, is derived from a slight inherent heat, since they are animal excretions, or from their being of a certain fat and oily nature that accords with heat, or merely from the confinement and separation of air which we spoke of in the preceding paragraph; for all air appears to possess a certain degree of warmth when separated from the external atmosphere. Let an experiment be made, therefore, with fibrous substances of linen, and not of wool, feathers, or silk, which are animal excretions. For it is to be observed that all powders (where air is manifestly enclosed) are less cold than the substances when whole, just as we imagine froth (which contains air) to be less cold than the liquid itself. We have here no exactly negative instance, for we are not acquainted with any body tangible or spirituous which does not admit of heat when exposed to the fire. There is, however, this difference, that some admit it more rapidly, as air, oil, and water, others more slowly, as stone and metals. This, however, be- longs to the table of degrees. No negative is here subjoined, except the remark that sparks are not kindled by flint and steel, or any other hard substance, unless some small particles of the stone or metal are struck off, and that the air never forms them by friction, as is commonly supposed; besides, the sparks from the weight of the ignited substance have a tendency to descend rather than to rise, and when extinguished become a sort of dark ash. We are of opinion that here again there is no negative; for we are not acquainted with any tangible body which does not become decidedly warm by friction, so that the ancients feigned that the gods had no other means or power of creating heat than the friction of air, by rapid and violent rotation. On this point, however, further inquiry must be made, whether bodies projected by machines (as balls from cannon) do not derive some degree of heat from meeting the air, which renders them somewhat warm when they fall. The air in motion rather cools than heats, as in the winds, the bellows, or breath when the mouth is contracted. The motion, however, in such instances is not sufficiently rapid to excite heat, and is applied to a body of air, and not to its component parts, so that it is not surprising that heat should not be generated. NOVUM ORGANUM 381 We must make a more diligent inquiry into this instance; for herbs and green and moist vegetables appear to possess a latent heat, so small, however, as not to be perceived by the touch in single imens, but when they are united and confined, so that their spirit cannot exhale into the air, and they rather warm each other, their heat is at once manifested, and even flame occasion- ally in suitable substances. lies too, we must make a more diligent inquiry; for quick lime, when sprinkled with water, appears to conceive heat, either from its being collected into one point (as we observed of herbs when confined), or from the irritation and exasperation of the fiery spirit by water, which occasions a conflict and struggle. The true reason will more readily be shown if oil be used instead of water, for oil will equally tend to collect the confined spirit, but not to irritate. The experiment may be made more general, both by using the ashes and calcined products of different bodies and by pouring different liquids upon them. A negative instance may be subjoined of other metals which are more soft and soluble; for leaf gold dissolved by aqua regia, or lead by aqua fortis, are not warm to the touch whilst dis- solving, no more is quicksilver (as far as I remember), but sil- ver excites a slight heat, and so does copper, and tin yet more plainly, and most of all iron and steel, which excite not only a powerful heat, but a violent bubbling. The heat, therefore, ap- pears to be occasioned by the struggle which takes place when these strong dissolvents penetrate, dig into, and tear asunder - the parts of those substances, whilst the substances themselves resist. When, however, the substances yield more easily, scarcely any heat is excited. There is no negative instance with regard to the heat of ani- mals, except in insects (as has been observed), owing to their small size; for in fishes, as compared with land animals, a lower degree rather than a deprivation of heat is observable. In plants and vegetables, both as to their exudations and pith when freshly exposed, there is no sensible degree of heat. But in animals there is a great difference in the degree, both in par- ticular parts (for the heat varies near the heart, the brain, and the extremities) and in the circumstances in which they are placed, such as violent exercise and fevers. Here, again, there is scarcely a negative instance. I might add that the excrements of animals, even when they are no longer fresh, possess evidently some effective heat, as is shown by their enriching the soil. Such liquids (whether oily or watery) as are intensely acrid exhibit the effects of heat, by the separation and burning of bodies after some little action upon them, yet they are not at first warm to the touch, but they act according to their affinity 382 BACON and the pores of the substances to which they are applied; for aqua regia dissolves gold but not silver—on the contrary, aqua fortis dissolves silver but not gold; neither of them dissolves glass, and so of the rest. _ ; Let spirits of wine be tried on wood, or butter, wax, or pitch, to see if this will melt them at all by their heat; for the twenty- fourth instance shows that they possess properties resembling those of heat in causing incrustation. Let an experiment also be made with a graduated glass or calendar, concave at the top, by pouring well-rectified spirits of wine into the cavity, and cover- ing it up in order that they may the better retain their heat, then observe whether their heat make the water descend. Spices and acrid herbs are sensibly warm to the palate, and still more so when taken internally; one should see, therefore, on what other substances they exhibit the effects of heat. Now, sailors tell us that when large quantities of spices are suddenly opened, after having been shut up for some time, there is some danger of fever and inflammation to those who stir them or take them out. An experiment might, therefore, be made whether such spices and herbs, when produced, will, like smoke, dry fish and meat hung up over them. There is an acrid effect and a degree of penetration in cold liquids, such as vinegar and oil of vitriol, as well as in warm, such as oil of marjoram and the like; they have, therefore, an equal effect in causing animated substances to smart, and sepa- rating and consuming inanimate parts. There is not any nega- tive instance as to this, nor does there exist any animal pain un- accompanied by the sensation of heat. There are many effects common to cold and heat, however different in their process; for snowballs appear to burn boys’ hands after a little time, and cold no less than fire preserves bodies from putrefaction—hbesides both heat and cold contract bodies. But it is better to refer these instances and the like to the investigation of cold. 13. In the third place we must exhibit to the understanding the instances in which that nature, which is the object of our inquiries, is present in a greater or less degree, either by compar- ing its increase and decrease in the same object, or its degree in different objects; for since the form of a thing is its very es- sence, and the thing only differs from its form as the apparent from the actual object, or the exterior from the interior, or that which is considered with relation to man from that which is considered with relation to the universe; it necessarily follows that no nature can be considered a real form which does not uniformly diminish and increase with the given nature. We are wont to call this our Table of Degrees, or Comparative In- stances. NOVUM ORGANUM 383 Table of the Degrees or Comparative Instances of Heat We will first speak of those bodies which exhibit no degree of heat sensible to the touch, but appear rather to possess a poten- tial heat, or disposition and preparation for it. We will then go on to others, which are actually warm to the touch, and observe the strength and degree of it. I. There is no known solid or tangible body which is by its own nature originally warm; for neither stone, metal, sulphur, fossils, wood, water, nor dead animal carcasses are found warm. The warm springs in baths appear to be heated accidentally, by flame, subterraneous fire (such as is thrown up by Etna and many other mountains), or by the contact of certain bodies, as heat is exhibited in the dissolution of iron and tin. The degree of heat, therefore, in inanimate objects is not sensible to our touch; but they differ in their degrees of cold, for wood and metal are not equally cold. This, however, belongs to the Table of Degrees of Cold. II. But with regard to potential heat and predisposition to flame, we find many inanimate substances wonderfully adapted to it, as sul- phur, naphtha, and saltpetre. III. Bodies which have previously acquired heat, as horse-dung from the animal, or lime, and perhaps ashes and soot from fire, retain some latent portion of it. Hence distillations and separations of sub- stances are effected by burying them in horse-dung, and heat is excited in lime by sprinkling it with water (as has been before observed). IV. In the vegetable world we know of no plant, nor part of any plant (as the exudations or pith) that is warm to man’s touch. Yet (as we have before observed) green weeds grow warm when confined, and some vegetables are warm and others cold to our internal touch, i.e., the palate and stomach, or even after a while to our external skin (as is shown in plasters and ointments). We know of nothing in the various parts of animals, when dead or detached from the rest, that is warm to the touch; for horse-dung itself does not retain its heat, unless it be confined and buried. All dung, however, appears to possess a potential heat, as in manuring fields; so also dead bodies are endued with this latent and potential heat to such a degree, that in cemeteries where people are interred daily the earth acquires a secret heat, which consumes any recently- deposited body much sooner than pure earth; and they tell you that the people of the East are acquainted with a fine soft cloth, made of the down of birds, which can melt butter wrapped gently up in it by its own warmth. VI. Manures, such as every kind of dung, chalk, sea-sand, salt, and the like, have some disposition towards heat. VII. All putrefaction exhibits some slight degree of heat, though not enough to be perceptible by the touch; for neither the substances which by putrefaction are converted into animalculz, as flesh and cheese, nor rotten wood which shines in the dark, are warm to the touch. The heat, however, of putrid substances displays itself occa- oan in a disgusting and strong scent. VIII. The first degree of heat, therefore, in substances which are warm to the human touch appears to be that of animals, and this ad- mits of a great variety of degrees, for the lowest (as in insects) is scarcely perceptible, the highest scarcely equals that of the sun’s rays in warm climates and weather, and is not so acute as to be insufferable 384 BACON hand. Itis said, however, of Constantius, and some others of a oe dey constitution and habit of body, that when attacked mee violent fevers, they became so warm as to appear almost to burn the ied to them. ; é pare aenale become ay tear aar es ee and exercise, wine and i nery, burning fevers, and griet. ssc tie epee St intermittent fevers the patients are at first seized with cold and shivering, but soon afterwards become more heated than at first—in burning and pestilential fevers they are hot he beginning. Y ; ro ay Father ae be made into the comparative heat of differ- ent animals, as fishes, quadrupeds, serpents, birds, and also of the different species, as the lion, the kite, or man; for, according to the vulgar opinion, fishes are the least warm internally, and birds the most, particularly doves, hawks, and ostriches. ; ae XII. Let further inquiry be made as to the comparative heat in dif- ferent parts and limbs of the same animal; for milk, blood, seed, and eggs are moderately warm, and less hot than the outward flesh of the animal when in motion or agitated. The degree of heat of the brain, stomach, hearc, and the rest, has not yet been equally well investi- ated. XIII. All animals are externally cold in winter and cold weather, but are thought to be internally warmer. XIV. The heat of the heavenly bodies, even in the warmest climates and seasons, never reaches such a pitch as to light or burn the driest wood or straw, or even tinder without the aid of burning-glasses. It can, however, raise vapor from moist substances. XV. Astronomers tell us that some stars are hotter than others. Mars is considered the warmest after the Sun, then Jupiter, then Venus. The Moon and, above all, Saturn, are considered to be cold. Among the fixed stars Sirius is thought the warmest, then Cor Leonis or Regu- lus, then the lesser Dog-star. XVI. The sun gives out more heat as it approaches towards the perpendicular or zenith, which may be supposed to be the case with the other planets, according to their degree of heat; for instance, that Jupiter gives out more heat when situated beneath Cancer or Leo than when he is beneath Capricorn and Aquarius. XVII. It is to be supposed that the sun and other planets give more heat in perigee, from their approximation to the earth, than when in apogee. But if in any country the sun should be both in its perigee and nearer to the perpendicular at the same time, it must necessarily give out more heat than in a country where it is also in perigee, but situated more obliquely; so that the comparative altitude of the planets should be observed, and their approach to or declination from the perpen- dicular in different countries. XVIII. The sun and other planets are thought also to give out more heat in proportion as they are nearer to the larger fixed stars, as when the sun is in Leo he is nearer Cor Leonis, Cauda Leonis, Spica Vir- ginis, Sirius, and the lesser Dog-star, than when he is in Cancer, where, however, he approaches nearer to the perpendicular. . It is probable, also, that the quarters of the heavens produce a greater heat (though not perceptibly), in proportion as they are adorned with a greater number of stars, particularly those of the first magnitude. _ XIX. On the whole, the heat of the heavenly bodies is augmented in three ways: 1. The approach to the perpendicular; 2. Proximity or their perigee; 3. The conjunction or union of stars. X. There is a very considerable difference between the degree of heat in animals, and even in the rays of the heavenly bodies (as they NOVUM ORGANUM 385 reach us), and the heat of the most gentle flame, and even of all ignited substances, nay liquids, or the air itself when unusually heated by fire. For the flame of spirit of wine, though diffused and uncollected, is yet able to set straw, linen, or paper on fire, which animal heat, or that of the sun, will never accomplish without a burning-glass. XXI. There are, however, many degrees of strength and weakness in flame and ignited bodies: but no diligent inquiry has been made in this respect, and we must, therefore, pass it hastily over. Of all flames, that of spirits of wine appears to be the most gentle, except, perhaps, the /gnis Fatuus, or the flashes from the perspiration of ani- mals. After this we should be inclined to place the flame of light and porous vegetables, such as straw, reeds, and dried leaves; from which the flame of hair or feathers differs but little. Then, perhaps, comes the flame of wood, particularly that which contains but little rosin or pitch; that of small wood, however (such as is usually tied up in fag- ots), is milder than that of the trunks or roots of trees. This can be easily tried in iron furnaces, where a fire of fagots or-branches of trees is of little service. Next follows the flame of oil, tallow, wax, and the like oily and fat substances, which are not very violent. But a most powerful heat is found in pitch and rosin, and a still greater in sulphur, camphor, naphtha, saltpetre, and salts (after they have discharged their crude matter), and in their compounds; as in gunpowder, Greek fire (vulgarly called wild fire), and its varieties, which possess such a stub- born heat as scarcely to be extinguished by water. : XXII. We consider that the flame which results from some imper- fect metals is very strong and active; but on all these points further inquiry should be made. XXIIL The flame of vivid lightning appears to exceed all the above, sO as sometimes to have melted even wrought iron into drops, which the other flames cannot accomplish. XXIV. In ignited bodies there are different degrees of heat, con- cerning which, also, a diligent inquiry has not been made. We con- sider the faintest heat to be that of tinder, touchwood, and dry rope match, such as is used for discharging cannon. Next follows that of ignited charcoal or cinders, and even bricks, and the like; but the most violent is that of ignited metals, as iron, copper, and the like. Further Inger, however, must be made into this also. XV. Some ignited bodies are found to be much warmer than some flames; for instance, red hot iron is much warmer, and burns more than the flame of spirits of wine. XXVI. Some bodies even not ignited, but only heated by the fire, as boiling water, and the air confined in reverberatories, surpass in heat many flames and ignited substances. XX VII. Motion increases heat, as is shown in the bellows and the blow-pipe; for the harder metals are not dissolved or melted by steady quiet fire, without the aid of the blow-pipe. XXVIII. Let an experiment be made with took oI sypr-e- in which respect I have observed, that if a glass be placed at the distance of ten inches, for instance, from the combustible object, it does not kindle or burn it so readily, as if the glass be placed at the distance of five inches (for instance), and be then -aiganarr and slowly withdrawn to the distance of ten inches. The cone and focus of the rays, how- ever, are the same, but the mere motion increases the effect of the eat. X XIX. Conflagrations, which take place with a high wind, are thought to make greater way against than with the wind, Beeani when the wind slackens, the flame recoils more rapidly than it advances when the wind is favorable. 25 386 BACON XXX. Flame does not burst out or arise unless it have some hollow space to move and exert itself in, except in the exploding flame of gun- powder, and the ee where the compression and confinement of the e increase its fury. TAP ma The anvil becomes so hot by the hammer, that if it were a thin plate it might probably grow red, like ignited iron by repeated strokes. Let the experiment be tried. X XXII. But in ignited bodies that are porous, so as to leave room for the fire to move itself, if its motion be prevented by strong com- pression, the fire is immediately extinguished; thus it is with tinder, or the burning snuff of a candle or lamp, or even hot charcoal or cin- ders; for when they are squeezed by snuffers, or the foot, and the like, the effect of the fire instantly ceases. XX XIII. The approach towards a hot body increases heat in pro- portion to the approximation; a similar effect to that of light, for the nearer any object is placed towards the light, the more visible it be- comes. XXXIV. The union of different heats increases heat, unless the sub- stances be mixed; for a large and small fire in the same spot tend mutually to increase each other’s heat, but lukewarm water poured into boiling water cools it. XXXV. The continued neighborhood of a warm body increases heat. For the heat, which perpetually passes and emanates from it, being mixed with that which preceded it, multiplies the whole. A fire, for instance, does not warm a room in half an hour as much as the same fire would in an hour. This does not apply to light, for a lamp or candle placed in a spot gives no more light by remaining there, than it did at first. XXXVI. The irritation of surrounding cold increases heat, as may be seen in fires during a sharp frost. We think that this is owing not merely to the confinement and compression of the heat (which forms a sort of union), but also by the exasperation of it, as when the air or a stick is violently compressed or bent, it recoils, not only to the point it first occupied, but still farther back. Let an accurate ex- periment, therefore, be made with a stick, or something of the kind, put into the flame, in order to see whether it be not sooner burnt at the sides than in the middle of it. XXXVII. There are many degrees in the susceptibility of heat. And, first, it must be observed how much a low gentle heat changes and partially warms even the bodies least susceptible of it. For even the heat of the hand imparts a little warmth to a ball of lead or other metal held a short time in it; so easily is heat transmitted and excited, without any apparent change in the body. XXXVIII. Of all bodies that we are acquainted with, air admits and loses heat the most readily, which is admirably seen in weather- glasses, whose construction is as follows. Take a glass with a hollow belly, and a thin and long neck; turn it upside down, and place it with its mouth downwards into another glass vessel containing water; the end of the tube touching the bottom of the vessel, and the tube itself leaning a little on the edge, so as to be fixed upright. In order to do this more readily, let a little wax be applied to the edge, not however so as to block up the orifice, lest by preventing the air from escaping, the motion, which we shall presently speak of, and which is very gentle and delicate, should be impeded. Before the first glass be inserted in the other, its upper part (the belly) should be warmed at the fire. Then upon placing it as we have described, the air (which was dilated by the heat), after a sufficient time has been allowed for it to lose the additional temperature, will re- NOVUM ORGANUM 387 store and contract itself to the same dimensions as that of the external or common atmosphere at the moment of immersion, and the water will be attracted upwards in the tube to a proportionate extent. long narrow slip of paper should be attached to the tube, divided into as many degrees as you please. You will then perceive, as the weather grows warmer or colder, that the air contracts itself into a narrower space in cold weather and dilates in the warm, which will be exhibited by the rising of the water as the air contracts itself, and its depression as the air dilates. The sensibility of the air with regard to heat or cold is so delicate and exquisite, that it far exceeds the human touch, so that a ray of sunshine, the heat of the breath, and much more, that of the hand placed on the top of the tube, immediately causes an evi- dent depression of the water. We think, however, that the spirit of animals possesses a much more delicate susceptibility of heat and cold, _ only that it is impeded and blunted by the grossness of their bodies. XX XIX. After air, we consider those bodies to be most sensible of heat, which have been recently changed and contracted by cold, as snow and ice; for they begin to be dissolved and melt with the first mild weather. Next, perhaps, follows quicksilver; then greasy substances, as oil, butter, and the like; then wood; then water; lastly, stones and metals, which do not easily grow hot, particularly towards their centre. When heated, however, they retain their temperature for a very long time; so that a brick or stone, or hot iron, plunged in a basin of cold water, and kept there for a quarter of an hour or thereabouts, retains such a heat as not to admit of being touched. XL. The less massive the body is, the more readily it grows warm at the approach of a heated body, which shows that heat with us is somewhat averse to a tangible mass. XLI. Heat with regard to the human senses and touch is various and relative, so that lukewarm water appears hot if the hand be cold, and cold if the hand be hot. 14. Anyone may readily see how poor we are in history, since in the above tables, besides occasionally inserting tradi- tions and report instead of approved history and authentic in- stances (always, however, adding some note if their credit or authority be doubtful), we are often forced to subjoin, “‘ Let the experiment be tried—Let further inquiry be made.” 15. We are wont to term the office and use of these three tables the presenting a review ofinstances to the understanding ; and when this has been done, induction itself is to be brought into action. Kor on an individual review of all the instances a nature is to be found, such as always to be present and absent with the given nature, to increase and decrease with it, and, as we have said, to form a more common limit of the nature. If the mind attempt this affirmatively from the first (which it always will when left to itself), there will spring up phantoms, mere theories and ill-defined notions, with axioms requiring daily correction. These will, doubtless, be better or worse, according to the power and strength of the understanding which creates them. But it is only for God (the bestower and creator of forms), and perhaps for angels and intelligences, at once to recognize forms affirmatively at the first glance of contempla- 388 BACON tion: man, at least, is unable to do so, and is only allowed to proceed first by negatives, and then to conclude with affirma- tives, after every species of exclusion. 16. We must, therefore, effect a complete solution and sepa- ration of nature; not by fire, but by the mind, that divine fire. The first work of legitimate induction, in the discovery of forms, is rejection, or the exclusive instances of individual natures, which are not found in some one instance where the given nat- ure is present, or are found in any one instance where it is ab- sent, or are found to increase in any one instance where the given nature decreases, or the reverse. After an exclusion correctly effected, and affirmative form will remain as the resid- uum, solid, true, and well defined, whilst all volatile opinions go off insmoke. ‘This is readily said; but we must arrive at it by a circuitous route. We shall perhaps, however, omit noth- ing that can facilitate our progress. 17. The first and almost perpetual precaution and warning which we consider necessary is this; that none should suppose from the great part assigned by us to forms, that we mean such forms as the meditations and thoughts of men have hitherto been accustomed to. In the first place, we do not at present mean the concrete forms, which (as we have observed) are in the common course of things compounded of simple natures, as those of a lion, an eagle, a rose, gold, or the like. The moment for discussing these will arrive when we come to treat of the latent process and latent conformation, and the discovery of them as they exist in what are called substances, or concrete natures. Nor again, would we be thought to mean (even when treat- ing of simple natures) any abstract forms or ideas, either un- defined or badly defined in matter. For when we speak of forms, we mean nothing else than those laws and regulations of simple action which arrange and constitute any simple nat- ure, such as heat, light, weight, in every species of matter, and in a susceptible subject. The form of heat or form of light, therefore, means no more than the law of heat or the law of light. Nor do we ever abstract or withdraw ourselves from things, and the operative branch of philosophy. When, there- fore, we say (for instance) in our investigation of the form of heat, Reject rarity, or, Rarity isnot of the form of heat, it is the same as if we were to say, Man can superinduce heat on a dense body, or the reverse, Man can abstract or ward off heat from a rare body. But if our forms appear to any one to be somewhat abstract- ed, from their mingling and uniting heterogeneous objects (the heat for instance of the heavenly bodies appears to be very dif- ferent from that of fire; the fixed red of the rose and the like, NOVUM ORGANUM 389 from that which is apparent in the rainbow, or the radiation of opal or the diamond; death by drowning, from that by burn- ing, the sword, apoplexy, or consumption; and yet they all agree in the common natures of heat, redness, and death), let him be assured that his understanding is enthralled by habit, by general appearances and hypotheses. For it is most certain that, however heterogeneous and distinct, they agree in the form or law which regulates heat, redness, or death; and that human power cannot be emancipated and freed from the common course of nature, and expanded and exalted to new efficients and new modes of operation, except by the revelation and in- vention of forms of this nature. But after this union of nature, which is the principal point, we will afterwards, in its proper place, treat of the divisions and ramifications of nature, whether ordinary or internal and more real. 18. We must now offer an example of the exclusion or re- jection of natures found by the tables of review, not to be of the form of heat; first premising that not only each table is sufficient for the rejection of any nature, but even each single instance contained inthem. For it is clear from what has been said that every contradictory instance destroys an hypothesis as tothe form. Still, however, for the sake of clearness, and in order to show more plainly the use of the tables, we redouble or repeat the exclusive. An Example of the Exclusive Table, or of the Rejection of Natures from the Form of Heat I. On account of the sun’s rays, reject elementary (or terrestrial) nature. II. On account of common fire, and particularly subterranean fires (which are the most remote and secluded from the rays of the heavenly bodies), reject celestial nature. III. On account of the heat ay ght by every description of sub- stances (as minerals, vegetables, the external parts of animals, water, oil, air, etc.) by mere approximation to the fire or any warm body, reject all variety and delicate texture of bodies. On account of iron and ignited metals, which warm other bodies, and yet neither lose their weight nor substance, reject the im- ne or mixing of the substance of the heating body. V. On account of boiling water and air, and also those metals and other solid bodies which are heated, but not to ignition, or red heat, reject flame or light. VI. On account of the rays of the moon and other heavenly bodies om the sun), again reject flame or light. VII. On account of the comparison between red-hot iron and the flame of spirits of wine (for the iron is more hot and less bright, whilst the flame of spirits of wine is more bright and less hot), again reject flame and light. VIII. On account of gold and other ignited metals, which are of the greatest specific density, reject rarity. 556 BACON 1X. On account of air, which is generally found to be cold and yet i rare, reject rarity. ae on See of jones iron, which does not swell in bulk, but retains the same apparent dimension, reject the absolute expansive motion of the whole. ae: XI. On account of the expansion of the air in thermometers and the like, which is absolutely moved and expanded to the eye, and yet acquires no manifest increase of heat, again reject absolute or ex- pansive motion of the whole. iy. XII. On account of the ready application of heat to all substances without any destruction or remarkable alteration of them, reject de- structive nature or the violent communication of any new nature. XIII. On account of the agreement and conformity of the effects produced by cold and heat, reject both expansive and contracting mo- tion as regards the whole. é; yan XIV. On account of the heat excited by friction, reject principal nature, by which we mean that which exists positively, and is not caused by a preceding nature. There are other natures to be rejected; but we are merely offering examples, and not perfect tables. None of the above natures is of the form of heat; and man is freed from them all in his operation upon heat. 19. In the exclusive table are laid the foundations of true in- duction, which is not, however, completed until the affirmative be attained. Nor is the exclusive table perfect, nor can it be so at first. For it is clearly a rejection of simple natures; but if we have not as yet good and just notions of simple natures, how can the exclusive table be made correct? Some of the above, as the notion of elementary and celestial nature, and rarity, are vague and ill-defined. We, therefore, who are neither ignorant nor forgetful of the great work which we at- tempt, in rendering the human understanding adequate to things and nature, by no means rest satisfied with what we have hitherto enforced, but push the matter farther, and contrive and prepare more powerful aid for the use of the understanding, which we will next subjoin. And, indeed, in the interpretation of nature the mind is to be so prepared and formed, as to rest itself on proper degrees of certainty, and yet to remember (es- pecially at first) that what is present depends much upon what remains behind. 20. Since, however, truth emerges more readily from error than confusion, we consider it useful to leave the understand- ing at liberty to exert itself and attempt the interpretation of nature in the affirmative, after having constructed and weighed the three tables of preparation, such as we have laid them down, both from the instances there collected, and others occurring elsewhere. Which attempt we are wont to call the liberty of the understanding, or the commencement of interpretation, or the first vintage. NOVUM ORGANUM 391 The First Vintage of the Form of Heat It must be observed that the form of anything is inherent (as appears clearly from our premises) in each individual instance in which the thing itself is inherent, or it would not be a form. No contradictory instance, therefore, can be alleged. The form, however, is found to be much more conspicuous and evi- dent in some instances than in others; in those (for example) where its nature is less restrained and embarrassed, and reduced to rule by other natures. Such instances we are wont to term coruscations, Or conspicuous instances. We must proceed, then, to the first vintage of the form of heat. From the instances taken collectively, as well as singly, the nature whose limit is heat appears to be motion. This is chiefly exhibited in flame, which is in constant motion, and in warm or boiling liquids, which are likewise in constant motion. It is also shown in the excitement or increase of heat by motion, as by bellows and drafts: for which see Inst. 29, Tab. 3, and by other species of motion, as in Inst. 28 and 31, Tab. 3. It is also shown by the extinction of fire and heat upon any strong pressure, which restrains and puts a stop to motion; for which see Inst. 30 and 32, Tab. 3. It is further shown by this circum- stance, namely, that every substance is destroyed, or at least materially changed, by strong and powerful fire and heat: whence it is clear that tumult and confusion are occasioned by heat, together with a violent motion in the internal parts of bodies ; and this gradually tends to their dissolution. What we have said with regard to motion must be thus under- stood, when taken as the genus of heat; it must not be thought that heat generates motion, or motion heat (though in some respects this be true), but that the very essence of heat, or the substantial self ¢ of heat, is motion and nothing else, limited, however, by certain differences which we will presently add, after giving some cautions for avoiding ambiguity. Sensible heat is relative, and regards man, not universe ; and is rightly held to be merely the effect of heat on animal spirit. It is even variable in itself, since the same body (in different states of sensation) excites the feeling of heat and of cold; this is shown by Inst. 41, Tab. 3. Nor should we confound the communication of heat or its transitive nature, by which a body grows warm at the approach of a heated body, with the form of heat; for heat is one thing and heating another. Heat can be excited by friction without any previous heating body, and, therefore, heating is excluded from the form of heat. Even when heat is excited by the ap- proach of a hot body, this depends not on the form of heat, but on another more profound and common nature; namely, that ee BACON of assimilation and multiplication, about which a separate in- quiry must be made. oe The notion of fire is vulgar, and of no assistance ; it is merely compounded of the conjunction of heat and light in any body, as in ordinary flame and red-hot substances. Laying aside all ambiguity, therefore, we must lastly consider the true differences which limit motion and render it the form of heat. I. The first difference is, that heat is an expansive motion, by which the body strives to dilate itself, and to occupy a greater space than before. This difference is principally seen in flame, where the smoke or thick vapor is clearly dilated and bursts into flame. It is also shown in all boiling liquids, which swell, rise, and boil up to the sight, and the process of expansion is urged for- ward till they are converted into a much more extended and dilated body than the liquid itself, such as steam, smoke, or air. It is also shown in wood and combustibles where exudation sometimes takes place, and evaporation always. It is also shown in the melting of metals, which, being very compact, do not easily swell and dilate, but yet their spirit, when dilated and desirous of further expansion, forces and urges its thicker parts into dissolution, and if the heat be pushed still further, reduces a considerable part of them into a volatile state. It is also shown in iron or stones, which, though not melted or dissolved, are however softened. The same circumstance takes place in sticks of wood, which become flexible when a lit- tle heated in warm ashes. It is most readily observed in air, which instantly and mani- festly expands with a small degree of heat, as stated in Inst. 38, adn. It is also shown in the contrary nature of cold; for cold con- tracts and narrows every substance; so that in intense frosts nails fall out of the wall and brass cracks, and heated glass ex- posed suddenly to the cold cracks and breaks. So the air by a slight degree of cold, contracts itself, as in Inst. 38, Tab. 3. More will be said of this in the inquiry into cold. Nor is it to be wondered at if cold and heat exhibit many com- mon effects (for which see Inst. 32, Tab. 2), since two differ- ences, of which we shall presently speak, belong to each nature: although in the present difference the effects be diametrically opposed to each other. For heat occasions an expansive and di- lating motion, but cold a contracting and condensing motion. II. The second difference is a modification of the preceding, namely, that heat is an expansive motion, tending towards the exterior, but at the same time bearing the body upwards. For there is no doubt that there be many compound motions, as an NOVUM ORGANUM 393 arrow or dart, for instance, has both a rotatory and progressive motion. In the same way the motion of heat is both expansive and tending upwards. This difference is shown by putting the tongs or poker into the fire. If placed perpendicularly with the hand above, they soon burn it, but much less speedily if the hand hold them sloping or from below. t is also conspicuous in distillations per descensum, which men are wont to employ with delicate flowers, whose scent easily evaporates. Their industry has devised placing the fire above instead of below, that it may scorch less; for not only flame but all heat has an upward tendency. Let an experiment be made on the contrary nature of cold, whether its contraction be downwards, as the expansion of heat is upwards. Take, therefore, two iron rods or two glass tubes, alike in other respects, and warm them a little, and place a sponge, dipped in cold water, or some snow, below the one and above the other. We are of opinion that the extremities will grow cold in that rod first where it is placed beneath, as the contrary takes place with regard to heat. III. The third difference is this; that heat is not a uniform expansive motion of the whole, but of the small particles of the body; and this motion being at the same time restrained, re- pulsed, and reflected, becomes alternating, perpetually hurry- ing, striving, struggling, and irritated by the repercussion, which is the source of the violence of flame and heat. But this difference is chiefly shown in flame and boiling liquids, which always hurry, swell, and subside again in de- tached parts. It is also shown in bodies of such hard texture as not to swell or dilate in bulk, such as red-hot iron, in which the heat is most violent. It is also shown by the fires burning most briskly in the coldest weather. It is also shown by this, that when the air is dilated in the thermometer uniformly and equably, without any impediment or repulsion, the heat is not perceptible. In confined drafts also, although they break out very violently, no remarkable heat is perceived, because the motion affects the whole, without any alternating motion in the particles; for which reason try whether flame do not burn more at the sides than in its centre. It is also shown in this, that all burning proceeds by the minute pores of bodies—undermining, penetrating, piercing, and pricking them as if with an infinite number of needle-points. Hence all strong acids (if adapted to the body on which they act) exhibit the effect of fire, from their corroding and pungent nature. 304 BACON The difference of which we now speak is common also to the nature of cold, in which the contracting motion is restrained by the resistance of expansion, as in heat the expansive motion is restrained by the resistance of contraction. Whether, therefore, the particles of matter penetrate inwards or outwards, the reasoning is the same, though the power be very different, because we have nothing on earth which is in- tensely cold. IV. The fourth difference is a modification of the preceding, namely, that this stimulating or penetrating motion should be rapid and never sluggish, and should take place not in the very minutest particles, but rather in those of some tolerable dimen- sions. It is shown by comparing the effects of fire with those of time. Time dries, consumes, undermines, and reduces to ashes as well as fire, and perhaps to a much finer degree; but as its motion is very slow, and attacks very minute particles, no heat is per- ceived. It is also shown in a comparison of the dissolution of iron and gold; for gold is dissolved without the excitement of any heat, but iron with a vehement excitement of it, although most in the same time, because in the former the penetration of the sepa- rating acid is mild, and gently insinuates itself, and the particles of gold yield easily, but the penetration of iron is violent, and attended with some struggle, and its particles are more ob- stinate. It is partially shown, also, in some gangrenes and mortifica- tions of flesh, which do not excite great heat or pain, from the gentle nature of the putrefaction. Let this suffice for a first vintage, or the commencement of the interpretation of the form of heat by the liberty of the un- derstanding. From this first vintage the form or true definition of heat (considered relatively to the universe and not to the sense) is briefly thus:—Heat is an expansive motion restrained, and striving to exert itself in the smaller particles. The expansion is modified by its tendency to rise, though expanding towards the exterior; and the effort is modified by its not being slug- gish, but active and somewhat violent. With regard to the operative definition, the matter is the same. If you are able to excite a dilating or expansive motion in any natural body, and so to repress that motion and force it on itself as not to allow the expansion to proceed equally, but only to be partially exerted and partially repressed, you will be- yond all doubt produce heat, without any consideration as to whether the body be of earth (or elementary, as they term it), or imbued with celestial influence, luminous or opaque, rare or % NOVUM ORGANUM 395 dense, locally expanded or contained within the bounds of its first dimensions, verging to dissolution or remaining fixed, animal, vegetable, or mineral, water, or oil, or air, or any other substance whatever susceptible of such motion. Sensible heat is the same, but considered relatively to the senses. Let us now proceed to further helps. 21. After our tables of first review, our rejection or exclusive table, and the first vintage derived from them, we must advance to the remaining helps.of the understanding with regard to the interpretation of nature, and a true and perfect induction, in offering which we will take the examples of cold and heat where tables are necessary, but where fewer instances are required, we will go through a variety of others, so as neither to confound investigation nor to narrow our doctrine. In the first place, therefore, we will treat of prerogative in- stances; 2. Of the supports of induction; 3. Of the correction of induction; 4. Of varying the investigation according to the nature of the subject; 5. Of the prerogative natures with re- spect to investigation, or of what should be the first or last ob- jects of our research; 6. Of the limits of investigation, or a synopsis of all natures that exist in the universe; 7. Of the application to practical purposes, or of what relates to man; 8. Of the preparations for investigation; 9. And lastly, of the ascending and descending scale of axioms. 22. Amongst the prerogative instances we will first mention solitary instances. Solitary instances are those which exhibit the required nature in subjects that have nothing in common with any other subject than the nature in question, or which do not exhibit the required nature in subjects resembling others in every respect except that of the nature in question; for ‘these instances manifestly remove prolixity, and accelerate and confirm exclusion, so that a few of them are of as much avail as many. For instance, let the inquiry be the nature of color. Prisms, crystalline gems, which yield colors not only internally but on the wall, dews, etc., are solitary instances ; for they have nothing in common with the fixed colors in flowers and colored gems, metals, woods, etc., except the color itself. Hence we easily deduce that color is nothing but a modification of the image of the incident and absorbed light, occasioned in the former case by the different degrees of incidence, in the latter by the various textures and forms of bodies. These are solitary instances as regards similitude. Again, in the same inquiry the distinct veins of white and black in marble, and the variegated colors of flowers of the same species, are solitary instances; for the black and white of marble, and the spots of white and purple in the flowers of the 396 BACON stock, agree in every respect but that of color. Thence we easily deduce that color has not much to do with the intrinsic natures of any body, but depends only on the coarser and as it were mechanical arrangement of the parts. These are solitary instances as regards difference. We call them both solitary or wild, to borrow a word from the astronomers. 23. In the second rank of prerogative instances we will consider migrating instances. In these the required nature passes towards generation, having no previous existence, or towards corruption, having first existed. In each of these divi- sions, therefore, the instances are always twofold, or rather it is one instance, first in motion or on its passage, and then brought to the opposite conclusion. These instances not only hasten and confirm exclusion, but also reduce affirmation, or the form itself, to a narrow compass; for the form must be something conferred by this migration, or, on the contrary, removed and destroyed by it; and although all exclusion advances affirma- tion, yet this takes place more directly in the same than in dif- ferent subjects; but if the form (as it is quite clear from what has been advanced) exhibit itself in one subject, it leads to all. The more simple the migration is, the more valuable is the instance. These migrating instances are, moreover, very use- ful in practice, for since they manifest the form, coupled with that which causes or destroys it, they point out the right practice in some subjects, and thence there is an easy transition to those with which they are most allied. There is, however, a degree of danger which demands caution, namely, lest they should refer the form too much to its efficient cause, and imbue, or at least tinge, the understanding with a false notion of the form from the appearance of such cause, which is never more than a vehicle or conveyance of the form. This may easily be remedied by a proper application of exclusion. Let us then give an example of a migrating instance. Let whiteness be the required nature. An instance which passes towards generation is glass in its entire and in its powdered State, or water in its natural state, and when agitated to froth; for glass when entire, and water in its natural state, are trans- parent and not white, but powdered glass and the froth of water are white and not transparent. We must inquire, therefore, what has happened to the glass or water in the course of this migration; for it is manifest that the form of whiteness is con- veyed and introduced by the bruising of the glass and the agita- tion of the water; but nothing is found to have been introduced but a diminishing of the parts of the glass and water and the insertion of air. Yet this is no slight progress towards dis- covering the form of whiteness, namely, that two bodies, in themselves more or less transparent (as air and water, or air and NOVUM ORGANUM 397 glass), when brought into contact in minute portions, exhibit whiteness from the unequal refraction of the rays of light. But here we must also give an example of the danger and caution of which we spoke ; for instance, it will readily occur to an understanding perverted by efficients, that air is always necessary for producing the form of whiteness, or that white- ness is only generated by transparent bodies, which supposi- tions are both false, and proved to be so by many exclusions ; nay, it will rather appear (without any particular regard to air or the like), that all bodies which are even in such of their parts as affect the sight exhibit transparency, those which are uneven and of simple texture whiteness, those which are uneven and of compound but regular texture all the other colors except black, but those which are uneven and of a compound irregular and confused texture exhibit blackness. An example has been given, therefore, of an instance migrating towards generation in the required nature of whiteness. An instance migrating towards corruption in the same nature is that of dissolving froth or snow, for they lose their whiteness and assume the trans- parency of water in its pure state without air. Nor should we by any means omit to state, that under mi- grating instances we must comprehend not only those which pass towards generation and destruction, but also those which pass towards increase or decrease, for they, too, assist in the dis- covery of the form, as is clear from our definition of a form and the Table of Degrees. Hence paper, which is white when dry, is less white when moistened (from the exclusion of air and admission of water), and tends more to transparency. The rea- son is the same as in the above instances. 24. In the third rank of prerogative instances we will class conspicuous instances, of which we spoke in our first vintage of the form of heat, and which we are also wont to call corusca- tions, or free and predominant instances. They are such as show the required nature in its bare substantial shape, and at its height or greatest degree of power, emancipated and free from all impediments, or at least overcoming, suppressing, and restraining them by the strength of its qualities; for since every body is susceptible of many united forms of natures in the con- crete, the consequence is that they mutually deaden, depress, break, and confine each other, and the individual forms are obscured. But there are some subjects in which the required nature exists in its full vigor rather than in others, either from the absence of any impediment, or the predominance of its qual- ity. Such instances are eminently conspicuous. But even in these care must be taken, and the hastiness of the understand- ing checked, for whatever makes a show of the form, and forces it forward, is to be suspected, and recourse must be had to severe and diligent exclusion. 398 BACON For example, let heat be the required nature. The thermom- eter is a conspicuous instance of the expansive motion, which (as has been observed) constitutes the chief part of the form of heat; for although flame clearly exhibits expansion, yet from its being extinguished every moment, it does not exhibit the progress of expansion. Boiling water again, from its rapid con- version into vapor, does not so well exhibit the expansion of water in its own shape, whilst red-hot iron and the like are so far from showing this progress that, on the contrary, the ex- pansion itself is scarcely evident to the senses, on account of its spirit being repressed and weakened by the compact and coarse particles which subdue and restrain it. But the thermometer strikingly exhibits the expansion of the air as being evident and progressive, durable and not transitory. Take another example. Let the required nature be weight. Quicksilver is a conspicuous instance of weight; for it is far heavier than any other substance except gold, which is not much heavier, and it is a better instance than gold for the pur- pose of indicating the form of weight; for gold is solid and consistent, which qualities must be referred to density, but quicksilver is liquid and teeming with spirit, yet much heavier than the diamond and other substances considered to be most solid; whence it is shown that the form of gravity or weight predominates only in the quantity of matter, and not in the close fitting of it. 25. In the fourth rank of prerogative instances we will class clandestine instances, which we are also wont to call twilight instances; they are, as it were, opposed to the conspicuous instances, for they show the required nature in its lowest state of efficacy, and as it were its cradle and first rudiments, making an effort and a sort of first attempt, but concealed and subdued by a contrary nature. Such instances are, however, of great importance in discovering forms, for as the conspicuous tend easily to differences, so do the clandestine best lead to genera, that is, to those common natures of which the required natures are only the limits. As an example, let consistency, or that which confines itself, be the required nature, the opposite of which is a liquid or flow- ing state. The clandestine instances are such as exhibit some weak and low degree of consistency in fluids, as a water bubble, which is a sort of consistent and bounded pellicle formed out of the substance of the water. So eaves’ droppings, if there be enough water to follow them, draw themselves out into a thin thread, not to break the continuity of the water, but if there be not enough to follow, the water forms itself into a round drop, which is the best form to prevent a breach of continuity ; and at the moment the thread ceases, and the water begins to fall NOVUM ORGANUM 399 in drops, the thread of water recoils upwards to avoid such a breach. Nay, in metals, which when melted are liquid but more tenacious, the melted drops often recoil and are suspended, There is somethinig similar in the instance of the child’s look- ing-glass, which little boys will sometimes form of spittle be- tween rushes, and where the same pellicle of water is observ- able; and still more in that other amusement of children, when they take some water rendered a little more tenacious by soap, and inflate it with a pipe, forming the water into a sort of castle of bubbles, which assumes such consistency, by the interposi- tion of the air, as to admit of being thrown some little distance without bursting. The best example is that of froth and snow, which assume such consistency as almost to admit of being cut, although composed of air and water, both liquids. All these circumstances clearly show that the terms liquid and consistent are merely vulgar notions adapted to the sense, and that in reality all bodies have a tendency to avoid a breach of continuity, faint and weak in bodies composed of homogeneous parts (as is the case with liquids), but more vivid and powerful in those composed of heterogeneous parts, because the ap- proach of heterogeneous matter binds bodies together, whilst is insinuation of homogeneous matter loosens and relaxes them. Again, to take another example, let the required nature be attraction or the cohesion of bodies. The most remarkable con- spicuous instance with regard to its form is the magnet. The contrary nature to attraction is non-attraction, though in a similar substance. Thus iron does not attract iron, lead lead, wood wood, nor water water. But the clandestine instance is that of the magnet armed with iron, or rather that of iron in the magnet so armed. For its nature is such that the magnet when armed does not attract iron more powerfully at any given dis- tance than when unarmed; but if the iron be brought in con- tact with the armed magnet, the latter will sustain a much greater weight than the simple magnet, from the resemblance of substance in the two portions of iron, a quality altogether clandestine and hidden in the iron until the magnet was in- troduced. It is manifest, therefore, that the form of cohesion is something which is vivid and robust in the magnet, and hidden and weak in the iron. It is to be observed, also, that small wooden arrows without an iron point, when discharged from large mortars, penetrate farther into wooden substances (such as the ribs of ships or the like), than the same arrows pointed with iron, owing to the similarity of substance, though this quality was previously latent in the wood. Again, although in the mass air does not appear to attract air, nor water water, yet when one bubble is brought near another, they are both fon BACON more readily dissolved, from the tendency to contact of the water with the water, and the air with the air. These clandes- tine instances (which are, as has been observed, of the most im- portant service) are principally to be observed in small por- tions of bodies, for the larger masses observe more universal and general forms, as will be mentioned in its proper place. 26. In the fifth rank of prerogative instances we will class constitutive instances, which we are wont also to call collective instances. They constitute a species or lesser form, as it were, of the required nature. For since the real forms (which are always convertible with the given nature) lie at some depth, and are not easily discovered, the necessity of the case and the infirmity of the human understanding require that the par- ticular forms, which collect certain groups of instances (but by no means all) into some common notion, should not be neg- lected, but most diligently observed. For whatever unites nature, even imperfectly, opens the way to the discovery of the form. The instances, therefore, which are serviceable in this respect are of no mean power, but endowed with some degree of prerogative. Here, nevertheless, great care must be taken that, after the discovery of several of these particular forms, and the establish- ing of certain partitions or divisions of the required nature derived from them, the human understanding do not at once rest satisfied, without preparing for the investigation of the great or leading form, and taking it for granted that nature is compound and divided from its very root, despise and reject any further union as a point of superfluous refinement, and tending to mere abstraction. For instance, let the required nature be memory, or that which excites and assists memory. The constitutive instances are order or distribution, which manifestly assists memory}; topics or common-places in artificial memory, which may be either places in their literal sense, as a gate, a corner, a window, and the like, or familiar persons and marks, or anything else (provided it be arranged in a determinate order), as animals, plants, and words, letters, characters, historical persons, and the like, of which, however, some are more convenient than others. All these common-places materially assist memory, and raise it far above its natural strength. Verse, too, is recol- lected and learnt more easily than prose. From this group of three instances—order, the common-places of artificial memory, and verses—is constituted one species of aid for the memory, which may be well termed a separation from infinity. For when a man strives to recollect or recall anything to memory, without a preconceived notion or perception of the object of his search, he inquires about, and labors, and turns from NOVUM ORGANUM 401 point to point, as if involved in infinity. But if he have any preconceived notion, this infinity is separated off, and the range of his memory is brought within closer limits. In the three instances given above, the preconceived notion is clear and determined. In the first, it must be something that agrees with order; in the second, an image which has some relation or agreement with the fixed common-places ; in the third, words which fall into a verse: and thus infinity is divided off. Other instances will offer another species, namely, that whatever brings the intellect into contact with something that strikes the sense (the principal point of artificial memory), assists the memory. Others again offer another species, namely, what- ever excites an impression by any powerful passion, as fear, wonder, shame, delight, assists the memory. Other instances will afford another species: thus those impressions remain most fixed in the memory which are taken from the mind when clear and least occupied by preceding or succeeding no- tions, such as the things we learn in childhood, or imagine be- fore sleep, and the first time of any circumstance happening. Other instances afford the following species: namely, that a multitude of circumstances or handles assist the memory, such as writing in paragraphs, reading aloud, or recitation. Lastly, other instances afford still another species: thus the things we anticipate, and which rouse our attention, are more easily remembered than transient events; as if you read any work twenty times over, you will not learn it by heart so readily as if you were to read it but ten times, trying each time to repeat it, and when your memory fails you looking into the book. There are, therefore, six lesser forms, as it were, of things which assist the memory: namely—1, the separation of in- finity; 2, the connection of the mind with the senses; 3, the impression in strong passion; 4, the impression on the mind when pure; 5, the multitude of handles ; 6, anticipation. Again, for example’s sake, let the required nature be taste or the power of tasting. The following instances are constitutive: 1. Those who do not smell, but are deprived by nature of that sense, do not perceive or distinguish rancid or putrid food by their taste, nor garlic from roses, and the like. 2. Again, those whose nostrils are obstructed by accident (such as a cold) do not distinguish any putrid or rancid matter from anything sprinkled with rose-water. 3. If those who suffer from a cold blow their noses violently at the very moment in which they have anything fetid or perfumed in their mouth, or on their palate, they in- stantly have a clear perception of the fetor or perfume. ese instances afford and constitute this species or division of taste, namely, that it is in part nothing else than an internal smelling, passing and descending through the upper passages of the 26 jee BACON nostrils to the mouth and palate. But, on the other hand, those whose power of smelling is deficient or obstructed, per- ceive what is salt, sweet, pungent, acid, rough, and bitter, and the like, as well as anyone else: so that the taste 1s clearly something compounded of the internal smelling, and an ex- quisite species of touch which we will not here discuss. Again, as another example, let the required nature be the communication of quality, without intermixture of substance. The instance of light will afford or constitute one species of communication, heat and the magnet another. For the com- munication of light is momentary and immediately arrested upon the removal of the original light. But heat, and the mag- netic force, when once transmitted to or excited in another body, remain fixed for a considerable time after the removal of the source. : Lae In fine, the prerogative of constitutive instances is considera- ble, for they materially assist the definitions (especially in detail) and the divisions or partitions of natures, concerning which Plato has well said, “ He who can properly define and divide is to be considered a god.” 27. In the sixth rank of prerogative instances we will place similar or proportionate instances, which we are also wont to call physical parallels, or resemblances. They are such as ex- hibit the resemblances and connection of things, not in minor forms (as the constitutive do), but at once in the concrete. They are therefore, as it were, the first and lowest steps toward the union of nature; nor do they immediately establish any ax- iom, but merely indicate and observe a certain relation of bodies to each other. But although they be not of much as- sistance in discovering forms, yet they are of great advantage in disclosing the frame of parts of the universe, upon whose members they practise a species of anatomy, and thence occa- sionally lead us gently on to sublime and noble axioms, espe- cially such as relate to the construction of the world, rather than to simple natures and forms. As an example, take the following similar instances: a mir- ror and the eye; the formation of the ear, and places which re- turn anecho. From such similarity, besides observing the re- semblance (which is useful for many purposes), it is easy to collect and form this axiom. That the organs of the senses, and bodies which produce reflections to the senses, are of a similar nature. Again, the understanding once informed of this, rises easily to a higher and nobler axiom; namely, that the only distinction between sensitive and inanimate bodies, in those points in which they agree and sympathize, is this; in the former, animal spirit is added to the arrangement of the body, in the latter it is wanting. So that there might be as NOVUM ORGANUM 403 many senses in animals as there are points of agreement with in- animate bodies, if the animated body were perforated, so as to allow the spirit to have access to the limb properly disposed for action, asa fit organ. And, on the other hand, there are, with- out doubt, as many motions in an inanimate as there are senses in the animated body, though the animal spirit be absent. There must, however, be many more motions in inanimate bodies than senses in the animated, from the small number of organs of sense. A very plain example of this is afforded by pains. For, as animals are liable to many kinds and various descriptions of pains (such as those of burning, of intense cold, of pricking, squeezing, stretching, and the like), so is it most certain, that the same circumstances, as far as motion is con- cerned, happen to inanimate bodies, such as wood or stone when burnt, frozen, pricked, cut, bent, bruised, and the like; although there be no sensation, owing to the absence of animal spirit. Again, wonderful as it may appear, the roots and branches of trees are similar instances. For every vegetable swells and throws out its constituent parts towards the circumference, both upwards and downwards. And there is no difference be- tween the roots and branches, except that the root is buried in the earth, and the branches are exposed to the airand sun. For if one take a young and vigorous shoot, and bend it down toa small portion of loose earth, although it be not fixed to the hee yet will it immediately produce a root, and not a ranch. And, vice versa, if earth be placed above, and so forced down with a stone or any hard substance, as to confine the plant and prevent its branching upwards, it will throw out branches into the air downwards. The gum of trees, and most rock gems, are similar instances ; for both of them are exudations and filtered juices, derived in the former instance from trees, in the latter from stones; the brightness and clearness of both arising from a delicate and accurate filtering. For nearly the same reason, the hair of ani- mals is less beautiful and vivid in its color than the plumage of most birds, because the juices are less delicately filtered through the skin than through the quills. The scrotum of males and matrix of females are also similar instances; so that the noble formation which constitutes the difference of the sexes appears to differ only as to the one being internal and the other external; a greater degree of heat caus- ing the genitals to protrude in the male, whilst the heat of the oa being too weak to effect this, they are retained inter- ly. The fins of fishes and the feet of quadrupeds, or the feet and wings of birds, are similar instances; to which Aristotle adds the four folds in the motion of serpents; so that in the forma- nae BACON tion of the universe, the motion of animals appears to be chiefly effected by four joints or bendings. wa? The teeth of land animals, and the beaks of birds, are similar instances, whence it is clear, that in all perfect animals there isa determination of some hard substance towards the mouth. Again, the resemblance and conformity of man to an inverted plant is not absurd. For the head is the root of the nerves and animal faculties, and the seminal parts are the lowest, not in- cluding the extremities of the legs and arms. But in the plant, the root (which resembles the head) is regularly placed in the lowest, and the seeds in the highest part. Lastly, we must particularly recommend and suggest, that man’s present industry in the investigation and compilation of natural history be entirely changed, and directed to the reverse of the present system. For it has hitherto been active and curious in noting the variety of things, and explaining the ac- curate differences of animals, vegetables, and minerals, most of which are the mere sport of nature, rather than of any real utility as concerns the sciences. Pursuits of this nature are certainly agreeable, and sometimes of practical advantage, but contribute little or nothing to the thorough investigation of nature. Our labor must therefore be directed towards inquir- ing into and observing resemblances and analogies, both in the whole and its parts, for they unite nature, and lay the founda- tion of the sciences. Here, however, a severe and rigorous caution must be ob- served, that we only consider as similar and proportionate in- stances, those which (as we first observed) point out physical resemblances; that is, real and substantial resemblances, deeply founded in nature, and not casual and superficial, much less superstitious or curious; such as those which are constantly put forward by the writers on natural magic (the most idle of men, and who are scarcely fit to be named in connection with such serious matters as we now treat of), who, with much van- ity and folly, describe, and sometimes too, invent, unmeaning resemblances and sympathies. But leaving such to themselves, similar instances are not to be neglected, in the greater portions of the world’s conforma- tion; such as Africa and the Peruvian continent, which reaches to the Straits of Magellan; both of which possess a similar isthmus and similar capes, a circumstance not to be attributed to mere accident. Again, the new and old world are both of them broad and expanded towards the north, and narrow and pointed towards the south. Again, we have very remarkable similar instances in the in- tense cold, towards the middle regions (as it is termed) of the NOVUM ORGANUM 405 air, and the violent fires which are often found to burst from subterraneous spots, the similarity consisting in both being ends and extremes; the extreme of the nature of cold, for in- stance, is towards the boundary of heaven, and that of the nat- ure of heat towards the centre of the earth, by a similar species of opposition or rejection of the contrary nature. Lastly, in the axioms of the sciences, there is a similarity of instances worthy of observation. Thus the rhetorical trope which is called surprise, is similar to that of music termed the declining of a cadence. Again—the mathematical postulate, that things which are equal to the same are equal to one an- other, is similar to the form of the syllogism in logic, which unites things agreeing in the middle term. Lastly, a certain degree of sagacity, in collecting and searching for physical points of similarity, is very useful in many respects. 28. In the seventh rank of prerogative instances, we will place singular instances, which we are also wont to call irreg- ular or heteroclite (to borrow a term from the cragimaciaal They are such as exhibit bodies in the concrete, of an apparent- ly extravagant and separate nature,agreeing but little with other things of the same species. For, whilst the similar instances resemble each other, those we now speak of are only like them- selves. Their use is much the same with that of clandestine instances: they bring out and unite nature, and discover genera or common natures, which must afterwards be limited by real differences. Nor should we desist from inquiry, until the prop- erties and qualities of those things, which may be deemed mira- cles, as it were, of nature, be reduced to, and comprehended in, some form or certain law ; so that all irregularity or singularity may be found to depend on some common form; and the miracle only consists in accurate differences, degree, and rare coincidence, not in the species itself. Man’s meditation pro- ceeds no further at present, than just to consider things of this kind as the secrets and vast efforts of nature, without an assign- able cause, and, as it were, exceptions to general rules. As examples of singular instances, we have the sun and moon amongst the heavenly bodies; the magnet amongst min- erals; quicksilver amongst metals; the elephant amongst quadrupeds ; the venereal sensation amongst the different kinds of touch; the scent of sporting dogs amongst those of smell. The letter S, too, is considered by the grammarians as sui gen- eris, from its easily uniting with double or triple consonants, which no other letter will. These instances are of great value, because they excite and keep alive inquiry, and correct an under- standing depraved by habit and the common course of things. 29. In the eighth rank of prerogative instances, we will place deviating instances, such as the errors of nature, or strange and 406 BACON monstrous objects, in which nature deviates and turns from her ordinary course. For the errors of nature differ from singular instances, inasmuch as the latter are the miracles of species, the former of individuals. Their use is much the same, for they rectify the understanding in opposition to habit, and reveal common forms. For with regard to these, also, we must not desist from inquiry, till we discern the cause of the deviation. The cause does not, however, in such cases rise to a regular form, but only to the latent process towards such a form. For he who is acquainted with the paths of nature, will more readily observe her deviations; and vice versa, he who has learnt her deviations, will be able more accurately to describe her paths. They differ again from singular instances, by being much more apt for practice and the operative branch. For it would be very difficult to generate new species, but less so to vary known species, and thus produce many rare and unusual results. The passage from the miracles of nature to those of art is easy ; for if nature be once seized in her variations, and the cause be manifest, it will be easy to lead her by art to such deviation as she was at first led to by chance; and not only to that but others, since deviations on the one side lead and open the way to others in every direction. Of this we do not require any examples, since they are so abundant. For a compilation, or particular natural history, must be made of all monsters and prodigious births of nature; of everything, in short, which is new, rare, and unusual in nature. This should be done with a rigorous selection, so as to be worthy of credit. Those are most to be suspected which depend upon superstition, as the prodigies of Livy, and those perhaps, but little less, which are found in the works of writers on natural magic, or even alchemy, and the like; for such men, as it were, are the very suitors and lovers of fables; but our instances should be derived from some grave and credible history, and faithful narration. 30. In the ninth rank of prerogative instances, we will place bordering instances, which we are also wont to term partici- pants. They are such as exhibit those species of bodies which appear to be composed of two species, or to be the rudiments between the one and the other. They may well be classed with the singular or heteroclite instances; for in the whole system of things, they are rare and extraordinary. Yet from their dignity, they must be treated of and classed separately, for they point out admirably the order and constitution of things, and suggest the causes of the number and quality of the more com- mon species in the universe, leading the understanding from that which is, to that which is possible. ‘ We have examples of them in moss, which is something be- tween putrescence and a plant; in some comets, which hold a NOVUM ORGANUM 407 place between stars and ignited meteors; in flying fishes, be- tween fishes and birds; and in bats, between birds and quadru- peds. Again, Simia quam similis turpissima bestia nobis. We have also biformed fetus, mingled species, and the like. 31. In the tenth rank of prerogative instances, we will place the instances of power, or the fasces (to borrow a term from the insignia of empire), which we are also wont to call the wit or handsofman. These are such works as are most noble and per- fect, and, as it were, the masterpieces in every art. For since our principal object is to make nature subservient to the state and wants of man, it becomes us well to note and enumerate the works, which have long since been in the power of man, espe- cially those which are most polished and perfect: because the passage from these to new and hitherto undiscovered works, is more easy and feasible. For if anyone, after an attentive con- templation of such works as are extant, be willing to push for- ward in his design with alacrity and vigor, he will undoubtedly either advance them, or turn them to something within their immediate reach, or even apply and transfer them to some more noble purpose. Nor is this all: for as the understanding is elevated and raised by rare and unusual works of nature, to investigate and discover the forms which include them also, so is the same effect fre- quently produced by the excellent and wonderful works of art ; and even to a greater degree, because the mode of effecting and constructing the miracles of art is generally plain, whilst that of effecting the miracles of nature is more obscure. Great care, however, must be taken, that they do not depress the under- standing, and fix it, as it were, to earth. For there is some danger, lest the understanding should be astonished and chained down, and as it were bewitched, by such works of art, as appear to be the very summit and pinnacle of human industry, so as not to become familiar with them, but rather to suppose that nothing of the kind can be accomplished, unless the same means be employed, with perhaps a little more diligence, and more accurate preparation. ow, on the contrary, it may be stated as a fact, that the ways and means hitherto discovered and observed, of effecting an matter or work, are for the most part of little value, and that ail really efficient power depends, and is really to be deduced from the sources of forms, none of which have yet been discovered. Thus (as we have before observed), had any one meditated on ballistic machines, and battering rams, as they were used by the ancients, whatever application he might have exerted, and though he might have consumed a whole life in the pursuit, 408 BACON yet would he never have hit upon the invention of flaming engines, acting by means of gunpowder; nor would any per- son, who had made woollen manufactories and cotton the sub- ject of his observation and reflection, have ever discovered thereby the nature of the silkworm or of silk. Hence all the most noble discoveries have (if you observe) come to light, not by any gradual improvement and extension of the arts, but merely by chance; whilst nothing imitates or anticipates chance (which is wont to act at intervals of ages) but the invention of forms. There is no necessity for adducing any particular examples of these instances, since they are abundant. The plan to be pursued is this: all the mechanical, and even the liberal arts (as far as they are practical), should be visited and thoroughly examined, and thence there should be formed a compilation or particular history of the great masterpieces, or most finished works in each, as well as of the mode of carrying them into ef- rect: Nor do we confine the diligence to be used in such a com- pilation to the leading works and secrets only of every art, and such as excite wonder; for wonder is engendered by rarity, since that which is rare, although it be compounded of ordinary natures, always begets wonder. On the contrary, that which is really wonderful, from some specific difference distinguishing it from other species, is care- lessly observed, if it be but familiar. Yet the singular instances of art should be observed no less than those of nature, which we have before spoken of: and as in the latter we have classed the sun, the moon, the magnet, and the like, all of them most familiar to us, but yet in their nature singular, so should we proceed with the singular instances of art. For example: paper, a very common substance, is a singular instance of art; for if you consider the subject attentively, you will find that artificial substances are either woven by straight and transverse lines, as silk, woollen, or linen cloth, and the like ; or coagulated from concrete juices, such as brick, earthenware, glass, enamel, porcelain, and the like, which admit of a polish if they be compact, but if not, become hard without being polished ; all which latter substances are brittle, and not adherent or tena- cious. On the contrary, paper is a tenacious substance, which can be cut and torn, so as to resemble and almost rival the skin of any animal, or the leaf of vegetables, and the like works of nature ; being neither brittle like glass, nor woven like cloth, but having fibres and not distinct threads, just as natural substances, so that scarcely anything similar can be found amongst artificial substances, and it is absolutely singular. And in artificial works we should certainly prefer those which approach the nearest to NOVUM ORGANUM 409 an imitation of nature, or, on the other hand, powerfully govern and change her course. Again, in these instances which we term the wit and hands of man, charms and conjuring should not be altogether despised, for although mere amusements, and of little use, yet they may afford considerable information. Lastly, superstition and magic (in its common acceptation) are not to be entirely omitted; for although they be over- whelmed by a mass of. lies and fables, yet some investigation should be made, to see if there be really any latent natural opera- tion in them; as in fascination, and the fortifying of the im- agination, the sympathy of distant objects, the transmission of impressions from spirit to spirit no less than from body to body, and the like. 32. From the foregoing remarks, it is clear that the five last species of instances (the similar, singular, deviating, and bor- dering instances, and those of power) should not be reserved for the investigation of any given nature, as the preceding and many of the succeeding instances must, but a collection of them should be made at once, in the style of a particular history, so that they may arrange the matter which enters the understand- ing, and correct its depraved habit, for it is necessarily imbued, corrupted, perverted, and distorted by daily and habitual im- pressions. They are to be used, therefore, as a preparative, for the pur- pose of rectifying and purifying the understanding; for what- ever withdraws it from habit, levels and planes down its sur- face for the reception of the dry and pure light of true notions. These instances, moreover, level and prepare the way for the operative branch, as we will mention in its proper place when speaking of the practical deductions. 33. In the eleventh rank of prerogative instances we will place accompanying and hostile instances. These are such as exhibit any body or concrete, where the required nature is con- stantly found, as an inseparable companion, or, on the con- trary, where the required nature is constantly avoided, and ex- cluded from attendance, as an enemy. From these instances may be formed certain and universal propositions, either af- firmative or negative; the subject of which will be the concrete body, and the predicate the required nature. For particular propositions are by no means fixed, when the required nature is found to fluctuate and change in the concrete, either approach- ing and acquired, or receding and laid aside. Hence particular propositions have no great prerogative, except in the case of migration, of which we have spoken above. Yet such particular propositions are of great use, when compared with the universal, as will be mentioned in its proper place. Nor do we require ab- ae BACON solute affirmation or negation, even in universal propositions, for if the exceptions be singular or rare, it is sufficient for our pur- pose. The use of accompanying instances is to narrow the affirma- tive of form; for as it is narrowed by the migrating instances, where the form must necessarily be something communicated or destroyed by the act of migration, so it is narrowed by ac- companying instances, where the form must necessarily be something which enters into the concretion of the body, or, on the contrary, is repugnant to it; and one who is well acquainted with the constitution or formation of the body, will not be far from bringing to light the form of the required nature. For example: let the required nature be heat. Flame is an accompanying instance ; for in water, air, stone, metal, and many other substances, heat is variable, and can approach or retire; but all flame is hot, so that heat always accompanies the con- cretion of flame. We have no hostile instance of heat; for the senses are unacquainted with the interior of the earth, and there is no concretion of any known body which is not susceptible of heat. Again, let solidity be the required nature. Air is a hostile instance; for metals may be liquid or solid, so may glass; even water may become solid by congelation, but air cannot become solid or lose its fluidity. With regard to these instances of fixed propositions, there are two points to be observed, which are of importance. First, that if there be no universal affirmative or negative, it be carefully noted as not existing. Thus, in heat, we have observed that there exists no universal negative, in such substances, at least, as have come to our knowledge. Again, if the required nature be eternity or incorruptibility, we have no universal affirmative within our sphere, for these qualities cannot be predicated of any bodies below the heavens, or above the interior of the earth. Secondly, to our general propositions as to any concrete, whether affirmative or negative, we should subjoin the concretes which appear to approach nearest to the non-existing substances; such as the most gentle or least-burning flames in heat, or gold in in- corruptibility, since it approaches nearest to it. For they all serve to show the limit of existence and non-existence, and cir- cumscribe forms, so that they cannot wander beyond the con- ditions of matter. 34. In the twelfth rank of prerogative instances, we will class those subjunctive instances, of which we spoke in the last aphorism, and which we are also wont to call instances of ex- tremity or limits; for they are not only serviceable when sub- joined to fixed propositions, but also of themselves and from their own nature. They indicate with sufficient precision the NOVUM ORGANUM 411 real divisions of nature, and measures of things, and the “ how far” nature effects or allows of anything, and her passage thence to something else. Such are gold in weight, iron in hard- ness, the whale in the size of animals, the dog in smell, the flame of gunpowder in rapid expansion, and others of a like nature. Nor are we to pass over the extremes in defect, as well as in abundance, as spirits of wine in weight, the touchstone in soft- ness, the worms upon the skin in the size of animals, and the like. 35. In the thirteenth rank of prerogative instances, we will place those of alliance or union. They are such as mingle and unite natures held to be heterogeneous, and observed and marked as such in received classifications. These instances show that the operation and effect, which is considered peculiar to some one of such heterogeneous natures, may also be attributed to another nature styled heterogeneous, so as to prove that the difference of the natures is not real nor essential, but a mere modification of a common nature. They are very serviceable, therefore, in elevating and carrying on the mind, from differences to genera, and in removing those phan- toms and images of things, which meet it in disguise in concrete substances. For example: let the required nature be heat. The classi- fication of heat into three kinds, that of the celestial bodies, that of animals, and that of fire, appears to be settled and admitted ; and these kinds of heat, especially one of them compared with the other two, are supposed to be different, and clearly hetero- geneous in their essence and species, or specific nature, since the heat of the heavenly bodies and of animals generates and cher- ishes, whilst that of fire corrupts and destroys. We have an instance of alliance, then, in a very common experiment, that of a vine branch admitted into a building where there is a constant fire, by which the grapes ripen a whole month sooner than in the air; so that fruit upon the tree can be ripened by fire, al- though this appear the peculiar effect of the sun. From this beginning, therefore, the understanding rejects all essential dif- ference, and easily ascends to the investigation of the real dif- ferences between the heat of the sun and that of fire, by which their operation is rendered dissimilar, although they partake of a common nature. These differences will be found to be four in number. 1. The heat of the sun is much milder and gentler in degree than that of fire. 2. It is much more moist in quality, especially as it is transmitted to us through the air. 3. Which is the chief point, it is very unequal, advancing and increased at one time, retiring and diminished at another, which mainly contributes to the generation of bodies. For Aristotle rightly asserted that the principal cause of generation and corruption on the surface of iis BACON the earth, was the oblique path of the sun in the zodiac, whence its heat becomes very unequal, partly from the alternation of night and day, partly from the succession of summer and winter. Yet must he immediately corrupt and pervert his discovery, by dictating to nature according to his habit, and dogmatically assigning the cause of generation to the approach of the sun, and that of corruption to its retreat; whilst, in fact, each circum- stance indifferently and not respectively contributes both to generation and corruption; for unequal heat tends to generate and corrupt, as equable heat does to preserve. 4. The fourth difference between the heat of the sun and fire is of great conse- quence; namely, that the sun, gradually, and for a length of time, insinuates its effects, whilst those of fire (urged by the impatience of man) are brought to a termination in a shorter space of time. But if anyone were to pay attention to the tempering of fire, and reducing it to a more moderate and gentle degree (which may be done in various ways), and then were to sprinkle and mix a degree of humidity with it; and, above all, were to imitate the sun in its inequality; and lastly, were pa- tiently to suffer some delay (not such, however, as is propor- tioned to the effects of the sun, but more than men usually ad- mit of in those of fire), he would soon banish the notion of any difference, and would attempt, or equal, or perhaps sometimes surpass the effect of the sun, by the heat of fire. A like instance of alliance is that of reviving butterflies, benumbed and nearly dead from cold, by the gentle warmth of fire; so that fire is no less able to revive animals than to ripen vegetables. We may also mention the celebrated invention of Fracastorius, of apply- ing a pan considerably heated to the head in desperate cases of apoplexy, which clearly expands the animal spirits, when com- pressed and almost extinguished by the humors and obstructions of the brain, and excites them to action, as the fire would operate on water or air, and in the result produces life. Eggs are some- times hatched by the heat of fire, an exact imitation of animal heat; and there are many instances of the like nature, so that no one can doubt that the heat of fire, in many cases, can be modified till it resemble that of the heavenly bodies and of animals. Again, let the required natures be motion and rest. There appears to be a settled classification, grounded on the deepest philosophy, that natural bodies either revolve, move in a straight line, or stand still and rest. For there is either motion without limit, or continuance within a certain limit, or a ‘translation to- wards a certain limit. The eternal motion of revolution appears peculiar to the heavenly bodies, rest to this our globe, and the other bodies (heavy and light, as they are termed, that is to say, placed out of their natural position) ‘are borne in a straight line NOVUM ORGANUM 413 to masses or aggregates which resemble them, the light towards the heaven, the heavy towards the earth; and all this is very fine language. But we have an instance of alliance in low comets, which re- volve, though far below the heavens; and the fiction of Aris- totle, of the comet being fixed to, or necessarily following some star, has been long since exploded; not only because it is im- probable in itself, but from the evident fact of the discursive and irregular motion of comets through various parts of the heavens. Another instance of alliance is that of the motion of air, which appears to revolve from east to west within the tropics, where the circles of revolution are the greatest. The flow and ebb of the sea would perhaps be another in- stance, if the water were once found to have a motion of revolu- tion, though slow and hardly perceptible, from east to west, sub- ject, however, to a reaction twice a day. If this be so, it is clear that the motion of revolution is not confined to the celestial bodies, but is shared, also, by air and water. in—the supposed peculiar disposition of light bodies to rise is rather shaken; and here we may find an instance of alli- ance in a water bubble. For if air be placed under water, it rises rapidly towards the surface by that striking motion (as Dem- ocritus terms it) with which the descending water strikes the air and raises it, not by any struggle or effort of the air itself; and when it has reached the surface of the water, it is prevented from ascending any farther, by the slight resistance it meets with in the water which does not allow an immediate separation a 0 parts, so that the tendency of the air to rise must be very slight. Again, let the required nature be weight. It is certainly a received classification, that dense and solid bodies are borne to- wards the centre of the earth, and rare and light bodies to the circumference of the heavens, as their appropriate places. As far as relates to places (though these things have much weight in the schools), the notion of there being any determinate place is absurd and puerile. Philosophers trifle, therefore, when they tell you, that if the earth were perforated, heavy bodies would stop on their arrival at the centre. This centre would indeed be an efficacious ae ke or mathematical point, could it affect bodies or be sought by them, for a body is not acted upon except by a body. In fact, this tendency to ascend and descend is either in the conformation of the moving body, or in its harmony and sympathy with another body. But if any dense and solid body be found, which does not, however, tend towards the earth, the classification is at an end. Now, if we allow of Gilbert’s opin- ion, that the magnetic power of the earth, in attracting heavy aca BACON bodies, is not extended beyond the limit of its peculiar virtue (which operates always at a fixed distance and no farther), and this be proved by some instance, such an instance will be one of alliance in our present subject. The nearest approach to it is that of waterspouts, frequently seen by persons navigating the Atlantic towards either of the Indies. For the force and mass of the water suddenly effused by waterspouts, appear to be so considerable, that the water must have been collected previously, and have remained fixed where it was formed, until it was after- wards forced down by some violent cause, rather than made to fall by the natural motion of gravity; so that it may be con- jectured that a dense and compact mass, at a great distance from the earth, may be suspended as the earth itself is, and wouid not fall, unless forced down. We do not, however, affirm this as certain. In the mean while, both in this respect and many others, it will readily be seen how deficient we are in natural history, since we are forced to have recourse to suppositions for examples, instead of ascertained instances. Again, let the required nature be the discursive power of the mind. ‘The classification of human reason and animal instinct appears to be perfectly correct. Yet there are some instances of the actions of brutes which seem to show that they, too, can syllogize. Thus it is related, that a crow, which had nearly perished from thirst in a great drought, saw some water in the hollow trunk of a tree, but as it was too narrow for him to get into it, he continued to throw in pebbles, which made the water rise till he could drink; and it afterwards became a proverb. Again, let the required nature be vision. The classification appears real and certain, which considers light as that which is originally visible, and confers the power of seeing; and color, as being secondarily visible, and not capable of being seen with- out light, so as to appear a mere image or modification of light. Yet there are instances of alliance in each respect; as in snow when in great quantities, and in the flame of sulphur; the one being a color originally and in itself light, the other a light verg- ing towards color. 36. In the fourteenth rank of prerogative instances, we will place the instances of the cross, borrowing our metaphor from the crosses erected where two roads meet, to point out the dif- ferent directions. We are wont also to call them decisive and judicial instances, and in some cases instances of the oracle and of command. Their nature is as follows. When in investigat- ing any nature the understanding is, as it were, balanced, and uncertain to which of two or more natures the cause of the re- quired nature should be assigned, on account of the frequent and usual concurrence of several natures, the instances of the cross show that the union of one nature with the required nature NOVUM ORGANUM 415 is firm and indissoluble, whilst that of the other 1s unsteady and separable; by which means the question is decided, and the first is received as the cause, whilst the other is dismissed and rejected. Such instances, therefore, afford great light, and are of great weight, so that the course of interpretation sometimes terminates, and is completed in them. Sometimes, however, they are found amongst the instances already observed, but they are generally new, being expressly and purposely sought for and applied, and brought to light only by attentive and active dili- gence. For example: let the required nature be the flow and ebb of the sea, which is repeated twice a day, at intervals of six hours between each advance and retreat, with some little difference, agreeing with the motion of the moon. We have here the fol- lowing cross-ways. This motion must be occasioned either by the advancing and the retiring of the sea, like water shaken in a basin, which leaves one side while it washes the other; or by the rising of the sea from the bottom, and its again subsiding, like boiling water. But a doubt arises, to which of these causes we should assign the flow and ebb. If the first assertion be admitted, it follows, that when there is a flood on one side, there must at the same time be an ebb on another, and the question therefore is reduced to this. Now Acosta, and some others, after a diligent inquiry, have observed that the flood tide takes place on the coast of Florida, and the opposite coasts of Spain and Africa, at the same time, as does also the ebb; and that there is not, on the contrary, a flood tide at Florida when there is an ebb on the coasts of Spain and Africa. Yet if one consider the subject attentively, this does not prove the necessity of a rising motion, nor refute the notion of a progressive motion. For the motion may be progressive, and yet inundate the opposite shores of a channel at the same time; as if the waters be forced and driven together from some other quarter, for instance, which takes place in rivers, for they flow and ebb towards each bank at the same time, yet their motion is clearing progressive, being that of the waters from the sea entering their mouths. So it may happen, that the waters coming in a vast body from the eastern Indian Ocean are driven together, and forced into the channel of the Atlantic, and therefore inundate both coasts at once. We must inquire, therefore, if there be any other channel by which the waters can at the same time sink and ebb: and the South- ern Ocean at once suggests itself, which is not less than the At- lantic, but rather broader and more extensive than is requisite for this effect. We at length arrive, then, at an instance of the cross, which is this. If it be positively discovered, that when the flood sets 416 BACON in towards the opposite coasts of Florida and Spain in the Atlantic, there is at the same time a flood tide on the coasts of Peru and the back part of China, in the Southern Ocean, then assuredly, from this decisive instance, we must reject the asser- tion, that the flood and ebb of the sea, about which we inquire, takes place by progressive motion; for no other sea or place is left where there can be an ebb. But this may most easily be learnt, by inquiring of the inhabitants of Panama and Lima (where the two oceans are separated by a narrow isthmus ), whether the flood and ebb takes place on the opposite sides of the isthmus at the same time, or the reverse. This decision or rejection appears certain, if it be granted that the earth is fixed ; but if the earth revolves, it may perhaps happen, that from the unequal revolution (as regards velocity) of the earth and the waters of the sea, there may be a violent forcing of the waters into a mass, forming the flood, and a subsequent relaxation of them (when they can no longer bear the accumulation), form- ing the ebb. A separate inquiry must be made into this. Even with this hypothesis, however, it remains equally true, that there must be an ebb somewhere, at the same time that there is a flood in another quarter. Again, let the required nature be the latter of the two motions we have supposed; namely, that of a rising and subsiding mo- tion, if it should happen that upon diligent examination the progressive motion be rejected. We have, then, three ways before us, with regard to this nature. The motion, by which the waters raise themselves, and again fall back, in the floods and ebbs, without the addition of any other water rolled towards them, must take place in one of the three following ways. Either the supply of water emanates from the interior of the earth, and returns back again; or there is really no greater quantity of water, but the same water (without any augmenta- tion of its quantity) is extended or rarefied, so as to occupy a greater space and dimension, and again contracts itself; or there is neither an additional supply nor any extension, but the same waters (with regard to quantity, density, or rarity) raise themselves and fall from sympathy, by some magnetic power attracting and calling them up, as it were, from above. Let us then (passing over the first two motions) reduce the investiga- tion to the last, and inquire if there be any such elevation of the water by sympathy or a magnetic force; and it is evident, in the first place, that the whole mass of water being placed in the trench or cavity of the sea, cannot be raised at once, because there would not be enough to cover the bottom, so that if there be any tendency of this kind in the water to raise itself, yet it would be interrupted and checked by the cohesion of things, or (as the common expression is) that there may be no vacuum. NOVUM ORGANUM 417 The water, therefore, must rise on one side, and for that reason be diminished and ebb on another. But it will again necessarily follow that the magnetic power not being able to operate on the whole, rates most intensely on the centre, so as to raise the waters there, which, when thus raised successively, desert and abandon the sides. We at length arrive, then, at an instance of the cross, which is this: if it be found, that during the ebb the surface of the waters at sea is more curved and round, from the waters rising in the middle, and sinking at the sides or coast, and if, during a flood, it be more even and level, from the waters returning to their former position, then assuredly, by this decisive instance, the raising of them by a magnetic force can be admitted; if otherwise, it must be entirely rejected. It is not difficult to make the experiment (by sounding in straits), whether the sea be deeper towards the middle in ebbs, than in floods. But it must be observed, if this be the case, that (contrary to common opinion) the waters rise in ebbs, and only return to their former position in floods, so as to bathe and inundate the coast. Again, let the required nature be the spontaneous motion of revolution, and particularly, whether the diurnal motion, by which the sun and stars appear to us to rise and set, be a real motion of revolution in the heavenly bodies, or only apparent in them, and real in the earth. There may be an instance of the cross of the following nature. If there be discovered any motion in the ocean from east to west, though very languid and weak, and if the same motion be discovered rather more swift in the air (particularly within the tropics, where it is more per- ceptible from the circles being greater). If it be discovered also in the low comets, and be already quick and powerful in them; if it be found also in the planets, but so tempered and regulated as to be slower in those nearest the earth, and quicker in those at the greatest distance, being quickest of all in the heavens, then the diurnal motion should certainly be considered as real in the heavens, and that of the earth must be rejected; for it will be evident that the motion from east to west is part of the system of the world and universal; since it is most rapid in the height of the heavens, and gradually grows weaker, till it stops and is extinguished in rest at the earth. Again, let the required nature be that other motion of revolu- tion, so celebrated amongst astronomers, which is contrary to the diurnal, namely, from west to east—and which the ancient astronomers assign to the planets, and even to the starry sphere, but Copernicus and his followers to the earth also—and let it be examined whether any such motion be found in nature, or it be rather a fiction and hypothesis for abridging and facili- tating calculation, and for promoting that fine notion of effect- 27 8 BACON ing the heavenly motions by perfect circles ; for there is nothing which proves such a motion in heavenly objects to be true and real, either in a planet’s not returning in its diurnal motion to the same point of the starry sphere, or in the pole of the zodiac being different from that of the world, which two circumstances have occasioned this notion. For the first phenomenon is well accounted for by the spheres overtaking or falling behind each other, and the second by spiral lines; so that the inaccuracy of the return and declination to the tropics may be rather modifica- tions of the one diurnal motion than contrary motions, or about different poles. And it is most certain, if we consider ourselves for a moment as part of the vulgar (setting aside the fictions of astronomers and the school, who are wont undeservedly to at- tack the senses in many respects, and to affect obscurity), that the apparent motion is such as we have said, a model of which we have sometimes caused to be represented by wires in a sort of a machine. | We may take the following instances of the cross upon this subject. If it be found in any history worthy of credit, that there has existed any comet, high or low, which has not revolved in manifest harmony (however irregularly) with the diurnal motion, then we may decide so far as to allow such a motion to be possible in nature. But if nothing of the sort be found, it must be suspected, and recourse must be had to other in- stances of the cross. Again, let the required nature be weight or gravity. Heavy and ponderous bodies must, either of their own nature, tend towards the centre of the earth by their peculiar formation, must be attracted and hurried by the corporeal mass of the earth itself, as being an assemblage of similar bodies, and be drawn to it by sympathy. But if the latter be the cause, it follows that the nearer bodies approach to the earth, the more powerfully and rapidly they must be borne towards it, and the farther they are distant, the more faintly and slowly (as is the case in magnetic attractions), and that this must happen within a given distance; so that if they be separated at such a distance from the earth that the power of the earth cannot act upon inst they will remain suspended like the earth, and not fall at all. The following instance of the cross may be adopted. Take a clock moved by leaden weights, and another by a spring, and let them be set well together, so that one be neither quicker nor slower than the other; then let the clock moved by weights be placed on the top of a very high church, and the other be kept below, and let it be well observed, if the former move slower than it did, from the diminished power of the weights. Let the same experiment be made at the bottom of mines worked to a NOVUM ORGANUM 419 considerable depth, in order to see whether the clock move more quickly from the increased power of the weights. But if this power be found to diminish at a height, and to increase in sub- terraneous places, the attraction of the corporeal mass of the earth may be taken as the cause of weight. Again, let the required nature be the polarity of the steel needle when touched with the magnet. We have these two ways with regard to this nature:—Either the touch of the magnet must communicate polarity to the steel towards the north and south, or else it may only excite and prepare it, whilst the actual motion is occasioned by the presence of the earth, which Gilbert considers to be the case, and endeavors to prove with so much labor. The particulars he has inquired into with such ingeni- ous zeal amount to this:—1. An iron bolt placed for a long time towards the north and south acquires polarity from this habit, without the touch of the magnet, as if the earth itself operating but weakly from its distance (for the surface or outer crust of the earth does not, in his opinion, possess the magnetic power), yet, by long-continued motion, could supply the place of the magnet, excite the iron, and convert and change it when excited. 2. Iron, at a red or white heat, when quenched in a direction parallel to the north and south, also acquires polarity without the touch of the magnet, as if the parts of iron being put in motion by ignition, and afterwards recovering themselves, were, at the moment of being quenched, more susceptible and sensitive of the power emanating from the earth, than at other times, and therefore as it were excited. But these points, though well observed, do not completely prove his assertion. An instance of the cross on this point might be as follows: Let a small magnetic globe be taken, and its poles marked, and placed towards the east and west, not towards the north and south, and let it continue thus. Then let an untouched needle be placed over it, and suffered to remain so for six or seven days. Now, the needle (for this is not disputed), whilst it re- mains over the magnet, will leave the poles of the world and turn to those of the magnet, and therefore, as long as it remains in the above position, will turn to the east and west. But if the needle, when removed from the magnet and placed upon a pivot, be found immediately to turn to the north and south, or even by degrees to return thither, then the presence of the earth must be considered as the cause, but if it remains turned as at first, towards the east and west, or lose its polarity, then that cause must be suspected, and further inquiry made. Again, let the required nature be the corporeal substance of the moon, whether it be rare, fiery, and aerial (as most of the ancient philosophers have thought), or solid and dense (as Gil- bert and many of the moderns, with some of the ancients, hold). se BACON The reasons for this latter opinion are grounded chiefly upon this, that the moon reflects the sun’s rays, and that light does not appear capable of being reflected except by solids. The instances of the cross will therefore (if any) be such as to ex- hibit reflection by a rare body, such as flame, if it be but suffi- ciently dense. Now, certainly, one of the reasons of twilight is the reflection of the rays of the sun by the upper part of the atmosphere. We see the sun’s rays also reflected on fine even- ings by streaks of moist clouds, with a splendor not less, but perhaps more bright and glorious than that reflected from the body of the moon, and yet it is not clear that those clouds have formed into a dense body of water. We see, also, that the dark air behind the windows at night reflects the light of a candle in the same manner as a dense body would do. The experiment should also be made of causing the sun’s rays to fall through a hole upon some dark and bluish flame. The unconfined rays of the sun when falling on faint flames, do certainly appear to deaden them, and render them more like white smoke than flames. These are the only instances which occur at present of the nature of those of the cross, and better perhaps can be found. But it must always be observed that reflection is not to be ex- pected from flame, unless it be of some depth, for otherwise it becomes nearly transparent. This at least may be considered certain, that light is always either received and transmitted or reflected by an even surface. Again, let the required nature be the motion of projectiles (such as darts, arrows, and balls) through the air. The school, in its usual manner, treats this very carelessly, considering it enough to distinguish it by the name of violent motion, irom that which they term natural, and as far as regards the first percussion or impulse, satisfies itself by its axiom, that two bodies cannot exist in one place, or there would be a penetration of dimensions. With regard to this nature we have these two cross-ways :—The motion must arise either from the air carry- ing the projected body, and collecting behind it, like a stream behind boats, or the wind behind straws; or from the parts of the body itself not supporting the impression, but pushing them- selves forward in succession to ease it. Fracastorius, and nearly all those who have entered into any refined inquiry upon the subject, adopt the first. Nor can it be doubted that the air has some effect, yet the other motion is without doubt real, as is clear from a vast number of experiments. Amongst others we may take this instance of the cross, namely, that a thin plate or wire of iron rather stiff, or even a reed or pen split in two, when drawn up and bent between the finger and thumb, will leap forward; for it is clear that this cannot be attributed to the air being collected behind the body, because the source of NOVUM ORGANUM 42% motion is in the centre of the plate or pen, and not in its ex- tremities. Again, let the required nature be the rapid and powerful mo- tion of the explosion of gunpowder, by which such vast masses are upheaved, and such weights discharged as we observe in large mines and mortars, there are two cross-ways before us with regard to this nature. This motion is excited either by the mere effort of the body expanding itself when inflamed, or by the assisting effort of.the crude spirit, which escapes rapidly from fire, and bursts violently from the surrounding flame as from a prison. The school, however, and common opinion only consider the first effort ; for men think that they are great philosophers when they assert that flame, from the form of the element, is endowed with a kind of necessity of occupying a greater space than the same body had occupied when in the form of powder, and that thence proceeds the motion in ques- tion. In the mean time they do not observe, that although this may be true, on the supposition of flame being generated, yet the generation may be impeded by a weight of sufficient force to compress and suffocate it, so that no such necessity exists as they assert. They are right, indeed, in imagining that the ex- pansion and the consequent emission or removal of the opposing body, is necessary if flame be once generated, but such a neces- sity is avoided if the solid opposing mass suppress the flame before it be generated ; and we in fact see that flame, especially at the moment of its generation, is mild and gentle, and requires a hollow space where it can play and try its force. The great violence of the effect, therefore, cannot be attributed to this cause ; but the truth is, that the generation of these exploding flames and fiery blasts arises from the conflict of two bodies of a decidedly opposite nature—the one very inflammable, as is the sulphur, the other having an antipathy to flame, namely, the crude spirit of the nitre; so that an extraordinary conflict takes place whilst the sulphur is becoming inflamed as far as it can (for the third body, the willow charcoal, merely incorporates and conveniently unites the two others), and the spirit of nitre is escaping, as far also as it can, and at the same time expanding itself (for air, and all crude substances, and water are expanded by heat), fanning thus, in every direction, the flame of the sul- phur by its escape and violence, just as if by invisible bellows. Two kinds of instances of the cross might here be used—the one of very inflammable substances, such as sulphur and cam- phor, naphtha and the like, and their compounds, which take fire more readily and easily than gunpowder if left to themselves (and this shows that the effort to catch fire does not of itself produce such a prodigious effect) ; the other of substances which avoid and repel flame, such as all salts; for we see that when oa BACON they are cast into the fire, the aqueous spirit escapes with a crackling noise before flame is produced, which also happens in a less degree in stiff leaves, from the escape of the aqueous part before the oily part has caught fire. This is more particularly observed in quicksilver, which is not improperly called mineral water, and which, without any inflammation, nearly equals the force of gunpowder by simple explosion and expansion, and is said, when mixed with gunpowder, to increase its force. Again, let the required nature be the transitory nature of flame and its momentaneous extinction ; for to us the nature of flame does not appear to be fixed or settled, but to be generated from moment to moment, and to be every instant extinguished ; it being clear that those flames which continue and last, do not owe their continuance to the same mass of flame, but to a con- tinued succession of new flame regularly generated, and that the same identical flame does not continue. This is easily shown by removing the food or source of the flame, when it at once goes out. We have the two following cross-ways with regard to this nature:—This momentary nature either arises from the cessation of the cause which first produced it, as in light, sounds, and violent motions, as they are termed, or flame may be capable, by its own nature, of duration, but is subjected to some violence from the contrary natures which surround it, and is destroyed. We may therefore adopt the following instance of the cross. We see to what a height the flames rise in great conflagrations ; for as the base of the flame becomes more extensive, its vertex is more lofty. It appears, then, that the commencement of the extinction takes place at the sides, where the flame is com- pressed by the air, and is ill at ease; but the centre of the flame, which is untouched by the air and surrounded by flame, con- tinues the same, and is not extinguished until compressed by degrees by the air attacking it from the sides. All flame, there- fore, is pyramidal, having its base near the source, and its vertex pointed from its being resisted by the air, and not supplied from the source. On the contrary, the smoke, which is narrow at the base, expands in its ascent, and resembles an inverted pyramid, because the air admits the smoke, but compresses the flame; for let no one dream that the lighted flame is air, since they are clearly heterogeneous. The instance of the cross will be more accurate, if the ex- periment can be made by flames of different colors. Take, therefore, a small metal sconce, and place a lighted taper in it, then put it in a basin, and pour a small quantity of spirits of wine round the sconce, so as not to reach its edge, and light the spirit. Now the flame of the spirit will be blue, and that of the taper yellow; observe, therefore, whether the latter (which NOVUM ORGANUM 423 can easily be distinguished from the former by its color, for flames do not mix immediately, as liquids do) continue pyra- midal, or tend more to a globular figure, since there is nothing to destroy or compress it. If the latter result be observed, it must be considered as settled, that flame continues positively the same, whilst inclosed within another flame, and not exposed to the resisting force of the air. Let this suffice for the instances of the cross. We have dwelt the longer upon them in order gradually to teach and accustom mankind to judge of nature by these instances, and enlighten- ing experiments, and not by probable reasons. 37. We will treat of the instances of divorce as the fifteenth of our prerogative instances. They indicate the separation of natures of the most common occurrence. They differ, how- ever, from those subjoined to the accompanying instances ; for the instances of divorce point out the separation of a particular nature from some concrete substance with which it is usually found in conjunction, whilst the hostile instances point out the total separation of one nature from another. They differ, also, from the instances of the cross, because they decide nothing, but only inform us that the one nature is capable of being sep- arated from the other. They are of use in exposing false forms, and dissipating hasty theories derived from obvious facts; so that they add ballast and weight, as it were, to the understand- ing. For instance, let the required natures be those four which Telesius terms associates, and of the same family, namely, heat, light, rarity, and mobility, or promptitude to motion ; yet many instances of divorce can be discovered between them. Air is rare and easily moved, but neither hot nor light; the moon is light but not hot; boiling water is warm but not light; the motion of the needle in the compass is swift and active, and yet its substance is cold, dense, and opaque; and there are many similar examples. Again, let the required natures be corporeal nature and nat- ural action. The latter appears incapable of subsisting with- out some body, yet may we, perhaps, even here find an instance of divorce, as in the magnetic motion, which draws the iron to the magnet, and heavy bodies to the globe of the earth; to which we may add other actions which operate at a distance. For such action takes place in time, by distinct moments, not in an instant; and in space, by regular degrees and distances. There is, therefore, some one moment of time and some inter- val of space, in which the power or action is suspended betwixt the two bodies creating the motion. Our consideration, then, is reduced to this, whether the bodies which are the extremes of motion prepare or alter the intermediate bodies, so that the 424 BACON power advances from one extreme to the other by succession and actual contact, and in the mean time exists in some inter- mediate body; or whether there exists in reality nothing but the bodies, the power, and the space? In the case of the rays of light, sounds, and heat, and some other objects which oper- ate at a distance, it is indeed probable that the intermediate bodies are prepared and altered, the more so because a quali- fied medium is required for their operation. But the magnetic or attractive power admits of an indifferent medium, and it is not impeded inany. But if that power or action is independent of the intermediate body, it follows that it is a natural power or action existing in a certain time and space without any body, since it exists neither in the extreme nor in the intermediate bodies. Hence the magnetic action may be taken as an in- stance of divorce of corporeal nature and natural action; to which we may add, as a corollary and an advantage not to be neglected, that it may be taken as a proof of essence and sub- stance being separate and incorporeal, even by those who phi- losophize according to the senses. For if natural power and action emanating from a body can exist at any time and place entirely without any body, it is nearly a proof that it can also emanate originally from an incorporeal substance; for a cor- poreal nature appears to be no less necessary for supporting and conveying, than for exciting or generating natural action. 38. Next follow five classes of instances which we are wont to call by the general term of instances of the lamp, or of im- mediate information. They are such as assist the senses; for since every interpretation of nature sets out from the senses, and leads, by a regular fixed and well-established road, from the perceptions of the senses to those of the understanding (which are true notions and axioms), it necessarily follows, that in proportion as the representatives or ministerings of the senses are more abundant and accurate, everything else must be more easy and successful. The first of these five sets of instances of the lamp, strengthen, enlarge, and correct the immediate operations of the senses; the second reduce to the sphere of the senses such matters as are beyond it; the third indicate the continued process or series of such things and motions, as for the most part are only ob- served in their termination, or in periods; the fourth supply the absolute wants of the senses; the fifth excite their attention and observation, and at the same time limit the subtilty of things. We will now proceed to speak of them singly. 39. In the sixteenth rank, then, of prerogative instances, we will place the instances of the door or gate, by which name we designate such as assist the immediate action of the senses. It is obvious, that sight holds the first rank among the senses, NOVUM ORGANUM 425 with regard to information, for which reason we must seek principally helps for that sense. These helps appear to be threefold, either to enable it to perceive objects not naturally seen, or to see them from a greater distance, or to see them more accurately and distinctly. We have an example of the first (not to speak of spectacles and the like, which only correct and remove the infirmity of a deficient sight, and therefore give no further information) in the lately invented microscopes, which exhibit the latent and in- visible minutiz of substances, and their hidden formation and motion, by wonderfully increasing their apparent magnitude. By their assistance we behold with astonishment the accurate form and outline of a flea, moss, and animalculz, as well as their previously invisible color and motion. It is said, also, that an apparently straight line, drawn with a pen or pencil, is discovered by such a microscope to be very uneven and curved, because neither the motion of the hand, when assisted by a ruler, nor the impression of ink or color, is reaily regular, al- though the irregularities are so minute as not to be perceptible without the assistance of the microscope. Men have (as is usual in new and wonderful discoveries) added a superstitious remark, that the microscope sheds a lustre on the works of nat- ure, and dishonor on those of art, which only means that the tissue of nature is much more delicate than that of art. For the microscope is only of use for minute objects, and Demo- critus, perhaps, if he had seen it, would have exulted in the thought of a means being discovered for seeing his atom, which he affirmed to be entirely invisible. But the inadequacy of these microscopes, for the observation of any but the most minute bodies, and even of those if parts of a larger body, de- stroys their utility; for if the invention could be extended to greater bodies, or the minute parts of greater bodies, so that a piece of cloth would appear like a net, and the latent minutiz and irregularities of gems, liquids, urine, blood, wounds, and many other things could be rendered visible, the greatest ad- vantage would, without doubt, be derived. We have an instance of the second kind in the telescope, dis- covered by the wonderful exertions of Galileo ; by the assistance of which a nearer intercourse may be opened (as by boats or vessels) between ourselves and the heavenly objects. For by its aid we are assured that the Milky Way is but a knot or con- stellation of small stars, clearly defined and separate, which the ancients only conjectured to be the case ; whence it appears to be capable of demonstration, that the spaces of the planetary orbits (as they are termed) are not quite destitute of other stars, but that the heaven begins to glitter with stars before we arrive at the starry sphere, although they may be too small to be 426 BACON visible without the telescope. By the telescope, also, we can behold the revolutions of smaller stars round Jupiter, whence it may be conjectured that there are several centres of motion among the stars. By its assistance, also, the irregularity of light and shade on the moon’s surface is more clearly observed and determined, so as to allow of a sort of selenography. By the telescope we see the spots in the sun, and other similar phenomena; all of which are most noble discoveries, as far as credit can be safely given to demonstrations of this nature, which are on this account very suspicious, namely, that experi- ment stops at these few, and nothing further has yet been dis- covered by the same method, among objects equally worthy of consideration. We have instances of the third kind in measuring-rods, astro- labes, and the like, which do not enlarge, but correct and guide the sight. If there be other instances which assist the other senses in their immediate and individual action, yet if they add nothing further to their information they are not apposite to our present purpose, and we have therefore said nothing of them. 40. In the seventeenth rank of prerogative instances we will place citing instances (to borrow a term from the tribunals), because they cite those things to appear, which have not yet appeared. We are wont also to call them invoking instances, and their property is that of reducing to the sphere of the senses objects which do not immediately fall within it. Objects escape the senses either from their distance, or the intervention of other bodies, or because they are not calculated to make an impression upon the senses, or because they are not in sufficient quantity to strike the senses, or because there is not sufficient time for their acting upon the senses, or because the impression is too violent, or because the senses are previously filled and possessed by the object, so as to leave no room for any new motion. These remarks apply principally to sight, and next to touch, which two senses act extensively in giving information, and that too upon general objects, whilst the re- maining three inform us only, as it were, by their immediate action, and as to specific objects. There can be no reduction to the sphere of the senses in the first case, unless in the place of the object, which cannot be per- ceived on account of the distance, there be added or substituted some other object, which can excite and strike the sense from a greater distance, as in the communication of intelligence by fires, bells, and the like. | In the second case we effect this reduction by rendering those things which are concealed by the interposition of other bodies, and which cannot easily be laid open, evident to the senses by NOVUM ORGANUM 427 means of that which lies at the surface, or proceeds from the interior ; thus the state of the body is judged of by the pulse, urine, etc. The third and fourth cases apply to many subjects, and the reduction to the sphere of the senses must be obtained from every quarter in the investigation of things. There are many examples. It is obvious that air, and spirit, and the like, whose whole substance is extremely rare and delicate, can neither be seen nor touched—a reduction, therefore, to the senses becomes necessary in every investigation relating to such bodies. Let the required nature, therefore, be the action and motion of the spirit enclosed in tangible bodies ; for every tangible body with which we are acquainted, contains an invisible and in- tangible spirit, over which it is drawn, and which it seems to clothe. This spirit being emitted from a tangible substance, leaves the body contracted and dry; when retained, it softens and melts it; when neither wholly emitted nor retained, it models it, endows it with limbs, assimilates, manifests, organ- izes it, and the like. All these points are reduced to the sphere of the senses by manifest effects. For in every tangible and inanimate body the enclosed spirit at first increases, and as it were feeds on the tangible parts which are most open and prepared for it; and when it has digested and modified them, and turned them into spirit, it escapes with them. This formation and increase of spirit is rendered sensible by the diminution of weight; for in every desiccation something is lost in quantity, not only of the spirit previously existing in the body, but of the body itself, which was previously tangible, and has been recently changed, for the spirit itself has no weight. The departure or emission of spirit is rendered sensible in the rust of metals, and other putre- factions of a like nature, which stop before they arrive at the rudiments of life, which belong to the third species of process. In compact bodies the spirit does not find pores and passages for its escape, and is therefore obliged to force out, and drive before it, the tangible parts also, which consequently protrude, whence arises rust and the like. The contraction of the tan- gible parts, occasioned by the emission of part of the spirit (whence arises desiccation), is rendered sensible by the in- creased hardness of the substance, and still more by the fis- sures, contractions, shrivelling, and folds of the bodies thus produced. For the parts of wood split and contract, skins be- come shrivelled, and not only that, but, if the spirit be emitted suddenly by the heat of the fire, become so hastily contracted as to twist and roll themselves up. On the contrary, when the spirit is retained, and yet ex- panded and excited by heat or the like (which happens in solid 428 BACON | and tenacious bodies), then the bodies are softened, as in hot iron; or flow, as in metals; or melt, as in gums, wax, and the like. The contrary effects of heat, therefore (hardening some substances and melting others), are easily reconciled,f because the spirit is emitted in the former, and agitated and retained in the latter; the latter action is that of heat and the spirit, the for- mer that of the tangible parts themselves, after the spirit’s emission. : But when the spirit is neither entirely retained nor emitted, but only strives and exercises itself, within its limits, and meets with tangible parts, which obey and readily follow it wherever it leads them, then follows the formation of an organic body, and of limbs, and the other vital actions of vegetables and ani- mals. These are rendered sensible chiefly by diligent observa- tion of the first beginnings, and rudiments or effects of life in animalcule sprung from putrefaction, as in the eggs of ants, worms, mosses, frogs after rain, etc. Both a mild heat and a pliant substance, however, are necessary for the production of life, in order that the spirit may neither hastily escape, nor be restrained by the obstinacy of the parts, so as not to be able to bend and model them like wax. Again, the difference of spirit which is important and of ef- fect in many points (as unconnected spirit, branching spirit, branching and cellular spirit, the first of which is that of all inanimate substances, the second of vegetables, and the third of animals), is placed, as it were, before the eyes by many re- ducing instances. Again, it is clear that the more refined tissue and conforma- tion of things (though forming the whole body of visible or tangible objects) are neither visible nor tangible. Our in- formation, therefore, must here also be derived from reduction to the sphere of the senses. But the most radical and primary difference of formation depends on the abundance or scarcity of matter within the same space or dimensions. For the other formations which regard the dissimilarity of the parts con- tained in the same body, and their collocation and position, are secondary in comparison with the former. Let the required nature then be the expansion or coherence of matter in different bodies, or the quantity of matter relative to the dimensions of each. For there is nothing in nature more true than the twofold proposition—that nothing proceeds from nothing and that nothing is reduced to nothing, but that the quantum, or sum total of matter, is constant, and is neither in- creased nor diminished. Nor is it less true, that out of this given quantity of matter, there is a greater or less quantity, contained within the same space or dimensions according to the difference of bodies; as, for instance, water contains more than NOVUM ORGANUM 429 air. So that if anyone were to assert that a given content of water can be changed into an equal content of air, it is the same as if he were to assert that something can be reduced into nothing. On the contrary, if anyone were to assert that a given content of air can be changed into an equal content of water, it is the same as if he were to assert that something can proceed from nothing. From this abundance or scarcity of matter are properly derived the notions of density and rarity, which are taken in various and promiscuous senses. This third assertion may be considered as being also suffi- ciently certain; namely, that the greater or less quantity of matter in this or that body, may, by comparison, be reduced to calculation, and exact, or nearly exact, proportion. Thus, if one should say that there is such an accumulation of matter in a given quantity of gold, that it would require twenty-one times the quantity in dimension of spirits of wine, to make up the same quantity of matter, it would not be far from the truth. The accumulation of matter, however, and its relative quan- tity, are rendered sensible by weight; for weight is proportion- ate to the quantity of matter, as regards the parts of a tangible substance, but spirit and its quantity of matter are not to be computed by weight, which spirit rather diminishes than aug- ments. We have made a tolerably accurate table of weight, in which we have selected the weights and size of all the metals, the principal minerals, stones, liquids, oils, and many other natural and artificial bodies: a very useful proceeding both as regards theory and practice, and which is capable of revealing many un- expected results. Nor is this of little consequence, that it serves to demonstrate that the whole range of the variety of tangible bodies with which we are acquainted (we mean toler- ably close, and not spongy, hollow bodies, which are for a con- siderable part filled with air), does not exceed the ratio of one to twenty-one. So limited is nature, or at least that part of it to which we are most habituated. We have also thought it deserving our industry, to try if we could arrive at the ratio of intangible or pneumatic bodies to tangible bodies, which we attempted by the following contriv- ance. We took a vial capable of containing about an ounce, using a small vessel in order to effect the subsequent evapora- tion with less heat. We filled this vial, almost to the neck, with spirits of wine, selecting it as the tangible body which, by our table, was the rarest, and contained a less quantity of matter in a given space than all other tangible bodies which are compact and not hollow. Then we noted exactly the weight of the liquid and vial. We next took a bladder, containing about two pints, and squeezed all the air out of it, as completely hee BACON as possible, and until the sides of the bladder met. We first, however, rubbed the bladder gently with oil, so as to make it air-tight, by closing its pores with the oil. We tied the bladder tightly round the mouth of the vial, which we had inserted in it, and with a piece of waxed thread to make it fit better and more tightly, and then placed the vial on some hot coals in a brazier. The vapor or steam of the spirit, dilated and become aeriform by the heat, gradually swelled out the bladder, and stretched it in every direction like a sail. As soon as that was accomplished, we removed the vial from the fire and placed it on a carpet, that it might not be cracked by the cold; we also pricked the bladder immediately, that the steam might not return to a liquid state by the cessation of heat, and confound the proportions. We then removed the bladder, and again took the weight of the spirit which remained; and so calcu- lated the quantity which had been converted into vapor, or an aeriform shape, and then examined how much space had been occupied by the body in its form of spirits of wine in the vial, and how much, on the other hand, had been occupied by it in its aeriform shape in the bladder, and subtracted the results ; from which it was clear, that the body, thus converted and changed, acquired an expansion of one hundred times beyond its former bulk. Again, let the required nature be heat or cold, of such a de- gree as not to be sensible from its weakness. They are ren- dered sensible by the thermometer, as we described it above; for the cold and heat are not actually perceived by the touch, but heat expands and cold contracts the air. Nor, again, is that expansion or contraction of the air in itself visible, but the air when expanded depresses the water, and when con- tracted raises it, which is the first reduction to sight. Again, let the required nature be the mixture of bodies; namely, how much aqueous, oleaginous or spirituous, ashy or salt parts they contain; or, as a particular example, how much butter, cheese, and whey there is in milk, and the like? These things are rendered sensible by artificial and skilful separations in tangible substances; and the nature of the spirit in them, though not immediately perceptible, is nevertheless discovered by the various motions and efforts of bodies. And, indeed, in this branch men have labored hard in distillations and artificial separations, but with little more success than in their other ex- periments now in use; their methods being mere guesses and blind attempts, and more industrious than intelligent ; and what is worst of all, without any imitation or rivalry of nature, but rather by violent heats and too energetic agents, to the destruc- tion of any delicate conformation, in which principally consist the hidden virtues and sympathies. Nor do men in these sepa- NOVUM ORGANUM 431 rations ever attend to or observe what we have before pointed out; namely, that in attacking bodies by fire, or other methods, many qualities are superinduced by the fire itself, and the other bodies used to effect the separation, which were not originally in the compound. Hence arise most extraordinary fallacies ; for the mass of vapor which is emitted from water by fire, for instance, did not exist as vapor or air in the water, but is chiefly created by the expansion of the water by the heat of the fire. So, in general, all delicate experiments on natural or artificial bodies, by which the genuine are distinguished from the adul- terated, and the better from the more common, should be re- ferred to this division; for they bring that which is not the ob- ject of the senses within their sphere. They are therefore to be everywhere diligently sought after. With regard to the fifth cause of objects escaping our senses, it is clear that the action of the sense takes place by motion, and this motion is time. If, therefore, the motion of any body be either so slow or so swift as not to be proportioned to the necessary momentum which operates on the senses, the object is not perceived at all; as in the motion of the hour hand, and that, again, of a musket-ball. The motion which is impercepti- ble by the senses from its slowness, is readily and usually ren- dered sensible by the accumulation of motion; that which is imperceptible from its velocity, has not as yet been well meas- ured; it is necessary, however, that this should be done in some cases, with a view to a proper investigation of nature. The sixth case, where the sense is impeded by the power of the object, admits of a reduction to the sensible sphere, either by removing the object to a greater distance, or by deadening its effects by the interposition of a medium, which may weaken and not destroy the object ; or by the admission of its reflection where the direct impression is too strong, as that of the sun in a basin of water. The seventh case, where the senses are so overcharged with the object as to leave no further room, scarcely occurs except in the smell or taste, and is not of much consequence as regards our present subject. Let what we have said, therefore, suffice with regard to the reduction to the sensible sphere of objects not naturally within its compass. Sometimes, however, this reduction is not extended to the senses of man, but to those of some other animal, whose senses, in some points, exceed those of man; as (with regard to some scents) to that of the dog, and with regard to light existing imperceptibly in the air, when not illuminated from any ex- traneous source, to the sense of the cat, the owl, and other animals which see by night. For Telesius has well observed, that there appears to be an original portion of light even in the ree BACON air itself, although but slight and meagre, and of no use for the most part to the eyes of men, and those of the generality of animals; because those animals to whose senses this light is proportioned can see by night, which does not, in all probability, proceed from their seeing either without light or by any internal light. “Here, too, we would observe, that we at present discuss only the wants of the senses, and their remedies ; for their deceptions must be referred to the inquiries appropriated to the senses, and sensible objects; except that important deception, which makes them define objects in their relation to man, and not in their relation to the universe, and which is only corrected by uni- versal reasoning and philosophy. 41. In the eighteenth rank of prerogative instances we will class the instances of the road, which we are also wont to call itinerant and jointed instances. They are such as indicate the gradually continued motions of nature. This species of in- stances escapes rather our observation than our senses; for men are wonderfully indolent upon this subject, consulting nature in a desultory manner, and at periodic intervals, when bodies have been regularly finished and completed, and not during her work. But if anyone were desirous of examining and contemplating the talents and industry of an artificer, he would not merely wish to see the rude materials of his art, and then his work when finished, but rather to be present whilst he is at labor, and proceeding with his work. Something of the same kind should be done with regard to nature. For in- stance, if anyone investigate the vegetation of plants, he should observe from the first sowing of any seed (which can easily be done, by pulling up every day seeds which have been two, three, or four days in the ground, and examining them dili- gently) how and when the seed begins to swell and break, and be filled, as it were, with spirit; then how it begins to burst the bark and push out fibres, raising itself a little at the sane time, unless the ground be very stiff; then how it pushes out these fibres, some downward for roots, others upwards for the stem, sometimes also creeping laterally, if it find the earth open and more yielding on one side, and the like. The same should be done in observing the hatching of eggs, where we may easily see the process of animation and organization, and what parts are formed of the yolk, and what‘of the white of the egg, and the like. The same may be said of the inquiry into the formation of animals from putrefaction; for it would not be so humane to inquire into perfect and terrestrial animals, by cutting the foetus from the womb; but opportunities may perhaps be of- fered of abortions, animals killed in hunting, and the like. Nature, therefore, must, as it were, be watched, as being more NOVUM ORGANUM 433 easily observed by night than by day: for contemplations of this kind may be considered as carried on by night, from the minuteness and perpetual burning of our watch-light. The same must be attempted with inanimate objects, which we have ourselves done by inquiring into the opening of liquids by fire. For the mode in which water expands is different trom that observed in wine, vinegar, or verjuice, and very different, again, from that observed in milk and oil, and the like; and this was easily seen by boiling them with slow heat, in a glass ves- sel, through which the whole may be clearly perceived. But we merely mention this, intending to treat of it more at large and more closely when we come to the discovery of the latent rocess; for it should always be remembered that we do not ere treat of things themselves, but merely propose examples. 42. In the nineteenth rank of prerogative instances, we will class supplementary or substitutive instances, which we are also wont to call instances of refuge. They are such as supply information, where the senses are entirely deficient, and we therefore have recourse to them when appropriate instances cannot be obtained. This substitution is twofold, either: by approximation or by analogy. For instance, there is no known medium which entirely prevents the effect of the magnet in attracting iron—neither gold, nor silver, nor stone, nor glass, wood, water, oil, cloth, or fibrous bodies, air, flame, or the like. Yet by accurate experiment, a medium may perhaps be found which would deaden its effect, more than another comparatively and in degree; as, for instance, the magnet would not perhaps attract iron through the same thickness of gold as of air, or the same quantity of ignited as of cold silver, and so on; for we have not ourselves made the experiment, but it will suffice as an example. Again, there is no known body which is not sus- ceptible of heat, when brought near the fire; yet air becomes warm much sooner than stone. These are examples of sub- stitution by approximation. Substitution by analogy is useful, but less sure, and therefore to be adopted with some judgment. It serves to reduce that which is not the object of the senses to their sphere, not by the perceptible operations of the imperceptible body, but by the consideration of some similar perceptible body. For instance, let the subject for inquiry be the mixture of spirits, which are invisible bodies. There appears to be some relation between bodies and their sources or support. Now, the source of flame seems to be oil and fat; that of air, water, and watery sub- stances; for flame increases over the exhalation of oil, and air over that of water. One must therefore consider the mixture of oil and water, which is manifest to the senses, since that of air and flame in general escapes the senses. But oil and water mix 28 434 BACON very imperfectly by composition or stirring, whilst they are exactly and nicely mixed in herbs, blood, and the parts of animals. Something similar, therefore, may take place in the mixture of flame and air in spirituous substances, not bearing mixture very well by simple collision, whilst they appear, how- ever, to be well mixed in the spirits of plants and animals. Again, if the inquiry do not relate to perfect mixtures of spirits, but merely to their composition, as whether they easily incorporate with each other, or there be rather (as an example) certain winds and exhalations, or other spiritual bodies, which do not mix with common air, but only adhere to and float in it in globules and drops, and are rather broken and pounded by the air, than received into, and incorporated with it; this can- not be perceived in common air, and other aeriform substances, on account of the rarity of the bodies, but an image, as it were, of this process may be conceived in such liquids as quicksilver, oil, water, and even air, which, when broken and dissipated, ascends in small portions through water ; and also in the thicker kinds of smoke; lastly, in dust, raised and remaining in the air, in all of which there is no incorporation: and the above repre- sentation in this respect is not a bad one, if it be first diligently investigated, whether there can be such a difference of nature between spirituous substances, as between liquids, for then these images might conveniently be substituted by analogy. And although we have observed of these supplementary in- stances, that information is to be derived from them, when ap- propriate instances are wanting, by way of refuge, yet we would have it understood, that they are also of great use, when the appropriate instances are at hand, in order to confirm the in- formation afforded by them; of which we will speak more at length, when our subject leads us, in due course, to the support of induction. ” 43. In the twentieth rank of prerogative instafices we will place lancing instances, which we are also wont (but for a dif- ferent reason) to call twitching instances. We adopt the latter name, because they twitch the understanding, and the former because they pierce nature, whence we style them occasionally the instances of Democritus. They are such as warn the under- standing of the admirable and exquisite subtilty of nature, so that it becomes roused and awakened to attention, observation, and proper inquiry; as, for instance, that a little drop of ink should be drawn out into so many letters; that silver merely gilt on its surface should be stretched to such a length of gilt wire ; that a little worm, such as you may find on the skin, should possess both a spirit and a varied conformation of its parts; that a little saffron should imbue a whole tub of water with its color ; that a little musk or aroma should imbue a much greater NOVUM ORGANUM 435 extent of air with its perfume; that a cloud of smoke should be raised by a little incense; that such accurate differences of sound as articulate words should be conveyed in all directions through the air, and even penetrate the pores of wood and water (though they become much weakened), that they should be, moreover, reflected, and that with such distinctness and velocity; that light and color should for such an extent and so rapidly pass through solid bodies, such as glass and water, with so great and so exquisite a variety of images, and should be refracted and reflected; that the magnet should attract through every description of body, even the most compact ; but (what is still more wonderful) that in all these cases the action of one should not impede that of another in a common medium, such as air; and that there should be borne through the air, at the same time, so many images of visible objects, so many impulses of articulation, so many different perfumes, as of the vinlet, rose, etc., besides cold and heat, and magnetic attractions; all of them, I say, at once, without any impediment from each other, as if each had its paths and peculiar passage set apart for it, without infringing against or meeting each other. To these lancing instances, however, we are wont, not with- out some advantage, to add those which we call the limits of such instances. Thus, in the cases we have pointed out, one action does not disturb or impede another of a different nature, yet those of a similar nature subdue and extinguish each other ; as the light of the sun does that of the candle, the sound of a cannon that of the voice, a strong perfume a more delicate one, a powerful heat a more gentle one, a plate of iron between the magnet and other iron the effect of the magnet. But the proper place for mentioning these will be also amongst the supports of induction. 44. We have now spoken of the instances which assist the senses, and which are principally of service as regards informa- tion; for information begins from the senses. But our whole labor terminates in practice, and as the former is the beginning, so is the latter the end of our subject. The following instances, therefore, will be those which are chiefly useful in practice. They are comprehended in two classes, and are seven in num- ber. We call them all by the general name of practical in- stances. Now there are two defects in practice, and as many divisions of important instances. Practice is either deceptive or too laborious. It is generally deceptive (especially after a diligent examination of natures), on account of the power and actions of bodies being ill defined and determined. Now the powers and actions of bodies are defined and determined either by space or by time, or by the quantity at a given period, or by the predominance of energy; and if these four circumstances 436 BACON be not well and diligently considered, the sciences may indeed be beautiful in theory, but are of no effect in practice. We call the four instances referred to this class, mathematical instances and instances of measure. Practice is laborious either from the multitude of instruments, or the bulk of matter and substances requisite for any given work. Thise instances, therefore, are valuable, which either direct practice to that which is of most consequence to mankind, or lessen the number of instruments or of matter to be worked upon. We assign to the three instances relating to this class, the common name of propitious or benevolent instances. We will now separately discuss these seven instances, and conclude with them that part of our work which relates to the prerogative or illustrious instances. 45. In the twenty-first rank of prerogative instances we will piace the instances of the rod or rule, which we are also wont to call the instances of completion or non ultra. For the powers and motions of bodies do not act and take effect through indefinite and accidental, but through limited and certain spaces; and it is of great importance to practice that these should be understood and noted in every nature which is in- vestigated, not only to prevent deception, but to render practice more extensive and efficient. For it is sometimes possible to ex- tend these powers, and bring the distance, as it were, nearer, as in the example of telescopes. Many powers act and take effect only by actual touch, as in the percussion of bodies, where the one does not remove the other, unless the impelling touch the impelled body. External applications in medicine, as ointment and plasters, do not exer- cise their efficacy except when in contact with the body. Lastly, the objects of touch and taste only strike those sénses when in, contact with their organs. Other powers act at a distance, though it be very small, of which but few have as yet been noted, although there be more than men suspect; this happens (to take everyday instances) when amber or jet attracts straws, bubbles dissolve bubbles, some purgative. medicines draw humors from above, and the like. The magnetic power by which iron and the magnet, or two magnets, are attracted together, acts within a definite and narrow sphere, but if there be any magnetic power emanating from the earth a little below its surface, and affecting the needle in its polarity, it must act at a great distance. Again, if there be any magnetic force which acts by sympathy between the globe of the earth and heavy bodies, or between that of the moon and the waters of the sea (as seems most prob- able from the particular floods and ebbs which occur twice in the month), or between the starry sphere and the planets, by NOVUM ORGANUM 437 which they are summoned and raised to their apogees, these must all operate at very great distances. Again, some con- flagrations and the kindling of flames take place at very con- siderable distances with particular substances, as they report of the naphtha of Babylon. Heat, too, insinuates itself at wide distances, as does also cold, so that the masses of ice which are broken off and float upon the Northern Ocean, and are borne through the Atlantic to the coast of Canada, become percepti- ble by the inhabitants, and strike them with cold from a dis- tance. Perfumes also (though here there appears to be always some corporeal emission) act at remarkable distances, as is ex- Serpe by persons sailing by the coast of Florida, or parts of pain, where there are whole woods of lemons, oranges, and other odoriferous plants, or rosemary and marjoram bushes, and the like. Lastly, the rays of light and the impressions of sound act at extensive distances. Yet all these powers, whether acting at a small or great dis- tance, certainly act within definite distances, which are well ascertained by nature, so that there is a limit depending either on the mass or quantity of the bodies, the vigor or faintness of the powers, or the favorable or impeding nature of the medium, all of which should be taken into account and observed. We must also note the boundaries of violent motions, such as mis- siles, projectiles, wheels, and the like, since they are also mani- festly confined to certain limits. Some motions and virtues are to be found of a directly con- trary nature to these, which act in contact but not at a distance ; namely, such as operate at a distance and not in contact, and again act with less force at a less distance, and the reverse. Sight, for instance, is not easily effective in contact, but requires a medium and distance; although I remember having heard from a person deserving of credit, that in being cured of a cata- ract (which was done by putting a small silver needle within the first coat of the eye, to remove the thin pellicle of the cataract, and force it into a corner of the eye), he had distinctly seen the needle moving across the pupil. Still, though this may be true, it is clear that large bodies cannot be seen well or distinctly, unless at the vertex of a cone, where the rays from the object meet at some distance from the eye. In old persons the eye sees better if the object be moved a little farther, and not nearer. Again, it is certain that in projectiles the impact is not so violent at too short a distance as a little afterwards. Such are the observations to be made on the measure of motions as regards distance. There is another measure of motion in space which must not be passed over, not relating to progressive but spherical motion —that is, the expansion of bodies into a greater, or their con- traction into a lesser sphere. For in our measure of this motion we must inquire what degree of compression or extension bodies easily and readily admit of, according to their nature, and at what point they begin to resist it, so as at last to bear it no fur- ther—as when an inflated bladder is compressed, it allows a certain compression of the air, but if this be increased, the air does not suffer it, and the bladder is burst. We have proved this by a more delicate experiment. We took a metal bell, of a light and thin sort, such as is used for salt- cellars, and immersed it in a basin of water, so as to carry the air contained in its interior down with it to the bottom of the basin. We had first, however, placed a small globe at the bot- tom of the basin, over which we placed the bell. The result was, that if the globe were small compared with the interior of the bell, the air would contract itself, and be compressed without being forced out, but if it were too large for the air readily to yield to it, the latter became impatient of the pressure, raised the bell partly up, and ascended in bubbles. To prove, also, the extension (as well as the compression) which air admits of, we adopted the following method :—We took a glass egg, with a small hole at one end; we drew out the air by violent suction at this hole, and then closed the hole with the finger, immersed the egg in water, and then removed the finger. The air being constrained by the effort made in suction, and dilated beyond its natural state, and therefore striving to recover and contract itself (so that if the egg had not been im- mersed in water, it would have drawn in the air with a hissing sound), now drew in a sufficient quantity of water to allow the air to recover its former dimensions. It is well ascertained that rare bodies (such as wit) admit of considerable contraction, as has been before observed; but tangible bodies (such as water) admit of it much less readily, and to a less extent. We investigated the latter point by the following experiment :— We had a leaden globe made, capable of containing about two pints, wine measure, and of tolerable thickness, so as to support considerable pressure. We poured water into it through an aperture, which we afterwards closed with melted lead, as soon as the globe was filled with water, so that the whole became perfectly solid. We next flattened the two opposite sides with a heavy hammer, which necessarily caused the water to occupy a less space, since the sphere is the solid of greatest content ; and when hammering failed from the resistance of the water, we made use of a mill or press, till at last the water, refusing to submit to a greater pressure, exuded like a fine dew through the solid lead. We then computed the extent to which the original space had been reduced, and concluded that water admitted such a degree of compression when constrained by great violence. NOVUM ORGANUM 439 The more solid, dry, or compact bodies, such as stones, wood, and metals, admit of much less, and indeed scarcely any percep- tible compression or expansion, but escape by breaking, slipping forwerd, or other efforts; as appears in bending wood, or steel for watch-springs, in projectiles, hammering, and many other motions, all of which, together with their degrees, are to be observed and examined in the investigation of nature, either to a certainty, or by estimation, or comparison, as opportunity permits. 46. In the twenty-second rank of prerogative instances we will place the instances of the course, which we are also wont to call water instances, borrowing our expression from the water hour-glasses employed by the ancients instead of those with sand. They are such as measure nature by the moments of time, as the last instances do by the degrees of space. For all motion or natural action takes place in time, more or less rapidly, but still in determined moments well ascertained by nature. Even those actions which appear to take effect sud- denly, and in the twinkling of an eye (as we express it), are found to admit of greater or less rapidity. In the first place, then, we see that the return of the heavenly bodies to the same place takes place in regular times, as does the flood and ebb of the sea. The descent of heavy bodies towards the earth, and the ascent of light bodies towards the heavenly sphere, take place in definite times, according to the nature of the body, and of the medium through which it moves. The sailing of ships, the motions of animals, the transmission of projectiles, all take place in times the sums of which can be computed. With regard to heat, we see that boys in winter bathe their hands in the flame without being burnt; and con- jurers, by quick and regular movements, overturn vessels filled with wine or water, and replace them without spilling the liquid, with several similar instances. The compression, expansion and eruption of several bodies, take place more or less rapidly, ac- cording to the nature of the body and its motion, but still in definite moments. In the explosion of several cannon at once (which are some- times heard at the distance of thirty miles), the sound of those nearest to the spot is heard before that of the most distant. Even in sight (whose action is most rapid), it is clear that a definite time is necessary for its exertion, which is proved by certain objects being invisible from the velocity of their motion, such as a musket-ball; for the flight of the ball is too swift to allow an impression of its figure to be conveyed to the sight. This last instance, and others of a like nature, have sometimes excited in us a most marvellous doubt, no less than whether the image of the sky and stars is perceived as at the actual moment of its existence, or rather a little after, and whether there is not (with regard to the visible appearance of the heavenly bodies) a true and apparent time, as well as a true and apparent place, which is observed by astronomers in parallaxes. It appeared so incredible to us, that the images or radiations of heavenly bodies could suddenly be conveyed through such immense spaces to the sight, and it seemed that they ought rather to be transmitted in a definite time. That doubt, however (as far as regards any great difference between the true and apparent time), was sub- sequently completely set at rest, when we considered the infinite loss and diminution of size as regards the real and apparent magnitude of a star, occasioned by its distance, and at the same time observed at how great a distance (at least sixty miles) bodies which are merely white can be suddenly seen by us. For there is no doubt, that the light of the heavenly bodies not only far surpasses the vivid appearance of white, but even the light of any flame (with which we are acquainted) in the vigor of its radiation. The immense velocity of the bodies themselves, which is perceived in their diurnal motion, and has so astonished thinking men, that they have been more ready to believe in the motion of the earth, renders the motion of radiation from them (marvellous as it is in its rapidity ) more worthy of belief. That which has weighed most with us, however, is, that if there were any considerable interval of time between the reality and the appearance, the images would often be interrupted and confused by clouds formed in the mean time, and similar disturbances of the medium. Let this suffice with regard to the simple measures of time. | It is not merely the absolute, but still more the relative meas- ure of motions and actions which must be inqtiired into, for this latter is of great use and application. We perceive that the flame of fire-arms is seen sooner than the sound is heard, although the ball must have struck the air before the flame, which was behind it, could escape: the reason of which is, that light moves with greater velocity than sound. We perceive, also, that visible images are received by the sight with greater rapidity than they are dismissed, and for this reason, a violin string touched with the finger appears double or triple, because the new image is received before the former one is dismissed. Hence, also, rings when spinning appear globular, and a lighted torch, borne rapidly along at night, appears to have a tail. Upon the principle of the inequality of motion, also, Galileo attempted an explanation of the flood and ebb of the sea, supposing the earth to move rapidly, and the water slowly, by which means the water, after accumulating, would at intervals fall back, as is shown in a vessel of water made to move rapidly. He has, how- ever, imagined this on data which cannot be granted (namely, NOVUM ORGANUM > 441 the earth’s motion), and besides, does not satisfactorily account for the tide taking place every six hours. An example of our present point (the relative measure of motica), and, at the same time, of its remarkable use of which we have spoken, is conspicuous in mines filled with gunpowder, where immense weights of earth, buildings, and the like, are overthrown and prostrated by a small quantity of powder; the reason of which is decidedly this, that the motion of the expan- sion of the gunpowder is much more rapid than that of gravity, which would resist it, so that the former has terminated before the latter has commenced. Hence, also, in missiles, a strong blow will not carry them so far as a sharp and rapid one. Nor could a small portion of animal spirit in animals, especially in such vast bodies as those of the whale and elephant, have ever bent or directed such a mass of body, were it not owing to the velocity of the former, and the slowness of the latter in resisting its motion. In short, this point is one of the principal foundations of the magic experiments (of which we shall presently speak), where a small mass of matter overcomes and regulates a much larger, if there but be an anticipation of motion, by the velocity of one before the other is prepared to act. Finally, the point of the first and last should be observed in all natural actions. Thus, in an infusion of rhubarb the pur- gative property is first extracted, and then the astringent; we have experienced something of the same kind in steeping violets in vinegar, which first extracts the sweet and delicate odor of the flower, and then the more earthy part, which disturbs the perfume; so that if the violets be steeped a whole day, a much fainter perfume is extracted than if they were steeped for a quarter of an hour only, and then taken out; and since the odoriferous spirit in the violet is not abundant, let other and fresh violets be steeped in the vinegar every quarter of an hour, as many as six times, when the infusion becomes so strength- ened, that although the violets have not altogether remained there for more than one hour and a half, there remains a most pleasing perfume, not inferior to the flower itself, for a whole year. It must be observed, however, that the perfume does not acquire its full strength, till about a month after the infusion. In the distillation of aromatic plants macerated in spirits of wine, it is well known that an aqueous and useless phlegm rises first, then water containing more of the spirit, and lastly, water containing more of the aroma; and many observations of the like kind, well worthy of notice, are to be made in distillations. But let these suffice as examples. 47. In the twenty-third rank of prerogative instances we will place instances of quantity, which we are also wont to call the ne BACON doses of nature (borrowing a word from medicine). They are such as measure the powers by the quantity of bodies, and point out the effect of the quantity in the degree of power. And in the first place, some powers only subsist in the universal quan- tity, or such as bears a relation to the confirmation and fabric of the universe. Thus the earth is fixed, its parts fall. The waters in the sea flow and ebb, but not in the rivers, except by the admission of the sea. Then, again, almost all particular powers act according to the greater or less quantity of the body. Large masses of water are not easily rendered foul, small are. New wine and beer become ripe and drinkable in small skins much more readily than in large casks. If an herb be placed in a considerable quantity of liquid, infusion takes place rather than impregnation; if in less, the reverse. A bath, therefore, and a light sprinkling, produce different effects on the human body. Light dew, again, never falls, but is dissipated and in- corporated with the air; thus we see that in breathing on gems, the slight quantity of moisture, like a small cloud in the air, is immediately dissolved. Again, a piece of the same magnet does not attract so much iron as the whole magnet did. There are some powers where the smallness of the quantity is of more avail; as in boring, a sharp point pierces more readily than a blunt one; the diamond, when pointed, makes an impression on glass, and the like. Here, too, we must not rest contented with a vague result, but inquire into the exact proportion of quantity requisite for a particular exertion of power; for one would be apt to suppose that the power bears an exact proportion to the quantity; that if a leaden bullet of one ounce, for instance, would fall in a given time, one of two ounces ought to fall twice as raprdly, which is most erroneous. Nor does the same ratio prevail in every kind of power, their difference being considerable. The measure, therefore, must be determined by experiment, and not by prob- ability or conjecture. Lastly, we must in all our investigations of nature observe what quantity, or dose, of the body is requisite for a given effect, and must at the same time be guarded against estimating it at too much or too little. 48. In the twenty-fourth rank of prerogative instances we will place wrestling instances, which we are also wont to call instances of predominance. They are such as point out the predominance and submission of powers compared with each other, and which of them is the more energetic and superior, or more weak and inferior. For the motions and effects of bodies are compounded, decomposed, and combined, no less than the bodies themselves. We will exhibit, therefore, the principal kinds of motions or active powers, in order that their compara- NOVUM ORGANUM 443 tive strength, and thence a demonstration and definition of the instances in question, may be rendered more clear. Let the first motion be that of the resistance of matter, which exists in every particle, and completely prevents its annihila- tion; so that no conflagration, weight, pressure, violence, or length of time can reduce even the smallest portion of matter to nothing, or prevent it from being something, and occupying some space, and delivering itself (whatever straits it be put to), by changing its form or place, or, if that be impossible, remaining as it is; nor can it ever happen that it should either be nothing or nowhere. This motion is designated by the schools (which generally name and define everything by its effects and incon- veniences rather than by its inherent cause) by the axiom, that two bodies cannot exist in the same place, or they call it a motion to prevent the penetration of dimensions. It is useless to give examples of this motion, since it exists in every body. Let the second motion be that which we term the motion of connection, by which bodies do not allow themselves to be sepa- rated at any point from the contact of another body, delighting, as it were, in the mutual connection and contact. This is called by the schools a motion to prevent a vacuum. It takes place when water is drawn up by suction or a syringe, the flesh by cupping, or when the water remains without escaping from per- forated jars, unless the mouth be opened to admit the air, and innumerable instances of a like nature. Let the third be that which we term the motion of liberty, by which bodies strive to deliver themselves from any unnatural pressure or tension, and to restore themselves to the dimensions suited to their mass; and of which, also, there are innumerable examples. Thus, we have examples of their escaping from pressure, in the water in swimming, in the air in flying, in the water again in rowing, and in the air in the undulation of the winds, and in springs of watches. An exact instance of the motion of compressed air is seen in children’s popguns, which they make by scooping out elder-branches or some such matter, and forcing in a pens of some pulpy root or the like, at each end; then they force the root or other pellet with a ramrod to the opposite end, from which the lower pellet is emitted and projected with a report, and that before it is touched by the other piece of root or pellet, or by the ramrod. We have ex- amples of their escape from tension, in the motion of the air that remains in glass eggs after suction, in strings, leather, and cloth, which recoil after tension, unless it be long continued. The schools define this by the term of motion from the form of the element; injudiciously enough, since this motion is to be found not only in air, water, or fire, but in every species of solid, as wood, iron, lead, cloth, parchment, etc., each of which 444 BACON has its own proper size, and is with difficulty stretched to any other. Since, however, this motion of liberty is the most obvi- ous of all, and to be seen in an infinite number of cases, it will be as well to distinguish it correctly and clearly; for some most carelessly confound this with the two others of resistance and connection; namely, the freedom from pressure with the for- mer, and that from tension with the latter, as if bodies when compressed yielded or expanded to prevent a penetration of dimensions, and when stretched rebounded and contracted them- selves to prevent a vacuum. But if the air, when compressed, could be brought to the density of water, or wood to that of stone, there would be no need of any penetration of dimensions, and yet the compression would be much greater than they actu- ally admit of. So if water could be expanded till it became as rare as air, or stone as rare as wood, there would be no need of a vacuum, and yet the expansion would be much greater than they actually admit of. We do not, therefore, arrive at a pene- tration of dimensions or a vacuum before the extremes of con- densation and rarefaction, whilst the motion we speak of stops and exerts itself much within them, and is nothing more than a desire of bodies to preserve their specific density (or, if it be preferred, their form), and not to desert them suddenly, but only to change by degrees, and of their own accord. It is, how- ever, much more necessary to intimate to mankind (because many other points depend upon this), that the violent motion which we call mechanical, and Democritus (who, in explaining his primary motions, is to be ranked even below the middling class of philosophers) termed the motion of a blow, is nothing else than this motion of liberty, namely, a tendency to relaxation from compression. For in all simple impulsion of flight through the air, the body is not displaced or moved in space, until its parts are placed in an unnatural state, and compressed by the impelling force. When that takes place, the different parts urging the other in succession, the whole is moved, and that with a rotatory as well as progressive motion, in order that the parts may, by this means also, set themselves at liberty, or more readily submit. Let this suffice for the motion in question. Let the fourth be that which we term the motion of matter, and which is opposed to the last; for in the motion of liberty, bodies abhor, reject, and avoid a new size or volume, or any new expansion or contraction (for these different terms have the same meaning), and strive, with all their power, to rebound and resume their former density; on the contrary, in the motion of matter, they are anxious to acquire a new volume or dimension, and attempt it willingly and rapidly, and occasionally by a most. vigorous effort, as in the example of gunpowder. The most powerful, or at least most frequent, though not the only instru- / NOVUM ORGANUM 445 ments of this motion, are heat and cold. For instance, the air, if expanded by tension (as by suction in the glass egg), struggles anxiously to restore itself; but if heat be applied, it strives, on the contrary, to dilate itself, and longs for a larger volume, regularly passing and migrating into it, as into a new form (as it is termed) ; nor after a certain degree of expansion is it anxious to return, unless it be invited to do so by the application of cold, which is not indeed a return, but a fresh change. So also water, when confined by compression, resists, and wishes to become as it was before, namely, more expanded ; but if there happen an intense and continued cold, it changes itself readily, and of its own accord, into the condensed state of ice; and if the cold be long continued, without any intervening warmth (as in grottoes and deep caves), it is changed into crys- tal or similar matter, and never resumes its form. * Let the fifth be that which we term the motion of continuity. We do not understand by this simple and primary continuity with any other body (for that is the motion of connection), but the continuity of a particular body in itself; for it is most certain that all bodies abhor a solution of continuity, some more and some less, but all partially. In hard bodies (such as steel and glass) the resistance to an interruption of continuity is most powerful and efficacious, whilst although in liquids it ap- pears to be faint and languid, yet it is not altogether null, but exists in the lowest degree, and shows itself in many experi- ments, such as bubbles, the round form of drops, the thin threads which drip from roofs, the cohesion of glutinous substances, and the like. It is most conspicuous, however, if an attempt be made to push this separation to still smaller particles. Thus, in mortars, the pestle produces no effect after a certain degree of contusion, water does not penetrate small fissures, and the air itself, notwithstanding its subtilty, does not penetrate the pores of solid vessels at once, but only by long-continued insinuation. Let the sixth be that which we term the motion of acquisition, or the motion of need. It is that by which bodies placed amongst others of a heterogeneous and, as it were, hostile nature, if they meet with the means or opportunity of avoiding them, and uniting themselves with others of a more analogous nature, even when these latter are not closely allied to them, immediately seize and, as it were, select them, and appear to consider it as something acquired (whence we derive the name), and to have need of these latter bodies. For instance, gold, or any other metal in leaf, does not like the neighborhood of air; if, therefore, they meet with any tangible and thick substance (such as the finger, paper, or the like), they immediately adhere to it, and are not easily torn from it. Paper, too, and cloth, and the like, do not agree with the air, which is inherent and mixed we BACON in their pores. They readily, therefore, imbibe water or other liquids, and get rid of the air. Sugar, or a sponge, dipped in water or wine, and though part of it be out of the water or wine, and at some height above it, will yet gradually absorb them. Hence an excellent rule is derived from the opening and disso- lution of bodies; for (not to mention corrosive and strong waters, which force their way) if a body can be found which 1s more adapted, suited, and friendly to a given solid, than that with which it is by some necessity united, the given solid im- mediately opens and dissolves itself to receive the former, and excludes or removes the latter. Nor is the effect or power of this motion confined to contact, for the electric energy (of which Gilbert and others after him have told so many fables) is only the energy excited in a body by gentle friction, and which does not endure the air, but prefers some tangible substance if there be any at hand. Let the seventh be that which we term the motion of greater congregation, by which bodies are borne towards masses of a similar nature, for instance, heavy bodies towards the earth, light to the sphere of heaven. The schools termed this natural motion, by a superficial consideration of it, because produced by no external visible agent, which made them consider it innate in the substances; or perhaps because it does not cease, which is little to be wondered at, since heaven and earth are always present, whilst the causes and sources of many other motions are sometimes absent and sometimes present. They therefore called this perpetual and proper, because it is never interrupted, but instantly takes place when the others are interrupted, and they called the others adscititious. The former, however, is in reality weak and slow, since it yields, and is inferior to the others as long as they act, unless the mass of the body be great; and although this motion have so filled men’s minds, as almost to have obscured all others, yet they know but little about it, and commit many errors in its estimate. Let the eighth be that which we term the motion of lesser congregation, by which the homogeneous parts in any body separate themselves from the heterogeneous and unite together, and whole bodies of a similar substance coalesce and tend towards each other, and are sometimes congregated, attracted, and meet, from some distance ; thus in milk the cream fises after a certain time, and in wine the dregs and tartar sink; which effects are not to be attributed to gravity and levity only, so as to account for the rising of some parts and the sinking of oth- ers, but much more to the desire of the homogeneous bodies to meet and unite. This motion differs from that of need in two points: Ist, because the latter is the stimulus of a malig- NOVUM ORGANUM 447 nant and contrary nature, whilst in this of which we treat (if there be no impediment or restraint), the parts are united by their affinity, although there be no foreign nature to create a struggle; 2dly, because the union is closer and more select. For in the other motion, bodies which have no great affinity unite, if they can but avoid the hostile body, whilst in this, sub- stances which are connected by a decided kindred resemblance come together and are moulded into one. It is a motion existing in all compound bodies, and would be readily seen in each, if it were not confined and checked by the other affections and ne- cessities of bodies which disturb the union. This motion is usually confined in the three following man- ners: by the torpor of the bodies; by the power of the pre- dominating body; by external motion. With regard to the first, it is certain that there is more or less sluggishness in tangible bodies, and an abhorrence of locomotion ; so that un- less excited they prefer remaining contented with their actual state, to placing themselves in a better position. There are three means of breaking through this sluggishness—heat ; the active power of a similar body; vivid and powerful motion. With regard to the first, heat is, on this account, defined as that which separates heterogeneous, and draws together homogene- ous substances; a definition of the Peripatetics which is justly ridiculed by Gilbert, who says it is as if one were to define man to be that which sows wheat and plants vineyards; being only a definition deduced from effects, and those but partial. But it is still more to be blamed, because those effects, such as they are, are not a peculiar property of heat, but a mere accident (for cold, as we shall afterwards show, does the same), arising from the desire of the homogeneous parts to unite; the heat then assists them in breaking through that sluggishness which before restrained their desire. With regard to the assistance derived from the power of a similar body, it is most conspicu- ous in the magnet when armed with steel, for it excites in the steel a power of adhering to steel, as a homogeneous substance, the power of the magnet breaking through the sluggishness of the steel. With regard to the assistance of motion, it is seen in wooden arrows or points, which penetrate more deeply into wood than if they were tipped with iron, from the similarity of the substance, the swiftness of the motion breaking through the sluggishness of the wood; of which two last experiments we have spoken above in the aphorism on clandestine in- stances.g The confinement of the motion of lesser congregation, which arises from the power of the predominant body, is shown in the decomposition of blood and urine by cold. For as long as these substances are filled with the active spirit, which regulates 448 BACON and restrains each of their component parts, as the predominant ruler of the whole, the several different parts do not collect themselves separately on account of the check; but as soon as that spirit has evaporated, or has been choked by the cold, then the decomposed parts unite, according to their natural desire. Hence it happens, that all bodies which contain a sharp spirit (as salts and the like), last without decomposition, owing to the permanent and durable power of the predominating and im- perious spirit. The confinement of the motion of lesser congregation, which arises from external motion, is very evident in that agitation of bodies which preserves them from putrefaction. For all putre- faction depends on the congregation of the homogeneous parts, whence, by degrees, there ensues a corruption of the first form (as it is called), and the generation of another. [or the decom- position of the original form, which is itself the union of the homogeneous parts, precedes the putrefaction, which prepares the way for the generation of another. This decomposition, if not interrupted, is simple; but if there be various obstacles, putrefactions ensuc, which are the rudiments of a new genera- tion. But if (to come to our present point) a frequent agitation be excited by external motion, the motion towards union (which is delicate and gentle, and requires to be free from all external influence), is disturbed, and ceases ; which we perceive to be the case in innumerable instances. ‘Thus, the daily agita- tion or flowing of water prevents putrefaction; winds prevent the air from being pestilent ; corn turned about and shaken in granaries continues clean: in short, everything which is exter- nally agitated will with difficulty rot internally. , We must not omit that union of the parts of Sodies which is the principal cause of induration and desiccation. When the spirit or moisture, which has evaporated into spirit, has escaped from a porous body (such as wood, bone, parchment, and the like), the thicker parts are drawn together, and united with a greater effort, and induration or desiccation is the consequence ; and this we attribute not so much to the motion of connection (in order to prevent a vacuum), as to this motion of friendship and union. Union from a distance is rare, and yet is to be met with in more instances than are generally observed. We perceive it when one bubble dissolves another, when medicines attract hu- mors from a similarity of substance, when one string moves another in unison with it on different instruments, and the like. We are of opinion that this motion is very prevalent also in animal spirits, but are quite ignorant of the fact. It is, how- ever, conspicuous in the magnet, and magnetized iron. Whilst speaking of the motions of the magnet, we must plainly dis- NOVUM ORGANUM 449 tinguish them, for there are four distinct powers or effects of the magnet which should not be confounded, although the won- der and astonishment of mankind has classed them together. 1. The attraction of the magnet to the magnet, or of iron to the magnet, or of magnetized iron toiron. 2. Its polarity towards the north and south, and its variation. 3. Its penetration through gold, glass, stone, and all other substances. 4. The communication of power from the mineral to iron, and from iron to iron, without any communication of the substances. Here, however, we only speak of the first. There is also a sin- gular motion of attraction between quicksilver and gold, so that the gold attracts quicksilver even when made use of in ointment; and those who work surrounded by the vapors of quicksilver, are wont to hold a piece of gold in their mouths, to collect the exhalations, which would otherwise attack their heads and bones, and this piece soon grows white. Let this suffice for the motion of lesser congregation. Let the ninth be the magnetic motion, which, although of the nature of that last mentioned, yet, when operating at great distances, and on great masses, deserves a separate inquiry, especially if it neither begin in contact, as most motions of con- gregation do, nor end by bringing the substances into contact, as all do, but only raise them, and make them swell without any further effect. For if the moon raise the waters, or cause moist substances to swell, or, if the starry sphere attract the planets towards their apogees, or the sun confine the planets Mercury and Venus to within a certain distance of his mass; these mo- tions do not appear capable of being classed under either of those of congregation, but to be, as it were, intermediately and imperfectly congregative, and thus to form a distinct species. Let the tenth motion be that of avoidance, or that which is opposed to the motion of lesser congregation, by which bodies, with a kind of antipathy, avoid and disperse, and separate them- selves from, or refuse to unite themselves with others of a hos- tile nature. For although this may sometimes appear to be an accidental motion, necessarily attendant upon that of the lesser congregation, because the homogeneous parts cannot unite, unless the heterogeneous be first removed and excluded, yet it is still to be classed separately, and considered as a distinct species, because, in many cases, the desire of avoidance appears to be more marked than that of union. It is very conspicuous in the excrements of animals, nor less, perhaps, in objects odious to particular senses, especially the smell and taste ; for a fetid smell is rejected by the nose, so as to produce a sympathetic motion of expulsion at the mouth of the stomach; a bitter and rough taste is rejected by the palate or throat, so as to produce a sympathetic concussion and 29 ere BACON shivering of the head. This motion is visible also In other cases. ‘Thus it is observed in some kinds of antiperistasis, as in the middle region of the air, the cold of which appears to be occasioned by the rejection of cold from the regions of the heavenly bodies ; and also in the heat and combustion observed in subterranean spots, which appear to be owing to the rejec- tion of heat from the centre of the earth. For heat and cold, when in small quantities, mutually destroy each other, whilst in larger quantities, like armies equally matched, they remove and eject each other in open conflict. It is said, also, that cin- namon and other perfumes retain their odor longer when placed near privies and foul places, because they will not unite and mix with stinks. It is well known that quicksilver, which would otherwise reunite into a complete mass, is prevented from so doing by man’s spittle, pork lard, turpentine, and the like, from the little affinity of its parts with those substances, so that when surrounded by them it draws itself back, and its avoidance of these intervening obstacles is greater than its de- sire of reuniting itself to its homogeneous parts ; which is what they term the mortification of quicksilver. Again, the differ- ence in weight of oil and water is not the only reason for their refusing to mix, but it is also owing to the little affinity of the two; for spirits of wine, which is lighter than oil, mixes very well with water. A very remarkable instance of the motion in question is seen in nitre, and crude bodies of a like nature, which abhor flame, as may be observed in gunpowder, quicksilver, and gold. The avoidance of one pole of the magnet by iron is not (as Gilbert has well observed), strictly speaking, an avoid- ance, but a conformity, or attraction to a more convenient situ- ation. Let the eleventh motion be that of assimilation, or self-multi- plication, or simple generation, by which latter term we do not mean the simple generation of integral bodies, such as plants or animals, but of homogeneous bodies. By this motion ho- mogeneous bodies convert those which are allied to them, or at least well disposed and prepared, into their own substance and nature. Thus flame multiplies itself over vapors and oily substances, and generates fresh flame; the air over water and watery substances multiplies itself and generates fresh air; the vegetable and animal spirit, over the thin particles of a watery or oleaginous spirit contained in its food, multiplies itself and generates fresh spirit ; the solid parts of plants and animals, as the leaf, flower, the flesh, bone, and the like, each of them as- similates some part of the juices contained in their food, and generate a successive and daily substance. For let none rave with Paracelsus, who (blinded by his distillations) would have it, that nutrition takes place by mere separation, and that the NOVUM ORGANUM 451 eye, nose, brain, and liver, lie concealed in bread and meat, the root, leaf, and flower, in the juice of the earth; asserting that just as the artist brings out a leaf, flower, eye, nose, hand, foot, and the like, from a rude mass of stone or wood by the separa- tion and rejection of what is superfluous; so the great artist within us brings out our several limbs and parts by separation and rejection. But to leave such trifling, it is most certain that all the parts of vegetables and animals, as well the homoge- neous as organic, first of all attract those juices contained in their food, which are nearly common, or at least not very dif- ferent, and then assimilate and convert them into their own nature. Nor does this assimilation, or simple generation, take place in animated bodies only, but the inanimate also participate in the same property (as we have observed of flame and air), and that languid spirit, which is contained in every tangible ani- mated substance, is perpetually working upon the coarser parts, and converting them into spirit, which afterwards is exhaled, whence ensues a diminution of weight, and a desiccation of which we have spoken elsewhere. Nor should we, in speak- ing of assimilation, neglect to mention the accretion which is usually distinguished from aliment, and which is observed when mud grows into a mass between stones, and is converted into a stony substance, and the scaly substance round the’ teeth is converted into one no less hard than the teeth themselves ; for we are of opinion that there exists in all bodies a desire of as- similation, as well as of uniting with homogeneous masses. Each of these powers, however, is confined, although in differ- ent manners, and should be diligently investigated, because they are connected with the revival of old age. Lastly, it is worthy of observation, that in the nine preceding motions, bodies appear to aim at the mere preservation of their nature, whilst in this they attempt its propagation. Let the twelfth motion be that of excitement, which appears to be a species of the last, and is sometimes mentioned by us under that name. It is, like that, a diffusive, communicative, transitive, and multiplying motion; and they agree remarkably in their effect, although they differ in their mode of action, and in their subject matter. The former proceeds imperiously, and with authority ; it orders and compels the assimilated to be con- verted and changed into the assimilating body. The latter pro- ceeds by art, insinuation, and stealth, inviting and disposing the excited towards the nature of the exciting body. The former both multiplies and transforms bodies and substances; thus a greater quantity of flame, air, spirit, and flesh is formed; but in the latter, the powers only are multiplied and changed, and heat, the magnetic power, and putrefaction, in the above in- stances, are increased. Heat does not diffuse itself when heat- ace BACON ing other bodies by any communication of the original heat, but only by exciting the parts of the heated body to that motion which is the form of heat, and of which we spoke in the first vintage of the nature of heat. Heat, therefore, is excited much less rapidly and readily in stone or metal than in air, on account of the inaptitude and sluggishness of those bodies in acquiring that motion, so that it is probable, that there may be some sub- stances, towards the centre of the earth, quite incapable of being heated, on account of their density, which may deprive them of the spirit by which the motion of excitement is usually com- menced. ‘Thus also the magnet creates in the iron a new dis- position of its parts, and a conformable motion, without losing any of its virtue. So the leaven of bread, yeast, rennet, and some poisons, excite and invite successive and continued motion in dough, beer, cheese, or the human body; not so much from the power of the exciting, as the predisposition and yielding of the excited body. Let the thirteenth motion be that of impression, which is also a species of motion of assimilation, and the most subtle of dif- fusive motions. We have thought it right, however, to con- sider it as a distinct species, on account of its remarkable dif- ference from the two last; for the simple motion of assimilation transforms the bodies themselves, so that if you remove the first agent, you diminish not the effect of those which succeed; thus, neither the first lighting of flame, nor the first conversion into air, is of any importance to the flame or air next generated. So, also, the motion of excitement still continues for a consider- able time after the removal of the first agent, as in a heated body on the removal of the original heat, in the excited iron on the removal of the magnet, and in the dough on the removal of the leaven. But the motion of impression, although diffusive and transitive, appears, nevertheless, to depend on the first agent, so that upon the removal of the latter the former immediately fails and perishes ; for which reason also it takes effect in a mo- ment, or at least a very short space of time. We are wont to call the two former motions the motions of the generation of Jupiter, because when born they continue to exist; and the lat- ter, the motion of the generation of Saturn, because it is im- mediately devoured and absorbed. It may be seen in three instances: I. In the rays of light; 2. in the percussions of sounds; 3. in magnetic attractions as regards communication. For, on the removal of light, colors and all its other images dis- appear, as on the cessation of the first percussion and the vibra- tion of the body, sound soon fails, and although sounds are agitated by the wind, like waves, yet it is to be observed, that the same sound does not last during the whole time of the rever- beration, Thus, when a bell is struck, the sound appears to be NOVUM ORGANUM 453 continued for a considerable time, and one might easily be led into the mistake of supposing it to float and remain in the air during the whole time, which is most erroneous. For the reverberation is not one identical sound, but the repetition of sounds, which is made manifest by stopping and confining the sonorous body; thus, if a bell be stopped and held tightly, so as to be immovable, the sound fails, and there is no further reverberation, and if a musical string be touched after the first vibration, either with the finger (as in the harp), or a quill (as in the harpsichord), the sound immediately ceases. Ifthe mag- net be removed the iron falls. The moon, however, cannot be removed from the sea, nor the earth from a heavy falling body, and we can, therefore, make no experiment upon them ; but the case is the same. Let the fourteenth motion be that configuration or position, by which bodies appear to desire a peculiar situation, colloca- tion, and configuration with others, rather than union or sep- aration. This is a very abstruse notion, and has not been well investigated; and, in some instances, appears to occur almost without any cause, although we be mistaken in supposing this to be really the case. For if it be asked, why the heavens re- volve from east to west, rather than from west to east, or why they turn on poles situate near the Bears, rather than round Orion or any other part of the heaven, such a question appears to be unreasonable, since these phenomena should be received as determinate and the objects of our experience. There are, indeed, some ultimate and self-existing phenomena in nature, but those which we have just mentioned are not to be referred to that class: for we attribute them to a certain harmony and consent of the universe, which has not yet been properly ob- served. But if the motion of the earth from west to east be al- lowed, the same question may be put, for it must also revolve round certain poles, and why should they be placed where they are, rather than elsewhere? The polarity and variation of the needle come under our present head. There is also observed in both natural and artificial bodies, especially solids rather than fluids, a particular collocation and position of parts, resembling hairs or fibres, which should be diligently investigated, since, without a discovery of them, bodies cannot be conveniently con- trolled or wrought upon. The eddies observable in liquids by which, when compressed, they successively raise different parts of their mass before they can escape, so as to equalize the pressure, is more correctly assigned to the motion of liberty. Let the fifteenth motion be that of transmission or of passage, by which the powers of bodies are more or less impeded or ad- vanced by the medium, according to the nature of the bodies and their effective powers, and also according to that of the medium. For one medium is adapted to light, another to sound, another to heat and cold, another to magnetic action, and so on with regard to the other actions. Let the sixteenth be that which we term the royal or political -motion, by which the predominant and governing parts of any body check, subdue, reduce, and regulate the others, and force them to unite, separate, stand still, move, or assume a certain position, not from any inclination of their own, but according to a certain order, and as best suits the convenience of the govern- ing part, so that there is a sort of dominion and civil govern- ment exercised by the ruling part over its subjects. The motion is very conspicuous in the spirits of animals, where, as long as it is in force, it tempers all the motions of the other parts. It is found in a less degree in other bodies, as we have observed in blood and urine, which are not decomposed until the spirit, which mixed and retained their parts, has been emitted or ex- tinguished. Nor is this motion peculiar to spirits only, al- though in most bodies the spirit predominates, owing to its rapid motion and penetration; for the grosser parts predomi- nate in denser bodies, which are not filled with a quick and ac- tive spirit (such as exists in quicksilver or vitriol), so that unless this check or yoke be thrown off by some contrivance, there is no hope of any transformation of such bodies. And let not any- one suppose that we have forgotten our subject, because we speak of predominance in this classification of motions, which is made entirely with the view of assisting the investigation of wrestling instances, or instances of predominance. For we do not now treat of the general predominance of motions or powers, but of that of parts in whole bodies, which constitutes the par- ticular species here considered. Let the seventeenth motion be the spontaneous motion of revolution, by which bodies having a tendency to move, and placed in a favorable situation, enjoy their peculiar nature, pur- suing themselves and nothing else, and seeking, as it were, to embrace themselves. For bodies seem either to move without any limit, or to tend towards a limit, arrived at which they either revolve according to their peculiar nature, or rest. Those which are favorably situated, and have a tendency to motion, move in a circle with an eternal and unlimited motion; those which are favorably situated and abhor motion, rest. Those which are not favorably situated move in a straight line (as their shortest path), in order to unite with others of a congenial nat- ure. This motion of revolution admits of nine differences: I. with regard to the centre about which the bodies move; 2. the poles round which they move; 3. the circumference or orbit relatively to its distance from the centre; 4. the velocity or greater or less speed with which they revolve; 5. the direc- NOVUM ORGANUM 455 tion of the motion as from east to west, or the reverse; 6. the deviation from a perfect circle, by spiral lines at a greater or less distance from the centre; 7: the deviation from the circle, by spiral lines at a greater or less distance from the poles; 8. the eater or less distance of these spirals from each other; 9. and lastly, the variation of the poles if they be movable; which, however, only affects revolution when circular. The motion in question is, according to common and long-received opin- ion, considered to be that of the heavenly bodies. There exists, however, with regard to this, a considerable dispute between some of the ancients as well as moderns, who have attributed a motion of revolution to the earth. A much more reasonable controversy, perhaps, exists (if it be not a matter beyond dis- pute), whether the motion in question (on the hypothesis of the earth’s being fixed) is confined to the heavens, or rather de- scends and is communicated to the air and water. The rotation of missiles, as in darts, musket-balls, and the like, we refer en- tirely to the motion of liberty. Let the eighteenth motion be that of trepidation, to which (in the sense assigned to it by astronomers) we do not give much credit; but in our serious and general search after the ten- dencies of natural bodies, this motion occurs, and appears worthy of forming a distinct species. It is the motion of an (as it were) eternal captivity; when bodies, for instance, being placed not altogether according to their nature, and yet not exactly ill, constantly tremble, and are restless, not contented with their position, and yet not daring to advance. Such is the motion of the heart and pulse of animals, and it must neces- sarily occur in all bodies which are situated in a mean state, between conveniences and inconveniences; so that being re- moved from their proper position, they strive to escape, are re- pulsed, and again continue to make the attempt. Let the nineteenth and last motion be one which can scarcely be termed a motion, and yet is one; and which we may call the motion of repose, or of abhorrence of motion. It is by this mo- tion that the earth stands by its own weight, whilst its extremes move towards the middle, not to an imaginary centre, but in order to unite. Itis owing to the same tendency, that all bodies of considerable density abhor motion, and their only tendency is not to move, which nature they preserve, although excited and urged in a variety of ways to motion. But if they be com- pelled to move, yet do they always appear anxious to recover their former state, and to cease from motion, in which respect they certainly appear active, and attempt it with sufficient swift- ness and rapidity, as if fatigued, and impatient of delay. We can only have a partial representation of this tendency, be- cause with us every tangible substance is not only not con- 456 BACON densed to the utmost, but even some spirit is added, owing to the action and concocting influence of the heavenly bodies. We have now, therefore, exhibited the species, or simple ele- ments of the motions, tendencies, and active powers, which are most universal in nature; and no small portion of natural science has been thus sketched out. We do not, however, deny that other instances can perhaps be added, and our divisions changed according to some more natural order of things, and also reduced to a less number; in which respect we do not al- lude to any abstract classification, as if one were to say, that bodies desire the preservation, exaltation, propagation, or frui- tion of their nature; or, that motion tends to the preservation and benefit either of the universe (as in the case of those of resistance and connection), or of extensive wholes, as in the case of those of the greater congregation, revolution, and ab- horrence of motion, or of particular forms, as in the case of the others. For although such remarks be just, yet, unless they terminate in matter and construction, according to true defini- tions, they are speculative, and of little use. In the mean time, our classification will suffice, and be of much use in the con- sideration of the predominance of powers, and examining the wrestling instances which constitute our present subject. For of the motions here laid down, some are quite invincible, some more powerful than others, which they confine, check, and modify; others extend to a greater distance, others are more immediate and swift, others strengthen, increase, and accelerate the rest. The motion of resistance is most adamantine and invincible. We are yet in doubt whether such be the nature of that of con- nection; for we cannot with certainty determine whether there be a vacuum, either extensive or intermixed with matter. Of one thing, however, we are satisfied, that the reason assigned by Leucippus and Democritus for the introduction of a vacuum (namely, that the same bodies could not otherwise comprehend, and fill greater and less spaces) is false. For there is clearly a folding of matter, by which it wraps and unwraps itself in space within certain limits, without the intervention of a vacuum. Nor is there two thousand times more of vacuum in air than in gold, as there should be on this hypothesis; a fact demonstrated by the very powerful energies of fluids (which would otherwise float like fine dust in vacuo), and many other proofs. The other motions direct, and are directed by each other, according to their strength, quantity, excitement, emission, or the assistance or impediments they meet with. _ For instance; some armed magnets hold and support iron of sixty times their own weight; so far does the motion of lesser congregation predominate over that of the greater; but if the NOVUM ORGANUM 457 weight be increased, it yields. A lever of a certain strength will raise a given weight, and so far the motion of liberty pre- dominates over that of the greater congregation, but if the weight be greater, the former motion yields. A piece of leather stretched to a certain point does not break, and so far the motion of continuity predominates over that of tension, but if the tension be greater, the leather breaks, and the motion of continuity yields. A certain quantity of water flows through a chink, and so far the motion of greater congregation predomi- nates over that of continuity, but if the chink be smaller it yields. If a musket be charged with ball and powdered sulphur alone, and fire be applied, the ball is not discharged, in which case the motion of greater congregation overcomes that of matter; but when gunpowder is used, the motion of matter in the sulphur predominates, being assisted by that motion, and the motion of avoidance in the nitre; and so of the rest. For wrestling in- stances (which show the predominance of powers, and in what manner and proportion they predominate and yield) must be searched for with active and industrious diligence. The methods and nature of this yielding must also be dili- gently examined, as for instance, whether the motions complete- ly cease, or exert themselves, but are constrained. For in the bodies with which we are acquainted, there is no real but an apparent rest, either in the whole or in parts. This apparent rest is occasioned either by equilibrium, or the absolute pre- dominance of motions. By equilibrium, as in the scales of the balance, which rest if the weights be equal. By predominance, as in perforated jars, in which the water rests, and is prevented from falling by the predominance of the motion of connection. It is, however, to be observed (as we have said before), how far the yielding motions exert themselves. For if a man be held stretched out on the ground against his will, with arms and legs bound down, or otherwise confined, and yet strive with all his power to get up, the struggle is not the less, although ineffectual. The real state of the case (namely, whether the yielding motion be, as it were, annihilated by the predominance, or there be rather a continued, although an invisible effort) will, perhaps, appear in the concurrence of motions, although it escape our notice in their conflict. For instance; let an experiment be made with muskets; whether a musket-ball, at its utmost range in a straight line, or (as it is commonly called) point blank, strike with less force when projected upwards, where the motion of the blow is simple, than when projected downwards, where the motion of gravity concurs with the blow. The rules of such instances of predominance as occur should be collected: such as the following; the more general the desired advantage is, the stronger will be the motion; the 458 BACON motion of connection, for instance, which relates to the inter- course of the parts of the universe, is more powerful than that of gravity, which relates to the intercourse of dense bodies only. Again, the desire of a private good does not in general prevail against that of a public one, except where the quantities are small. Would that such were the case in civil matters! 49. In the twenty-fifth rank of prerogative instances we will place suggesting instances; such as suggest, or point out, that which is advantageous to mankind; for bare power and knowledge in themselves exalt rather than enrich human nature. We must, therefore, select from the general store, such things as are most useful to mankind. We shall have a better oppor- tunity of discussing these when we treat of the application to practice; besides, in the work of interpretation, we leave room, on every subject, for the human or optative chart; for it is a part of science to make judicious inquiries and wishes. 50. In the twenty-sixth rank of prerogative instances we will place the generally useful instances. They are such as relate to various points, and frequently occur, sparing by that means con- siderable labor and new trials. The proper place for treating of instruments and contrivances, will be that in which we speak of the application to practice, and the methods of experiment. All that has hitherto been ascertained, and made use of, will be described in the particular history of each art. At present, we will subjoin a few general examples of the instances in question. Man acts, then, upon natural bodies (besides merely bringing them together or removing them) by seven principal methods: I. By the exclusion of all that impedes and disturbs; II. by. compression, extension, agitation, and the like; III. by heat and cold; IV. by detention in a suitable place; V. by checking or directing motion; VI. by peculiar harmonies; VII. by a seasonable and proper alternation, series, and succession of all these, or, at least, of some of them. I. With regard to the firs-—common air, which is always at hand, and forces its admission, as also the rays of the heavenly bodies, create much disturbance. Whatever, therefore, tends to exclude them may well be considered as generally useful. The substance and thickness of vessels in which bodies are placed when prepared for operations may be referred to this head. So also may the accurate methods of closing vessels by consolida- tion, or the lutum sapientiz, as the chemists call it. The exclu- sion of air by means of liquids at the extremity is also very use- ful, as when they pour oil on wine, or the juices of herbs, which by spreading itself upon the top like a cover, preserves them uninjured from the air. Powders, also, are serviceable, for al- though they contain air mixed up in them, yet they ward off the power of the mass of circumambient air, which is seen in the NOVUM ORGANUM 459 preservation of grapes and other fruits in sand or flour. Wax, honey, pitch, and other resinous bodies, are well used in order to make the exclusion more perfect, and to remove the air and celestial influence. We have sometimes made an experiment by placing a vessel or other bodies in quicksilver, the most dense of all substances capable of being poured round others. Grot- toes and subterraneous caves are of great use in keeping off the effects of the sun, and the predatory action of air, and in the north of Germany are used for granaries. The depositing of bodies at the bottom of water may be also mentioned here; and I remember having heard of some bottles of wine being let down into a deep well in order to cool them, but left there by chance, carelessness, and forgetfulness, for several years, and then taken out; by which means the wine not only escaped becoming flat or dead, but was much more excellent in flavor, arising (as it appears) from a more complete mixture of its parts. But if the case require that bodies should be sunk to the bottom of water, as in rivers or the sea, and yet should not touch the water, nor be enclosed in sealed vessels, but surrounded only by air, it would be right to use that vessel which has been sometimes employed under water above ships that have sunk, in order to enable the divers to remain below and breathe occasionally by turns. It was of the following nature:—A hollow tub of metal was formed, and sunk so as to have its bottom parallel with the surface of the water; it thus carried down with it to the bottom of the sea all the air contained in the tub. It stood upon three feet (like a tripod), being of rather less height than a man, so that, when the diver was in want of breath, he could put his head into the hollow of the tub, breathe, and then continue his work. We hear that some sort of boat or vessel has now been invented, capable of carrying men some distance under water. Any bodies, however, can easily be suspended under some such vessel as we have mentioned, which has occasioned our remarks upon the experiment. Another advantage of the careful and hermetical closing of bodies is this—not only the admission of external air is pre- vented (of which we have treated), but the spirit of bodies also is prevented from making its escape, which is an internal opera- tion. For anyone operating on natural bodies must be certain as to their quantity, and that nothing has evaporated or escaped, since profound alterations take place in bodies, when art pre- vents the loss or sag of any portion, whilst nature prevents their annihilation. ith regard to this circumstance, a false idea has prevailed (which if true would make us despair of preserving quantity without diminution), namely, that the spirit of bodies, and air when rarefied by a great degree of heat, cannot be so kept in by being enclosed in any vessel as not to escape Ae BACON by the small pores. Men are led into this idea by the common experiments of a cup inverted over water, with a candle or piece of lighted paper in it, by which the water is drawn up, and of those cups which, when heated, draw up the flesh. For they think that in each experiment the rarefied air escapes, and that its quantity is therefore diminished, by which means the water or flesh rises by the motion of connection. This is, however, most incorrect. For the air is not diminished in quantity, but contracted in dimensions, nor does this motion of the rising of the water begin till the flame is extinguished, or the air cooled, so that physicians place cold sponges, moistened with water, on the cups, in order to increase their attraction. There is, there- fore, no reason why men should fear much from the ready es- cape of air: for although it be true that the most solid bodies have their pores, yet neither air, nor spirit, readily suffers itself to be rarefied to such an extreme degree; just as water will not escape by a small chink. : II. With regard to the second of the seven above-mentioned methods, we must especially observe, that compression and sim- ilar violence have a most powerful effect either in producing locomotion, and other motions of the same nature, as may be observed in engines and projectiles, or in destroying the organic body, and those qualities, which consist entirely in motion (for all life, and every description of flame and ignition are destroyed by compression, which also injures and deranges every ma- chine) ; or in destroying those qualities which consist in posi- tion and a coarse difference of parts, as in colors; for the color of a flower when whole, differs from that it presents when bruised, and the same may be observed of whole and powdered amber; or in tastes, for the taste of a pear before it is ripe, and of the same pear when bruised and softened, is different, since it becomes perceptibly more sweet. But such violence is of little avail in the more noble transformations and changes of homo- geneous bodies, for they do not, by such means, acquire any constantly and permanently new state, but one that is transitory, and always struggling to return to its former habit and freedom. It would not, however, be useless to make some more diligent experiments with regard to this; whether, for instance, the condensation of a perfectly homogeneous body (such as air, water, oil, and the like) or their rarefaction, when effected by violence, can become permanent, fixed, and, as it were, so changed, as to become a nature. This might at first be tried by simple perseverance, and then by means of helps and harmonies. It might readily have been attempted (if we had but thought of it), when we condensed water (as was mentioned above), by hammering and compression, until it burst out. For we ought to have left the flattened globe untouched for some days, and NOVUM ORGANUM 461 then to have drawn off the water, in order to try whether it would have immediately occupied the same dimensions as it did before the condensation. If it had not done so, either imme- diately, or soon afterwards, the condensation would have ap- peared to have been rendered constant; if not, it would have appeared that a restitution took place, and that the condensation had been transitory. Something of the same kind might have been tried with the glass eggs; the egg should have been sealed up suddenly and firmly, after a complete exhaustion of the air, and should have been allowed to remain so for some days, and it might then have been tried whether, on opening the aperture, the air would be drawn in with a hissing noise, or whether as much water would be drawn into it when immersed, as would have been drawn into it at first, if it had not continued sealed. For it is probable (or, at least, worth making the experiment) that this might have happened, or might happen, because perseverance has a similar effect upon bodies which are a little less homogeneous. A stick bent together for some time does not rebound, which is not owing to any loss of quantity in the wood during the time, for the same would occur (after a larger time) in a plate of steel, which does not evaporate. If the experiment of simple perseverance should fail, the matter should not be given up, but other means should be employed. For it would be no small advantage, if bodies could be endued with fixed and constant natures by violence. Air could then be converted into water by condensation, with other similar ef- fects; for man is more the master of violent motions than of any other means. III. The third of our seven methods is referred to that great Salagyen engine of nature, as well as of art, cold and heat. ere, man’s power limps, as it were, with one leg. For we ssess the heat of fire, which is infinitely more powerful and intense than that of the sun (as it reaches us), and that of animals. But we want cold, except such as we can obtain in winter, in caverns, or by surrounding objects with snow and ice, which, perhaps, may be compared in degree with the noontide heat of the sun in tropical countries, increased by the reflection of mountains and walls. For this degree of heat and cold can be borne for a short period only by animals, yet it is nothing compared with the heat of a burning furnace, or the correspond- ing degree of cold. Everything with us has a tendency to becomes rarefied, dry, and wasted, and nothing to become con- densed or soft, except by mixtures, and, as it were, spurious methods. Instances of cold, therefore, should be searched for most diligently, such as may be found by exposing bodies upon buildings in a hard frost, in subterraneous caverns, by surround- ing bodies with snow and ice in deep places excavated for that 462 BACON purpose, by letting bodies down into wells, by burying bodies in quicksilver and metals, by immersing them in streams which petrify wood, by burying them in the earth (which the Chinese are reported to do with their china, masses of which, made for that purpose, are said to remain in the ground for forty or fifty years, and to be transmitted to their heirs as a sort of artificial mine), and the like. The condensations which take place in nature, by means of cold, should also be investigated, that by learning their causes, they may be introduced into the arts; such as are observed in the exudation of marble and stones, in the dew upon the panes of glass in a room towards morning after a frosty night, in the formation and the gathering of vapors under the earth into water, whence spring fountains, and the like. Besides the substances which are cold to the touch, there are others which have also the effect of cold, and condense; they appear, however, to act only upon the bodies of animals, and scarcely any further. Of these we have many instances, in medicines and plasters. Some condense the flesh and tangible parts, such as astringent and inspissating medicines, others the spirits, such as soporifics. There are two modes of condensing the spirits, by soporifics or provocatives to sleep; the one by calming the motion, the other by expelling the spirit. The violet, dried roses, lettuces, and other benign or mild remedies, by their friendly and gently cooling vapors, invite the spirits to unite, and restrain their violent and perturbed motion. Rose- water, for instance, applied to the nostrils in fainting fits, causes the resolved and relaxed spirits to recover themselves, and, as it were, cherishes them. But opiates, and the like, banish the spirits by their malignant and hostile quality. If they be ap- plied, therefore, externally, the spirits immediately quit the part and no longer readily flow into it; but if they be taken inter- nally, their vapor, mounting to the head, expels, in all direc- tions, the spirits contained in the ventricles of the brain, and since these spirits retreat, but cannot escape, they consequently meet and are condensed, and are sometimes completely extin- guished and suffocated; although the same opiates, when taken in moderation, by a secondary accident (the condensation which succeeds their union), strengthen the spirits, render them more robust, and check their useless and inflammatory motion, by which means they contribute not a little to the cure of diseases, and the prolongation of life. The preparations of bodies, also, for the reception of cold should not be omitted, such as that water a little warmed is more easily frozen than that which is quite cold, and the like. Moreover, since nature supplies cold so sparingly, we must act like the apothecaries, who, when they cannot obtain any NOVUM ORGANUM 463 simple ingredient, take a succedaneum, or quid pro quo, as they term it, such as aloes for xylobalsamum, cassia for cinnamon. In the same manner we should look diligently about us, to ascer- tain whether there may be any substitutes for cold, that is to say, in what other manner condensation can be effected, which is the peculiar operation of cold. Such condensations appear hitherto to be of four kinds only. 1. By simple compression, which is of little avail towards permanent condensation, on account of the elasticity of substances, but may still however be of some assistance. 2. By the contraction of the coarser, after the escape or departure of the finer parts of a given body; as is exemplified in induration by fire, and the repeated heating and extinguishing of metals, and the like. 3. By the cohesion of the most solid homogeneous parts of a given body, which were previously separated, and mixed with others less solid, as in the return of sublimated mercury to its simple state, in which it occupies much less space than it did in powder, and the same may be observed of the cleansing of all metals from their dross. 4. By harmony or the application of substances which condense by some latent power. These harmonies are as yet but rarely dered, at which we cannot be surprised, since there is little to hope for from their investigation, unless the discovery of forms and confirmation be attained. With regard to animal bodies, it is not to be questioned that there are many internal and external medicines which condense by harmony, as we have before observed, but this action is rare in inanimate bodies. Written accounts, as well as report, have certainly spoken of a tree in one of the Tercera or Canary Islands (for I do not exactly recollect which) that drips perpetually, so as to supply the inhabitants, in some degree, with water; and Paracelsus says that the herb called ros solis is filled with dew at noon, whilst the sun gives out its greatest heat, and all other herbs around it are dry. We treat both these accounts as fables; they would, however, if true, be of the most important service, and most worthy of examination. As to the honey-dew, resembling manna, which is found in May on the leaves of the oak, we are of opinion that it is not condensed by any harmony or peculiar- ity of the oak-leaf, but that whilst it falls equally upon other leaves it is retained and continues on those of the oak, because their texture is closer, and not so porous as that of most of the other leaves. With regard to heat, man possesses abundant means and power; but his observation and inquiry are defective in some respects, and those of the greatest importance, notwithstanding the boasting of quacks. For the effects of intense heat are examined and observed, whilst those of a more gentle degree of heat, being of the most frequent occurrence in the paths of 464 BACON nature, are, on that very account, least known. We see, there- fore, the furnaces, which are most esteemed, employed in in- creasing the spirits of bodies to a great extent, as in the strong acids, and some chemical oils; whilst the tangible parts are hardened, and, when the volatile part has escaped, become some- times fixed; the homogeneous parts are separated, and the heterogeneous incorporated and agglomerated in a coarse lump ; and (what is chiefly worthy of remark) the junction of com- pound bodies, and the more delicate conformations are de- stroyed and confounded. But the operation of a less violent heat should be tried and investigated, by which more delicate mixtures, and regular conformations may be produced and elicited, according to the example of nature, and in imitation of the effect of the sun, which we have alluded to in the aphorism on the instances of alliance. For the works of nature are carried on in much smaller portions, and in more delicate and varied positions than those of fire, as we now employ it. But man will then appear to have really augmented his power, when the worxs of nature can be imitated in species, perfected in power, and varied in quantity ; to which should be added the accelera- tion in point of time. Rust, for instance, is the result of a long process, but crocus martis is obtained immediately; and the same may be observed of natural verdigris and ceruse. Crystal is formed slowly, whilst glass is blown immediately: stones increase slowly, whilst bricks are baked immediately, etc. In the mean time (with regard to our present subject) every differ- ent species of heat should, with its peculiar effects, be diligently collected and inquired into; that of the heavenly bodies, whether their rays be direct, reflected, or refracted, or con- densed by a burning-glass; that of lightning, flame, and ignited charcoal; that of fire of different materials, either open or con- fined, straitened or overflowing, qualified by the different forms of the furnaces, excited by the bellows, or quiescent, removed to a greater or less distance, or passing through different media ; moist heats, such as the balneum Mariz, and the dunghill; the external and internal heat of animals; dry heats, such as the heat of ashes, lime, warm sand; in short, the nature of every kind of heat, and its degrees. We should, however, particularly attend to the investigation and discovery of the effects and operations of heat, when made to approach and retire by degrees, regularly, periodically, and by proper intervals of space and time. For this systematical inequality is in truth the daughter of heaven and mother of generation, nor can any great result be expected from a vehe- ment, precipitate, or desultory heat. For this is not only most evident in vegetables, but in the wombs of animals also there arises a great inequality of heat, from the motion, sleep, food, NOVUM ORGANUM 465 and passions of the female. The same inequality prevails in those subterraneous beds where metals and fossils are perpetu- ally forming, which renders yet more remarkable the ignorance of some of the reformed alchemists, who imagined they could attain their object by the equable heat of lamps, or the like, burning tniformly. Let this suffice concerning the operation and effects of heat; nor is it time for us to investigate them thoroughly before the forms and conformations of bodies have been further examined and brought to light. When we have determined upon our models, we may seek, apply, and arrange our instruments. IV. The fourth mode of action is by continuance, the very steward and almoner, as it were, of nature. We apply the term continuance to the abandonment of a body to itself for an ob- servable time, guarded and protected in the mean while from all external force. For the internal motion then commences to betray and exert itself when the external and adventitious is removed. The effects of time, however, are far more delicate than those of fire. Wine, for instance, cannot be clarified by fire as it is by continuance. Nor are the ashes produced ‘by combustion so fine as the particles dissolved or wasted by the lapse of ages. The incorporations and mixtures, which are hurried by fire, are very inferior to those obtained by continu- ance; and the various conformations assumed by bodies left to themselves, such as mouldiness, etc., are put a stop to by fire or a strong heat. It is not, in the mean time, unimportant to remark that there is a certain degree of violence in the mo- tion of bodies entirely confined; for the confinement impedes the proper motion of the body. Continuance in an open vessel, therefore, is useful for separations, and in one hermetically sealed for mixtures, that in a vessel partly closed, but admitting the air, for putrefaction. But instances of the operation and effect of continuance must be collected diligently from every quarter. VY. The direction of motion (which is the fifth method of action) is of no small use. We adopt this term, when speaking of a body which, meeting with another, either arrests, repels, allows, or directs its original motion. This is the case princi- pally in the figure and position of vessels. An upright cone, for instance, promotes the condensation of vapor in alembics, but when reversed, as in inverted vessels, it assists the refining of sugar. Sometimes a curved form, or one alternately con- tracted and dilated, is required. Strainers may be ranged under this head, where the opposed body opens a way for one portion of another substance and impedes the rest. Nor is this process or any other direction of motion carried on externally only, but sometimes by one body within another. Thus, pebbles are 30 466 ~ BACON thrown into water to collect the muddy particles, and syrups are refined by the white of an egg, which glues the grosser particles together so as to facilitate their removal. Telesius, indeed, rashly and ignorantly enough attributes the formation of animals to this cause, by means of the channels and folds of the womb. He ought to have observed a similar formation of the young in eggs which have no wrinkles or inequalities. One may observe a real result of this direction of motion in casting and modelling. VI. The effects produced by harmony and aversion (which is the sixth method) are frequently buried in obscurity; for these occult and specific properties (as they are termed), the sympa- thies and antipathies, are for the most part but a corruption of philosophy. Nor can we form any great expectation of the discovery of the harmony which exists between natural objects, before that of their forms and simple conformations, for it is nothing more than the symmetry between these forms and conformations. The greater and more universal species of harmony are not, however, so wholly obscure, and with them, therefore, we must commence. The first and principal distinction between them is this; that some bodies differ considerably in the abundance and rarity of their substance, but correspond in their conforma- tion; others, on the contrary, correspond in the former and differ in the latter. Thus the chemists have well observed, that in their trial of first principles sulphur and mercury, as it were, pervade the universe; their reasoning about salt, however, is absurd, and merely introduced to compromise earthy dry fixed bodies. In the other two, indeed, one of the most universal species of natural harmony manifests itself. Thus there is a correspondence between sulphur, oil, greasy exhalations, flame, and, perhaps, the substance of the stars. On the other hand, there is a like correspondence between mercury, water, aqueous vapor, air, and perhaps pure inter-sidereal ether. Yet do these two quaternions, or great natural tribes (each within its own limits), differ immensely in quantity and density of substance, whilst they generally agree in conformation, as is manifest in many instances. On the other hand, the metals agree in such quantity and density (especially when compared with vegeta- bles, etc.), but differ in many respects in conformation. Ani- mals and vegetables, in like manner, vary in their almost in- finite modes of conformation, but range within very limited degrees of quantity and density of substance. The next most general correspondence is that between indi- vidual bodies and those which supply them by way of menstru- um or support. Inquiry, therefore, must be made as to the climate, soil, and depth at which each metal is generated, and NOVUM ORGANUM 467 the same of gems, whether produced in rocks or mines, also as to the soil in which particular trees, shrubs, and herbs, mostly grow and, as it were, delight; and as to the best species of manure, whether dung, chalk, sea sand, or ashes, etc., and their different propriety and advantage according to the variety of soils. So also the grafting and setting of trees and plants (as regards the readiness of grafting one particular species on an- other) depends very much upon harmony, and it would be amusing to try an experiment I have lately heard of, in graft- ing forest trees (garden trees alone having hitherto been adopted), by which means the leaves and fruit are enlarged, and the trees produce more shade. The specific food of animals again should be observed, as well as that which cannot be used. us the carnivorous cannot be fed on herbs, for which reason the order of feuilletans, the experiment having been made, has nearly vanished; human nature being incapable of supporting their regimen, although the human will has more power over the bodily frame than that of other animals. The different kinds of putrefaction from which animals are generated should be noted. The harmony of principal bodies with those subordinate to them (such indeed may be deemed those we have alluded to above) are sufficiently manifest, to which may be added those that exist between different bodies and their objects, and, since these latter are more apparent, they may throw great light when well observed and diligently examined upon those which are more latent. The more internal harmony and aversion, or friendship and enmity (for superstition and folly have rendered the terms of sympathy and antipathy almost disgusting) have been either falsely assigned, or mixed with fable, or most rarely discovered from neglect. For if one were to allege that there is an enmity between the vine and the cabbage, because they will not come up well when sown together, there is a sufficient reason for it in the succulent and absorbent nature of each plant, so that the one defrauds the other. Again, if one were to say that there is a harmony and friendship between the corn and the : corn-flower, or the wild poppy, because the latter seldom grow anywhere but in cultivated soils, he ought rather to say, there is an enmity between them, for the poppy and the corn-flower are produced and created by those juices which the corn has left and rejected, so that the sowing of the corn prepares the ground for their production. And there are a vast number of similar false assertions. As for fables, they must be totally ex- terminated. There remains, then, but a scanty supply of such species of harmony as has borne the test of experiment, such as t between the magnet and iron, gold and quicksilver, and 468 BACON the like. In chemical experiments on metals, however, there are some others worthy of notice, but the greatest abundance (where the whole are so few in numbers) is discovered in certain medicines, which, from their occult and specific qualities (as they are termed), affect particular limbs, humors, diseases, or constitutions. Nor should we omit the harmony between the motion and phenomena of the moon, and their effects on lower bodies, which may be brought together by an accurate and honest selection from the experiments of agriculture, naviga- tion, and medicine, or of other sciences. By as much as these general instances, however, of more latent harmony, are rare, with so much the more diligence are they to be inquired after, through tradition, and faithful and honest reports, but without rashness and credulity, with an anxious and, as it were, hesita- ting degree of reliance. There remains one species of harmony which, though simple in its mode of action, is yet most valuable in its use, and must by no means be omitted, but rather dili- gently investigated. It is the ready or difficult coition or union of bodies in composition, or simple juxtaposition. For some bodies readily and willingly mix, and are incorporated, others tardily and perversely; thus powders mix best with water, chalk and ashes with oils, and the like. Nor are these instances of readiness and aversion to mixture to be alone collected, but others, also, of the collocation, distribution, and digestion of the parts when mingled, and the predominance after the mixture is complete. VII. Lastly, there remains the seventh, and last of the seven, modes of action ; namely that by the alternation and interchange of the other six; but of this, it will not be the right time to offer any examples, until some deeper investigation shall have taken place of each of the others. The series, or chain of this alternation, in its mode of application to separate effects, is no less powerful in its operation, than difficult to be traced. But men are possessed with the most extreme impatience, both of such inquiries, and their practical application, although it be the clue of the labyrinth in all greater works. Thus far of the generally useful instances. 51. The twenty-seventh and last place we will assign to the magical instances, a term which we apply to those where the matter or efficient agent is scanty or small, in comparison with the grandeur of the work or effect produced ; so that even when common they appear miraculous, some at first sight, others even upon more attentive observation. Nature, however, of herself, supplies these but sparingly. What she will do when her whole store is thrown open, and after the discovery of forms, processes, and conformation, will appear hereafter. As far as we can yet conjecture, these magic effects are produced in three ways, either by self-multiplication, as in fire, and the NOVUM ORGANUM 469 poisons termed specific, and the motions transferred and multi- lied from wheel to wheel; or by the excitement, or, as it were, invitation of another substance, as in the magnet, which ex- cites innumerable needles without losing or diminishing its power; and again in leaven, and the like; or by the excess of rapidity of one species of motion over another, as has been observed in the case of gunpowder, cannon, and mines. The two former require an investigation of harmonies, the latter of a measure of motion. -Whether there be any mode of changing bodies per minima (as it is termed), and transferring the delicate conformations of matter, which is of importance in all trans- formations of bodies, so as to enable art to effect, in a short time, that which nature works out by divers expedients, is a point of which we have as yet no indication. But, as we aspire to the extremest and highest results in that which is solid and true, so do we ever detest, and, as far as in us lies, expel all that is empty and vain. 52. Let this suffice as to the respective dignity of preroga- tives of instances. But it must be noted, that in this our organ, we treat of logic, and not of philosophy. Seeing, however, that our logic instructs and informs the understanding, in order that it may not, with the small hooks, as it were, of the mind, catch at, and grasp mere abstractions, but rather actually pene- trate nature, and discover the properties and effects of bodies, and the determinate laws of their substance (so that this science of ours springs from the nature of things, as well as from that ° of the mind) ; it is not to be wondered at, if it have been con- tinually interspersed and illustrated with natural observations and experiments, as instances of our method. The prerogative instances are, as appears from what has preceded, twenty-seven in number, and are termed, solitary instances, migrating in- stances, conspicuous instances, clandestine instances, constitu- tive instances, similar instances, singular instances, deviating in- stances, bordering instances, instances of power, accompany- ing and hostile instances, subjunctive instances, instances of alliance, instances of the cross, instances of divorce, instances of the gate, citing instances, instances of the road, supple- mentary instances, lancing instances, instances of the rod, instances of the course, doses of nature, wrestling instances, suggesting instances, generally useful instances, and magical in- stances. The advantage, by which these instances excel the more ordinary, regards specifically either theory or practice, or both. With regard to theory, they assist either the senses or the understanding; the serises, as in the five instances of the lamp; the understanding, either by expediting the exclusive mode of arriving at the form, as in solitary instances, or by con- fining, and more immediately indicating the affirmative, as in the migrating, conspicuous, accompanying, and subjunctive in- stances; or by elevating the understanding, and leading it to general and common natures, and that either immediately, as in the clandestine and singular instances, and those of alliance ; or very nearly so, as in the constitutive; or still less so, as in the similar instances ; or by correcting the understanding of its habits, as in the deviating instances ; or by leading to the grand form or fabric of the universe, as in the bordering instances; or by guarding it from false forms and causes, as in those of the cross and of divorce. With regard to practice, they either point it out, or measure, or elevate it. They point it out, either by showing where we must commence in order not to repeat the labors of others, as in the instances of power; or by inducing us to aspire to that which may be possible, as in the suggesting instances; the four mathematical instances measure it. The generally useful and the magical elevate it. Again, out of these twenty-seven instances, some must be collected immediately, without waiting for a particular investi- gation of properties. Such are the similar, singular, deviating, and bordering instances, those of power, and of the gate, and suggesting, generally useful, and magical instances; for these either assist and cure the understanding and senses, or furnish our general practice. The remainder are to be collected when we finish our synoptical tables for the work of the interpreter, upon any particular nature; for these instances, honored and gifted with such prerogatives, are like the soul amid the vulgar crowd of instances, and (as we from the first observed) a few of them are worth a multitude of the others. When, therefore, we are forming our tables they must be searched out with the ereatest zeal, and placed in the table. And, since mention must be made of them in what follows, a treatise upon their nature has necessarily been prefixed. We must next, however, proceed to the supports and corrections of induction, and thence to con- cretes, the latent process, and latent conformations, and the other matters, which we have enumerated in their order in the twenty-first aphorism, in order that, like good and faithful guardians, we may yield up their fortune to mankind upon the emancipation and majority of their understanding ; from which must necessarily follow an improvement of their estate, and an increase of their power over nature. For man, by the fall, lost at once his state of innocence, and his empire over creation, both of which can be partially recovered even in this life, the first by religion and faith, the second by the arts and sciences. For creation did not become entirely and utterly rebellious by the curse, but in consequence of the Divine decree, “ in the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread,” she is compelled by our labors (not assuredly by our disputes or magical cere- monies), at length, to afford mankind in some degree his bread, that is to say, to supply man’s daily wants. NOTES Page x a Ges Nemb. xxviii. 23; Levit., xxii. 18.—b Plato’s Phedo, Pay Thezt., i. 166, 191; Menon, ii. 81 and "Aristotle de Memor. 2. wage 2. 3_ Kings, 29. We may observe that? Bacon A eecichly quotes "heeda the Lhe ne to which our references point. Annales, xiii. 3.—e Poeman- der of fabioes Trismegistus. Page 3. vil rns xii. 12, and i. 18.—g 1 Cor., i,t whee 4- h Eccles., i. 8.—i Eccles., iii. soy I Cor., viii. sad Eccles., 11, 3 14.—m Ap., Sto Fite Vv. 120, in tter’s Hist. 47- "Phi Jud. se Somnis, p. 41.—o Job, Hooker, Eccl. Pol. 1. 2; But- i. ©. fhe Iliad, viii. 19; pil conf. "Hato, Theat., i. 153. rane ©. utarch in M. Cato.—* Virgil A£n., vi. 851.—s Plato, Apol. Soc. ¥ the Italians “ Ragioni di stato.” Page 8. « Pind. Pyth., ii. 21.—v Cic. ad Att., i. ine Seneca’s Epistles, iii. near the en Page sel atarch’ ’s Life of Demosthenes, not said of Aischines, but Pytheas.—y Plu- tarch’s M. Cato.—z Plato, Apol. Soc, ve efock i Boch “i Epist 20s: lon. 1; a of. Ep. D., iii. 316. ni Page 12. 1. ore L-. pation, oie A ind Yate eee L- teaching.” —Ovi Amandi, ae roar on me Go Crown. Pa e 13. o entcs, Ip. Mor., oO: 7-—? Prov., xxv. Cicero, Tuscul. Quaest., i. 2; Plu- pen Sg Themistocles.—r vera il. 215; and cf. Xen. Symp., v. 7.—s Bethulian’s Rescue, b. v. pian Baw by Sylvester. Page 14. # Laert. Life Diog.—« Demonax.— v Laert. Life Arist.—w Spartianus, Vit. Adriani, § 15. Page 15. * Neither a Portuguese or a bishop, but a Spanish monk born at Tarragona, and sent by St. Augustine on a mission to Jerusalem in the commencement of the fifth century. Page 16. -y Ovid, Metam., x. 243. Page 17. z 1 Tim., vi. 20.—a For the literary history of the a ie see Morhof’s “ Polyhist ” tom. 5, CAP. 145 and Camden’s Bg Prone Bg =<) uin- tilian, lib. x., cap. 1, § 130.—* Virgil, » Vi. 75. Page 18. + Hoe: & gg iii. 18, Life of — orace Ie is. xviii. v. a d Tacit., ist. b. i. Pog Page 19. ¢ Gavydow Axotcopuara, Page 20. f Jeremiah, vi. 16. Page 21. g Senec. ec., peat. ap. Lact. Instit., i. 26° 13.—hA * Nit 1 aliu quam bene ausus est, vana contemmere.”’—Livy, b. 10, c. 9 Page 22. # Text Empir. against St. Math., vii, 13 —k “Hic ab arte sua non recessit.” uscul Ouwst., i. c. 10.—/ Arist. De . et p. lib. 1. Page 23. m Cicero, De Natura Deorum, i. c. 8. —* Ovid, Metam., x. 667.—n Cicero, Tuscul. Quest., Ve G & Pees 24 xxvii. 6. 472 Page 25. ; p See Dionys., Hierarch., 7, 8, 9.— q Gen., i. 3.—r Gen., ll. 3—S, Gen., ii. 19. —t Gen., iv. 2.— Gen., iv. 21, 22.— v Gen., xii—w Acts, vii. 22.—% Plat., Vim, 11s .22- Page 26. ; y Leviticus, xiii. 12.—2z See Job, xxvi., xxxviiii—a Job, xxvi., 7, 13.—b xxxvlil. 31.—c The Hyades nearly approach the letter V in appearance.—d The crown of stars which forms a kind of imperfect circle near Arcturus. Page 27. g Epist., ad Jamblic. Gibbon, vol. ii. c. 23.—h Gibbon, vol. iv. c. 45.— 4 Matt., xxii. 29. Page 28. 7 k Plato (De Republica, b. 5) ii. 475. Page 29. 1 Suetonius, Life of Domitian, c. 23. —m Iliad, i. 42.— ‘‘ Unum de istis puto qui cuminum secant.”—Julian. Czs.— o Botavy toixov. He called Adrian épyaAcvov Gwypaduxdr. Page 30. p Julian. Cesares.—q For these anec- dotes see Plutarch’s life of Alex.— r Seneca de Benef., v. 5. Page 31 s Vid., Seneca, Ep. Mor., vi. 7.— tIliad, iv. 340.—u odAomdpdupos Apop., Reg. et Imp. Page 32. v Vid., Cic. Brutus, 72.—w Vid., Cic. ad) -Att:, X11. 40, 4D; x11, 50%. -and “Lop:, XxKVe Page 33. x Cic., ad. Fam., ix. 16.—y Eccl., xi. 1.—z Suet., Life Jul. Czs., c. 7o.— a Suet., Life Jul. Ces., 79. Page 34. b Plutarch; cf. Cic. ad Att., x. 8.— c Suet., Life, Ixxvii.—d Xen. Anab., ii., towards the end.—e Xen. Anab., ii. 1-12. Page 35. *iOvid,, Ep, ‘Pont.,. it; ix: <47.—f ‘See Epictetus, Enchir., c. 33, with the com- ment of Simplicus.—f Georg., ii. 490. Page 36. g Rev., ii. 24. Page 37. h Natu., a, ii. 1-13. Page 38. 1 Matt., xi. 19. Page 4o. a Ecc., x. 10.—* Georg., iv. 8. Page 41. b Apocryphal Orat., post Redit in Sen., xii. #03 cf. pro. Pl. xxx. 74.—¢ Speech of Menenius Agrippa, Livy, ii. 32. BACON Page 42. * Virg., Georg., iii. 128. Page 43. d Sylva de Orat., iii. 26; Supellex Orat., xxiv.—e Cic., ad Att., ix. 7. Page 44. f Exod., vii. 10. Page 45. g Cic., de Off., i. 16.—h Prov., xxii. 13. Page 48. a Plato, Hipp. Maj., iii. 291.—b Thales; see Plato, Theet., i. 174.—c Laertius, “* Life of Thales.” Page 49. d-Arist:, Polit;,.i,and Phys,, 1. Page 55. a Henry VII. Page 56. b 7En., iii. 96.—c 7En., v. 751.—d Prov., x. 7.—e Demosth., adv. Lept., 488. Page 58. a Annals, xiii. 31.—b Esther, vi. 1.— c Plutarch’s Symposium, i. qu. 6; and Alex., Life, xxiii. 76. Page 59. * Virgil, Georgics, i. 251.—f Virgil, /Eneid, vi. 590.—a Dan., xil. 4. Page 60. a Psalm, Ixxxix. 4.—b 1 Cor., ii. Page 6r. c Epis. to the Ephesians, ii. and Habak., ii.—* Cicero’s Epis., Fam., ix. Page 65. a Hymn to Pan, Hom. Odyss. ver. fin.—b Cicero, Epis. to Atticus, 5.— c Ovid, Metamorphoses, ii.—d Anax- agoras, in Diog. Laert. Page 66. - Plato’s Timaeus.—f Seneca’s Epis- tles. Page 68. * Virgil, Ecl., ii. 63.—f Ovid, Rem. Amoirs, v. 343. Mart. Epist.—g Psalm, ng eae Fage 69. h Laertius’s Life of Epicurus. Page 70. t Syrinx signifying a reed, or the an- cient pen.—* Afneid, vi. 270.—k Ovid, Metam., iv. Page 73. | Thus it is the excellence of a gen- eral early to discover what turn the battle is likely to take, and looking pru- dently behind, as well as before, to pur- sue a victory so as not to be unprovided for a retreat.—m Ovid’s Metamorphoses, iii. ix. and vi. and Fasti, iii. 767. Page 77. a Whately’s Logic, ii. 3, § 1.—b Cf. NOTES Plat. Theet., i. 152.—c Eccl., iii. 14, and xlii. 21.—d Discorso sopra la Prima di Tito Livio, libro., 3. Page 78. e Meteors, Problem 1, § 11. > Rueid, vii. 9 , a vi. 787. Page 80. a Ps., viii. 3, cii. 25, et al.—b See above, Prelim., sec. iii. 8, and hereafter of The- ology, sec. ult. : * Page 81. ¢ Iliad, ix.—d St. Paul, Coloss., ii. 18.—e 2 Cor., ii. 11.—a Lertius, Life o Seneca.—d Paracelsus de Philos., Sagac. Page 83. a St. John, v. 43.— Tacitus, Annals, 1. vi, 84. * Virgil’s Eclogues, viii. 8. Page 85. ¢ That doctrine had been recently demonstrated by Galileo, and defended by Gilbert. Page go. d Agrippa, Mystical Philosophy. Pa 4 sei cilotle’s Physics. Page 95. f In the Timzus, passim, et Rep., x. init. Cf. Hooker, i. 3, 43 compare also Hallam’s “ Literature of Europe,” part iii. c. 3, P- 402. Page oll Plat., Thezt., i. 155, 156. E Secles.. iii. 1.—4 Virgil, Georgics, i. —k Apocalypse, iv.—! See conclu- nl of the Disteane entitled Par- Page 97. = Pato’s Phedo; Cicero, Tuscul. st., 43 n., 2.—n V., iV. 12.— oC aa. Arist. Phys., ii. 8. Page 98. p Virg., Eclogues, vii. 45.—q Aristotle on the Heavens, 1. Page 99. a Hor., Odes., b. ii. ode x. 3.—b Pind., Pyth., ii. 21. gegtentl ics, i. and xi.—d Lerti eta and x us, Life of Domecritinae lamblicus, Life of Pythagoras. Page 103. d Virg., Eclogues, x. 8. Page 105. a Iliad, i. 334 Plato’s Alcibiades. ¢ Seneca’s Epistles, § 8. P. 106. De Oratore.—¢e Pindar, Olymp., i. 473 The triumphs of of human nature.—/f Page 107. g Quintilian’s Institutes, iii., and Ler- tius’s Lives.—h Xenophon’s Cyropadia, v.; and Quintilian’s erti 4 xL— i Annals, xv. 67—k Meteren, “ Histo of the Civil Wars in the Netherlands.” —l t., xii. and the summits uetonius’s Life. Page 110. m Lertius’s Life.—n Plato’s Timzus, and Aristotle on the Generation of Ani- mals—a Annals, xvi. 18. Page 111. 6 Virg., AEneid, vi. 746.—c Arist., on the Heavens. Page 112. d AEneid, vii. 772, 11.—e Eccles., ii. 15. f Agrippa, Scientia Vana. Page 113. g Ovid, Remedia Amoris, 525. Page 114. h Narrationes Medizvals. Page 116. # De Re Medica, i. 5. Page 117. k Suetonius’s Life Aug. Czs., 100.— | Lertius’s Life Epic., x., § 15. Page 120. m De Longitudine et Novitate Vitz. Page 126. a Rerum Natura, book s. Page 127. b “O city set to sale, whose destruc- tion is at hand, if it find a purchaser! ”’ uttered by Jugurtha, on leaving Rome. Sallust’s Jugurtha, 3s. Page 130. ¢ Virg., A=neid, iii. Page 133. a Ovid, Metam., ii. 14. Page 134. 6 Aristotle’s Politics, i. 5, 6. Page 135. a See Whately’s Intro., § 5, b. iii., also Arist., Eth. Mag., i. 1-17.—b Re Medica, i. 3 Page 136. ¢ The Timeus.—d /éneid, xii. 412.— e ZEncid, viii. 698.—/f Georg., i. 133. Page 137. Oratio pro L., Cor. Balbo, xx.— h $i ., Georg., i. 145.—4 Perseus, Prol., 8.—k Pliny's Natura History.—/ Virgil, Georg., iv. 1. Page 145: f Hippocrates, Pliny’ sties o or 8 Natural History. 1 474 Page 148. De Reprehen. Soph., ii. 9.—b_ St. Matt., xiii. 52—c De Oratore.—d Epis- tles to Atticus.—e See hereafter, sect. 18. Page 149. f In Menone, ii. 80. Page 154. a Animal., Mot., 3.—b Upon the sub- ject of analytics, see Weigelius in his * Analysis Aristotelica, ex Euclide resti- ” tuta; and Morhof in his ‘ Polyhis- tor.” Page 155. c Epist., 45 c. 7.—d See the opening of the Theetetus. Page 157. e Cicero, Natur. Deor., v. 9.—f This hypothesis gave rise to the romance of Lamekis.—g Epiphanius, adv. Haer. p. 811, in which the heresy of Audius 1s explained.—h Repub., vii. Page 158. 4 Ethics, viii. 1. Page 162. a Pantagruel, ii. 7, p. 76.—b Panta- gruel, ii. 6, 6. Page 163. c Interpret., i. 2.—d Arist., Polit., iii. 13. The person who sent to consult Periander was Thrasybulus of Miletus. Herodotus (v. 92) gives the opposite version of the story, making Periander consult Thrasybulus. _ Compare the story of Tarquin, told by Ovid, Fast., ji. 701. Page 164. e Suetonius’s Life. Page 165. f Cratyl.—g Orator., ii. 4. Page 167. h Martial, Epig., ix. 82. Page 173. a Hor., Art. Poet., 242. Page 177. a Exodus, iv. 14, 15, 16.—b Prov., i. 21. Page 178. c B., iii. 42.—d Phedias.—e Orator., ii. p83 Tusc. Disp., ii. 18, 42.—f Ovid, etam., vil. 20. Page 179. g Virg., Ecl., viii. 56.—h Rhetor., ii. 3-8.—1 Afneid, il. 104. Page 18r. k_ Plutarch.—l Hor., Epist., ii. 11.— m Prov., xXx. : Page 183. , m Ovid, Ars Amandi, ii. 662.—o Matt., ix.—p Academ., Frag. By Varro. Page 185. _Livy, iv. 28—r ZEneid, xii. 600.— s Virg., Ecl., v. 23. BACON Page 186. t Philip., i. Page 187. « Hor., Epist., 1, ii. 40.—v Hor., i. Sat., i. 66.—w Ibid. Page 189. x Habac., i. 15, 16.—y Orat., pro Mar- cellus. Page rot. z Ovid, Remedia Amoris, 429.— a Luke, x. 41.—b The fox had many shifts, but the cat a capital one. Page 192. ec Controversia. Page 206. a: Hist,, 6.4. ¢. 66. Page 208. b Annal., i. 22. Page 210. a Prov., iv. 23.—b Arist., Ethics, ii. Page 211. Cc -Epist.;. -100; d Olynthias 2s, e Georg., iii. 289. Page 212. / Nic.,: Ethics, 1.20%) Rhetj-ai 12,8: —g Epist., 53, § 12.—h See Arist., Eth. INic;,; 1. °8,.Sq. towards the end.— towards the end.— Page 213. _ + Plut., Life Pomp.—k St. Paul, Rom., 1X. Page 214. lJamblycus’s_ Life, in the Tus., Quest., v. 3. Cicero substitutes Leon- tius, prince of the Pheenicians, for Hie- ron. Page 215. m Enchir., Arrian., i.—n Prov., xv. 15. —o Rhet., i. 5, 10—p Summa Stoic., Philos. Page 216. a Acts Ap., xx. 35.—b Apoc., xiv. 13. —c Seneca. Page 217. d Seneca, Epist., xxiv., § 23-25.— e Prov., xxi. 25.—f See Virgil, Atneid, vi. 730. Page 218. g Plato, Gorgias, i. 492. Page 219. h Juvenal, Sat., x. 360. Page 221. 4 Prov., xiv. 6. Page 222. k Prov., xviii. 2. Page 223. 1 Virg., 7En., vi. 823.—m Plut., Life Brut.—n Plutarch, Moral. Prec. Gerend. Reip., i. 24.—a Eth., Mag., ad init.— b Mag., Moral., i. NOTES 224. ei -—¢ Psal., cxxii. ge 226. f Diet a te act ree oe 39. a. ist., i. ag he verde the mo bee Poly Olymp., eas Psalm, Ixi. 11. Page 227. m See B., ii. and ct. Eth. Nic., ii. 4, 1. Page 228. icom., Eth., ii. last ch. Page 229. o Nicom. Eth. 5 & 95, towards the end. —p Nic., Eth. 15.—q Seneca, Herc. Fur., v. 251. Page 230. r Juv., Sat., xiii. Murena, 39. Page 231. i uf Paneg., Ixxiv., § 4 and 5.—u Colos., 105.—s Pro. L., Page 232. v Cyan —% 9 xiv. Matt., 44.—y es., xviii. s Virg., ate vi Page 234. Py ed Moral. Pa b gg —c Ovid., Ars Amandi, i. gi2. 14.—* 12.— wap? 5: 236. Petit. Bs Cogeunaten, xi. 44-— e Speech of Page 2 ra ek Lig xi. 4. Page 238. a Orsi. § iii. 33.—0 3 Kings, iv. 27. ' Page e 239. c » xv. 1.—d Prov., xvii. 2. Pa rp hg xxix. 9.—f Eccles., vii. 22. Page 241. d xxiv, 34.—h Prov., eo Mate, 1 i 6—* Kd i. Ze a 2. A cl Prove & —m Prov., ces aS Petit., 5.—o Eccles. ea e ae 43. és Page sy Hen yA 8—r Prov., xxix. 12. Pa Memoires et ge 245. nal ii. Ms eon MF - ieme Siecle.— Chroniques du « Prov., xii. 1. e a xxix. 11.—w Eccles., x. 4. 475 Pa pyle xvii. 17; but the sense is different. Pa 8. py ong xxix. 21.—z Prov., xxii. 29. Page 249. @ Eccles., iv. 15.—b Tacit., Annals, vi. —