No More Learning

Literature has a twofold aspect: its ideal is pure truth, which is
the noblest thought embodied in perfect beauty of form. It is the
union of science and art, the final wedding in which are merged the
knowledge worthy to be known and the highest imagination present-
ing it. There is a school calling itself that of pure art, to which
substance is nothing and form is everything. Its measure of merit
is applied to the manner only; and the meanest of subjects, the
most trivial and even the most degraded of ideas or facts, is wel-
comed to its high places if clothed in a satisfying garb. But this
school, though arrogant in the other arts of expression, has not yet
been welcomed to the judgment-seat in literature, where indeed it is
passing even now to contempt and oblivion. Bacon's instinct was for


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substance. His strongest passion was for utility. The artistic side
of his nature was receptive rather than creative. Splendid passages
in the Advancement' and 'De Augmentis' show his profound appre-
ciation of all the arts of expression, but show likewise his inability
to glorify them above that which they express. In his mind, lan-
guage is subordinate to thought, and the painting to the picture, just
as the frame is to the painting or the binding to the book. He
writes always in the grand style. He reminds us of "the large
utterance of the early gods. " His sentences are weighted with
thought, as suggestive as Plato, as condensed as Thucydides. Full
of wit, keen in discerning analogies, rich in intellectual ornament, he
is yet too concentrated in his attention to the idea to care for the
melody of language. He decorates with fruits, not with flowers.
For metrical movement, for rhythmic harmony, he has no ear nor
sense. Inconceivable as it is that Shakespeare could have written
one aphorism of the 'Novum Organum,' it would be far more absurd
to imagine Bacon writing a line of the Sonnets. With the loftiest
imagination, the liveliest fancy, the keenest sense of precision and
appropriateness in words, he lacks the special gift of poetic form,
the faculty divine which finds new inspiration in the very limitations
of measured language, and whose natural expression is music alike
to the ear and to the mind. His powers were cramped by the fetters
of metre, and his attempts to versify even rich thought and deep
feeling were puerile. But his prose is by far the weightiest, the
most lucid, effective, and pleasing of his day. The poet Sprat justly
says:-
"He was a man of strong, clear, and powerful imaginations; his genius was
searching and inimitable; and of this I need give no other proof than his
style itself, which as for the most part it describes men's minds as well as
pictures do their bodies, so it did his above all men living. "
And Ben Jonson, who knew him well, describes his eloquence in
terms which are confirmed by all we know of his Parliamentary
career:
"One, though he be excellent and the chief, is not to be imitated alone;
for no imitator ever grew up to his author: likeness is always on this side
truth. Yet there happened in my time one noble speaker, who was full of
gravity in his speaking. His language (when he could spare or pass by a
jest) was nobly censorious. No man ever spake more neatly, more rightly,
more weightily, or suffered less emptiness, less idleness in what he uttered.
No member of his speech but consisted of his own graces. His hearers could
not cough or look aside from him without loss. He commanded when he
spoke, and had his judges angry and pleased at his devotion. No man had
their affections more in his power. The fear of every man that heard him
was lest he should make an end. "
II-74


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The speeches of Bacon are almost wholly lost, his philosophy is
an undeciphered heap of fragments, the ambitions of his life lay in
ruins about his dishonored old age; yet his intellect is one of the
great moving and still vital forces of the modern world, and he
remains, for all ages to come, in the literature which is the final
storehouse of the chief treasures of mankind, one of
"The dead yet sceptered sovereigns who still rule
Our spirits from their urns. "
Chatten. It has
OF TRUTH
From the Essays
WHA
WHAT is Truth? said jesting Pilate; and would not stay for
an answer. Certainly there be that delight in giddiness;
and count it a bondage to fix a belief; affecting free-will
in thinking, as well as in acting. And though the sects of phi-
losophers of that kind be gone, yet there remain certain discours-
ing wits, which are of the same veins, though there be not so
much blood in them as was in those of the ancients. But it is
not only the difficulty and labor which men take in finding out
of truth, nor again, that when it is found it imposeth upon
men's thoughts, that doth bring lies in favor: but a natural
though corrupt love of the lie itself. One of the later school
of the Grecians examineth the matter, and is at a stand to think
what should be in it, that men should love lies, where neither
they make for pleasure as with poets, nor for advantage as
with the merchant; but for the lie's sake. But I cannot tell:
this same truth is a naked and open daylight, that doth not show
the masks and mummeries and triumphs of the world half so
stately and daintily as candle-lights. Truth may perhaps come
to the price of a pearl, that showeth best by day; but it will not
rise to the price of a diamond or carbuncle, that showeth best
in varied lights. A mixture of a lie doth ever add pleasure.
Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of men's
minds vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imagina-
tions as one would, and the like, but it would leave the minds


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of a number of men poor shrunken things, full of melancholy
and indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves? One of the
fathers, in great severity, called poesy vinum dæmonum, because
it filleth the imagination, and yet it is but with the shadow
of a lie. But it is not the lie that passeth through the mind,
but the lie that sinketh in and settleth in it, that doth the hurt;
such as we spake of before. But howsoever these things are
thus in men's depraved judgments and affections, yet truth, which
only doth judge itself, teacheth that the inquiry of truth, which
is the love-making or wooing of it, the knowledge of truth,
which is the presence of it, and the belief of truth, which is the
enjoying of it, is the sovereign good of human nature. The first
creature of God, in the works of the days, was the light of the
sense; the last was the light of reason; and his Sabbath work
ever since is the illumination of his Spirit.
The poet that
beautified the sect that was otherwise inferior to the rest, saith
yet excellently well:-"It is a pleasure to stand upon the shore,
and to see ships tossed upon the sea; a pleasure to stand in the
window of a castle, and to see a battle and the adventures thereof
below; but no pleasure is comparable to the standing upon the
vantage ground of Truth" (a hill not to be commanded, and
where the air is always clear and serene), "and to see the errors,
and wanderings, and mists, and tempests, in the vale below: "
so always that this prospect be with pity, and not with swelling
or pride. Certainly, it is heaven upon earth, to have a man's
mind move in charity, rest in providence, and turn upon the
poles of truth.
To pass from theological and philosophical truth to the truth
of civil business: it will be acknowledged even by those that
practice it not, that clear and round dealing is the honor of
man's nature, and that mixture of falsehood is like alloy in coin
of gold and silver, which may make the metal work the better,
but it embaseth it. For these winding and crooked courses are
the goings of the serpent; which goeth basely upon the belly,
and not upon the feet. There is no vice that doth so cover a
man with shame as to be found false and perfidious; and there-
fore Montaigne saith prettily, when he inquired the reason why
the word of the lie should be such a disgrace and such an
odious charge. Saith he, "If it be well weighed, to say that a
man lieth, is as much as to say that he is brave toward God
and a coward toward men. " For a lie faces God, and shrinks


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FRANCIS BACON
from man. Surely the wickedness of falsehood and breach of
faith cannot possibly be so highly expressed, as in that it shall
be the last peal to call the judgments of God upon the genera-
tions of men; it being foretold, that when Christ cometh, "he
shall not find faith upon the earth. "
OF REVENGE
From the Essays'
RⓇ
EVENGE is a kind of wild justice; which the more man's
nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out. For as
for the first wrong, it doth but offend the law; but the
revenge of that wrong putteth the law out of office. Certainly,
in taking revenge, a man is but even with his enemy; but in
passing it over, he is superior: for it is a prince's part to pardon.
and Solomon, I am sure, saith, "It is the glory of a man to pass
by an offense. " That which is past is gone and irrevocable, and
wise men have enough to do with things present and to come;
therefore, they do but trifle with themselves that labor in past
matters. There is no man doth a wrong for the wrong's sake;
but thereby to purchase himself profit, or pleasure, or honor, or
the like. Therefore, why should I be angry with a man for lov-
ing himself better than me? And if any man should do wrong
merely out of ill-nature, why yet it is but like the thorn or
brier, which prick and scratch because they can do no other.
The most tolerable sort of revenge is for those wrongs which
there is no law to remedy; but then, let a man take heed the
revenge be such as there is no law to punish, else a man's
enemy is still beforehand, and it is two for one. Some, when
they take revenge, are desirous the party should know whence it
cometh. This is the more generous; for the delight seemeth to
be not so much in doing the hurt as in making the party repent.
But base and crafty cowards are like the arrow that flieth in the
dark. Cosmus, Duke of Florence, had a desperate saying against
perfidious or neglecting friends, as if those wrongs were unpar-
donable. "You shall read," saith he, "that we are commanded
to forgive our enemies; but you never read that we are com-
manded to forgive our friends. " But yet the spirit of Job was
in a better tune: "Shall we," saith he, "take good at God's
hands, and not be content to take evil also? » And so of friends


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in a proportion. This is certain, that a man that studieth
revenge keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would
heal and do well. Public revenges are for the most part for-
tunate: as that for the death of Cæsar; for the death of Perti-
nax; for the death of Henry the Third of France; and many
more. But in private revenges it is not so. Nay, rather vin-
dictive persons live the life of witches; who, as they are mis-
chievous, so end they infortunate.
OF SIMULATION AND DISSIMULATION
From the Essays'
D
ISSIMULATION is but a faint kind of policy or wisdom; for it
asketh a strong wit and a strong heart to know when to
tell truth, and to do it. Therefore it is the weaker sort of
politicians that are the great dissemblers.
Tacitus saith, "Livia sorted well with the arts of her hus-
band and dissimulation of her son;" attributing arts of policy
to Augustus, and dissimulation to Tiberius. And again, when
Mucianus encourageth Vespasian to take arms against Vitel-
lius, he saith, "We rise not against the piercing judgment of
Augustus, nor the extreme caution or closeness of Tiberius. ”
These properties of arts or policy, and dissimulation or closeness,
are indeed habits and faculties several, and to be distinguished.
For if a man have that penetration of judgment as he can dis-
cern what things are to be laid open, and what to be secreted,
and what to be showed at half-lights, and to whom and when,
(which indeed are arts of state and arts of life, as Tacitus well
calleth them,) to him a habit of dissimulation is a hindrance and
a poorness. But if a man cannot obtain to that judgment, then
it is left to him generally to be close, and a dissembler. For
where a man cannot choose or vary in particulars, there it is
good to take the safest and wariest way in general; like the
going softly, by one that cannot well see. Certainly the ablest
men that ever were, have had all an openness and frankness of
dealing, and a name of certainty and veracity: but then they
were like horses well managed, for they could tell passing well
when to stop or turn; and at such times when they thought the
case indeed required dissimulation, if then they used it, it came


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to pass that the former opinion spread abroad of their good
faith and clearness of dealing made them almost invisible.
There be three degrees of this hiding and veiling of a man's
self. The first, Closeness, Reservation, and Secrecy; when a man
leaveth himself without observation, or without hold to be taken,
what he is. The second, Dissimulation, in the negative; when a
man lets fall signs and arguments, that he is not that he is.
And the third, Simulation, in the affirmative; when a man indus
triously and expressly feigns and pretends to be that he is not.
For the first of these, Secrecy: it is indeed the virtue of a
confessor. And assuredly the secret man heareth many confes-
sions; for who will open himself to a blab or a babbler? But if
a man be thought secret, it inviteth discovery, as the more close
air sucketh in the more open; and as in confession the reveal-
ing is not for worldly use, but for the ease of a man's heart, so
secret men come to the knowledge of many things in that kind:
while men rather discharge their minds than impart their minds.
In few words, mysteries are due to secrecy.
Besides (to say
truth), nakedness is uncomely, as well in mind as body; and it
addeth no small reverence to men's manners and actions, if they
be not altogether open. As for talkers and futile persons, they
are commonly vain and credulous withal; for he that talketh
what he knoweth, will also talk what he knoweth not. Therefore
set it down, that a habit of secrecy is both politic and moral.
And in this part it is good that a man's face give his tongue.
leave to speak; for the discovery of a man's self by the tracts.
of his countenance is a great weakness and betraying, by how
much it is many times more marked and believed than a man's
words.
For the second, which is Dissimulation: it followeth many
times upon secrecy by a necessity; so that he that will be secret
must be a dissembler in some degree. For men are too cunning
to suffer a man to keep an indifferent carriage between both,
and to be secret, without swaying the balance on either side.
They will so beset a man with questions, and draw him on,
and pick it out of him, that without an absurd silence, he must
show an inclination one way; or if he do not, they will gather
as much by his silence as by his speech. As for equivocations,
or oraculous speeches, they cannot hold out long. So that no man
can be secret, except he give himself a little scope of dissimula-
tion; which is, as it were, but the skirts or train of secrecy.


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But for the third degree, which is Simulation and false pro-
fession: that I hold more culpable and less politic, except it be
in great and rare matters. And therefore a general custom of
simulation (which is this last degree) is a vice rising either of a
natural falseness or fearfulness, or of a mind that hath some
main faults; which because a man must needs disguise, it mak-
eth him practice simulation in other things, lest his hand should
be out of use.
The great advantages of simulation and dissimulation are.
three. First, to lay asleep opposition, and to surprise; for where
a man's intentions are published, it is an alarum to call up all
that are against them. The second is, to reserve to a man's self a
fair retreat; for if a man engage himself by a manifest declara-
tion, he must go through or take a fall. The third is, the better
to discover the mind of another; for to him that opens himself
men will hardly show themselves adverse, but will fair let him
go on, and turn their freedom of speech to freedom of thought.
And therefore it is a good shrewd proverb of the Spaniard,
"Tell a lie and find a troth; >> as if there were no way of dis-
covery but by simulation. There be also three disadvantages to
set it even. The first, that simulation and dissimulation commonly
carry with them a show of fearfulness; which in any business
doth spoil the feathers of round flying up to the mark. The
second, that it puzzleth and perplexeth the conceits of many that
perhaps would otherwise co-operate with him, and makes a man
walk almost alone to his own ends. The third and greatest is,
that it depriveth a man of one of the most principal instruments
for action; which is trust and belief. The best composition and
temperature is, to have openness in fame and opinion; secrecy
in habit; dissimulation in seasonable use; and a power to feign
if there be no remedy.
OF TRAVEL
From the Essays'
TRA
RAVEL, in the younger sort, is a part of education; in the elder,
a part of experience. He that traveleth into a country
before he hath some entrance into the language, goeth to
school, and not to travel. That young men travel under some
tutor or grave servant, I allow well: so that he be such a one


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FRANCIS BACON
·
that hath the language, and hath been in the country before;
whereby he may be able to tell them what things are worthy to
be seen in the country where they go, what acquaintances they
are to seek, what exercises or discipline the place yielded. For
else young men shall go hooded, and look abroad little. It is a
strange thing, that in sea voyages, where there is nothing to be
seen but sky and sea, men should make diaries; but in land
travel, wherein so much is to be observed, for the most part
they omit it; as if chance were fitter to be registered than ob-
servation. Let diaries therefore be brought in use. The things
to be seen and observed are, the courts of princes, specially
when they give audience to ambassadors; the courts of justice,
while they sit and hear causes; and so of consistories ecclesiastic;
the churches and monasteries, with the monuments which are
therein extant; the walls and fortifications of cities and towns,
and so the havens and harbors; antiquities and ruins; libraries;
colleges, disputations, and lectures, where any are; shipping and
navies; houses and gardens of state and pleasure, near great
cities; armories; arsenals; magazines; exchanges; burses; ware-
houses; exercises of horsemanship, fencing, training of soldiers,
and the like; comedies, such whereunto the better sort of persons
do resort; treasuries of jewels and robes; cabinets and rarities:
and, to conclude, whatsoever is memorable in the places where
they go.
After all which the tutors or servants ought to make
diligent inquiry. As for triumphs, masks, feasts, weddings,
funerals, capital executions, and such shows, men need not to be
put in mind of them: yet are they not to be neglected. If you
will have a young man to put his travel into a little room, and in
short time to gather much, this you must do. First, as was said,
he must have some entrance into the language before he goeth.
Then he must have such a servant or tutor as knoweth the coun-
try, as was likewise said. Let him carry with him also some card
or book, describing the country where he traveleth, which will
be a good key to his inquiry. Let him keep also a diary. Let
him not stay long in one city or town; more or less as the place
deserveth, but not long: nay, when he stayeth in one city or
town, let him change his lodging from one end and part of the
town to another; which is a great adamant of acquaintance. Let
him sequester himself from the company of his countrymen, and
diet in such places where there is good company of the nation
where he traveleth. Let him upon his removes from one place


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to another, procure recommendation to some person of quality
residing in the place whither he removeth; that he may use his
favor in those things he desireth to see or know.
Thus he may
abridge his travel with much profit.
As for the acquaintance which is to be sought in travel: that
which is most of all profitable, is acquaintance with the secreta-
ries and employed men of ambassadors; for so in traveling in
one country he shall suck the experience of many. Let him also
see and visit eminent persons in all kinds, which are of great
name abroad; that he may be able to tell how the life agreeth
with the fame. For quarrels, they are with care and discretion.
to be avoided. They are commonly for mistresses, healths, place,
and words. And let a man beware how he keepeth company
with choleric and quarrelsome persons; for they will engage him
into their own quarrels. When a traveler returneth home, let
him not leave the countries where he hath traveled altogether
behind him, but maintain a correspondence by letters with those
of his acquaintance which are of most worth. And let his travel
appear rather in his discourse than in his apparel or gesture; and
in his discourse let him be rather advised in his answers, than
forward to tell stories; and let it appear that he doth not change
his country manners for those of foreign parts; but only prick in
some flowers of that he hath learned abroad into the customs of
his own country.
OF FRIENDSHIP
From the Essays >
I'
T HAD been hard for him that spake it to have put more truth
and untruth together in few words than in that speech,
"Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast
or a god. " For it is most true that a natural and secret hatred
and aversion toward society in any man hath somewhat of the
savage beast; but it is most untrue that it should have any char-
acter at all of the divine nature, except it proceed, not out of a
pleasure in solitude, but out of a love and desire to sequester a
man's self for a higher conversation: such as is found to have
been falsely and feignedly in some of the heathen, as Epimen-
ides the Candian, Numa the Roman, Empedocles the Sicilian,
and Apollonius of Tyana; and truly and really in divers of the
ancient hermits and holy fathers of the Church. But little do


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FRANCIS BACON
men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a
crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures;
and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love. The
Latin adage meeteth with it a little: "Magna civitas, magna
solitudo;" because in a great town friends are scattered, so that
there is not that fellowship, for the most part, which is in less
neighborhoods. But we may go further, and affirm most truly
that it is a mere and miserable solitude to want true friends,
without which the world is but a wilderness; and even in this
sense also of solitude, whosoever in the frame of his nature and
affections is unfit for friendship, he taketh it of the beast, and
not from humanity.
A principal fruit of friendship is the ease and discharge of
the fullness and swellings of the heart, which passions of all
kinds do cause and induce. We know diseases of stoppings and
suffocations are the most dangerous in the body; and it is not
much otherwise in the mind. You may take sarza to open the
liver, steel to open the spleen, flower of sulphur for the lungs,
castoreum for the brain: but no receipt openeth the heart but a
true friend; to whom you may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes,
suspicions, counsels, and whatsoever lieth upon the heart to
oppress it, in a kind of civil shrift or confession.
It is a strange thing to observe how high a rate great kings
and monarchs do set upon this fruit of friendship whereof we
speak; so great, as they purchase it many times at the hazard of
their own safety and greatness. For princes, in regard of the
distance of their fortune from that of their subjects and servants,
cannot gather this fruit, except (to make themselves capable
thereof) they raise some persons to be as it were companions
and almost equals to themselves; which many times sorteth to
inconvenience. The modern languages give unto such persons
the name of favorites, or privadoes; as if it were matter of grace
or conversation. But the Roman name attaineth the true use and
cause thereof, naming them "participes curarum"; for it is that
which tieth the knot. And we see plainly that this hath been
done, not by weak and passionate princes only, but by the wisest
and most politic that ever reigned; who have oftentimes joined
to themselves some of their servants, whom both themselves
have called friends, and allowed others likewise to call them in
the same manner, using the word which is received between
private men.


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L. Sylla, when he commanded Rome, raised Pompey (after
surnamed the Great) to that height that Pompey vaunted himself
for Sylla's overmatch. For when he had carried the consulship for
a friend of his against the pursuit of Sylla, and that Sylla did a
little resent thereat, and began to speak great, Pompey turned
upon him again, and in effect bade him be quiet; "for that more
men adored the sun rising than the sun setting. " With Julius
Cæsar, Decimus Brutus had obtained that interest, as he set him
down in his testament for heir in remainder after his nephew;
and this was the man that had power with him to draw him forth
to his death. For when Cæsar would have discharged the Senate
in regard of some ill presages, and specially a dream of Calpur-
nia, this man lifted him gently by the arm out of his chair, telling
him he hoped he would not dismiss the Senate till his wife had
dreamt a better dream. And it seemeth his favor was so great as
Antonius, in a letter which is recited verbatim in one of Cicero's
Philippics, calleth him "venefica » "witch"; as if he had en-
chanted Cæsar. Augustus raised Agrippa (though of mean birth)
to that height as, when he consulted with Mæcenas about the
marriage of his daughter Julia, Mæcenas took the liberty to tell
him, "that he must either marry his daughter to Agrippa or take
away his life: there was no third way, he had made him so great. "
With Tiberius Cæsar, Sejanus had ascended to that height as
they two were termed and reckoned as a pair of friends. Tibe-
rius in a letter to him saith, "Hæc pro amicitia nostra non occul-
tavi" [these things, from our friendship, I have not concealed
from you]; and the whole Senate dedicated an altar to Friendship,
as to a goddess, in respect of the great dearness of friendship
between them two. The like, or more, was between Septimius
Severus and Plautianus. For he forced his eldest son to marry
the daughter of Plautianus; and would often maintain Plautianus
in doing affronts to his son; and did write also, in a letter to the
Senate, by these words: "I love the man so well, as I wish he
may over-live me. " Now, if these princes had been as a Trajan
or a Marcus Aurelius, a man might have thought that this had
proceeded of an abundant goodness of nature; but being men so
wise, of such strength and severity of mind, and so
so extreme
lovers of themselves, as all these were, it proveth most plainly
that they found their own felicity (though as great as ever hap-
pened to mortal men) but as an half-piece, except they might
have a friend to make it entire: and yet, which is more, they


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FRANCIS BACON
were princes that had wives, sons, nephews; and yet all these
could not supply the comfort of friendship.
It is not to be forgotten what Comineus observeth of his
first master, Duke Charles the Hardy; namely, that he would.
communicate his secrets with none, and least of all those secrets
which troubled him most. Whereupon he goeth on and saith,
that toward his latter time "that closeness did impair and a little
perish his understanding. " Surely Comineus mought have made
the same judgment also, if it had pleased him, of his second.
master Louis the Eleventh, whose closeness was indeed his tor-
mentor. The parable of Pythagoras is dark, but true: "Cor ne
edito," "Eat not the heart. " Certainly, if a man would give it
a hard phrase, those that want friends to open themselves unto
are cannibals of their own hearts. But one thing is most ad-
mirable (wherewith I will conclude this first fruit of friendship),
which is, that this communicating of a man's self to his friend
works two contrary effects; for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth
griefs in halves. For there is no man that imparteth his joys to
his friend, but he joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth
his griefs to his friend, but he grieveth the less. So that it is,
in truth, of operation upon a man's mind of like virtue as the
alchymists use to attribute to their stone for man's body; that
it worketh all contrary effects, but still to the good and benefit
of nature. But yet without praying in aid of alchymists, there is
a manifest image of this in the ordinary course of nature: for
in bodies, union strengtheneth and cherisheth any natural action,
and on the other side, weakeneth and dulleth any violent im-
pression; and even so it is of minds.
The second fruit of friendship is healthful and sovereign for
the understanding, as the first is for the affections. For friend-
ship maketh indeed a fair day in the affections, from storm and
tempests, but it maketh daylight in the understanding, out of
darkness and confusion of thoughts. Neither is this to be under-
stood only of faithful counsel, which a man receiveth from his
friend; but before you come to that, certain it is that whosoever
hath his mind fraught with many thoughts, his wits and under-
standing do clarify and break up in the communicating and dis-
coursing with another; he tosseth his thoughts more easily; he
marshaleth them more orderly; he seeth how they look when
they are turned into words; finally, he waxeth wiser than him-
self; and that more by an hour's discourse than by a day's medi-


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FRANCIS BACON
1181
tation. It was well said by Themistocles to the King of Persia,
"That speech was like cloth of Arras, opened and put abroad;
whereby the imagery doth appear in figure: whereas in thoughts
they lie but as in packs. " Neither is this second fruit of friend-
ship, in opening the understanding, restrained only to such
friends as are able to give a man counsel (they indeed are best);
but even without that, a man learneth of himself, and bringeth
his own thoughts to light, and whetteth his wits as against
a stone, which itself cuts not. In a word, a man were better
relate himself to a statue or picture, than to suffer his thoughts
to pass in smother.
Add now, to make this second fruit of friendship complete,
that other point which lieth more open, and falleth within vulgar
observation; which is faithful counsel from a friend. Heraclitus
saith well in one of his enigmas, "Dry light is ever the best;"
and certain it is, that the light that a man receiveth by counsel
from another, is drier and purer than that which cometh from
his own understanding and judgment; which is ever infused and
drenched in his affections and customs. So as there is as much
difference between the counsel that a friend giveth, and that a
man giveth himself, as there is between the counsel of a friend
and of a flatterer; for there is no such flatterer as is a man's
self, and there is no such remedy against flattery of a man's self
as the liberty of a friend.
Counsel is of two sorts: the one con-
cerning manners, the other concerning business. For the first,
the best preservative to keep the mind in health is the faithful
admonition of a friend. The calling of a man's self to a strict
account is a medicine sometimes too piercing and corrosive;
reading good books of morality is a little flat and dead; observing
our faults in others is sometimes improper for our case: but the
best receipt (best I say to work and best to take) is the admoni-
tion of a friend. It is a strange thing to behold what gross
errors and extreme absurdities many (especially of the greater
sort) do commit for want of a friend to tell them of them, to the
great damage both of their fame and fortune: for, as St. James
saith, they are as men "that look sometimes into a glass, and
presently forget their own shape and favor. " As for business, a
man may think, if he will, that two eyes see no more than
one; or, that a gamester seeth always more than a looker-on; or,
that a man in anger is as wise as he that hath said over the
four-and-twenty letters; or, that a musket may be shot off as well.


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1182
FRANCIS BACON
upon the arm as upon a rest; and such other fond and high
imaginations, to think himself all in all: but when all is done,
the help of good counsel is that which setteth business straight:
and if any man think that he will take counsel, but it shall be
by pieces; asking counsel in one business of one man, and in
another business of another man, it is well (that is to say, better,
perhaps, than if he asked none at all); but he runneth two
dangers: one, that he shall not be faithfully counseled; for it is
a rare thing, except it be from a perfect and entire friend, to
have counsel given, but such as shall be bowed and crooked to
some ends which he hath that giveth it: the other, that he shall
have counsel given, hurtful and unsafe (though with good mean-
ing), and mixed partly of mischief, and partly of remedy; even
as if you would call a physician, that is thought good for the
cure of the disease you complain of, but is unacquainted with your
body; and therefore may put you in a way for a present cure,
but overthroweth your health in some other kind, and so cure
the disease and kill the patient: but a friend that is wholly
acquainted with a man's estate will beware, by furthering any
present business, how he dasheth upon the other inconvenience.
And therefore, rest not upon scattered counsels: they will rather
distract and mislead, than settle and direct.
After these two noble fruits of friendship (peace in the affec-
tions, and support of the judgment), followeth the last fruit,
which is like the pomegranate, full of many kernels; I mean
aid, and bearing a part in all actions and occasions. Here the
best way to represent to life the manifold use of friendship,
to cast and see how many things there are which a man cannot
do himself: and then it will appear that it was a sparing speech.
of the ancients to say, "that a friend is another himself;" for
that a friend is far more than himself. Men have their time,
and die many times in desire of some things which they princi-
pally take to heart; the bestowing of a child, the finishing of a
work, or the like. If a man have a true friend, he may rest
almost secure that the care of those things will continue after
him, so that a man hath, as it were, two lives in his desires. A
man hath a body, and that body is confined to a place; but
where friendship is, all offices of life are, as it were, granted to
him and his deputy; for he may exercise them by his friend.
How many things are there, which a man cannot, with any face
or comeliness, say or do himself; A man can scarce allege his


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FRANCIS BACON
1183
own merits with modesty, much less extol them; a man cannot
sometimes brook to supplicate, or beg, and a number of the like:
but all these things are graceful in a friend's mouth, which are
blushing in a man's own. So again, a man's person hath many
proper relations which he cannot put off. A man cannot speak
to his son but as a father; to his wife but as a husband; to his
enemy but upon terms: whereas a friend may speak as the case
requires, and not as it sorteth with the person: but to enumerate
these things were endless; I have given the rule, where a man
cannot fitly play his own part, if he have not a friend he may
quit the stage.
DEFECTS OF THE UNIVERSITIES
From The Advancement of Learning' (Book ii. )
A
MONGST SO many great foundations of colleges in Europe, I
find it strange that they are all dedicated to professions, and
none left free to arts and sciences at large.
For if men
judge that learning should be referred to action, they judge well:
but in this they fall into the error described in the ancient
fable, in which the other parts of the body did suppose the
stomach had been idle, because it neither performed the office of
motion, as the limbs do, nor of sense, as the head doth; but yet
notwithstanding it is the stomach that digesteth and distributeth
to all the rest. So if any man think philosophy and universality
to be idle studies, he doth not consider that all professions are
from thence served and supplied. And this I take to be a great
cause that hath hindered the progression of learning, because
these fundamental knowledges have been studied but in passage.
For if you will have a tree bear more fruit than it hath used to
do, it is not anything you can do to the boughs, but it is the
stirring of the earth and putting new mold about the roots that
must work it. Neither is it to be forgotten, that this dedicating
of foundations and dotations to professory learning hath not only
had a malign aspect and influence upon the growth of sciences,
but hath also been prejudicial to States and governments. For
hence it proceedeth that princes find a solitude in regard of able
men to serve them in causes of estate, because there is no edu-
cation collegiate which is free; where such as were so disposed
mought give themselves to histories, modern languages, books of


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1184
FRANCIS BACON
policy and civil discourse, and other the like enablements unto
service of estate.
And because founders of colleges do plant, and founders of
lectures do water, it followeth well in order to speak of the
defect which is in public lectures; namely, in the smallness and
meanness of the salary or reward which in most places is
assigned unto them; whether they be lectures of arts, or of
professions For it is necessary to the progression of sciences
that readers be of the most able and sufficient men; as those
which are ordained for generating and propagating of sciences,
and not for transitory use. This cannot be, except their con-
dition and endowment be such as may content the ablest man
to appropriate his whole labor and continue his whole age in
that function and attendance; and therefore must have a propor-
tion answerable to that mediocrity or competency of advance-
ment, which may be expected from a profession or the practice
of a profession. So as, if you will have sciences flourish, you
must observe David's military law, which was, "That those which
staid with the carriage should have equal part with those which
were in the action"; else will the carriages be ill attended. So
readers in sciences are indeed the guardians of the stores and
provisions of sciences whence men in active courses are fur-
nished, and therefore ought to have equal entertainment with
them; otherwise if the fathers in sciences be of the weakest sort
or be ill maintained,
"Et patrum invalidi referent jejunia nati:"
[Weakness of parents will show in feebleness of offspring. ]
Another defect I note, wherein I shall need some alchemist
to help me, who call upon men to sell their books and to
build furnaces; quitting and forsaking Minerva and the Muses
as barren virgins, and relying upon Vulcan. But certain it is,
that unto the deep, fruitful, and operative study of many sci-
ences, specially natural philosophy and physic, books be not only
the instrumentals; wherein also the beneficence of men hath not
been altogether wanting. For we see spheres, globes, astro-
labes, maps, and the like, have been provided as appurtenances to
astronomy and cosmography, as well as books. We see likewise
that some places instituted for physic have annexed the commod-
ity of gardens for simples of all sorts, and do likewise command
the use of dead bodies for anatomies. But these do respect


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FRANCIS BACON
1185
but a few things. In general, there will hardly be any main
proficience in the disclosing of nature, except there be some
allowance for expenses about experiments; whether they be
experiments appertaining to Vulcanus or Dædalus, furnace or
engine, or any other kind. And therefore, as secretaries and
spials of princes and states bring in bills for intelligence, so you
must allow the spials and intelligencers of nature to bring in
their bills; or else you shall be ill advertised.
And if Alexander made such a liberal assignation to Aris-
totle of treasure for the allowance of hunters, fowlers, fishers,
and the like, that he mought compile an history of nature, much
better do they deserve it that travail in arts of nature.
Another defect which I note, is an intermission or neglect
in those which are governors in universities of consultation,
and in princes or superior persons of visitation; to enter into
account and consideration, whether the readings, exercises, and
other customs appertaining unto learning, anciently begun and
since continued, be well instituted or no; and thereupon to ground
an amendment or reformation in that which shall be found in-
convenient. For it is one of your Majesty's own most wise and
princely maxims, "that in all usages and precedents, the times
be considered wherein they first began; which if they were
weak or ignorant, it derogateth from the authority of the usage,
and leaveth it for suspect. " And therefore inasmuch as most
of the usages and orders of the universities were derived from
more obscure times, it is the more requisite they be re-examined.
In this kind I will give an instance or two, for example's sake,
of things that are the most obvious and familiar. The one is a
matter, which, though it be ancient and general, yet I hold to be
an error; which is, that scholars in universities come too soon
and too unripe to logic and rhetoric, arts fitter for graduates
than children and novices. For these two, rightly taken, are the
gravest of sciences, being the arts of arts; the one for judg-
ment, the other for ornament. And they be the rules and
directions how to set forth and dispose matter: and therefore
for minds empty and unfraught with matter, and which have
not gathered that which Cicero calleth sylva and supellex, stuff
and variety, to begin with those arts (as if one should learn to
weigh or to measure or to paint the wind) doth work but this
effect, that the wisdom of those arts, which is great and uni-
versal, is almost made contemptible, and is degenerate into
11-75


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1186
FRANCIS BACON
childish sophistry and ridiculous affectation. And further, the
untimely learning of them hath drawn on by consequence the
superficial and unprofitable teaching and writing of them, as
fitteth indeed to the capacity of children. Another is a lack I
find in the exercises used in the universities, which do make
too great a divorce between invention and memory. For their
speeches are either premeditate, in verbis conceptis, where noth-
ing is left to invention, or merely extemporal, where little is left
to memory; whereas in life and action there is least use of
either of these, but rather of intermixtures of premeditation and
invention, notes and memory. So as the exercise fitteth not the
practice, nor the image the life; and it is ever a true rule in
exercises, that they be framed as near as may be to the life of
practice; for otherwise they do pervert the motions and faculties
of the mind, and not prepare them. The truth whereof is not
obscure, when scholars come to the practices of professions, or
other actions of civil life; which when they set into, this want
is soon found by themselves, and sooner by others. But this
part, touching the amendment of the institutions and orders of
universities, I will conclude with the clause of Cæsar's letter to
Oppius and Balbus, "Hoc quem admodum fieri possit, nonnulla
mihi in mentem veniunt, et multa reperiri possunt: de iis rebus
rogo vos ut cogitationem suscipiatis. " [How this may be done,
some ways come to my mind and many may be devised; I ask
you to take these things into consideration. ]
Another defect which I note ascendeth a little higher than
the precedent. For as the proficience of learning consisteth much
in the orders and institutions of universities in the same States
and kingdoms, so it would be yet more advanced, if there were
more intelligence mutual between the universities of Europe
than now there is. We see there be many orders and founda-
tions, which though they be divided under several sovereignties
and territories, yet they take themselves to have a kind of con-
tract, fraternity, and correspondence one with the other, insomuch
as they have Provincials and Generals. And surely as nature
createth brotherhood in families, and arts mechanical contract
brotherhoods in communalties, and the anointment of God super-
induceth a brotherhood in kings and bishops; so in like manner
there cannot but be a fraternity in learning and illumination,
relating to that paternity which is attributed to God, who is
called the Father of illuminations or lights.


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FRANCIS BACON
1187
The last defect which I will note is, that there hath not been,
or very rarely been, any public designation of writers or in-
quirers concerning such parts of knowledge as may appear not
to have been already sufficiently labored or undertaken; unto
which point it is an inducement to enter into a view and exam-
ination what parts of learning have been prosecuted, and what
omitted. For the opinion of plenty is amongst the causes of
want, and the great quantity of books maketh a show rather of
superfluity than lack; which surcharge nevertheless is not to be
remedied by making no more books, but by making more good
books, which, as the serpent of Moses, mought devour the ser-
pents of the enchanters.
The removing of all the defects formerly enumerated, except
the last, and of the active part also of the last (which is the desig-
nation of writers), are opera basilica [kings' works]; towards which
the endeavors of a private man may be but as an image in a
cross-way, that may point at the way, but cannot go it. But the
inducing part of the latter (which is the survey of learning) may
be set forward by private travail. Wherefore I will now attempt
to make a general and faithful perambulation of learning, with an
inquiry what parts thereof lie fresh and waste, and not improved
and converted by the industry of man; to the end that such a
plot made and recorded to memory, may both minister light to
any public designation, and also serve to excite voluntary en-
deavors. Wherein nevertheless my purpose is at this time to
note only omissions and deficiencies, and not to make any redar-
gution of errors or incomplete prosecutions. For it is one thing
to set forth what ground lieth unmanured, and another thing
to correct ill husbandry in that which is manured.
In the handling and undertaking of which work I am not
ignorant what it is that I do now move and attempt, nor insen-
sible of mine own weakness to sustain my purpose. But my hope
is, that if my extreme love to learning carry me too far, I may
obtain the excuse of affection; for that "it is not granted to man
to love and to be wise. " But I know well I can use no other lib-
erty of judgment than I must leave to others; and I, for my
part, shall be indifferently glad either to perform myself, or accept
from another, that duty of humanity, "Nam qui erranti comiter
monstrat viam," etc. [To kindly show the wanderer the path. ]
I do foresee likewise that of those things which I shall enter
and register as deficiencies and omissions, many will conceive


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1188
FRANCIS BACON
and censure that some of them are already done and extant;
others to be but curiosities, and things of no great use; and
others to be of too great difficulty and almost impossibility to be
compassed and effected. But for the two first, I refer myself to
the particulars For the last, touching impossibility, I take it
those things are to be held possible which may be done by some
person, though not by every one; and which may be done by
many, though not by any one; and which may be done in the
succession of ages, though not within the hour-glass of one man's
life; and which may be done by public designation, though not
by private endeavor. But notwithstanding, if any man will take
to himself rather that of Solomon, "Dicit piger, Leo est in via"
[the sluggard says there is a lion in the path], than that of
Virgil, "Possunt quia posse videntur" [they can, because they
think they can], I shall be content that my labors be esteemed
but as the better sort of wishes. for as it asketh some knowledge
to demand a question not impertinent, so it requireth some sense
to make a wish not absurd.
TO MY LORD TREASURER BURGHLEY
From Letters and Life,' by James Spedding
My Lord:
WITH
ITH as much confidence as mine own honest and faithful
devotion unto your service and your honorable corre-
spondence unto me and my poor estate can breed in a
man, do I commend myself unto your Lordship. I wax now
somewhat ancient; one and thirty years is a great deal of sand
in the hour-glass. My health, I thank God, I find confirmed;
and I do not fear that action shall impair it, because I account
my ordinary course of study and meditation to be more painful
than most parts of action are. I ever bare a mind (in some mid-
dle place that I could discharge) to serve her Majesty; not as
a man born under Sol, that loveth honor; nor under Jupiter,
that loveth business (for the contemplative planet carrieth me
away wholly); but as a man born under an excellent Sovereign,
that deserveth the dedication of all men's abilities. Besides, I do
not find in myself so much self-love, but that the greater parts
of my thoughts are to deserve well (if I were able) of my
friends, and namely of your Lordship; who being the Atlas of


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FRANCIS BACON
1189
this commonwealth, the honor of my house, and the second
founder of my poor estate, I am tied by all duties, both of a
good patriot and of an unworthy kinsman, and of an obliged
servant, to employ whatsoever I am to do you service. Again,
the meanness of my estate does somewhat move me; for though
I cannot excuse myself that I am either prodigal or slothful, yet
my health is not to spend, nor my course to get. Lastly, I con-
fess that I have as vast contemplative ends as I have moderate
civil ends: for I have taken all knowledge to be my province;
and if I could purge it of two sorts of rovers, whereof the one
with frivolous disputations, confutations, and verbosities, the other
with blind experiments and auricular traditions and impostures,
hath committed so many spoils, I hope I should bring in indus-
trious observations, grounded conclusions, and profitable inven-
tions and discoveries; the best state of that 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. And I do easily see, that place of any reasonable
countenance doth bring commandment of more wits than of a
man's own; which is the thing I greatly affect. And for your
Lordship, perhaps you shall not find more strength and less
encounter in any other. And if your Lordship shall find now, or
at any time, that I do seek or affect any place whereunto any
that is nearer unto your Lordship shall be concurrent, say then
that I am a most dishonest man. And if your Lordship will not
carry me on, I will not do as Anaxagoras did, who reduced him-
self with contemplation unto voluntary poverty: but this I will
do; I will sell the inheritance that I have, and purchase some
lease of quick revenue, or some office of gain that shall be exe-
cuted by deputy, and so give over all care of service, and become
some sorry book-maker, or a true pioneer in that mine of truth,
which (he said) lay so deep. This which I have writ unto your
Lordship is rather thoughts than words, being set down without
all art, disguising, or reservation. Wherein I have done honor
both to your Lordship's wisdom, in judging that that will be best
believed of your Lordship which is truest, and to your Lordship's
good nature, in retaining nothing from you. And even so I
wish your Lordship all happiness, and to myself means and
occasion to be added to my faithful desire to do you service.
From my lodging at Gray's Inn.


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1190
FRANCIS BACON
IN PRAISE OF KNOWLEDGE
From Letters and Life,' by James Spedding
were the best celebration of that which I mean to
commend; for who would not use silence, where silence is
not made, and what crier can make silence in such a noise
and tumult of vain and popular opinions?
My praise shall be dedicated to the mind itself. The mind is
the man and the knowledge of the mind. A man is but what
he knoweth. The mind itself is but an accident to knowledge;
for knowledge is a double of that which is; the truth of being
and the truth of knowing is all one.
STL
ILENCE
Are not the pleasures of the affections greater than the
pleasures of the senses? And are not the pleasures of the intel-
lect greater than the pleasures of the affections? Is not knowl-
edge a true and only natural pleasure, whereof there is no
satiety? Is it not knowledge that doth alone clear the mind of
all perturbation? How many things are there which we imagine
not? How many things do we esteem and value otherwise than
they are! This ill-proportioned estimation, these vain imagina-
tions, these be the clouds of error that turn into the storms of
perturbation. Is there any such happiness as for a man's mind.
to be raised above the confusion of things, where he may have
the prospect of the order of nature and the error of men?
But is this a vein only of delight, and not of discovery? of
contentment, and not of benefit? Shall he not as well discern
the riches of nature's warehouse, as the benefit of her shop? Is
truth ever barren? Shall he not be able thereby to produce
worthy effects, and to endow the life of man with infinite com-
modities?
But shall I make this garland to be put upon a wrong head?
Would anybody believe me, if I should verify this upon the
knowledge that is now in use? Are we the richer by one poor
invention, by reason of all the learning that hath been these
many hundred years? The industry of artificers maketh some
small improvement of things invented; and chance sometimes in
experimenting maketh us to stumble upon somewhat which is
new; but all the disputation of the learned never brought to
light one effect of nature before unknown. When things are
known and found out, then they can descant upon them, they


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FRANCIS BACON
"
1191
can knit them into certain causes, they can reduce them to their
principles. If any instance of experience stand against them,
they can range it in order by some distinctions. But all this is
but a web of the wit, it can work nothing. I do not doubt but
that common notions, which we call reason, and the knitting of
them together, which we call logic, are the art of reason and
studies. But they rather cast obscurity than gain light to the
contemplation of nature. All the philosophy of nature which is
now received, is either the philosophy of the Grecians, or that
other of the Alchemists. That of the Grecians hath the founda-
tions in words, in ostentation, in confutation, in sects, in schools,
in disputations. The Grecians were (as one of themselves saith),
"you Grecians, ever children. " They knew little antiquity; they
knew (except fables) not much above five hundred years before
themselves; they knew but a small portion of the world. That
of the Alchemists hath the foundation in imposture, in auricular
traditions and obscurity; it was catching hold of religion, but
the principle of it is, "Populus vult decipi. " So that I know no
great difference between these great philosophies, but that the
one is a loud-crying folly, and the other is a whispering folly.
The one is gathered out of a few vulgar observations, and the
other out of a few experiments of a furnace. The one never
faileth to multiply words, and the other ever faileth to multiply
gold. Who would not smile at Aristotle, when he admireth the
eternity and invariableness of the heavens, as there were not
the like in the bowels of the earth? Those be the confines and
borders of these two kingdoms, where the continual alteration
and incursion are. The superficies and upper parts of the earth
are full of varieties. The superficies and lower part of the
heavens (which we call the middle region of the air) is full of
variety. There is much spirit in the one part that cannot be
brought into mass. There is much massy body in the other
place that cannot be refined to spirit. The common air is as
the waste ground between the borders. Who would not smile
at the astronomers? I mean not these new carmen which drive
the earth about, but the ancient astronomers, which feign the
moon to be the swiftest of all planets in motion, and the rest in
order, the higher the slower; and so are compelled to imagine a
double motion; whereas how evident is it, that that which they
call a contrary motion is but an abatement of motion. The
fixed stars overgo Saturn, and so in them and the rest all is


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FRANCIS BACON
1192
but one motion, and the nearer the earth the slower; a motion
also whereof air and water do participate, though much inter-
rupted.
But why do I in a conference of pleasure enter into these
great matters, in sort that pretending to know much, I should
forget what is seasonable? Pardon me, it was because all
[other] things may be endowed and adorned with speeches, but
knowledge itself is more beautiful than any apparel of words
that can be put upon it.
And let not me seem arrogant, without respect to these great
reputed authors. Let me so give every man his due, as I give
Time his due, which is to discover truth. Many of these men
had greater wits, far above mine own, and so are many in the
universities of Europe at this day. But alas, they learn nothing
there but to believe: first to believe that others know that which
they know not; and after [that] themselves know that which
they know not. But indeed facility to believe, impatience to
doubt, temerity to answer, glory to know, doubt to contradict,
end to gain, sloth to search, seeking things in words, resting in
part of nature; these, and the like, have been the things which
have forbidden the happy match between the mind of man and
the nature of things, and in place thereof have married it to
vain notions and blind experiments. And what the posterity and
issue of so honorable a match may be, it is not hard to consider.
Printing, a gross invention; artillery, a thing that lay not far
out of the way; the needle, a thing partly known before; what a
change have these three made in the world in these times; the
one in state of learning, the other in state of the war, the third
in the state of treasure, commodities, and navigation. And those,
I say, were but stumbled upon and lighted upon by chance.
Therefore, no doubt the sovereignty of man lieth hid in knowl-
edge; wherein many things are reserved, which kings with their
treasure cannot buy, nor with their force command; their spials
and intelligencers can give no news of them, their seamen and
discoverers cannot sail where they grow. Now we govern nature
in opinions, but we are thrall unto her in necessity; but if we
would be led by her in invention, we should command her in
action.


## p. 1193 (#619) ###########################################

FRANCIS BACON,
1193
TO THE LORD CHANCELLOR, TOUCHING THE HISTORY OF
BRITAIN
From Letters and Life,' by James Spedding
It may please your good Lordship:
So
OME late act of his Majesty, referred to some former speech
which I have heard from your Lordship, bred in me a great
desire, and by strength of desire a boldness to make an humble
proposition to your Lordship, such as in me can be no better
than a wish: but if your Lordship should apprehend it, may
take some good and worthy effect. The act I speak of, is the
order given by his Majesty, as I understand, for the erection of
a tomb or monument for our late sovereign Lady Queen Eliza-
beth: wherein I may note much, but this at this time; that as
her Majesty did always right to his Highness's hopes, so his Maj-
esty doth in all things right to her memory; a very just and
princely retribution. But from this occasion, by a very easy
ascent, I passed furder, being put in mind, by this Represent-
ative of her person, of the more true and more firm Represent-
ative, which is of her life and government. For as Statuaes and
Pictures are dumb histories, so histories are speaking Pictures.
Wherein if my affection be not too great, or my reading too
small, I am of this opinion, that if Plutarch were alive to write
lives by parallels, it would trouble him for virtue and fortune
both to find for her a parallel amongst women.
And though
she was of the passive sex, yet her government was so active,
as, in my simple opinion, it made more impression upon the
several states of Europe, than it received from thence. But I
confess unto your Lordship I could not stay here, but went
a little furder into the consideration of the times which have
passed since King Henry the 8th; wherein I find the strangest
variety that in like number of successions of any hereditary mon-
archy hath ever been known. The reign of a child; the offer of
an usurpation (though it were but as a Diary Ague); the reign
of a lady married to a foreign Prince; and the reign of a lady
solitary and unmarried. So that as it cometh to pass in massive
bodies, that they have certain trepidations and waverings before
they fix and settle; so it seemeth that by the providence of God
this monarchy, before it was to settle in his Majesty and his gen-
erations (in which I hope it is now established for ever), it had


## p. 1194 (#620) ###########################################

FRANCIS BACON
1194
these prelusive changes in these barren princes. Neither could
I contain myself here (as it is easier to produce than to stay a
wish), but calling to remembrance the unworthiness of the his-
tory of England (in the main continuance thereof), and the par-
tiality and obliquity of that of Scotland, in the latest and largest
author that I have seen: I conceived it would be honor for his
Majesty, and a work very memorable, if this island of Great
Britain, as it is now joined in Monarchy for the ages to come,
so were joined in History for the times past; and that one just
and complete History were compiled of both nations. And if
any man think it may refresh the memory of former discords, he
may satisfy himself with the verse, "olim hæc meminisse juva-
bit:" for the case being now altered, it is matter of comfort
and gratulation to remember former troubles.
Thus much, if it may please your Lordship, was in the optat-
ive mood. It is true that I did look a little in the potential;
wherein the hope which I conceived was grounded upon three
observations. The first, of the times, which do flourish in learn-
ing, both of art and language; which giveth hope not only that
it may be done, but that it may be well done. For when good
things are undertaken in ill times, it turneth but to loss; as in
this very particular we have a fresh example of Polydore Vergile,
who being designed to write the English History by K. Henry
the 8th (a strange choice to chuse a stranger), and for his bet-
ter instruction having obtained into his hands many registers and
memorials out of the monasteries, did indeed deface and suppress
better things than those he did collect and reduce. Secondly, I
do see that which all the world seeth in his Majesty, both a
wonderful judgment in learning and a singular affection towards
learning, and the works of true honor which are of the mind and
not of the hand. For there cannot be the like honor sought in
the building of galleries, or the planting of elms along highways,
and the like manufactures, things rather of magnificence than of
magnanimity, as there is in the uniting of states, pacifying of
controversies, nourishing and augmenting of learning and arts,
and the particular actions appertaining unto these; of which kind
Cicero judged truly, when he said to Cæsar, "Quantum operibus
tuis detrahet vetustas, tantum addet laudibus. " And lastly, I
called to mind, that your Lordship at sometimes hath been
pleased to express unto me a great desire, that something of this
nature should be performed; answerably indeed to your other


## p. 1195 (#621) ###########################################

FRANCIS BACON
1195
noble and worthy courses and actions, wherein your Lordship
sheweth yourself not only an excellent Chancellor and Counselor,
but also an exceeding favorer and fosterer of all good learning
and virtue, both in men and matters, persons and actions: joining
and adding unto the great services towards his Majesty, which
have, in small compass of time, been accumulated upon your
Lordship, many other deservings both of the Church and Com-
monwealth and particulars; so as the opinion of so great and
wise a man doth seem unto me a good warrant both of the
possibility and worth of this matter. But all this while I assure
myself, I cannot be mistaken by your Lordship, as if I sought
an office or employment for myself. For no man knoweth better
than your Lordship, that (if there were in me any faculty there-
unto, as I am most unable), yet neither my fortune nor profes-
sion would permit it. But because there be so many good painters
both for hand and colors, it needeth but encouragement and
instructions to give life and light unto it.
So in all humbleness I conclude my presenting to your good
Lordship this wish; that if it perish it is but a loss of that which
is not. And thus craving pardon that I have taken so much
time from your Lordship, I always remain
Your Lps. very humbly and much bounden
FR. BACON.
GRAY'S INN, this 2d of April, 1605.
TO VILLIERS ON HIS PATENT AS VISCOUNT
From 'Letters and Life,' by James Spedding
Sir:
I
HAVE sent you now your patent of creation of Lord Blechly of
Blechly, and of Viscount Villiers. Blechly is your own, and
I like the sound of the name better than Whaddon; but the
name will be hid, for you will be called Viscount Villiers. I
have put them both in a patent, after the manner of the patents
of Earls where baronies are joined; but the chief reason was,
because I would avoid double prefaces which had not been fit;
nevertheless the ceremony of robing and otherwise must be
double.
And now, because I am in the country, I will send you some
of my country fruits; which with me. are good meditations;
which when I am in the city are choked with business.


## p. 1196 (#622) ###########################################

1196
FRANCIS BACON
After that the King shall have watered your new dignities
with his bounty of the lands which he intends you, and that
some other things concerning your means which are now likewise
in intention shall be settled upon you; I do not see but you
may think your private fortunes established; and, therefore, it is
now time that you should refer your actions chiefly to the good
of your sovereign and your country. It is the life of an ox or
beast always to eat, and never to exercise; but men are born
(and especially Christian men), not to cram in their fortunes,
but to exercise their virtues; and yet the other hath been the
unworthy, and (thanks be to God) sometimes the unlucky humor
of great persons in our times. Neither will your further fortune
be the further off: for assure yourself that fortune is of a
woman's nature, that will sooner follow you by slighting than
by too much wooing. And in this dedication of yourself to the
public, I recommend unto you principally that which I think
was never done since I was born; and which not done hath bred
almost a wilderness and solitude in the King's service; which is,
that you countenance, and encourage, and advance able men and
virtuous men, and meriting men in all kinds, degrees, and pro-
fessions. For in the time of the Cecils, the father and the son,
able men were by design and of purpose suppressed; and though
of late choice goeth better both in church and commonwealth,
yet money, and turn-serving, and cunning canvasses, and impor-
tunity prevail too much. And in places of moment rather make
able and honest men yours, than advance those that are other-
wise because they are yours. As for cunning and corrupt men,
you must (I know) sometimes use them; but keep them at a dis-
tance; and let it appear that you make use of them, rather than
that they lead you. Above all, depend wholly (next to God)
upon the King; and be ruled (as hitherto you have been) by his
instructions; for that is best for yourself. For the King's care
and thoughts concerning you are according to the thoughts of a
great King; whereas your thoughts concerning yourself are and
ought to be according to the thoughts of a modest man. But
let me not weary you.