No More Learning

"We have three that collect the experiments of all mechanical arts; and
also of liberal sciences; and also of practices which are not brought
into arts. These we call Mystery-men.

"We have three that try new experiments, such as themselves think good.
These we call Pioneers or Miners.

"We have three that draw the experiments of the former four into titles
and tables, to give the better light for the drawing of observations
and axioms out of them. These we call Compilers.

"We have three that bend themselves, looking into the experiments of
their fellows, and cast about how to draw out of them things of use and
practise for man's life, and knowledge, as well for works as for plain
demonstration of causes, means of natural divinations, and the easy and
clear discovery of the virtues and parts of bodies. These we call
Dowry-men or Benefactors.

"Then after divers meetings and consults of our whole number, to
consider of the former labours and collections, we have three that take
care, out of them, to direct new experiments, of a higher light, more
penetrating into nature than the former. These we call Lamps.

"We have three others that do execute the experiments so directed, and
report them. These we call Inoculators.

"Lastly, we have three that raise the former discoveries by experiments
into greater observations, axioms, and aphorisms. These we call
Interpreters of Nature.

"We have also, as you must think, novices and apprentices, that the
succession of the former employed men do not fail; besides, a great
number of servants and attendants, men and women. And this we do also:
we have consultations, which of the inventions and experiences which we
have discovered shall be published, and which not: and take all an oath
of secrecy, for the concealing of those which we think fit to keep
secret: though some of those we do reveal sometimes to the state and
some not.

"For our ordinances and rites: we have two very long and fair
galleries: in one of these we place patterns and samples of all manner
of the more rare and excellent inventions in the other we place the
statues of all principal inventors. There we have the statue of your
Columbus, that discovered the West Indies: also the inventor of ships:
your monk that was the inventor of ordnance and of gunpowder: the
inventor of music: the inventor of letters: the inventor of printing:
the inventor of observations of astronomy: the inventor of works in
metal: the inventor of glass: the inventor of silk of the worm: the
inventor of wine: the inventor of corn and bread: the inventor of
sugars: and all these, by more certain tradition than you have. Then
have we divers inventors of our own, of excellent works; which since
you have not seen, it were too long to make descriptions of them; and
besides, in the right understanding of those descriptions you might
easily err. For upon every invention of value, we erect a statue to
the inventor, and give him a liberal and honourable reward. These
statues are some of brass; some of marble and touch-stone; some of
cedar and other special woods gilt and adorned; some of iron; some of
silver; some of gold.

"We have certain hymns and services, which we say daily, of Lord and
thanks to God for his marvellous works: and forms of prayers, imploring
his aid and blessing for the illumination of our labours, and the
turning of them into good and holy uses.

"Lastly, we have circuits or visits of divers principal cities of the
kingdom; where, as it cometh to pass, we do publish such new profitable
inventions as we think good. And we do also declare natural
divinations of diseases, plagues, swarms-of hurtful creatures,
scarcity, tempests, earthquakes, great inundations, comets, temperature
of the year, and divers other things; and we give counsel thereupon,
what the people shall do for the prevention and remedy of them. "

And when he had said this, he stood up; and I, as I had been taught,
kneeled down, and he laid his right hand upon my head, and said; "God
bless thee, my son; and God bless this relation, which I have made. I
give thee leave to publish it for the good of other nations; for we
here are in God's bosom, a land unknown. " And so he left me; having
assigned a value of about two thousand ducats, for a bounty to me and
my fellows. For they give great largesses where they come upon all
occasions.

[The rest was not perfected. ]




THE ESSAYS OR COUNSELS, CIVIL AND MORAL,

OF FRANCIS Ld. VERULAM VISCOUNT ST. ALBANS


By Francis Bacon


THE ESSAYS

Of Truth
Of Death
Of Unity in Religion
Of Revenge
Of Adversity
Of Simulation and Dissimulation
Of Parents and Children
Of Marriage and Single Life
Of Envy
Of Love
Of Great Place
Of Boldness
Of Goodness and Goodness of Nature
Of Nobility
Of Seditions and Troubles
Of Atheism
Of Superstition
Of Travel
Of Empire
Of Counsel
Of Delays
Of Cunning
Of Wisdom for a Man's Self
Of Innovations
Of Dispatch
Of Seeming Wise
Of Friendship
Of Expense
Of the True Greatness of Kingdoms and Estates
Of Regiment of Health
Of Suspicion
Of Discourse
Of Plantations
Of Riches
Of Prophecies
Of Ambition
Of Masques and Triumphs
Of Nature in Men
Of Custom and Education
Of Fortune
Of Usury
Of Youth and Age
Of Beauty
Of Deformity
Of Building
Of Gardens
Of Negotiating
Of Followers and Friends
Of Suitors
Of Studies
Of Faction
Of Ceremonies and Respects
Of Praise
Of Vain-glory
Of Honor and Reputation
Of Judicature
Of Anger
Of Vicissitude of Things
Of Fame


TO

THE RIGHT HONORABLE

MY VERY GOOD LORD

THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM

HIS GRACE, LORD

HIGH ADMIRAL OF ENGLAND


EXCELLENT LORD:

SALOMON saies; A good Name is as a precious oyntment; And I assure my
selfe, such wil your Graces Name bee, with Posteritie. For your Fortune,
and Merit both, have been Eminent. And you have planted Things, that
are like to last. I doe now publish my Essayes; which, of all my other
workes, have beene most Currant: For that, as it seemes, they come home,
to Mens Businesse, and Bosomes. I have enlarged them, both in Number,
and Weight; So that they are indeed a New Worke. I thought it therefore
agreeable, to my Affection, and Obligation to your Grace, to prefix your
Name before them, both in English, and in Latine. For I doe conceive,
that the Latine Volume of them, (being in the Universall Language) may
last, as long as Bookes last. My Instauration, I dedicated to the King:
My Historie of Henry the Seventh, (which I have now also translated into
Latine) and my Portions of Naturall History, to the Prince: And these
I dedicate to your Grace; Being of the best Fruits, that by the good
Encrease, which God gives to my Pen and Labours, I could yeeld. God
leade your Grace by the Hand. Your Graces most Obliged and faithfull
Servant,

FR. ST. ALBAN





Of Truth


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 philosophers of that kind be gone, yet there remain
certain discoursing 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 day-light, 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, imaginations as one would, and the like, but it would
leave the minds, 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 daemonum,
because it fireth 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. First he
breathed light, upon the face of the matter or chaos; then he breathed
light, into the face of man; and still he breatheth and inspireth light,
into the face of his chosen. 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 practise it not,
that clear, and round dealing, is the honor of man's nature; and that
mixture of falsehoods, 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
therefore 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 to
say, as that he is brave towards God, and a coward towards men. For a
lie faces God, and shrinks 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
generations of men; it being foretold, that when Christ cometh, he shall
not find faith upon the earth.




Of Death


MEN fear death, as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural
fear in children, is increased with tales, so is the other. Certainly,
the contemplation of death, as the wages of sin, and passage to another
world, is holy and religious; but the fear of it, as a tribute due
unto nature, is weak. Yet in religious meditations, there is sometimes
mixture of vanity, and of superstition. You shall read, in some of the
friars' books of mortification, that a man should think with himself,
what the pain is, if he have but his finger's end pressed, or tortured,
and thereby imagine, what the pains of death are, when the whole body is
corrupted, and dissolved; when many times death passeth, with less
pain than the torture of a limb; for the most vital parts, are not the
quickest of sense. And by him that spake only as a philosopher, and
natural man, it was well said, Pompa mortis magis terret, quam mors
ipsa. Groans, and convulsions, and a discolored face, and friends
weeping, and blacks, and obsequies, and the like, show death terrible.
It is worthy the observing, that there is no passion in the mind of man,
so weak, but it mates, and masters, the fear of death; and therefore,
death is no such terrible enemy, when a man hath so many attendants
about him, that can win the combat of him. Revenge triumphs over
death; love slights it; honor aspireth to it; grief flieth to it;
fear preoccupateth it; nay, we read, after Otho the emperor had slain
himself, pity (which is the tenderest of affections) provoked many to
die, out of mere compassion to their sovereign, and as the truest sort
of followers. Nay, Seneca adds niceness and satiety: Cogita quamdiu
eadem feceris; mori velle, non tantum fortis aut miser, sed etiam
fastidiosus potest. A man would die, though he were neither valiant, nor
miserable, only upon a weariness to do the same thing so oft, over and
over. It is no less worthy, to observe, how little alteration in good
spirits, the approaches of death make; for they appear to be the same
men, till the last instant. Augustus Caesar died in a compliment; Livia,
conjugii nostri memor, vive et vale. Tiberius in dissimulation; as
Tacitus saith of him, Jam Tiberium vires et corpus, non dissimulatio,
deserebant. Vespasian in a jest, sitting upon the stool; Ut puto deus
fio. Galba with a sentence; Feri, si ex re sit populi Romani; holding
forth his neck. Septimius Severus in despatch; Adeste si quid mihi
restat agendum. And the like. Certainly the Stoics bestowed too much
cost upon death, and by their great preparations, made it appear more
fearful. Better saith he, qui finem vitae extremum inter munera ponat
naturae. It is as natural to die, as to be born; and to a little infant,
perhaps, the one is as painful, as the other. He that dies in an earnest
pursuit, is like one that is wounded in hot blood; who, for the time,
scarce feels the hurt; and therefore a mind fixed, and bent upon
somewhat that is good, doth avert the dolors of death. But, above all,
believe it, the sweetest canticle is', Nunc dimittis; when a man hath
obtained worthy ends, and expectations. Death hath this also; that
it openeth the gate to good fame, and extinguisheth envy. --Extinctus
amabitur idem.




Of Unity In Religion


RELIGION being the chief band of human society, it is a happy thing,
when itself is well contained within the true band of unity. The
quarrels, and divisions about religion, were evils unknown to the
heathen. The reason was, because the religion of the heathen, consisted
rather in rites and ceremonies, than in any constant belief. For you
may imagine, what kind of faith theirs was, when the chief doctors,
and fathers of their church, were the poets. But the true God hath this
attribute, that he is a jealous God; and therefore, his worship and
religion, will endure no mixture, nor partner. We shall therefore speak
a few words, concerning the unity of the church; what are the fruits
thereof; what the bounds; and what the means.

The fruits of unity (next unto the well pleasing of God, which is all
in all) are two: the one, towards those that are without the church,
the other, towards those that are within. For the former; it is certain,
that heresies, and schisms, are of all others the greatest scandals;
yea, more than corruption of manners. For as in the natural body, a
wound, or solution of continuity, is worse than a corrupt humor; so in
the spiritual. So that nothing, doth so much keep men out of the church,
and drive men out of the church, as breach of unity. And therefore,
whensoever it cometh to that pass, that one saith, Ecce in deserto,
another saith, Ecce in penetralibus; that is, when some men seek Christ,
in the conventicles of heretics, and others, in an outward face of a
church, that voice had need continually to sound in men's ears, Nolite
exire,--Go not out. The doctor of the Gentiles (the propriety of whose
vocation, drew him to have a special care of those without) saith, if
an heathen come in, and hear you speak with several tongues, will he not
say that you are mad? And certainly it is little better, when atheists,
and profane persons, do hear of so many discordant, and contrary
opinions in religion; it doth avert them from the church, and maketh
them, to sit down in the chair of the scorners. It is but a light thing,
to be vouched in so serious a matter, but yet it expresseth well the
deformity. There is a master of scoffing, that in his catalogue of books
of a feigned library, sets down this title of a book, The Morris-Dance
of Heretics. For indeed, every sect of them, hath a diverse posture, or
cringe by themselves, which cannot but move derision in worldlings, and
depraved politics, who are apt to contemn holy things.

As for the fruit towards those that are within; it is peace; which
containeth infinite blessings. It establisheth faith; it kindleth
charity; the outward peace of the church, distilleth into peace of
conscience; and it turneth the labors of writing, and reading of
controversies, into treaties of mortification and devotion.

Concerning the bounds of unity; the true placing of them, importeth
exceedingly. There appear to be two extremes. For to certain zealants,
all speech of pacification is odious. Is it peace, Jehu,? What hast
thou to do with peace? turn thee behind me. Peace is not the matter,
but following, and party. Contrariwise, certain Laodiceans, and lukewarm
persons, think they may accommodate points of religion, by middle way,
and taking part of both, and witty reconcilements; as if they would
make an arbitrament between God and man. Both these extremes are to be
avoided; which will be done, if the league of Christians, penned by our
Savior himself, were in two cross clauses thereof, soundly and plainly
expounded: He that is not with us, is against us; and again, He that is
not against us, is with us; that is, if the points fundamental and of
substance in religion, were truly discerned and distinguished, from
points not merely of faith, but of opinion, order, or good intention.
This is a thing may seem to many a matter trivial, and done already. But
if it were done less partially, it would be embraced more generally.

Of this I may give only this advice, according to my small model.
Men ought to take heed, of rending God's church, by two kinds of
controversies. The one is, when the matter of the point controverted,
is too small and light, not worth the heat and strife about it, kindled
only by contradiction. For, as it is noted, by one of the fathers,
Christ's coat indeed had no seam, but the church's vesture was of divers
colors; whereupon he saith, In veste varietas sit, scissura non sit;
they be two things, unity and uniformity. The other is, when the matter
of the point controverted, is great, but it is driven to an over-great
subtilty, and obscurity; so that it becometh a thing rather ingenious,
than substantial. A man that is of judgment and understanding, shall
sometimes hear ignorant men differ, and know well within himself, that
those which so differ, mean one thing, and yet they themselves would
never agree. And if it come so to pass, in that distance of judgment,
which is between man and man, shall we not think that God above, that
knows the heart, doth not discern that frail men, in some of their
contradictions, intend the same thing; and accepteth of both? The nature
of such controversies is excellently expressed, by St. Paul, in the
warning and precept, that he giveth concerning the same, Devita profanas
vocum novitates, et oppositiones falsi nominis scientiae. Men create
oppositions, which are not; and put them into new terms, so fixed,
as whereas the meaning ought to govern the term, the term in effect
governeth the meaning. There be also two false peaces, or unities: the
one, when the peace is grounded, but upon an implicit ignorance; for all
colors will agree in the dark: the other, when it is pieced up, upon
a direct admission of contraries, in fundamental points. For truth and
falsehood, in such things, are like the iron and clay, in the toes of
Nebuchadnezzar's image; they may cleave, but they will not incorporate.

Concerning the means of procuring unity; men must beware, that in the
procuring, or reuniting, of religious unity, they do not dissolve and
deface the laws of charity, and of human society. There be two swords
amongst Christians, the spiritual and temporal; and both have their due
office and place, in the maintenance of religion. But we may not take up
the third sword, which is Mahomet's sword, or like unto it; that is,
to propagate religion by wars, or by sanguinary persecutions to force
consciences; except it be in cases of overt scandal, blasphemy, or
intermixture of practice against the state; much less to nourish
seditions; to authorize conspiracies and rebellions; to put the sword
into the people's hands; and the like; tending to the subversion of all
government, which is the ordinance of God. For this is but to dash the
first table against the second; and so to consider men as Christians, as
we forget that they are men. Lucretius the poet, when he beheld the act
of Agamemnon, that could endure the sacrificing of his own daughter,
exclaimed: Tantum Religio potuit suadere malorum.

What would he have said, if he had known of the massacre in France,
or the powder treason of England? He would have been seven times more
Epicure, and atheist, than he was. For as the temporal sword is to be
drawn with great circumspection in cases of religion; so it is a thing
monstrous to put it into the hands of the common people. Let that be
left unto the Anabaptists, and other furies. It was great blasphemy,
when the devil said, I will ascend, and be like the highest; but it is
greater blasphemy, to personate God, and bring him in saying, I will
descend, and be like the prince of darkness; and what is it better,
to make the cause of religion to descend, to the cruel and execrable
actions of murthering princes, butchery of people, and subversion of
states and governments? Surely this is to bring down the Holy Ghost,
instead of the likeness of a dove, in the shape of a vulture or raven;
and set, out of the bark of a Christian church, a flag of a bark of
pirates, and assassins. Therefore it is most necessary, that the church,
by doctrine and decree, princes by their sword, and all learnings, both
Christian and moral, as by their Mercury rod, do damn and send to hell
for ever, those facts and opinions tending to the support of the same;
as hath been already in good part done. Surely in counsels concerning
religion, that counsel of the apostle would be prefixed, Ira hominis non
implet justitiam Dei. And it was a notable observation of a wise father,
and no less ingenuously confessed; that those which held and persuaded
pressure of consciences, were commonly interested therein, themselves,
for their own ends.




Of Revenge


REVENGE 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 offence. 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 loving 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 briar, 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 before hand, 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
unpardonable; You shall read (saith he) that we are commanded to forgive
our enemies; but you never read, that we are commanded 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 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 fortunate; as that for the
death of Caesar; for the death of Pertinax; for the death of Henry the
Third of France; and many more. But in private revenges, it is not so.
Nay rather, vindictive persons live the life of witches; who, as they
are mischievous, so end they infortunate.




Of Adversity


IT WAS an high speech of Seneca (after the manner of the Stoics), that
the good things, which belong to prosperity, are to be wished; but the
good things, that belong to adversity, are to be admired. Bona rerum
secundarum optabilia; adversarum mirabilia. Certainly if miracles be the
command over nature, they appear most in adversity. It is yet a higher
speech of his, than the other (much too high for a heathen), It is true
greatness, to have in one the frailty of a man, and the security of
a God. Vere magnum habere fragilitatem hominis, securitatem Dei. This
would have done better in poesy, where transcendences are more allowed.
And the poets indeed have been busy with it; for it is in effect the
thing, which figured in that strange fiction of the ancient poets, which
seemeth not to be without mystery; nay, and to have some approach to the
state of a Christian; that Hercules, when he went to unbind Prometheus
(by whom human nature is represented), sailed the length of the great
ocean, in an earthen pot or pitcher; lively describing Christian
resolution, that saileth in the frail bark of the flesh, through the
waves of the world. But to speak in a mean. The virtue of prosperity,
is temperance; the virtue of adversity, is fortitude; which in morals
is the more heroical virtue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old
Testament; adversity is the blessing of the New; which carrieth the
greater benediction, and the clearer revelation of God's favor. Yet even
in the Old Testament, if you listen to David's harp, you shall hear as
many hearse-like airs as carols; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath
labored more in describing the afflictions of Job, than the felicities
of Solomon. Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes; and
adversity is not without comforts and hopes. We see in needle-works and
embroideries, it is more pleasing to have a lively work, upon a sad and
solemn ground, than to have a dark and melancholy work, upon a lightsome
ground: judge therefore of the pleasure of the heart, by the pleasure
of the eye. Certainly virtue is like precious odors, most fragrant when
they are incensed, or crushed: for prosperity doth best discover vice,
but adversity doth best discover virtue.




Of Simulation And Dissimulation


DISSIMULATION 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 politics, that are the great
dissemblers.

Tacitus saith, Livia sorted well with the arts of her husband, and
dissimulation of her son; attributing arts or policy to Augustus,
and dissimulation to Tiberius. And again, when Mucianus encourageth
Vespasian, to take arms against Vitellius, 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
discern 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 hinderance 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 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 industriously 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 confessions. 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 revealing 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 an 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
dissimulation; which is, as it were, but the skirts or train of secrecy.

But for the third degree, which is simulation, and false profession;
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, using either of a natural falseness or
fearfulness, or of a mind that hath some main faults, which because
a man must needs disguise, it maketh him practise 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 declaration, 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 discovery, 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 Parents And Children


THE joys of parents are secret; and so are their griefs and fears.
They cannot utter the one; nor they will not utter the other. Children
sweeten labors; but they make misfortunes more bitter. They increase
the cares of life; but they mitigate the remembrance of death. The
perpetuity by generation is common to beasts; but memory, merit, and
noble works, are proper to men. And surely a man shall see the noblest
works and foundations have proceeded from childless men; which have
sought to express the images of their minds, where those of their bodies
have failed. So the care of posterity is most in them, that have no
posterity. They that are the first raisers of their houses, are most
indulgent towards their children; beholding them as the continuance,
not only of their kind, but of their work; and so both children and
creatures.

The difference in affection, of parents towards their several children,
is many times unequal; and sometimes unworthy; especially in the
mothers; as Solomon saith, A wise son rejoiceth the father, but an
ungracious son shames the mother. A man shall see, where there is a
house full of children, one or two of the eldest respected, and the
youngest made wantons; but in the midst, some that are as it
were forgotten, who many times, nevertheless, prove the best. The
illiberality of parents, in allowance towards their children, is an
harmful error; makes them base; acquaints them with shifts; makes them
sort with mean company; and makes them surfeit more when they come to
plenty. And therefore the proof is best, when men keep their authority
towards the children, but not their purse. Men have a foolish manner
(both parents and schoolmasters and servants) in creating and breeding
an emulation between brothers, during childhood, which many times
sorteth to discord when they are men, and disturbeth families. The
Italians make little difference between children, and nephews or near
kinsfolks; but so they be of the lump, they care not though they pass
not through their own body. And, to say truth, in nature it is much
a like matter; insomuch that we see a nephew sometimes resembleth an
uncle, or a kinsman, more than his own parent; as the blood happens.
Let parents choose betimes, the vocations and courses they mean their
children should take; for then they are most flexible; and let them
not too much apply themselves to the disposition of their children, as
thinking they will take best to that, which they have most mind to.
It is true, that if the affection or aptness of the children be
extraordinary, then it is good not to cross it; but generally the
precept is good, optimum elige, suave et facile illud faciet consuetudo.
Younger brothers are commonly fortunate, but seldom or never where the
elder are disinherited.




Of Marriage And Single Life


HE THAT hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they
are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mischief.
Certainly the best works, and of greatest merit for the public, have
proceeded from the unmarried or childless men; which both in affection
and means, have married and endowed the public. Yet it were great reason
that those that have children, should have greatest care of future
times; unto which they know they must transmit their dearest pledges.
Some there are, who though they lead a single life, yet their thoughts
do end with themselves, and account future times impertinences. Nay,
there are some other, that account wife and children, but as bills of
charges. Nay more, there are some foolish rich covetous men, that take
a pride, in having no children, because they may be thought so much the
richer. For perhaps they have heard some talk, Such an one is a great
rich man, and another except to it, Yea, but he hath a great charge
of children; as if it were an abatement to his riches. But the most
ordinary cause of a single life, is liberty, especially in certain
self-pleasing and humorous minds, which are so sensible of every
restraint, as they will go near to think their girdles and garters, to
be bonds and shackles. Unmarried men are best friends, best masters,
best servants; but not always best subjects; for they are light to run
away; and almost all fugitives, are of that condition. A single life
doth well with churchmen; for charity will hardly water the ground,
where it must first fill a pool. It is indifferent for judges and
magistrates; for if they be facile and corrupt, you shall have a
servant, five times worse than a wife. For soldiers, I find the generals
commonly in their hortatives, put men in mind of their wives and
children; and I think the despising of marriage amongst the Turks,
maketh the vulgar soldier more base. Certainly wife and children are a
kind of discipline of humanity; and single men, though they may be many
times more charitable, because their means are less exhaust, yet, on
the other side, they are more cruel and hardhearted (good to make severe
inquisitors), because their tenderness is not so oft called upon. Grave
natures, led by custom, and therefore constant, are commonly loving
husbands, as was said of Ulysses, vetulam suam praetulit immortalitati.
Chaste women are often proud and froward, as presuming upon the merit
of their chastity. It is one of the best bonds, both of chastity and
obedience, in the wife, if she think her husband wise; which she will
never do, if she find him jealous. Wives are young men's mistresses;
companions for middle age; and old men's nurses. So as a man may have a
quarrel to marry, when he will. But yet he was reputed one of the wise
men, that made answer to the question, when a man should marry,--A
young man not yet, an elder man not at all. It is often seen that bad
husbands, have very good wives; whether it be, that it raiseth the price
of their husband's kindness, when it comes; or that the wives take a
pride in their patience. But this never fails, if the bad husbands were
of their own choosing, against their friends' consent; for then they
will be sure to make good their own folly.




Of Envy


THERE be none of the affections, which have been noted to fascinate or
bewitch, but love and envy. They both have vehement wishes; they frame
themselves readily into imaginations and suggestions; and they come
easily into the eye, especially upon the present of the objects; which
are the points that conduce to fascination, if any such thing there
be. We see likewise, the Scripture calleth envy an evil eye; and the
astrologers, call the evil influences of the stars, evil aspects; so
that still there seemeth to be acknowledged, in the act of envy, an
ejaculation or irradiation of the eye. Nay, some have been so curious,
as to note, that the times when the stroke or percussion of an envious
eye doth most hurt, are when the party envied is beheld in glory or
triumph; for that sets an edge upon envy: and besides, at such times the
spirits of the person envied, do come forth most into the outward parts,
and so meet the blow.

But leaving these curiosities (though not unworthy to be thought on, in
fit place), we will handle, what persons are apt to envy others; what
persons are most subject to be envied themselves; and what is the
difference between public and private envy.

A man that hath no virtue in himself, ever envieth virtue in others. For
men's minds, will either feed upon their own good, or upon others' evil;
and who wanteth the one, will prey upon the other; and whoso is out of
hope, to attain to another's virtue, will seek to come at even hand, by
depressing another's fortune.

A man that is busy, and inquisitive, is commonly envious. For to know
much of other men's matters, cannot be because all that ado may concern
his own estate; therefore it must needs be, that he taketh a kind of
play-pleasure, in looking upon the fortunes of others. Neither can he,
that mindeth but his own business, find much matter for envy. For envy
is a gadding passion, and walketh the streets, and doth not keep home:
Non est curiosus, quin idem sit malevolus.

Men of noble birth, are noted to be envious towards new men, when they
rise. For the distance is altered, and it is like a deceit of the eye,
that when others come on, they think themselves, go back.

Deformed persons, and eunuchs, and old men, and bastards, are envious.
For he that cannot possibly mend his own case, will do what he can,
to impair another's; except these defects light upon a very brave, and
heroical nature, which thinketh to make his natural wants part of his
honor; in that it should be said, that an eunuch, or a lame man, did
such great matters; affecting the honor of a miracle; as it was in
Narses the eunuch, and Agesilaus and Tamberlanes, that were lame men.

The same is the case of men, that rise after calamities and misfortunes.
For they are as men fallen out with the times; and think other men's
harms, a redemption of their own sufferings.

They that desire to excel in too many matters, out of levity and vain
glory, are ever envious. For they cannot want work; it being impossible,
but many, in some one of those things, should surpass them. Which was
the character of Adrian the Emperor; that mortally envied poets, and
painters, and artificers, in works wherein he had a vein to excel.

Lastly, near kinsfolks, and fellows in office, and those that have been
bred together, are more apt to envy their equals, when they are raised.
For it doth upbraid unto them their own fortunes, and pointeth at them,
and cometh oftener into their remembrance, and incurreth likewise more
into the note of others; and envy ever redoubleth from speech and fame.
Cain's envy was the more vile and malignant, towards his brother Abel,
because when his sacrifice was better accepted, there was no body to
look on. Thus much for those, that are apt to envy.

Concerning those that are more or less subject to envy: First, persons
of eminent virtue, when they are advanced, are less envied. For their
fortune seemeth, but due unto them; and no man envieth the payment of a
debt, but rewards and liberality rather. Again, envy is ever joined
with the comparing of a man's self; and where there is no comparison, no
envy; and therefore kings are not envied, but by kings. Nevertheless it
is to be noted, that unworthy persons are most envied, at their first
coming in, and afterwards overcome it better; whereas contrariwise,
persons of worth and merit are most envied, when their fortune
continueth long. For by that time, though their virtue be the same, yet
it hath not the same lustre; for fresh men grow up that darken it.

Persons of noble blood, are less envied in their rising. For it seemeth
but right done to their birth. Besides, there seemeth not much added
to their fortune; and envy is as the sunbeams, that beat hotter upon a
bank, or steep rising ground, than upon a flat. And for the same reason,
those that are advanced by degrees, are less envied than those that are
advanced suddenly and per saltum.

Those that have joined with their honor great travels, cares, or perils,
are less subject to envy. For men think that they earn their honors
hardly, and pity them sometimes; and pity ever healeth envy. Wherefore
you shall observe, that the more deep and sober sort of politic persons,
in their greatness, are ever bemoaning themselves, what a life they
lead; chanting a quanta patimur! Not that they feel it so, but only to
abate the edge of envy. But this is to be understood, of business
that is laid upon men, and not such, as they call unto themselves.
For nothing increaseth envy more, than an unnecessary and ambitious
engrossing of business. And nothing doth extinguish envy more, than for
a great person to preserve all other inferior officers, in their full
lights and pre-eminences of their places. For by that means, there be so
many screens between him and envy.

Above all, those are most subject to envy, which carry the greatness of
their fortunes, in an insolent and proud manner; being never well, but
while they are showing how great they are, either by outward pomp, or
by triumphing over all opposition or competition; whereas wise men
will rather do sacrifice to envy, in suffering themselves sometimes of
purpose to be crossed, and overborne in things that do not much concern
them. Notwithstanding, so much is true, that the carriage of greatness,
in a plain and open manner (so it be without arrogancy and vain glory)
doth draw less envy, than if it be in a more crafty and cunning fashion.
For in that course, a man doth but disavow fortune; and seemeth to be
conscious of his own want in worth; and doth but teach others, to envy
him.

Lastly, to conclude this part; as we said in the beginning, that the act
of envy had somewhat in it of witchcraft, so there is no other cure of
envy, but the cure of witchcraft; and that is, to remove the lot (as
they call it) and to lay it upon another. For which purpose, the wiser
sort of great persons, bring in ever upon the stage somebody upon whom
to derive the envy, that would come upon themselves; sometimes upon
ministers and servants; sometimes upon colleagues and associates; and
the like; and for that turn there are never wanting, some persons
of violent and undertaking natures, who, so they may have power and
business, will take it at any cost.

Now, to speak of public envy. There is yet some good in public envy,
whereas in private, there is none. For public envy, is as an ostracism,
that eclipseth men, when they grow too great. And therefore it is a
bridle also to great ones, to keep them within bounds.

This envy, being in the Latin word invidia, goeth in the modern
language, by the name of discontentment; of which we shall speak, in
handling sedition. It is a disease, in a state, like to infection. For
as infection spreadeth upon that which is sound, and tainteth it;
so when envy is gotten once into a state, it traduceth even the best
actions thereof, and turneth them into an ill odor. And therefore there
is little won, by intermingling of plausible actions. For that doth
argue but a weakness, and fear of envy, which hurteth so much the more,
as it is likewise usual in infections; which if you fear them, you call
them upon you.

This public envy, seemeth to beat chiefly upon principal officers or
ministers, rather than upon kings, and estates themselves. But this is
a sure rule, that if the envy upon the minister be great, when the cause
of it in him is small; or if the envy be general, in a manner upon all
the ministers of an estate; then the envy (though hidden) is truly upon
the state itself. And so much of public envy or discontentment, and the
difference thereof from private envy, which was handled in the first
place.

We will add this in general, touching the affection of envy; that of all
other affections, it is the most importune and continual. For of other
affections, there is occasion given, but now and then; and therefore it
was well said, Invidia festos dies non agit: for it is ever working upon
some or other. And it is also noted, that love and envy do make a man
pine, which other affections do not, because they are not so continual.
It is also the vilest affection, and the most depraved; for which cause
it is the proper attribute of the devil, who is called, the envious man,
that soweth tares amongst the wheat by night; as it always cometh to
pass, that envy worketh subtilly, and in the dark, and to the prejudice
of good things, such as is the wheat.




Of Love


THE stage is more beholding to love, than the life of man. For as to the
stage, love is ever matter of comedies, and now and then of tragedies;
but in life it doth much mischief; sometimes like a siren, sometimes
like a fury. You may observe, that amongst all the great and worthy
persons (whereof the memory remaineth, either ancient or recent) there
is not one, that hath been transported to the mad degree of love: which
shows that great spirits, and great business, do keep out this weak
passion. You must except, nevertheless, Marcus Antonius, the half
partner of the empire of Rome, and Appius Claudius, the decemvir
and lawgiver; whereof the former was indeed a voluptuous man, and
inordinate; but the latter was an austere and wise man: and therefore it
seems (though rarely) that love can find entrance, not only into an open
heart, but also into a heart well fortified, if watch be not well kept.
It is a poor saying of Epicurus, Satis magnum alter alteri theatrum
sumus; as if man, made for the contemplation of heaven, and all noble
objects, should do nothing but kneel before a little idol, and make
himself a subject, though not of the mouth (as beasts are), yet of the
eye; which was given him for higher purposes. It is a strange thing, to
note the excess of this passion, and how it braves the nature, and
value of things, by this; that the speaking in a perpetual hyperbole, is
comely in nothing but in love. Neither is it merely in the phrase; for
whereas it hath been well said, that the arch-flatterer, with whom all
the petty flatterers have intelligence, is a man's self; certainly the
lover is more. For there was never proud man thought so absurdly well
of himself, as the lover doth of the person loved; and therefore it was
well said, That it is impossible to love, and to be wise. Neither doth
this weakness appear to others only, and not to the party loved; but to
the loved most of all, except the love be reciproque. For it is a true
rule, that love is ever rewarded, either with the reciproque, or with an
inward and secret contempt. By how much the more, men ought to beware of
this passion, which loseth not only other things, but itself! As for the
other losses, the poet's relation doth well figure them: that he that
preferred Helena, quitted the gifts of Juno and Pallas. For whosoever
esteemeth too much of amorous affection, quitteth both riches and
wisdom. This passion hath his floods, in very times of weakness; which
are great prosperity, and great adversity; though this latter hath been
less observed: both which times kindle love, and make it more fervent,
and therefore show it to be the child of folly. They do best, who if
they cannot but admit love, yet make it keep quarters; and sever it
wholly from their serious affairs, and actions, of life; for if it check
once with business, it troubleth men's fortunes, and maketh men, that
they can no ways be true to their own ends. I know not how, but martial
men are given to love: I think, it is but as they are given to wine; for
perils commonly ask to be paid in pleasures. There is in man's nature,
a secret inclination and motion, towards love of others, which if it be
not spent upon some one or a few, doth naturally spread itself towards
many, and maketh men become humane and charitable; as it is seen
sometime in friars. Nuptial love maketh mankind; friendly love
perfecteth it; but wanton love corrupteth, and embaseth it.




Of Great Place


MEN in great place are thrice servants: servants of the sovereign or
state; servants of fame; and servants of business. So as they have no
freedom; neither in their persons, nor in their actions, nor in their
times. It is a strange desire, to seek power and to lose liberty: or to
seek power over others, and to lose power over a man's self. The rising
unto place is laborious; and by pains, men come to greater pains; and
it is sometimes base; and by indignities, men come to dignities. The
standing is slippery, and the regress is either a downfall, or at least
an eclipse, which is a melancholy thing. Cum non sis qui fueris, non
esse cur velis vivere. Nay, retire men cannot when they would, neither
will they, when it were reason; but are impatient of privateness, even
in age and sickness, which require the shadow; like old townsmen, that
will be still sitting at their street door, though thereby they offer
age to scom. Certainly great persons had need to borrow other men's
opinions, to think themselves happy; for if they judge by their own
feeling, they cannot find it; but if they think with themselves, what
other men think of them, and that other men would fain be, as they are,
then they are happy, as it were, by report; when perhaps they find the
contrary within. For they are the first, that find their own griefs,
though they be the last, that find their own faults. Certainly men in
great fortunes are strangers to themselves, and while they are in the
puzzle of business, they have no time to tend their health, either of
body or mind. Illi mors gravis incubat, qui notus nimis omnibus, ignotus
moritur sibi. In place, there is license to do good, and evil; whereof
the latter is a curse: for in evil, the best condition is not to win;
the second, not to can. But power to do good, is the true and lawful
end of aspiring. For good thoughts (though God accept them) yet, towards
men, are little better than good dreams, except they be put in act; and
that cannot be, without power and place, as the vantage, and commanding
ground. Merit and good works, is the end of man's motion; and conscience
of the same is the accomplishment of man's rest. For if a man can be
partaker of God's theatre, he shall likewise be partaker of God's rest.
Et conversus Deus, ut aspiceret opera quae fecerunt manus suae, vidit
quod omnia essent bona nimis; and then the sabbath. In the discharge of
thy place, set before thee the best examples; for imitation is a globe
of precepts. And after a time, set before thee thine own example; and
examine thyself strictly, whether thou didst not best at first. Neglect
not also the examples, of those that have carried themselves ill, in
the same place; not to set off thyself, by taxing their memory, but to
direct thyself, what to avoid. Reform therefore, without bravery, or
scandal of former times and persons; but yet set it down to thyself, as
well to create good precedents, as to follow them. Reduce things to the
first institution, and observe wherein, and how, they have degenerate;
but yet ask counsel of both times; of the ancient time, what is best;
and of the latter time, what is fittest. Seek to make thy course
regular, that men may know beforehand, what they may expect; but be
not too positive and peremptory; and express thyself well, when thou
digressest from thy rule. Preserve the right of thy place; but stir not
questions of jurisdiction; and rather assume thy right, in silence and
de facto, than voice it with claims, and challenges. Preserve likewise
the rights of inferior places; and think it more honor, to direct in
chief, than to be busy in all. Embrace and invite helps, and advices,
touching the execution of thy place; and do not drive away such, as
bring thee information, as meddlers; but accept of them in good part.
The vices of authority are chiefly four: delays, corruption, roughness,
and facility. For delays: give easy access; keep times appointed; go
through with that which is in hand, and interlace not business, but
of necessity. For corruption: do not only bind thine own hands, or thy
servants' hands, from taking, but bind the hands of suitors also, from
offering. For integrity used doth the one; but integrity professed, and
with a manifest detestation of bribery, doth the other. And avoid not
only the fault, but the suspicion. Whosoever is found variable,
and changeth manifestly without manifest cause, giveth suspicion of
corruption. Therefore always, when thou changest thine opinion or
course, profess it plainly, and declare it, together with the reasons
that move thee to change; and do not think to steal it. A servant or
a favorite, if he be inward, and no other apparent cause of esteem, is
commonly thought, but a by-way to close corruption. For roughness: it
is a needless cause of discontent: severity breedeth fear, but roughness
breedeth hate. Even reproofs from authority, ought to be grave, and not
taunting. As for facility: it is worse than bribery. For bribes come but
now and then; but if importunity, or idle respects, lead a man, he shall
never be without. As Solomon saith, To respect persons is not good; for
such a man will transgress for a piece of bread. It is most true, that
was anciently spoken, A place showeth the man. And it showeth some to
the better, and some to the worse. Omnium consensu capax imperii, nisi
imperasset, saith Tacitus of Galba; but of Vespasian he saith, Solus
imperantium, Vespasianus mutatus in melius; though the one was meant of
sufficiency, the other of manners, and affection. It is an assured sign
of a worthy and generous spirit, whom honor amends. For honor is, or
should be, the place of virtue; and as in nature, things move violently
to their place, and calmly in their place, so virtue in ambition is
violent, in authority settled and calm. All rising to great place is
by a winding star; and if there be factions, it is good to side a man's
self, whilst he is in the rising, and to balance himself when he is
placed. Use the memory of thy predecessor, fairly and tenderly; for if
thou dost not, it is a debt will sure be paid when thou art gone. If
thou have colleagues, respect them, and rather call them, when they
look not for it, than exclude them, when they have reason to look to
be called. Be not too sensible, or too remembering, of thy place in
conversation, and private answers to suitors; but let it rather be said,
When he sits in place, he is another man.




Of Boldness


IT IS a trivial grammar-school text, but yet worthy a wise man's
consideration. Question was asked of Demosthenes, what was the chief
part of an orator? he answered, action; what next? action; what next
again? action. He said it, that knew it best, and had, by nature,
himself no advantage in that he commended. A strange thing, that that
part of an orator, which is but superficial, and rather the virtue of
a player, should be placed so high, above those other noble parts, of
invention, elocution, and the rest; nay, almost alone, as if it were
all in all. But the reason is plain. There is in human nature generally,
more of the fool than of the wise; and therefore those faculties,
by which the foolish part of men's minds is taken, are most potent.
Wonderful like is the case of boldness in civil business: what first?