Page:The Works of Francis Bacon (1884) Volume 1.djvu/561

 INTERPRETATION OF NATURE. leads him to hope that there yet remains a great mass of inventions which might be gained, not only from uncovering new properties, but also from transferring and applying those already known. He accepted aiso as happy omens what he ob served in the mechanical arts and their success, especially when compared with philosophy. For the mechanical arts, as if enjoying a certain vital air, grow and perfect themselves daily ; while philosophy, like a statue, is adored and celebrated, hut moves not. The former also are seen rude, and commonly without proportion and cumbrous in the hands of their first authors ; but afterwards get new strength and aptness. The latter is in its greatest vigour with its first author, and after wards declines. And the real cause of this dif ferent success is that, in the mechanical arts, the wits of many meet together in one; but in philo sophy the wits of all are spoiled by one. For after they have surrendered themselves they give no increase, but are employed in the servile office of dressing and attending one. Wherefore every philosophy, torn up from the roots of experience, from which it first sprung and grew, becomes dead matter. And, roused by this thought, he ob served also, that the means of arts and sciences are, by universal consent, empirical or rational, that is, philosophical ; but he has not yet seen these well put together and united. For the em pirical, like the ant, only collects and uses ; the rational, like the spider, spins from itself. But the practice of the bee is midway, which draws materials from the flowers of both garden and field, but transmutes and digests them by a faculty of its own. Nor is the work of true philosophy different, which stores up the matter supplied by natural history and mechanical experiments, not raw in the memory, but changed and prepared in the understanding. And he is aware that there are some of the empirical who wish not to be held as merely empirical, and of the reasoners who aim at seeming industrious and plain in practice. But these have been and are the artifices of a few, aiming at the characte^ of each excelling in his own sect ; though, in reality, there has always been a division and almost antipathy between these faculties. So he thought there was hope of excellent effects from a close and confirmed union of them. He saw also with pleasure that he found an infinite expense of wit, time, and means, which men employ in matters and pursuits that, rightly considered, are useless ; while if a small part of them were turned to what is sound and useful, it might conquer every difficulty. Nor is there any reason to fear the multitude of particulars, since the phenomena of the arts are but a handful to the reasonings of the mind when disunited and dis tracted from the evidence of things. Now, all this that has been said has its effect in producing VOL. T 55 hope ; but, above all, the most certain hope is from the errors of the time past. And (as some one said of the maladministration of civil govern ment) that may be the best for the future, which is the worst on looking to the past; for if such errors cease, (and giving warning is the first step towards it,) there would be a very great change in things. But if men had passed through the course of so many years, without being able to make any progress, no hope could remain. For then it would be clear that the difficulty was in the mat ter and subject, (which are out of our power,) not in the instrument, (which is within it,) that is, in the things and their obscurity, not in the human mind and its working. But now it appears that the way is not stopped up by any block or barrier, but turns from the path of men : it does, therefore, cause in some measure the fear of solitude, but threatens nothing more. In fine, he determined that, if even a much weaker and less sensible air breathed from that new continent, it should yet be attempted. For there is not the same danger in not trying a thing and not succeeding in it ; since, in the former case, the loss of a great benefit, in the latter, of a little human labour is concerned. In truth, both from what has and has not been said, he saw well that there was sufficient hope, not only for a diligent man to make trial, but also for a prudent and sober one to give credit. He thought also, that, when the desire is kin dled, and the hope formed, we must look to the means of performance. This is then what appeared to him generally in that matter; and he thought fit to enclose and embrace it in naked and open sentences. He saw that things must be done entirely other wise than they are now ; and therefore that the disproving of the past is a kind of oracle for what is to come. He thought that theories, and opinions, and common notions, as far as can be obtained from the stiffness and firmness of the mind, should be entirely done away with ; and that the understand ing should begin anew plainly and fairly with particulars ; since there is no other entrance open to the kingdom of nature than to the kingdom of heaven, into which no one may enter except in the form of a little child. He thought that a body and mass of particulars, both from their number, kind, and certainty or subtility sufficient for information, might be col lected and stored up, both from natural history and mechanical experiments, the latter especially, because nature displays herself more fully when she is held and pressed by art than at her own liberty. He thought that this mass should be re duced and digested into tables and regular order, that the understanding may be able to act upon it and perform its office ; since even the divine word did not work upon a mass of things without order. He thought that we must not suddenly pass 20