BACON—NEW WAYS OF WISDOM
 WHEN we are little, there are many things we cannot understand;
we puzzle about them a good deal perhaps, and then we ask
questions. And sometimes the grown-ups answer our question and
make the puzzling things clear to us, sometimes they answer yet
do not make the puzzling things any clearer to us, and sometimes
they tell us not to trouble, that we will understand when we grow
older. Then we wish we could grow older quick, for it seems such
a long time to wait for an answer. But worst of all, sometimes
the grown-ups tell us not to talk so much and not to ask so many
The fact is, though perhaps I ought not to tell you, grown-ups
don't know everything. That is not any disgrace either, for of
course no one can know everything, not even father or mother.
And just as there are things which puzzle little folks, there are
things which puzzle big folks. And just as among little folks
there are some who ask more questions and who "want to know" more
than others, so among grown-ups there are some who more than
others seek for the answer to those puzzling question. These
people we call philosophers. The word comes from two Greek
words, philos loving, sophos wise, and means loving wisdom. In
this chapter I am going to tell you about Francis Bacon, the
great philosopher who lived in the times of Elizabeth and James.
I do not think that I can quite make you understand what
 means, or what his learned books were about,
nor do I think you will care to read them for a long time to
come. But you will find the life of Francis Bacon very
interesting. It is well, too, to know about Bacon, for with him
began a new kind of search for wisdom. The old searchers after
truth had tried to settle the questions which puzzled them by
turning to imaginary things, and by mere thinking. Bacon said
that we must answer these questions by studying not what was
imaginary, but what was real—by studying nature. So Bacon was
not only a lover of truth but was also the first of our
scientists of to-day. Scientist comes from the Latin word scio
to know, and Science means that which we know by watching things
and trying things,—by making experiments. And although Bacon
did not himself find out anything new and useful to man, he
pointed out the road upon which others were to travel.
It was upon a cold day in January in 1560 that Francis Bacon
"came crying into the world." He was born in a fine house and
was the child of great people, his father being Sir Nicholas
Bacon, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. But although his father
was one of the most important men in the kingdom, we know little
about Francis as a boy. We know that he met the Queen and that
he must have been a clever little boy, for she would playfully
call him her "young Lord Keeper." Once too when she asked him
how old he was, he answered, "Two years younger than your
Majesty's happy reign." So if you know when Elizabeth began to
reign you will easily remember when Bacon was born.
Francis was the youngest of a big family, and when he was little
more than twelve years old he went to Trinity College, Cambridge.
Even in those days, when people went to college early, this was
 For three years Bacon remained at college and then he went to
France with the English ambassador. While he was in France his
father died and Bacon returned home. At eighteen he thus found
himself a poor lad with his future to make and only his father's
great name and his own wits to help him. He made up his mind to
take Law as his profession. So he set himself quietly to study.
He worked hard, for from the very beginning he meant to get on,
he meant to be rich and powerful. So he bowed low before the
great, he wrote letters to them full of flattery, he begged and
Bacon is like a man with two faces. We look at one and we see a
kindly face full of pity and sorrow for all wrong and pain that
men must suffer, we see there a longing to help man, to be his
friend. We look at the other face and there we see the greed of
gain, the desire for power and place. Yet it may be that Bacon
only strove to be great so that he might have more power and
freedom to be pitiful. In spite of Bacon's hard work, in spite
of his flattery and begging, he did not rise fast. After five
years we find him indeed a barrister and a Member of Parliament,
but among the many great men of his age he was still of little
account. He had not made his mark, in spite of the fact that the
great Lord Burleigh was his uncle, in spite of the fact that
Elizabeth had liked him as a boy. Post after post for which he
begged was given to other men. He was, he said himself, "like a
child following a bird, which when he is nearest flieth away and
lighteth a little before, and then the child after it again, and
so in infinitum. I am weary of it."
But one friend at court he found in the Earl of Essex, the
favorite of Elizabeth, the rival of Raleigh. Essex, however, who
could win so much favor for himself, could win none for Francis
Bacon. Being able to win nothing
 from the Queen, on his own
account Essex gave his friend an estate worth about 1800 pounds.
But although that may have been some comfort to Bacon, it did not
win for him greatness in the eyes of the world, the only greatness
for which he longed. As to the Queen, she made use of him when
it pleased her, but she had no love for him. "Though she cheered
him much with the bounty of her countenance," says an early
writer of Bacon's life, his friend and chaplain,
"yet she never
cheered him with the bounty of her hand." It was, alas, that
bounty of the hand that Bacon begged for and stooped for all
through his life. Yet he cared nothing for money for its own
sake, for what he had, he spent carelessly. He loved to keep
high state, he loved grandeur, and was always in debt.
Essex through all his brilliant years when the Queen smiled upon
him stuck by his friend, for him he spent his "power, might,
authority and amity" in vain. When the dark hours came and Essex
fell into disgrace, it was Bacon who forgot his friendship.
You will read in history-books of how Essex, against the Queen's
orders, left Ireland, and coming to London, burst into her
presence one morning before she was dressed. You will read of
how he was disgraced and imprisoned. At first Bacon did what he
could for his friend, and it was through his help that Essex was
set free. But even then, Bacon wrote to the Earl, "I confess I
love some things much better than I love your lordship, as the
Queen's service, her quiet and contentment, her honour, her
favour, the good of my country, and the like. Yet I love few
persons better than yourself, both for gratitude's sake, and for
your own virtues."
Set free, Essex rushed into passionate, futile rebellion. Again
he was made prisoner and tried for high treason. It was then
that Bacon had to choose between friend and
 Queen. He chose his
Queen and appeared in court against his friend. To do anything
else, Bacon told himself, had been utterly useless. Essex was
now of no more use to him, he was too surely fallen. To cling to
him could do not good, but would only bring the Queen's anger
upon himself also. And yet he had written: "It is friendship
when a man can say to himself, I love this man without respect of
utility. . . . I make him a portion of my own wishes."
He wrote that as a young man, later he saw nothing in friendship
The trial of Essex must have been a brilliant scene. The Earl
himself, young, fair of face, splendidly clad, stood at the bar.
He showed no fear, his bearing was as proud and bold as ever,
"but whether his courage were borrowed and put on for the time or
natural, it were hard to judge."
The Lord Treasurer, the Lord
High Steward, too were there and twenty-five peers, nine earls,
and sixteen barons to try the case. Among the learned counsel
sat Bacon, a disappointed man of forty. There was nothing to
single him out from his fellows save that he was the Earl's
friend, and as such might be looked upon to do his best to save
As the trial went on, however, Bacon spoke, not to save, but to
condemn. Did no memory of past kindliness cross his mind as he
likened his friend to "Cain, that first murderer," as he
complained to the court that too much favor was shown to the
prisoner, that he had never before heard "so ill a defense of
such great and notorious treasons." The Earl answered in his own
defense again and yet again. But at length he was silent. His
case was hopeless, and he was condemned to death. He was
executed on 25th February, 1601.
Perhaps Bacon could not have saved his friend from
 death, but had
he used his wit to try at least to save instead of helping to
condemn, he would have kept his own name from a dark blot. But a
greater betrayal of friendship was yet to follow. Though Essex
had been wild and foolish the people loved him, and now they
murmured against the Queen for causing his death. Then it was
thought well, that they should know all the blackness of his
misdeeds, and it was Bacon who was called upon to write the story
Even from this he did not shrink, for he hoped for great rewards.
But, as before, the Queen used him, and withheld "the bounty of
her hand"; from her he received no State appointment. He did
indeed receive 1200 pounds in money. It was scarcely as much as
Essex had once given him out of friendship. To Bacon it seemed
too small a reward for his betrayal of his friend, even although
it had seemed to mean loyalty to his Queen. "The Queen hath done
somewhat for me," he wrote, "though not in the proportion I
hoped." And so in debt and with a blotted name, Bacon lived on
until Queen Elizabeth died. But with the new King his fortunes
began to rise. First he was made Sir Francis Bacon, then from
one honor to another he rose until he became at last Lord High
Chancellor of England, the highest judge in the land. A few
months later, he was made a peer with the title of Baron Verulam.
A few years later at the age of sixty he went still one step
higher and became Viscount St. Albans.
Bacon chose the name of Baron Verulam from the name of the old
Roman city Verulamium which was afterwards called St. Albans. It
was near St. Albans that Bacon had built himself a splendid
house, laid out a beautiful garden, and planted fine trees, and
there he kept as great state as the King himself.
He had now reached his highest power. He had published his great
work called the Novum Organum or New
 Instrument in which he
taught men a new way of wisdom. He was the greatest judge in the
land and a peer of the realm. He had married too, but he never
had any children, and we know little of his home life.
It seemed as if at last he had all he could wish for, as if his
life would end in a blaze of glory. But instead of that in a few
short weeks after he became Viscount St. Albans, he was a
disgraced and fallen man.
He had always loved splendor and pomp, he had always spent more
than he could afford. Now he was accused of taking bribes, that
is, he was accused of taking money from people and, instead of
judging fairly, of judging in favor of those who had given him
most money. He was accused, in fact, of selling justice. That
he should sell justice is the blackest charge that can be brought
against a judge. At first Bacon could not believe that any one
would dare to attack him. But when he heard that it was true, he
sank beneath the disgrace, he made no resistance. His health
gave way. On his sick-bed he owned that he had taken presents,
yet to the end he protested that he had judged justly. He had
taken the bribes indeed, but they had made no difference to his
judgments. He had not sold justice.
He made his confession and stood to it. "My lords," he said, "it
is my act, my hand, my heart. I beseech your lordships be
merciful to a broken reed."
Bacon was condemned to pay a fine of 40,000 pounds, to be
imprisoned during the King's pleasure, never more to have
office of any kind, never to sit in Parliament, "nor come
within the verge of the Court."
"I was the justest judge that was in England these fifty years,"
said Bacon afterwards. "But it was the justest censure in
Parliament that was these two hundred years."
Bacon's punishment was not as heavy as at first sight
 it seems,
for the fine was forgiven him, and "the king's pleasure," made
his imprisonment in the Tower only a matter of a few days.
And now that his life was shipwrecked, though he never ceased to
long to return to his old greatness, he gave all his time to
writing and to science. He spent many peaceful hours in the
garden that he loved. "His lordship," we are told, "was a very
contemplative person, and was wont to contemplate in his
delicious walks." He was generally accompanied by one of the
gentlemen of his household "that attended him with ink and paper
ready to set down presently his thoughts."
Bacon was generally accompanied by a gentleman of the household, who was ready to set down his thoughts.
He was not soured or bitter. "Though his fortunes may have
changed," says one of his household,
"yet I never saw any change
in his mien, his words, or his deeds, towards any man. But he
was always the same both in sorrow and joy, as a philosopher
ought to be."
Bacon was now shut out from honorable work in the world, but he
had no desire to be idle. "I have read in books," he wrote,
"that it is accounted a great bliss to have Leisure with Honour.
That was never my fortune. For time was I had Honour without
Leisure; and now I have Leisure without Honour. But my desire is
now to have Leisure without Loitering." So now he lived as he
himself said "a long cleansing week of five years." Then the end
It was Bacon's thirst for knowledge that caused his death. One
winter day when the snow lay on the ground he drove out in his
coach. Suddenly as he drove along looking at the white-covered
fields and roads around, the thought came to him that food might
be kept good by means of snow as easily as by salt. He resolved
to try, so, stopping his coach, he went into a poor woman's
cottage and bought a hen. The woman killed and made
 ready the
hen, but Bacon was so eager about his experiment that he stuffed
it himself with snow. In doing this he was so chilled by the
cold that he became suddenly ill, too ill to return home. He was
taken to a house near "where they put him into a good bed warmed
with a pan" and there after a few days he died.
This little story of how Bacon came by his death gives a good
idea of how he tried to make use of his philosophy. He was not
content with thinking and speculating, that is, looking at ideas.
Speculate comes from the Latin speculari, to spy out. He wanted
to experiment too. And although in those days no one had thought
about it, we now know that Bacon was quite right and that meat
can be kept by freezing it. And it is pleasant to know that
before Bacon died he was able to write that the experiment had
succeeded "excellently well."
In his will Bacon left his name and memory "to men's charitable
speeches, to foreign nations and to the next ages," and he was
right to do so, for in spite of all the dark shadows that hang
about his name men still call him great. We remember him as a
great man among great men; we remember him as the fore-runner of
modern science; we remember him for the splendid English in which
And yet, although Bacon's English is clear, strong, and fine,
although Elizabethan English perhaps reached in him its highest
point, he himself despised English. He did not believe that it
was a language that would live. And as he wanted his books to be
read by people all over the world and in all time to come, he
wrote his greatest books in Latin. He grieved that he had wasted
time in writing English, and he had much that he wrote in English
translated into Latin during his lifetime.
It seems strange to us now that in an age when Spenser and
Shakespeare had show the world what the English
 tongue had power
to do that any man should have been able to disbelieve in its
greatness. But so it was, and Bacon translated his books into
Latin so that they might live when English books "were not."
I will not weary you with a list of all the books Bacon wrote.
Although it is not considered his greatest work, that by which
most people know him is his Book of Essays. By an essay, Bacon
meant a testing or proving. In the short chapters of his essays
he tries and proves many things such as Friendship, Study, Honor;
and when you come to read these essays you will be surprised to
find how many of the sentences are known to you already. They
have become "household words," and without knowing it we repeat
Bacon's wisdom. But we miss in them something of human
kindliness. Bacon's wisdom is cool, calm, and calculating, and
we long sometimes for a little warmth, a little passion, and not
so much "use."
The essays are best known, but the New Atlantis is the book that
you will best like to read, for it is something of a story, and
of it I will tell you a little in the next chapter.