The Online Library of Liberty

A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

• Preface
• Francis of Verulam’s Great Instauration
• Announcement of the Author
• Author’s Preface
• Distribution of the Work In Six Parts
• First Part of the Great Instauration
• First Book
• Second Book
• Chapter I
• Chapter Ii
• Chapter Iii
• Chapter Iv
• Chapter V
• Chapter Vi
• Chapter Vii
• Chapter Viii
• Chapter Ix
• Chapter X
• Chapter Xi
• Chapter Xii
• Chapter Xiii
• Third Book
• Chapter I
• Chapter Ii
• Chapter Iii
• Chapter Iv
• Chapter V
• Chapter Vi
• Fourth Book
• Chapter I
• Chapter Ii
• Chapter Iii
• Fifth Book
• Chapter I
• Chapter Ii
• Chapter Iii
• Chapter Iv
• Chapter V
• Sixth Book
• Chapter I
• Chapter Ii
• Chapter Iii
• Chapter Iv
• Seventh Book
• Chapter I
• Chapter Ii
• Chapter Iii
• Eighth Book
• Chapter I
• Chapter Ii
• Chapter Iii
• Ninth Book

SIXTH BOOK

CHAPTER I

ANY man may, excellent King, when he pleases, take the liberty to jest and laugh at himself or his own projects. Who, then, knows—as there is a book in the famous library of St. Victor, entitled “Formicarum Artium,”1 whether our book may not be an accidental transcript of its contents. We have indeed only accumulated a little heap of dust, and deposited therein many grains of the arts and sciences whereto ants may creep to repose a while, and then betake themselves to their labors: nay, the wisest of kings points out the ant as an example to those whose only care is to live upon the main stock, neglecting to cultivate the fields of science, and reap a new harvest of discoveries.2

We next proceed to the art of delivering, uttering, and communicating such things as are discovered, judged of, and treasured up in the memory; and this we call by the general name of traditive doctrine, which takes in all the arts relating to words and discourse. For although reason be as the soul of discourse, yet they ought both to be treated separate, no less than the soul and body. We divide this traditive doctrine into three parts; viz., with regard, 1, to the organ; 2, the method; and 3, the illustration or ornament of speech and discourse.

The vulgar doctrine of the organ of speech called grammar is of two kinds, the one having relation to speaking, the other to writing. For, as Aristotle well observed, words are the marks of thoughts, and letters of words; and we refer both of these to grammar.3 But before we proceed to its several parts, it is necessary to say something in general of the organ of this traditive doctrine, because it seems to have more descendants besides words and letters. And here we observe, that whatever may be split into differences, sufficiently numerous for explaining the variety of notions, provided these differences are sensible, may be a means of conveying the thoughts from man to man; for we find that nations of different languages hold a commerce, in some tolerable degree, by gestures. And from the practice of some persons born deaf and dumb, but otherwise ingenious, we see conversation may be held between them and such of their friends as have learned their gestures. And it is now well known, that in China and the more eastern provinces, they use at this day certain real, not nominal, characters,4 to express, not their letters or words, but things and notions; insomuch, that numerous nations, though of quite different languages, yet, agreeing in the use of these characters, hold correspondence by writing.5 And thus a book written in such characters may be read and interpreted by each nation in its own respective language.

The signs of things significative without the help or interposition of words are therefore of two kinds, the one congruous, the one arbitrary. Of the first kind, are hieroglyphics and gestures; of the second, real characters. The use of hieroglyphics is of great antiquity, being held in veneration, especially among that most ancient nation, the Egyptians, insomuch that this seems to have been an early kind of writing, prior to the invention of letters, unless, perhaps, among the Jews.6 And gestures are a kind of transitory hieroglyphics; for as words are fleeting in the pronunciation, but permanent when written down, so hieroglyphics, expressed by gesture, are momentary; but when painted, durable. When Periander, being consulted how to preserve a tyranny newly usurped, bid the messenger report what he saw; and going into the garden, cropped all the tallest flowers;7 he thus used as strong a hieroglyphic as if he had drawn it upon paper.

Again, it is plain that hieroglyphics and gestures have always some similitude with the things signified, and are in reality emblems; whence we call them congruous marks of things: but real characters have nothing of emblem, as being no less mute than the elementary letters themselves, and invented altogether at discretion, though received by custom as by a tacit agreement. Yet it is manifest that a great number of them is required in writing; for they must be as numerous as the radical words. This doctrine, therefore, concerning the organ of speech, that is, the marks of things, we set down as wanting; for although it may seem a matter of little use, while words and writing with letters are much more commodious organs of delivery; yet we think proper here to mention it as no inconsiderable thing. For while we are treating, as it were, of the coin of intellectual matters, it is not improper to observe that as money may be made of other materials besides gold and silver, so other marks of things may be invented besides words and letters.8

Grammar holds the place of a conductor in respect of the other sciences; and though the office be not noble, it is extremely necessary, especially as the sciences in our times are chiefly derived from the learned languages. Nor should this art be thought of small dignity, since it acts as an antidote against the curse of Babel, the confusion of tongues. Indeed, human industry strongly endeavors to recover those enjoyments it lost through its own default. Thus it guards against the first general curse, the sterility of the earth, and the eating our bread in the sweat of the brow, by all the other arts; as against the second, the confusion of languages, it calls in the assistance of grammar. Though this art is of little use in any maternal language, but more serviceable in learning the foreign ones, and most of all in the dead ones, which now cease to be popular, and are only preserved in books.

We divide grammar also into two parts—literary and philosophical; the one employed simply about tongues themselves, in order to their being more expeditiously learned or more correctly spoken, but the other is in some sort subservient to philosophy; in which view Cæsar wrote his books of Analogy,9 though we have some doubt whether they treated of the philosophical grammar now under consideration. We suspect, however, that they contained nothing very subtile or sublime, but only delivered precepts of pure and correct discourse, neither corrupted by any vulgar, depraved phrases, and customs of speech, nor vitiated by affectation; in which particular the author himself excelled. Admonished by this procedure, I have formed in my thoughts a certain grammar, not upon any analogy which words bear to each other, but such as should diligently examine the analogy or relation between words and things, yet without any of that hermeneutical doctrine, or doctrine of interpretation, which is subservient to logic. It is certain that words are the traces or impressions of reason; and impressions afford some indication of the body that made them. I will, therefore, here give a small sketch of the thing.

And first, we cannot approve that curious inquiry, which Plato however did not contemn, about the imposition and original etymology of names,10 as supposing them not given arbitrarily at first, but rationally and scientifically derived and deduced. This indeed is an elegant, and, as it were, a waxen subject, which may handsomely be wrought and twisted; but because it seems to search the very bowels of antiquity, it has an awful appearance, though attended with but little truth and advantage. But it would be a noble kind of a grammar, if any one, well versed in numerous languages, both the learned and vulgar, should treat of their various properties, and show wherein each of them excelled and fell short; for thus languages might be enriched by mutual commerce, and one beautiful image of speech, or one grand model of language for justly expressing the sense of the mind, formed, like the Venus of Apelles, from the excellences of several. And thus we should, at the same time, have some considerable marks of the genius and manners of people and nations from their respective languages. Cicero agreeably remarks, that the Greeks had no word to express the Latin ineptum;11 “because,” says he, “the fault it denotes was so familiar among them, that they could not see it in themselves”; a censure not unbecoming the Roman gravity. And as the Greeks used so great a licentiousness in compounding words, which the Romans so religiously abstained from, it may hence be collected that the Greeks were better fitted for arts, and the Romans for exploits; as variety of arts makes compound words in a manner necessary, while civil business, and the affairs of nations, require a greater simplicity of expression. The Jews were so averse to these compositions, that they would rather strain a metaphor than introduce them. Nay, they used so few words and so unmixed, that we may plainly perceive from their language they were a Nazarite people, and separate from other nations. It is also worth observing, though it may seem a little ungrateful to modern ears, that the ancient languages are full of declensions, cases, conjugations, tenses, and the like; but the later languages, being almost destitute of them, slothfully express many things by prepositions and auxiliary verbs. For from hence it may easily be conjectured, that the genius of former ages, however we may flatter ourselves, was much more acute than our own. And there are things enough of this kind to make a volume. It seems reasonable, therefore, to distinguish a philosophical grammar from a simple literary one, and to set it down as deficient.12

All the accidence of words—as sound, measure, accent—likewise belong to grammar; but the primary elements of simple letters, or the inquiry with what percussion of the tongue, opening of the mouth, motion of the lips, and use of the throat, the sound of each letter is produced, has no relation to grammar, but is a part of the doctrine of sounds, to be treated under sense and sensible objects.13 The grammatical sound we speak of regards only sweetness and harshness. Some harsh and sweet sounds are general; for there is no language but in some degree avoids the chasms of concurring vowels or the roughness of concurring consonants. There are others particular or respective, and pleasing or displeasing to the ears of different nations. The Greek language abounds in diphthongs, which the Roman uses much more sparingly, and so of the rest. The Spanish tongue avoids letters of a shrill sound, and changes them into letters of a middle tone. The languages of the Teutonic stock delight in aspirates, and numerous others which we have not space to cite.

But the measure of words has produced a large body of art; viz., poetry, considered not with regard to its matter, which was considered above, but its style and the structure of words; that is, versification; which, though held as trivial, is honored with great and numerous examples. Nor should this art, which the grammarians call prosodia, be confined only to teaching the kinds of verse and measure; but precepts also should be added, as to what kind of verse is agreeable to every subject. The ancients applied heroic verse to encomium, elegy to complaint, iambic to invective, and lyric to ode and hymn; and the same has been prudently observed by the modern poets, each in his own language: only they deserve censure in this, that some of them, through affectation of antiquity, have endeavored to set the modern languages to ancient measure; as sapphic, elegiac, etc., which is both disagreeable to the ear, and contrary to the structure of such languages.14 And in these cases, the judgment of the sense is to be preferred to the precepts of art. As the poet says,

• —“Cœnæ Ferculæ nostræ
• Mallem convivis quam placuisse cocis.”15

Nor is this an art, but the abuse of art, as it does not perfect nature, but corrupt her. As to poetry, both with regard to its fable and its verse, it is like a luxuriant plant, sprouting not from seed, but by the mere vigor of the soil; whence it everywhere creeps up, and spreads itself so wide, that it were endless to be solicitous about its defects. And as to the accents of words, there is no necessity for taking notice of so trivial a thing; only it may be proper to intimate, that these are observed with great exactness, while the accents of sentences are neglected; though it is nearly common to all mankind to sink the voice at the end of a period, to raise it in interrogation, and the like.16 And so much for that part of grammar which regards speaking.

Writing is practiced either by means of the common alphabet, now vulgarly received, or of a secret and private one, agreed upon between particular persons, and called by the name of cipher. But here a question arises about the common orthography; viz., whether words should be wrote as they are pronounced, or after the common manner? Certainly that reformed kind of writing, according to the pronunciation, is but a useless speculation, because pronunciation itself is continually changing, and the derivations of words, especially from the foreign languages, are very obscure; and lastly, as writing in the received manner no way obstructs the manner of pronunciation, but leaves it free, an innovation in it is to no purpose.

There are several kinds of ciphers, as the simple,17 those mixed with non-significants,18 those consisting of two kinds of characters,19 wheel-ciphers,20 key-ciphers,21 word-ciphers,22 etc. There are three properties required in ciphers; viz., 1, that they be easy to write and read; 2, that they be trusty and undecipherable; and 3, if possible, clear of suspicion. For if a letter should come into the hands of such as have a power over the writer or receiver, though the cipher itself be trusty and impossible to decipher, it is still subject to examination and question, unless there be no room to suspect or examine it.

There is a new and useful invention to elude the examination of a cipher; viz., to have two alphabets, the one of significant, and the other of non-significant letters; and folding up two writings together, the one conveying the secret, while the other is such as the writer might probably send without danger. In case of a strict examination about the cipher, the bearer is to produce the non-significant alphabet for the true, and the true for the non-significant; by which means the examiner would fall upon the outward writing, and finding it probable, suspect nothing of the inner.23

But to prevent all suspicion, we shall here annex a cipher of our own, that we devised at Paris in our youth, and which has the highest perfection of a cipher—that of signifying omnia per omnia (anything by everything),24 provided only the matter included be five times less than that which includes it, without any other condition or limitation. The invention is this: first let all the letters of the alphabet be resolved into two only, by repetition and transposition; for a transposition of two letters through five places, or different arrangements, will denote two-and-thirty differences, and consequently fewer, or four-and-twenty, the number of letters in our alphabet, as in the following example:

A BILITERAL ALPHABET,

Consisting only of a and b changed through five places, so as to represent all the letters of the common alphabet

Thus, in order to write an A, you write five a’s, or aaaaa; and to write a B, you write four a’s and one b, or aaaab; and so of the rest.

And here, by the way, we gain no small advantage, as this contrivance shows a method of expressing and signifying one’s mind to any distance, by objects that are either visible or audible—provided only the objects are but capable of two differences, as bells, speaking-trumpets, fireworks, cannon, etc. But for writing, let the included letter be resolved into this biliteral alphabet; suppose that letter were the word FLY, it is thus resolved:

Let there be also at hand two other common alphabets, differing only from each other in the make of their letters; so that, as well the capital as the small be differently shaped or cut at every one’s discretion: as thus, for example, in Roman and Italic; each Roman letter constantly representing A, and each Italic letter B.

All the letters of this Roman alphabet are read or deciphered, by translating them into the letter A only.

All the letters of this Italic alphabet are read by translating them into the letter B only.

Now adjust or fit any external double-faced writing, letter by letter, to the internal writing, first made biliterate; and afterward write it down for the letter or epistle to be sent. Suppose the external writing were, “Stay till I come to you,” and the internal one were, “Fly”; then, as we saw above, the word “Fly,” resolved by means of the biliteral alphabet, is

whereof I fit, letter by letter, the words “Stay till I come to you,” observing the use of my two alphabets of differently shaped letters, thus:

Having now adjusted my writing according to all my alphabets, I send it to my correspondent, who reads the secret meaning by translating the Roman letters into a’s, and the Italic ones into b’s, according to the Roman and Italic alphabets, and comparing each combination of five of them with the biliteral alphabet.25

We herewith annex a fuller example of the cipher of writing “omnia per omnia,” viz., an interior letter once sent by the Ephores of Sparta in a scytale or round ciphered staff:

“Perditæ res. Minidarus cecidit. Milites esuriunt, neque hinc nos extricare, neque hic diutius manere possumus.”

The exterior letter in which the above is involved is taken from the first epistle of Cicero. We adjoin it:

“Ego omni officio ac potius pietate erga te, cæteris satisfacio omnibus; mihi ipse numquam satisfacio. Tanta est enim magnitudo tuorum erga me meritorum, ut quoniam tu nisi perfecta re, de me non conquiesti. Ego quia non idem tu tua causa efficio, vitam mihi esse acerbam putem. In causa hæc sunt; Ammonius regis legatus aperte pecunia non oppugnat. Res agitur per eosdem creditores per quos, cum tu aderas, agebatur regis causa, si qui sunt, qui velint qui pauci sunt, omnes ad Pompeium rem deferri volunt. Senatus religionis calumniam, non religione, sed malevolentia, et illius regiæ largitionis invidia, comprobat,” etc.

The doctrine of ciphers has introduced another, relative to it, viz., the art of deciphering without the alphabet of the cipher, or knowing the rules whereby it was formed. This indeed is a work of labor and ingenuity, devoted, as well as the former, to the secret service of princes. Yet by a diligent precaution it may be rendered useless, though, as matters now stand, it is highly serviceable: for if the ciphers in use were good and trusty, several of them would absolutely elude the labor of the decipherer, and yet remain commodious enough, so as to be readily written and read. But through the ignorance and unskilfulness of secretaries and clerks in the courts of princes, the most important affairs are generally committed to weak and treacherous ciphers.26 —And thus much for the organ of speech.

CHAPTER II

THE doctrine concerning the method of speech has been usually treated as a part of logic; it has also found a place in rhetoric, under the name of disposition; but the placing of it in the train of other arts has introduced a neglect of many useful things relating to it. We, therefore, think proper to advance a substantial and capital doctrine of method, under the general name of traditive prudence. But as the kinds of method are various, we shall rather enumerate than divide them; but for one only method, and perpetually splitting and subdividing, it scarce need be mentioned, as being no more than a light cloud of doctrine that soon blows over, though it also proves destructive to the sciences, because the observers thereof, when they wrest things by the laws of their method, and either omit all that do not justly fall under their divisions, or bend them contrary to their own nature, squeeze, as it were, the grain out of the sciences, and grasp nothing but the chaff—whence this kind of method produces empty compendiums, and loses the solid substance of the sciences.1

Let the first difference of method be, therefore, between the doctrinal and initiative. By this we do not mean that the initiative method should treat only of the entrance into the sciences, and the other their entire doctrine; but borrowing the word from religion, we call that method initiative which opens and reveals the mysteries of the sciences; so that as the doctrinal method teaches, the initiative method should intimate, the doctrinal method requiring a belief of what is delivered, but the initiative rather that it should be examined. The one deals out the sciences to vulgar learners, the other as to the children of wisdom—the one having for its end the use of the sciences as they now stand, and the other their progress and further advancement. But this latter method seems deserted; for the sciences have hitherto been delivered as if both the teacher and the learner desired to receive errors by consent—the teacher pursuing that method which procures the greatest belief to his doctrine, not that which most commodiously submits it to examination, while the learner desires present satisfaction without waiting for a just inquiry, as if more concerned not to doubt than not to mistake. Hence the master, through desire of glory, never exposes the weakness of his own science, and the scholar, through his aversion to labor, tries not his own strength; whereas knowledge, which is delivered to others as a web to be further wove, should if possible be introduced into the mind of another in the manner it was first procured; and this may be done in knowledge acquired by induction; but for that anticipated and hasty knowledge we have at present it is not easy for the possessor to say by what road he came at it. Yet in a greater or less degree any one might review his knowledge, trace back the steps of his own thoughts, consent afresh, and thus transplant his knowledge into the mind of another as it grew up in his own. For it is in arts as in trees—if a tree were to be used, no matter for the root, but if it were to be transplanted, it is a surer way to take the root than the slips. So the transplantation now practiced of the sciences makes a great show, as it were, of branches, that without the roots may be fit indeed for the builder, but not for the planter. He who would promote the growth of the sciences should be less solicitous about the trunk or body of them, and bend his care to preserve the roots, and draw them out with some little earth about them. Of this kind of transplantation there is some resemblance in the method of mathematicians;2 but in general we do not see that it is either used or inquired after; we therefore place it among the deficiencies, under the name of the traditive lamp, or a method for posterity.3

There is another difference of method, bearing some relation to the former intention, though in reality almost opposite to it; both of them have this in common, that they separate the vulgar audience from the select; but herein they are opposite, that the former introduces a more open and the other a more secret way of instruction than the common; hence let them be distinguished, by terming the former plain or open, and the latter the learned or concealed method, thus transferring to the manner of delivery the difference made use of by the ancients, especially in publishing their books. This concealed or enigmatical method was itself also employed by the ancients with prudence and judgment, but is of late dishonored by many, who use it as a false light to set off their counterfeit wares. The design of it seems to have been, by the veil of tradition, to keep the vulgar from the secrets of sciences, and to admit only such as had, by the help of a master, attained to the interpretation of dark sayings, or were able, by the strength of their own genius, to enter within the veil.

The next difference of method is of great moment with regard to the sciences, as these are delivered either in the way of aphorism or methodically. It highly deserves to be noted, that the general custom is, for men to raise as it were a formal and solemn art from a few axioms and observations upon any subject, swelling it out with their own witty inventions, illustrating it by examples, and binding the whole up into method. But that other way of delivery by aphorisms has numerous advantages over the methodical. And first, it gives us a proof of the author’s abilities, and shows whether he has entered deep into his subject or not. Aphorisms are ridiculous things, unless wrought from the central parts of the sciences; and here all illustration, excursion, variety of examples, deduction, connection, and particular description, is cut off, so that nothing besides an ample stock of observations is left for the matter of aphorisms. And, therefore, no person is equal to the forming of aphorisms, nor would ever think of them, if he did not find himself copiously and solidly instructed for writing upon a subject. But in methods so great a power have order, connection, and choice—

• ——“Tantum series juncturaque pollet;
• Tantum de medio sumptis accedit honoris”—4

that methodical productions sometimes make a show of I know not what specious art, which, if they were taken to pieces, separated, and undressed, would fall back again almost to nothing. Secondly, a methodical delivery has the power of enforcing belief and consent, but directs not much to practical indications, as carrying with it a kind of demonstration in circle, where the parts mutually enlighten each other, and so gratifies the imagination the more; but as actions lie scattered in common life, scattered instructions suit them the best. Lastly, as aphorisms exhibit only certain scraps and fragments of the sciences, they carry with them an invitation to others for adding and lending their assistance, whereas methods dress up the sciences into bodies, and make men imagine they have them complete.

There is a further difference of method, and that too very considerable; for as the sciences are delivered either by assertions with their proofs, or by questions with their answers, if the latter method be pursued too far, it retards the advancement of the sciences no less than it would the march of an army, to be sitting down against every little fort in the way; whereas, if the better of the battle be gained, and the fortune of the war steadily pursued, such lesser places will surrender of themselves, though it must be allowed unsafe to leave any large and fortified place at the back of the army. In the same manner confutations are to be avoided or sparingly used in delivering the sciences, so as only to conquer the greater prejudices and prepossessions of the mind, without provoking and engaging the lesser doubts and scruples.

Another difference of method lies in suiting it to the subject; for mathematics, the most abstract and simple of the sciences, is delivered one way, and politics, the more compound and perplexed, another. For a uniform method cannot be commodiously observed in a variety of matter. And as we approve of particular topics for invention, so we must in some measure allow of particular methods of delivery.

There is another difference of method to be used with judgment in delivering the sciences, and this is governed by the informations and anticipations of the science to be delivered that are before infused and impressed upon the mind of the learner. For that science which comes as an entire stranger to the mind is to be delivered one way, and that which is familiarized by opinions already imbibed and received another. And therefore, Aristotle, when he thought to chastise, really commended Democritus, in saying, “If we would dispute in earnest, and not hunt after comparisons,” etc.; as if he would tax Democritus with being too full of comparisons; whereas they whose instructions are already grounded in popular opinion have nothing left them but to dispute and prove, while others have a double task whose doctrines transcend the vulgar opinions; viz., first to render what they deliver intelligible, and then to prove it; whence they must of necessity have recourse to simile and metaphor, the better to enter the human capacity.5 Hence we find in the more ignorant ages, when learning was in its infancy, and those conceptions which are now trite and vulgar were new and unheard of, everything was full of parables and similitudes, otherwise the things then proposed would either have been passed over without due notice and attention, or else have been rejected as paradoxes. For it is a rule in the doctrine of delivery, that every science which comports not with anticipations and prejudices must seek the assistance of similies and allusions. And thus much for the different kinds of methods, which have not hitherto been observed; but for the others, as the analytic, systatic, diæretic, cryptic, homeric, etc., they are already justly discovered and ranged.

Method has two parts, one regarding the disposition of a whole work or the subject of a book, and the other the limitation of propositions. For architecture not only regards the fabric of the whole building, but also the figure of the columns, arches, etc.; for method is as it were the architecture of the sciences. And herein Ramus has deserved better, by reviving the ancient rules of method,6 than by obtruding his own dichotomies. But I know not by what fatality it happens that, as the poets often feign, the most precious things have the most pernicious keepers. Doubtless the endeavors of Ramus about the reduction of propositions threw him upon his epitomes, and the flats and shallows of the sciences: for it must be a fortunate and well-directed genius that shall attempt to make the axioms of the sciences convertible, and not at the same time render them circular, that is, keep them from returning into themselves.7 And yet the attempt of Ramus in this way has not been useless.

There are still two other limitations of propositions, besides that for making them convertible—the one for extending and the other for producing them. For if it be just that the sciences have two other dimensions, besides depth, viz., length and breadth, their depth bearing relation to their truth and reality, as these are what constitute their solidity; their breadth may be computed from one science to another, and their length from the highest degree to the lowest in the same science—the one comprehends the ends and true boundaries of the sciences, whence propositions may be treated distinctly, and not promiscuously, and all repetition, excursion, and confusion avoided; the other prescribes a rule how far and to what particular degree the propositions of the sciences are to be reduced. But no doubt something must here be left to practice and experience; for men ought to avoid the extreme of Antoninus Pius, and not mince cumin-seed in the sciences, nor multiply divisions to the utmost. And it is here well worth the inquiry, how far we should check ourselves in this respect; for we see that too extensive generals, unless they be reduced, afford little information, but rather expose the sciences to the ridicule of practical men, as being no more fitted for practice than a general map of the world to show the road from London to York. The best rules may well be compared to a metal-line speculum, which represents the images of things, but not before it is polished; for so rules and precepts are useful after having undergone the file of experience. But if these rules could be made exact and clear from the first, it were better, because they would then stand in less need of experience.

We must not omit that some men, rather ostentatious than learned, have labored about a certain method not deserving the name of a true method, as being rather a kind of imposture, which may nevertheless be acceptable to some busy minds. This art so scatters the drops of the sciences, that any pretender may misapply it for ostentation, with some appearance of learning. Such was the art of Lully, and such the typocosmia cultivated by some; for these are only a collection of terms of art heaped together, to the end that those who have them in readiness may seem to understand the arts whereto the terms belong. Collections of this kind are like a piece-broker’s shop, where there are many slips, but nothing of great value. And thus much for the science which we call traditive prudence.8

CHAPTER III

WE NEXT proceed to the doctrine of ornament in speech, called by the name of rhetoric or oratory. This in itself is certainly an excellent science, and has been laudably cultivated by writers. But to form a just estimate, eloquence is certainly inferior to wisdom. The great difference between them appears in the words of God to Moses upon his refusing, for want of elocution, the charge assigned him: “Aaron shall be thy speaker, and thou shalt be to him as God.”1 But for advantage and popular esteem, wisdom gives place to eloquence. “The wise in heart shall be called prudent, but the sweet of tongue shall find greater things,” says Solomon:2 clearly intimating that wisdom procures a name and admiration, but that eloquence is of greater efficacy in business and civil life. And for the cultivation of this art, the emulation between Aristotle and the rhetoricians of his time, the earnest study of Cicero, his long practice and utmost endeavor every way to dignify oratory, has made these authors even exceed themselves in their books upon the subject. Again, the great examples of eloquence found in the orations of Demosthenes and Cicero, added to the perfection and exactness of their precepts, have doubled its advancement. And therefore the deficiencies we find in it rather turn upon certain collections belonging to its train, than upon the doctrine and use of the art itself.

But in our manner to open and stir the earth a little about the roots of this science, certainly rhetoric is subservient to the imagination, as logic is to the understanding. And if the thing be well considered, the office and use of this art is but to apply and recommend the dictates of reason to the imagination, in order to excite the affections and will. For the administration of reason is disturbed three ways; viz., 1, either by the insnaring of sophistry, which belongs to logic; 2, the delusion of words, which belongs to rhetoric; or 3, by the violence of the affections, which belongs to ethics. For as in transacting business with others, men are commonly overreached, or drawn from their own purposes either by cunning, importunity, or vehemence; so in the inward business we transact with ourselves, we are either, 1, undermined by the fallacy of arguments; 2, disquieted and solicited by the assiduity of impressions and observations; or 3, shaken and carried away by the violence of the passions. Nor is the state of human nature so unequal, that these arts and faculties should have power to disturb the reason, and none to confirm and strengthen it; for they do this in a much greater degree. The end of logic is to teach the form of arguments for defending, and not for insnaring, the understanding. The end of ethics is so to compose the affections, that they may co-operate with reason, and not insult it. And lastly, the end of rhetoric is to fill the imagination with such observations and images as may assist reason, and not overthrow it. For the abuses of an art come in obliquely only, and not for practice, but caution. It was therefore great injustice in Plato, though it proceeded from a just contempt of the rhetoricians of his time, to place rhetoric among the voluptuary arts,3 and resemble it to cookery, which corrupted wholesome meats, and, by variety of sauces, made unwholesome ones more palatable. For speech is, doubtless, more employed to adorn virtue than to color vice. This faculty is always ready, for every man speaks more virtuously than he either thinks or acts. And it is excellently observed by Thucydides, that something of this kind was usually objected to Cleon;4 who, as he always defended the worst side of a cause, was ever inveighing against eloquence and the grace of speech, well knowing that no man could speak gracefully upon a base subject, though every man easily might upon an honorable one: for Plato elegantly observed, though the expression is now grown trite, that if virtue could be beheld, she would have great admirers.5 But rhetoric, by plainly painting virtue and goodness, renders them, as it were, conspicuous; for as they cannot be seen by the corporeal eye, the next degree is to have them set before us as lively as possible by the ornament of words and the strength of imagination. The Stoics, therefore, were deservedly ridiculed by Cicero for endeavoring to inculcate virtue upon the mind by short and subtile sentences, and conclusions,6 which have little or no relation to the imagination and the will.

Again, if the affections were orderly and obedient to reason, there would be no great use of persuasion and insinuation to gain access to the mind; it would then be sufficient that things themselves were nakedly and simply proposed and proved; but, on the contrary, the affections revolt so often, and raise such disturbances and seditions—

• —“Video meliora, proboque;
• Deteriora sequor”7 —

that reason would perfectly be led captive, did not the persuasion of eloquence win over the imagination from the side of the passions, and promote an alliance between it and reason against the affections. For we must observe that the affections themselves always aim at an apparent good, and in this respect have something common with reason. But here lies the difference, that the affections principally regard a present good, while reason, seeing far before it, chooses also the future and capital good. And therefore, as present things strike the imagination strongest, reason is generally subdued; but when eloquence and the power of persuasion raise up remote and future objects, and set them to view as if they were present; then imagination goes over to the side of reason, and renders it victorious.

Hence we conclude, that rhetoric can no more be accused of coloring the worst part, than logic of teaching sophistry. For we know that the doctrines of contraries are the same, though their use be opposite; and logic does not only differ from rhetoric, according to the vulgar notion, as the first is like the hand clenched, and the other like the hand open; but much more in this, that logic considers reason in its natural state, and rhetoric as it stands in vulgar opinion; whence Aristotle prudently places rhetoric between logic and ethics, along with politics, as partaking of them both. For the proofs and demonstrations of logic are common to all mankind, but the proof and persuasion of rhetoric must be varied according to the audience, like a musician suiting himself to different ears.

And this application and variation of speech should, if we desire its perfection, extend so far, that if the same things were to be delivered to different persons, yet a different set of words should be used to each.9 Though it is certain that the greatest orators, generally, have not this political and sociable eloquence in private discourse; for while they endeavor at ornament and elegant forms of speech, they fall not upon that ready application and familiar style of discourse which they might with more advantage use to particulars. And it were certainly proper to begin a new inquiry into this subject; we therefore place it among the deficiencies under the title of prudential conversation,10 which the more attentively a man considers, the higher value he will set upon it; but whether this be placed under rhetoric or politics is of no great significance.

We have already observed that the desiderata in this art are rather appendages than parts of the art itself; and all of them belong to the repository thereof, for the furnishing of speech and invention. To proceed in this view; first, we find no writer that hath carefully followed the prudent example of Aristotle, who began to collect popular marks or colors of apparent good and evil, as well simple as comparative.11 These, in reality, are but rhetorical sophisms, though of excellent use, especially in business and private discourse. But the labor of Aristotle about these colors has three defects; for 1, though they are numerous, he recites but few; 2, he has not annexed their redargutions; and 3, he seems not to have understood their full use: for they serve as well to affect and move as to demonstrate. There are many forms of speech which, though significative of the same things, yet affect men differently; as a sharp instrument penetrates more than a blunt one, supposing both of them urged with equal force. There is nobody but would be more affected by hearing this expression, How your enemies will triumph upon this:

than if it were simply said, This will injure your affairs: therefore these stings and goads of speech are not to be neglected. And since we propose this as a desideratum, we will, after our manner, give a sketch of it, in the way of examples; for precepts will not so well illustrate the thing. In deliberatives, we inquire what is good, what evil; and of good, which is the greater, and of evil, which the less. Whence the persuader’s task is to make things appear good or evil, and that in a higher or lower degree; which may be performed by true and solid reasons, or represented by colors, popular glosses, and circumstances of such force as to sway an ordinary judgment; or even a wise man that does not fully and considerately attend to the subject. But besides this power to alter the nature of the subject in appearance, and so lead to error, they are of use to quicken and strengthen such opinions and persuasions as are true; for reasons nakedly delivered, and always after one manner, enter but heavily, especially with delicate minds; whereas, when varied and enlivened by proper forms and insinuations, they cause a stronger apprehension, and often suddenly win the mind to a resolution. Lastly, to make a true and safe judgment, nothing can be of greater use and preservation to the mind than the discovery and reprehension of these colors, showing in what cases they hold and in what not; which cannot be done without a comprehensive knowledge of things; but when performed it clears the judgment, and makes it less apt to slip into error.13

Sophism I.—

What men praise and celebrate, is good; what they dispraise and censure, evil

This sophism deceives four ways; viz., either through ignorance, deceit, party, or the natural disposition of the praiser or dispraiser. 1. Through ignorance; for what signifies the judgment of the rabble in distinguishing good and evil? Phocion took it right, who, being applauded by the multitude, asked, What he had done amiss?14 2. Through deceit; for those who praise or dispraise commonly have their own views in it, and speak not their real sentiments.

“It is faulty, it is faulty, says the buyer; but when he is gone, he congratulates himself upon the bargain.”16 3. Through party; for men immoderately extol those of their own and depress those of the opposite party. 4. Through disposition or temper; for some men are naturally formed servile and fawning, and others captious and morose; so that when such persons praise or dispraise, they do but gratify their humor, without much regard to truth.

II.—

What is commended, even by an enemy, is a great good; but what is censured, even by a friend, a great evil

The fallacy seems to lie here, that it is easily believed the force of truth extorts from us what we speak against our inclination.

This color deceives through the subtilty both of friends and enemies. For praises of enemies are not always against their will, nor forced from them by truth; but they choose to bestow them where they may create envy or danger to their adversary. Hence the foolish conceit was current among the Greeks, that he who was praised by another with malicious intent, never failed to have his nose disfigured with a pustule. Again this color deceives, because enemies sometimes use praises like prefaces, that they may the more freely calumniate afterward. On the other side, it deceives by the craft of friends, who also sometimes acknowledge our faults, and speak of them not as compelled thereto by any force of truth, but touch only such as may do little hurt, and make us, in everything else, the best men in the world. And lastly, it deceives, because friends also use their reproofs, as enemies do their commendations, by way of preface, that they may afterward launch out more fully in our praises.

III.—

To be deprived of a good, is an evil; and to be deprived of an evil, a good

This color deceives two ways; viz., either by the comparison of good and evil, or by the succession of good to good, or evil to evil. 1. By comparison: thus if it were good for mankind to be deprived of acorns, it follows not that such food was bad, but that acorns were good, though bread be better. Nor, if it were an evil for the people of Sicily to be deprived of Dionysius the Elder, does it follow that the same Dionysius was a good prince, but that he was less evil than Dionysius the Younger. 2. By succession: for the privation of a good does not always give place to an evil, but sometimes to a greater good—as when the blossom falls, the fruit succeeds. Nor does the privation of an evil always give place to a good, but sometimes to a greater evil; for Milo, by the death of his enemy Clodius, lost a fair harvest of glory.

IV.—

What approaches to good, is good; and what recedes from good, is evil

It is almost universal, that things agreeing in nature agree also in place, and that things disagreeing in nature differ as widely in situation; for all things have an appetite of associating with what is agreeable, and of repelling what is disagreeable to them.

This color deceives three ways; viz., by depriving, obscuring and protecting. 1. By depriving: for the largest things, and most excellent in their kind, attract all they can to themselves, and leave what is next them destitute; thus the underwood growing near a large tree is the poorest wood of the field, because the tree deprives it of sap and nourishment—whence it was well said, that the servants of the rich are the greatest slaves;17 and it was witty of him who compared the inferior attendants in the courts of princes to the vigils of feast days, which, though nearest to feast days, are themselves but meagre. 2. By obscuring: for it is also the nature of excellent things in their kind, though they do not impoverish the substance of what lies near them, yet to overshadow and obscure it; whence the astrologers say, that though in all the planets conjunction is the most perfect amity, yet the sun, though good in aspect, is evil in conjunction. 3. By protecting: for things come together, not only from a similitude of nature, but even what is evil flies to that which is good (especially in civil society) for concealment and protection. Thus hypocrisy draws near to religion for shelter:

So sanctuary men, who were commonly malefactors, used to be nearest the priests and prelates; for the majesty of good things is such, that the confines of them are reverend. On the other side, good draws near to evil, not for society, but for conversation and reformation; and hence physicians visit the sick more than the sound, and hence it was objected to our Saviour, that he conversed with publicans and sinners.19

V.—

As all parties challenge the first place, that to which the rest unanimously give the second seems the best; each taking the first place out of affection to itself, but giving the second where it is really due

Thus Cicero attempted to prove the Academics to be the best sect; for, saith he, “Ask a Stoic which philosophy is best, and he will prefer his own; then ask him which is the next best, and he will confess, the Academics. Ask an Epicurean the same question, who can scarce endure the Stoic, and as soon as he hath placed his own sect, he places the Academics next him.”20 So if a prince separately examined several competitors for a place, perhaps the ablest and most deserving man would have most second voices.

This color deceives in respect of envy; for men are accustomed, next after themselves and their own faction, to prefer those that are softest and most pliable, with intent to exclude such as would obstruct their measures; whence this color of meliority and pre-eminence becomes a sign of enervation and weakness.

VI.—

That is absolutely best the excellence whereof is greatest

This color has these forms—let us not wander in generals, let us compare particular with particular, etc., and though it seem strong, and rather logical than rhetorical, yet it is sometimes a fallacy:—1. Because many things are exposed to great danger, but if they escape, prove more excellent than others; whence their kind is inferior, as being subject to accident and miscarriage, though more noble in the individual. Thus, to instance, in the blossoms of March, one whereof, according to the French proverb, is, if it escape accidents, worth ten blossoms of May; so that though in general the blossoms of May excel the blossoms of March, yet in individuals the best blossoms of March may be preferred to the best of May. 2. Because the nature of things in some kinds or species is more equal, and in others more unequal. Thus warm climates generally produce people of a sharper genius than cold ones; yet the extraordinary geniuses of cold countries usually excel the extraordinary geniuses of the warmer. So in the case of armies, if the cause were tried by single combat, the victory might often go on the one side, but if by a pitched battle, on the other; for excellences and superiorities are rather accidental things, while kinds are governed by nature or discipline. 3. Lastly, many kinds have much refuse, which countervails what they have of excellent; and, therefore, though metal be generally more precious than stone, yet a diamond is more precious than gold.

VII.—

What keeps a matter safe and entire, is good; but what leaves no retreat, is bad: for inability to retire is a kind of impotence, but power is a good

Thus Æsop feigned that two frogs consulting together in a time of drought what was to be done, the one proposed going down into a deep well, because probably the water would not fail there, but the other answered, “If it should fail there, too, how shall we get up again?” And the foundation of the color lies here, that human actions are so uncertain and exposed to danger, that the best condition seems to be that which has most outlets. And this persuasion turns upon such forms as these—You shall engage yourself; You shall not be your own carver; You shall keep the matter in your hands, etc.21

The fallacy of the sophism lies here:—1. Because fortune presses so close upon human affairs, that some resolution is necessary; for not to resolve is to resolve, so that irresolution frequently entangles us in necessities more than resolving. And this seems to be a disease of the mind, like to that of covetousness, only transferred from the desire of possessing riches to the desire of free will and power; for as the covetous man enjoys no part of his possessions, for fear of lessening them, so the unresolved man executes nothing, that he may not abridge his freedom and power of acting. 2. Because necessity and the fortune of the throw adds a spur to the mind; whence that saying, “In other respects equal, but in necessity superior.”22

VIII.—

That evil we bring upon ourselves, is greater; and that proceeding from without us, less

Because remorse of conscience doubles adversity, as a consciousness of one’s own innocence is a great support in affliction—whence the poets exaggerate those sufferings most, and paint them leading to despair, wherein the person accuses and tortures himself.

On the other side, persons lessen and almost annihilate their misfortunes, by reflecting upon their own innocence and merit. Besides, when the evil comes from without, it leaves a man to the full liberty of complaint, whereby he spends his grief and eases his heart; for we conceive indignation at human injuries, and either meditate revenge ourselves, or implore and expect it from the Divine vengeance. Or if the injury came from fortune itself, yet this leaves us to an expostulation with the Divine Powers—

But if the evil be derived from ourselves, the stings of grief strike inward, and stab and wound the mind the deeper.

This color deceives—1. By hope, which is the greatest antidote to evils; for it is commonly in our power to amend our faults, but not our fortunes; whence Demosthenes said frequently to the Athenians, “What is worst for the past is best for the future, since it happens by neglect and misconduct that your affairs are come to this low ebb. Had you, indeed, acted your parts to the best, and yet matters should thus have gone backward, there would be no hopes of amendment; but as it has happened principally through your own errors, if these are corrected, all may be recovered.”25 So Epictetus, speaking of the degrees of the mind’s tranquillity, assigns the lowest place to such as accuse others, a higher to those who accuse themselves, but the highest to those who neither accuse themselves nor others. 2. By pride, which so cleaves to the mind that it will scarce suffer men to acknowledge their errors; and to avoid any such acknowledgment they are extremely patient under those misfortunes which they bring upon themselves; for as, when a fault is committed, and before it be known who did it, a great stir and commotion is made; but if at length it appears to be done by a son or a wife, the bustle is at an end. And thus it happens when one must take a fault to one’s self. And hence we frequently see that women, when they do anything against their friends’ consent, whatever misfortune follows, they seldom complain, but set a good face on it.

IX.—

The degree of privation seems greater than that of diminution, and the degree of inception greater than that of increase

It is a position in mathematics, that there is no proportion between something and nothing, and therefore the degrees of nullity and quiddity seem larger than the degrees of increase and decrease, as it is for a monoculus to lose an eye than for a man who has two. So if a man has lost several children, it gives him more grief to lose the last than all the rest, because this was the hope of his family. Therefore, the Sibyl, when she had burned two of her three books, doubled her price upon the third, because the loss of this would only have been a degree of privation, and not of diminution.

This color deceives—1. In things whose use and service lie in a sufficiency, competency, or determinate quantity: thus if a man were to pay a large sum upon a penalty, it might be harder upon him to want twenty shillings for this than ten pounds for another occasion. So in running through an estate, the first step toward it—viz., breaking in upon the stock—is a higher degree of mischief than the last, viz., spending the last penny. And to this color belong those common forms—It is too late to pinch at the bottom of the purse; As good never a whit as never the better, etc. 2. It deceives from this principle in nature, that the corruption of one thing is the generation of another; whence the ultimate degree of privation itself is often less felt, as it gives occasion and a spur to some new course. So when Demosthenes rebuked the people for hearkening to the dishonorable and unequal conditions of King Philip, he called those conditions the food of their sloth and indolence, which they had better be without, because then their industry would be excited to procure other remedies. So a blunt physician whom I knew, when the delicate ladies complained to him, they were they could not tell how, yet could not endure to take physic, he would tell them their way was to be sick, for then they would be glad to take anything. 3. Nay, the degree of privation itself, or the extremest indigence, may be serviceable, not only to excite our industry, but to command our patience.

The second part of this sophism stands upon the same foundation, or the degrees between something and nothing; whence the commonplace of extolling the beginnings of everything, Well begun is half done, etc.

And hence the superstition of the astrologers, who judge the disposition and fortune of a man from the instant of his nativity or conception.

This color deceives—1. Because many beginnings are but imperfect offers and essays, which vanish and come to nothing without repetition and further advancement; so that here the second degree seems more worthy and powerful than the first, as a body-horse in a team draws more than the fore-horse: whence it is not ill said, The second word makes the quarrel; for the first might perhaps have proved harmless if it had not been retorted; therefore the first gives the occasion indeed, but the second makes reconciliation more difficult. 2. This sophism deceives by weariness, which makes perseverance of greater dignity than inception; for chance or nature may give a beginning, but only settled affection and judgment can give continuance. 3. It deceives in things whose nature and common course carries them contrary to the first attempt, which is therefore continually frustrated, and gets no ground unless the force be redoubled: hence the common forms—Not to go forward is to go backward—running up hill—rowing against the stream, etc. But if it be with the stream, or with the hill, then the degree of inception has by much the advantage. 4. This color not only reaches to the degree of inception from power to action, compared with the degree from action to increase, but also to the degree from want of power to power, compared with the degree from power to action; for the degree from want of power to power seems greater than that from power to action.

X.—

What relates to truth is greater than what relates to opinion; but the measure and trial of what relates to opinion is what a man would not do if he thought he were secret

So the Epicureans pronounce of the stoical felicity placed in virtue, that it is the felicity of a player, who, left by his audience, would soon sink in his spirit; whence they in ridicule call virtue a theatrical good; but it is otherwise in riches—

and pleasure,

• —“Grata sub imo
• Gaudia corde premens, vultu simulante pudorem,”28

which are felt more inwardly.

The fallacy of this color is somewhat subtile, though the answer to the example be easy, as virtue is not chosen for the sake of popular fame, and as every one ought principally to reverence himself; so that a virtuous man will be virtuous in a desert as well as a theatre, though perhaps virtue is made somewhat more vigorous by praise, as heat by reflection. But this only denies the supposition, and does not expose the fallacy. Allowing, then, that virtue, joined with labor, would not be chosen but for the praise and fame which usually attend it, yet it is no consequence that virtue should not be desired principally for its own sake, since fame may be only an impellent, and not a constituent or efficient cause. Thus, if when two horses are rode without the spur, one of them performs better than the other, but with the spur the other far exceeds, this will be judged the better horse: and to say that his mettle lies in the spur, is not making a true judgment; for since the spur is a common instrument in horsemanship, and no impediment or burden to the horse, he will not be esteemed the worse horse that wants it, but the going well without it is rather a point of delicacy than perfection. So glory and honor are the spurs to virtue, which, though it might languish without them, yet since they are always at hand unsought, virtue is not less to be chosen for itself, because it needs the spur of fame and reputation, which clearly confutes the sophism.

XI.—

What is procured by our own virtue and industry is a greater good; and what by another’s, or by the gift of fortune, a less

The reasons are—1. Future hope, because in the favors of others, or the gifts of fortune, there is no great certainty; but our own virtue and abilities are always with us: so that when they have purchased us one good, we have them as ready, and by use better edged to procure us another. 2. Because what we enjoy by the benefit of others carries with it an obligation to them for it, whereas what is derived from ourselves comes without clog or encumbrance. Nay, when the Divine Providence bestows favors upon us, they require acknowledgments and a kind of retribution to the Supreme Being; but in the other kind, men rejoice (as the prophet speaks), and are glad; they offer to their toils, and sacrifice to their nets.29 3. Because what comes to us unprocured by our own virtue, yields not that praise and reputation we affect; for actions of great felicity may produce much wonder, but no praise: so Cicero said to Cæsar, “We have enough to admire, but want somewhat to praise.”30 4. Because the purchases of our own industry are commonly joined with labor and struggle, which have not only some sweetness themselves, but give an edge and relish to enjoyment. Venison is sweet to him that kills it.31

There are four opposites or counter-colors to this sophism, and may serve as confutations to the four preceding colors respectively. 1. Because felicity seems to be a work of the Divine favor, and accordingly begets confidence and alacrity in ourselves, as well as respect and reverence from others. And this felicity extends to casual things, which human virtue can hardly reach. So when Cæsar said to the master of the ship in a storm, “Thou carriest Cæsar and his fortune”; if he should have said, “Thou carriest Cæsar and his virtue,” it had been but a small support against the danger. 2. Because those things which proceed from virtue and industry are imitable, and lie open to others; whereas felicity is inimitable, and the prerogative of a singular person: whence, in general, natural things are preferred to artificial, because incapable of imitation; for whatever is imitable seems common, and in every one’s power. 3. The things that proceed from felicity seem free gifts unpurchased by industry, but those acquired by virtue seem bought: whence Plutarch said elegantly of the successes of Timoleon (an extremely fortunate man), compared with those of his contemporaries Agesilaus and Epaminondas, “that they were like Homer’s verses, and besides their other excellences, ran peculiarly smooth and natural.” 4. Because what happens unexpectedly is more acceptable, and enters the mind with greater pleasure; but this effect cannot be had in things procured by our own industry.

XII.—

What consists of many divisible parts is greater, and more one than what consists of fewer; for all things when viewed in their parts seem greater, whence also a plurality of parts shows bulky; but a plurality of parts has the stronger effect, if they lie in no certain order, for thus they resemble infinity and prevent comprehension

This sophism appears gross at first sight; for it is not plurality of parts alone, without majority, that makes the total greater; yet the imagination is often carried away, and the sense deceived with this color. Thus to the eye the road upon a naked plain may seem shorter, than where there are trees, buildings, or other marks, by which to distinguish and divide the distance. So when a moneyed man divides his chests and bags, he seems to himself richer than he was; and therefore a way to amplify anything is to break it into several parts, and examine them separately. And this makes the greater show, if done without order; for confusion shows things more numerous than they are. But matters ranged and set in order appear more confined, and prove that nothing is omitted; while such as are represented in confusion not only appear more in number, but leave a suspicion of many more behind.

This color deceives—1. If the mind entertain too great an opinion of anything; for then the breaking of it will destroy that false notion, and show the thing really as it is, without amplification. Thus if a man be sick or in pain, the time seems longer without a clock than with one; for though the irksomeness of pain makes the time seem longer than it is, yet the measuring it corrects the error, and shows it shorter than that false opinion had conceived it. And so in a naked plain, contrary to what was just before observed, though the way to the eye may seem shorter when undivided, yet the frustration of that false expectation will afterward cause it to appear longer than the truth. Therefore, if a man design to encourage the false opinion of another as to the greatness of a thing, let him not divide and split it, but extol it in the general. This color deceives—2. If the matter be so far divided and dispersed as not all to appear at one view. So flowers growing in separate beds show more than if they grow in one bed, provided all the beds are in the same plot, so as to be viewed at once; otherwise they appear more numerous when brought nearer than when scattered wider; and hence landed estates that lie contiguous are usually accounted greater than they are; for if they lie in different counties, they could not so well fall within notice. 3. This sophism deceives through the excellence of unity above multitude; for all composition is an infallible sign of deficiency in particulars—

For if one would serve the turn, it were best; but defects and imperfections require to be pieced and helped out. So Martha, employed about many things, was told that one was sufficient.33 And upon this foundation Æsop invented the fable how the fox bragged to the cat what a number of devices and stratagems he had to get from the hounds, when the cat said she had one, and that was to climb a tree, which in fact was better than all the shifts of reynard; whence the proverb, “Multa novit vulpes, sed felis unum magnum.”34 And the moral of the fable is this, that it is better to rely upon an able and trusty friend in difficulty than upon all the fetches and contrivances of one’s own wit.

It were easy to collect a large number of this kind of sophisms—which we collected in our youth, but without their illustrations and solutions. These at last we have found time to digest, and think the performance of considerable service—whereto if their fallacies and detections were annexed, it might be a work of considerable service, as launching into primary philosophy and politics as well as rhetoric. And so much for the popular marks or colors of apparent good and evil, both simple and comparative.

A second collection wanting to the apparatus of rhetoric is that intimated by Cicero, when he directs a set of commonplaces, suited to both sides of the question, to be had in readiness: such are, “pro verbis legis,” et “pro sententia legis.” But we extend this precept further, so as to include not only judicial, but also deliberate and demonstrative forms. Our meaning is, that all the places of common use, whether for proof, confutation, persuasion, dissuasion, praise, or dispraise, should be ready studied, and either exaggerated or degraded with the utmost effort of genius, or, as it were, perverse resolution beyond all measure of truth. And the best way of forming this collection, both for conciseness and use, we judge to be that of contracting and winding up these places into certain acute and short sentences; as into so many clews, which may occasionally be wound off into larger discourses. And something of this kind we find done by Seneca;35 but only in the way of suppositions or cases. The following examples will more fully illustrate our intention: