23 pages • 46 minutes read
Francis BaconA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
“This scroll was signed with a stamp of cherubim: wings, not spread, but hanging downwards; and by them a cross.”
The cherubim and the cross are only two of the many Christian symbols Bacon uses throughout the work. Given that perhaps the most visible role of the cherubim in the Bible is that they are the guardians of the Garden of Eden, it makes sense that they would feature prominently in the iconography associated with Bensalem, a utopian society hidden from the rest of the world. What is less clear is the extent to which these and other Christian symbols are merely co-opted by Bacon as he conveys an ostensibly secular political theory. The role of religion and Christianity in Bacon’s ideal society is a matter of academic debate, with some scholars pointing out that a common theme across Bacon’s work is that science and religion are complementary concepts, not adversarial ones. Others, however, argue that Bacon subverts Christian symbols in his depiction of a utopia in which the great works of Salomon’s House are aimed at fulfilling citizens’ material needs as opposed to their spiritual needs.
“What? twice paid!”
This common refrain spoken by Bensalem officials conveys Bacon’s contempt toward corrupt government agents. Whenever the narrator tries to give a gift to an official as thanks for food and water, the Bensalemite replies, “Twice paid,” implying that they are simply doing their job for which they already receive an appropriate salary. This focus on eliminating graft and corruption from political systems is in line with Bacon’s focus on ethics as a cornerstone of all worthwhile pursuits, including the natural sciences.
“We are men cast on land, as Jonas was, out of the whale’s belly, when we were as buried in the deep: and now we are on land, we are but between death and life; for we are beyond, both the old world, and the new; and whether ever we shall see Europe, God only knoweth.”
In yet another religious allusion, Bacon references Jonas—an alternate name for Jonah—who in retribution for refusing God’s commands is eaten by a whale, only to be vomited out three days later so he can complete his divine task. That the narrator mentions how far they are from Europe is a crucial point, given that one of the work’s most important themes is the notion that Europe—in matters both spiritual and secular—has lost its way and should look to Bensalem as a model. This passage is also an example of providential deliverance, a motif Bacon returns to throughout the story.
“We of this island of Bensalem,’ (for so they call it in their language,) ‘have this; that by means of our solitary situation; and of the laws of secrecy, which we have for our travellers, and our rare admission of strangers; we know well most part of the habitable world, and are ourselves unknown. Therefore because he that knoweth least is fittest to ask questions, it is more reason, for the entertainment of the time, that ye ask me questions, than that I ask you.”
Here, Bacon employs the first of three major instances of interlocution, a pedagogic method commonly associated with the Greek philosopher Socrates in which educators stimulate critical thinking through dialogue. Through dialogues with the governor of the Strangers’ House—and later with Joabin and the Father of Salomon’s House—the narrator learns far more about Bensalem’s history and society than if he had merely observed its peoples and customs. In turn, the governor learns about the narrator through what questions he chooses to ask. For example, the governor is elated that the narrator’s first question involves how Christianity arrived on Bensalem’s shores.
“About twenty years after the ascension of our Saviour, it came to pass, that there was seen by the people of Renfusa, (a city upon the eastern coast of our island,) within night, (the night was cloudy, and calm,) as it might be some mile into the sea, a great pillar of light;”
This is one of the more hotly debated passages in all of New Atlantis. Many readers point to a conspicuous aside late in the story in which the Salomon’s House Father claims the ability to manipulate light to create illusions of any conceivable size or shape. One interpretation is that the “miracle” off the coast of Bensalem which delivered the holy scripture directly into the hands of the Bensalemites was the product of the scientists at Salomon’s House. If true, this would dramatically change the political philosophy at heart of New Atlantis by essentially casting Salomon’s House as the totalitarian leaders of a technocracy, rather than a scientific institution working in concert with political and religious leaders.
“So as marvel you not at the thin population of America, nor at the rudeness and ignorance of the people; for you must account your inhabitants of America as a young people; younger a thousand years, at the least, than the rest of the world: for that there was so much time between the universal flood and their particular inundation.”
In this retelling, the Americas were once home to the the civilization of Atlantis, before God destroyed it with a series of floods in retribution for attacking Bensalem. This, the governor explains, is why the Americas are so much more sparsely populated, and it further accounts for the “rudeness and ignorance” of the Indigenous inhabitants, who are said to have survived the disaster only to be forced to rebuild civilization from scratch. This deeply racist, Eurocentric view of the Americas entirely papers over the agricultural, architectural, and technological achievements of civilizations across the Americas.
“Ye shall understand (my dear friends) that amongst the excellent acts of the king, one above all hath the pre-eminence. It was the erection and institution of an Order or Society, which we call Salomon’s House; the noblest foundation (as we think) that ever was pon the earth; and the lanthorn of this kingdom.”
In the earliest reference to Salomon’s House, the Governor situates it as the jewel of Bensalem. This would seem to place academic and scientific institutions on a similar or even higher level as the State and the Church. This question of who exactly rules Bensalem and what its political hierarchy looks like continues to vex modern scholars. The fact that the House was established by the king suggests that in Bensalem, academia is still subservient to the State. Yet later, the Father of Salomon’s House reveals that he and his colleagues occasionally keep things secret from the State, suggesting a level of autonomy.
“I find in ancient records this Order or Society is sometimes called Salomon’s House, and sometimes the College of the Six Days Works; whereby I am satisfied that our excellent king had learned from the Hebrews that God had created the world and all that therein is within six days: and therefore he instituting that House for the finding out of the true nature of all things, (whereby God might have the more glory in the workmanship of them, and insert the more fruit in the use of them), did give it also that second name.”
This is broadly consistent with Bacon’s attitude toward science and religion, in that he views science as an investigation into all of God’s works. In this view, Salomon’s House does not replace religion; it complements it by honoring God with its unveiling of natural mysteries. Bacon further believes that the pursuit of natural sciences and its applications to better humanity represent an avenue for overcoming the spiritual and physical hardships visited on men and women following “The Fall” in Genesis.
“But thus you see we maintain a trade not for gold, silver, or jewels; nor for silks; nor for spices; nor any other commodity of mater; but only for God’s first creature, which was Light: to have light (I say) of the growth of all parts of the world.”
It is telling that Bacon frames Bensalem’s willful withdrawal from global trade markets as a major reason for its utopian qualities. This is particularly interesting in light of Plato’s telling of the Atlantis myth, in which the civilization is the victim of divine punishment for using its technological gifts for the purpose of conquering other nations. By removing itself from the material affairs of other territories and civilizations and seeking only “Light”—that is, the knowledge other civilizations have to offer—Bensalem is truly a “New Atlantis,” which endures where the old one faltered because it leaves behind imperial pursuits—another thing that distinguishes it from 17th century European powers.
“The king is debtor to no man, but for propagation of his subjects.”
The phrase “the king is debtor to no man” would seem to suggest that Bacon possesses a Hobbesian view of sovereign power, in that it is absolute and most effective when invested in one individual: the king. Yet the second half of this sentence is equally telling, in that the “propagation of his subjects” seems markedly dependent on the works of Salomon’s House, which holds as one of its chief objectives the prolonging of the Bensalem peoples’ lives. Thus, the king of Bensalem may not be an absolute ruler at all, indebted as he is to Salomon’s House’s efforts to keep his subjects living healthy, long lives.
“You shall understand that there is not under the heavens so chaste a nation as this of Bensalem; nor so free from all pollution or foulness. It is the virgin of the world. I remember I have read in one of your European books, of an holy hermit amongst you that desired to the spirit of fornication; and there appeared to him a little foul ugly Aethiop. But if he had desired to see the Spirit of Chastity of Bensalem, it would have appeared to him in the likeness of a fair beautiful Cherubim.”
“The end of our foundation is the knowledge of causes, and secret motions of things; and the enlarging of the bounds of human empire, to the effecting of all things possible.”
Here, the “Father” of Salomon’s House delivers a succinct summation of the institution’s objectives and, in effect, of Bacon’s own beliefs on the purpose of national academic institutions and the natural sciences more generally. This is also essentially the mission statement of London’s Royal Society, the founding of which was directly inspired by Bacon’s New Atlantis, according to historical documents from the era. And while some of Bacon’s contemporaries would have viewed such a mission statement as blasphemous, the author sees no contradiction between religion and pulling back the veil on God’s natural works.
“And we make (by art) in the same orchards and gardens, trees and flowers to come earlier or later than their seasons; and to come up and bear more speedily than by their natural course they do. We make them also by art greater much than their nature; and their fruit greater and sweeter and of differing taste, smell, colour, and figure, from their nature. And many of them we so order, as they become of medicinal use.”
Many items in the long list of then-futuristic inventions and achievements of Salomon’s House would emerge in real scientific labs in the centuries that followed New Atlantis’s publication. Here, Bacon effectively describes genetically modified organisms over 200 years before Gregor Mendel all but founded the field of genetics. This also reflects the extent to which Bacon prizes applied sciences that benefit humankind in some way.
“Neither do we this by chance, but we know beforehand, of what matter and commixture what kind of those creatures will arise.”
Here, Bacon expresses one of the cornerstones of his Baconian method, which is credited as a precursor to the scientific method. The scientists at Salomon House do not go about their work through random experimentation. They devise hypotheses through inductive reasoning, then seek to recreate results to formulate and refine general principles about nature and matter.
“We have also perspective-houses, where we make demonstrations of all lights and radiations; and of all colours: and out of things uncoloured and transparent, we can represent unto you all several colours; not in rain-bows, (as it is in gems, and prisms,) but of themselves single. [...] But we do hate all impostures, and lies; insomuch as we have severely forbidden it to all our fellows, under pain of ignominy and fines, that they do not show any natural work or thing, adorned or swelling; but only pure as it is, and without all affectation of strangeness.”
In this passage, the Salomon House Father produces evidence both for and against the notion that the pillar of light which allegedly brought Christianity to the island was an illusion concocted by scientists. On one hand, he makes it clear that Salomon’s House possesses the power to create a pillar of light climbing into the sky. Yet he also emphasizes that the scientists there “hate all impostures, and lies,” which suggests that the pillar delivering the divine word to Bensalem was bona fide. Since Bacon leaving the text unfinished, it may be impossible to know the author’s true intention in including a discussion of Salomon House’s optics prowess and thus implying that perhaps the Biblical word is simply the work of scientists eager to instill moral discipline to their contemporaries.
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