Commonly, this Baconian vision is viewed as the ancestor of modern evolutionary science, along with its attendant industrial abuse and domination over nature. If nature is man’s laboratory, free from divine (or ecclesiastical) oversight and judgment, why not take advantage of Creation to the fullest? As Richard Coleman wrote:

Why shouldn’t we think in terms of a gradual evolutionary path toward greater freedom and greater self-determination? The logic of this scenario leaves us with the singular sin of not seizing the day and not using out knowledge to make for ourselves a better tomorrow. And this is exactly what Sir Francis Bacon urged.

These interpretations of Bacon’s work do to some degree accurately capture the expansionistic nature of his vision. His desired end in his New Organon is to lead the human race into the “inner chambers” of Nature, in order to “trod” over what was previously forbidden and inaccessible to mankind. However, as far as this goes, it does not realize the fundamentally religious nature of Bacon’s project. It is in this aspect of Bacon’s work that the ultimate end of his project become clear.

While in his earlier work, Bacon’s religious language is minimal, in his fictional utopia, New Atlantis, the sacerdotal aspect of his work comes to the forefront. The utopia which Bacon’s travelers discover on this hidden island called Bensalem is far advanced in both scientific and theological knowledge. At several points, the contrasts between the Bensalemite and European cultures provide clues to Bacon’s vision.

First, upon inquiry, the Europeans discover that the (Christian) religion of Bensalem was founded by direct intervention of God, not the fallible ministry of the Church. Years prior, the inhabitants of Bensalem were visited by a pillar of light (recalling the biblical exodus), which revealed itself as an ark containing a complete and augmented Bible. This direct revelation, along with the acquisition of King Solomon’s lost natural history, sets the Bensalemites apart for a special benediction from God. Further, the Bensalemites were specially prepared to receive this divine blessing because, according to a member of the ruling body of Solomon’s House, the inhabitants had already been graced with the ability “to discern ... between divine miracles, works of Nature, works of art, and impostures and illusions of all sorts.”

Another way in which Bacon’s vision is stated comes in his discussion of the House of Solomon, the scientific rulers of Bensalem. One of the Fathers of Solomon’s House visits with the Europeans and tells them of his institution: “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.” The “Foundation,” as he speaks of it, is responsible for the well-being of the island-nation. The Father who visits with them is described in priestly terms: he is clothed in a black robe with an under garment of white linen (Ex. 28); he bears the demeanor of someone who pities other men. Other aspects of the Father seem more kingly: he is carried in a rich chariot without wheels, gilt with all sort of precious stones, and is attended by fifty young male slaves. The attendants carry two symbols of the Father’s power: a crosier and a shepherd’s staff—both priestly emblems.

The presence of the House of Solomon is felt (and revered) throughout the entire island. The Fathers, on account of their vast natural knowledge, are able to “make predictions of diseases, plagues, swarms of hurtful creatures, scarcity, tempests, earthquakes, great floods” and so on, all for the benefit of the island’s inhabitants. While politics, as commonly defined, does not directly concern the members of Solomon House, it is clear that they are at least the de facto rulers of the island—certainly no one is capable of leading as well as they do. The Fathers of the House are new Solomons, full of wisdom concerning both the natural world and the supernatural. They are priests, kings, and prophets.

The critical response to Bacon’s utopia varies widely. No commentator can miss the religious—almost Levitical—nature of Bacon’s utopia. Nor can the scientist’s enthronement as a new sort of priest-king be ignored. But the way in which Bacon uses (or misuses) religious imagery causes great division. Critic Harold White called New Atlantis a “fundamental assault upon, transformation of and ultimate displacement of Christianity.” White’s argument centers on the Fathers ability to interpret natural miracles and master Creation, which he sees as evidence of natural philosophy’s control over theology—a triumph of reason over faith. To this Stephen McKnight has countered that, for Bacon,

The wise man is not a secular scientist able to command the supernatural to obey; he is devoted to the search for truth in its natural and its supernatural forms. The demeanor of the member of Solomon’s House is reverent: He prays to God to reveal the meaning of a supernatural event that he is able to recognize as a miracle, but which he cannot interpret without divine revelation.

Certainly McKnight is correct that—if nothing else—the members of Solomon’s House cloak all their scientific endeavors in a very thick religiosity. Their work certainly has a religious end. Their “power” over diseases, plagues, earthquakes, and the like strikes the Europeans as a form of supernatural magic (a fact which nearly offends the Bensalemites). White seems willing to take this replacement of (medieval) supernatural magic with natural knowledge as evidence of the irreligiousness of Bensalem. McKnight, however, sees the scientifically-centered community as being driven to natural knowledge by a profound appreciation for God’s workings in the world. Says McKnight: “Contrary to White’s interpretation, the transformation from the European wanderers’ preoccupation with material concerns to spiritual conversion constitutes the central dramatic action of ‘New Atlantis’” (emphasis added).

In this reading, therefore, Bacon is not arguing for an impious abuse of nature, free from divine oversight, but for a gratitude-driven dominion over nature granted by God. Appreciation of natural wonders drives mankind to give thanks to God and to trust in Him through His divine revelation (untainted by ecclesiastical transmission).

One other reading of New Atlantis, from Denise Albanese, sees Bacon concerned primarily with the social context of his day. Colonialism was on the rise, and New Atlantis provides Europeans with a picture of how they must change their preconceptions of knowledge in order to attain the utopia of Bensalem. The travelers in Bacon’s work, after all, are colonialists who are shocked at how advanced the civilization is on the hidden island. For Albanese, New Atlantis is a screed for domination. When the islanders present the Europeans with a scroll inscribed with the sign of the cross, the Europeans are greatly relieved, writes Albanese, because “the cruciform sign overrides all ambiguity. Like the vision of Constantine, its presence signifies ultimate favor, indeed, the power to conquer.” Albanese comments that “the references to crosses and oblations, to piety and Christianity, which crowd the earlier pages ... virtually disappeared thereafter.” The transition from religion to science, for Albanese, is Bacon’s central theme: “theological grace appears but seconded by …philosophical preeminence, it is that preeminence that underwrites its superiority to European culture. When it is compartmentalized in this way, Christianity become contingent rather than necessary.”

Our three readings of Bacon—from White, McKnight, and Albanese—provide three necessary perspectives on the Baconian project. In analysis, I am drawn first to the conclusion, with McKnight, that Bacon intentionally incorporates religious language into his utopia for two reasons: 1) to demonstrate the piety of his project; and, 2) to argue for a restructuring of human knowledge based on a clear delineation of the spiritual and natural realms. I do not doubt Bacon’s sincerity; in this I disagree with White’s belief that New Atlantis is consciously a “fundamental assault” on Christianity.

However, I also believe that Albanese is correct to highlight the reason for the Bensalemites’ superiority over the traditionalist Europeans: their enthronement of natural knowledge over supernatural. Bacon argues forcefully for a distinction between scientific and spiritual knowledge in The Great Instauration in order to guard himself against the charge that he is guilty of the same sin as Adam and Eve in the Garden—pursuing knowledge to impious ends. By distinguishing scientific knowledge from spiritual, he implies that the former is man’s domain—the latter is left to the monks and priests. In doing so, Bacon sets science free from its medieval limitations, but leaves theology in shackles—telling it that it must not concern itself with things which supposedly don’t pertain to it. Bacon is concerned that if we made spiritual knowledge preeminent over natural science, we would invite back a medieval sort of “darkness.” The confusion of the two kinds of knowledge was, for him, the principle “error” of the Scholastics.

For Bacon, the prospect of a renewed humanity, with a new order of scientific priest-kings, drives him to take another furtive look back at Eden before the Fall. The knowledge of Eden and Bensalem looks sweet to taste. And, after all, did God really say everything the Scholastics said He did?

One imagines him thinking, The cherubim at the gate don’t look so fierce after all. Perhaps we might outsmart them.