Essays of Francis Bacon | Page 2

of it, the knowledge of truth, which is the presence of it, and the belief
of truth, which is the enjoying of it, is the sovereign good of human
nature. The first creature of God, in the works of the days, was the light
of the sense; the last, was the light of reason; and his sabbath work ever
since, is the illumination of his Spirit. First he breathed light, upon the
face of the matter or chaos; then he breathed light, into the face of man;
and still he breatheth and inspireth light, into the face of his chosen.
The poet, that beautified the sect, that was otherwise inferior to the rest,
saith yet excellently well: It is a pleasure, to stand upon the shore, and
to see ships tossed upon the sea; a pleasure, to stand in the window of a
castle, and to see a battle, and the adventures thereof below: but no
pleasure is comparable to the standing upon the vantage ground of truth
(a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is always clear and
serene), and to see the errors, and wanderings, and mists, and tempests,
in the vale below; so always that this prospect be with pity, and not
with swelling, or pride. Certainly, it is heaven upon earth, to have a
man's mind move in charity, rest in providence, and turn upon the poles
of truth.
To pass from theological, and philosophical truth, to the truth of civil
business; it will be acknowledged, even by those that practise it not,
that clear, and round dealing, is the honor of man's nature; and that
mixture of falsehoods, is like alloy in coin of gold and silver, which
may make the metal work the better, but it embaseth it. For these
winding, and crooked courses, are the goings of the serpent; which
goeth basely upon the belly, and not upon the feet. There is no vice,
that doth so cover a man with shame, as to be found false and
perfidious. And therefore Montaigne saith prettily, when he inquired
the reason, why the word of the lie should be such a disgrace, and such
an odious charge? Saith he, If it be well weighed, to say that a man
lieth, is as much to say, as that he is brave towards God, and a coward
towards men. For a lie faces God, and shrinks from man. Surely the

wickedness of falsehood, and breach of faith, cannot possibly be so
highly expressed, as in that it shall be the last peal, to call the
judgments of God upon the generations of men; it being foretold, that
when Christ cometh, he shall not find faith upon the earth.

Of Death

MEN fear death, as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural
fear in children, is increased with tales, so is the other. Certainly, the
contemplation of death, as the wages of sin, and passage to another
world, is holy and religious; but the fear of it, as a tribute due unto
nature, is weak. Yet in religious meditations, there is sometimes
mixture of vanity, and of superstition. You shall read, in some of the
friars' books of mortification, that a man should think with himself,
what the pain is, if he have but his finger's end pressed, or tortured, and
thereby imagine, what the pains of death are, when the whole body is
corrupted, and dissolved; when many times death passeth, with less
pain than the torture of a limb; for the most vital parts, are not the
quickest of sense. And by him that spake only as a philosopher, and
natural man, it was well said, Pompa mortis magis terret, quam mors
ipsa. Groans, and convulsions, and a discolored face, and friends
weeping, and blacks, and obsequies, and the like, show death terrible. It
is worthy the observing, that there is no passion in the mind of man, so
weak, but it mates, and masters, the fear of death; and therefore, death
is no such terrible enemy, when a man hath so many attendants about
him, that can win the combat of him. Revenge triumphs over death;
love slights it; honor aspireth to it; grief flieth to it; fear preoccupateth
it; nay, we read, after Otho the emperor had slain himself, pity (which
is the tenderest of affections) provoked many to die, out of mere
compassion to their sovereign, and as the truest sort of followers. Nay,
Seneca adds niceness and satiety: Cogita quamdiu eadem feceris; mori
velle, non tantum fortis aut miser, sed etiam fastidiosus potest. A man
would die, though he were neither valiant, nor miserable, only upon a
weariness to do the same thing so oft, over and over. It is no less
worthy, to