Bacon: Empire’s Only True Witness Is the River Styx

Empire’s affluence, its felicities—
so wrote Francis Bacon,
in his essay on the River Styx,
the court of Dis, the infernal judge—
lie in the lap of power:
the power to harm, to offend.

This, for Bacon, is Empire’s banquet,
joys reserved to the greatest gods.
And yet within it hides
Empire’s only proper faith:
for to secure such “advantage”
means whatever oath it swears—
ever so solemn, ever so sacred—
binds it no more.

Oaths are for ceremony,
decorum, reputation,
not fidelity.
Ambition disguises itself,
insincerity thrives;
there is no judge
to call Empire to account—
except the Styx.

Thus Bacon makes the ancient gods
mere stand-ins for Empire,
and the Styx, the river of death,
its only irrevocable witness.
Once crossed, it cannot be crossed back.

So in truth—so in secret—
Empire repudiates all gods
save Death and itself.
Where the power of death is sovereign,
there is Bacon’s feast of the gods:
an infernal banquet,
invoking no celestial divinity—
no Urania.