To the man who cherishes a secret in his breast, there is a still
greater secret unexplored. Our most indifferent acts may be
matter for secrecy, but whatever we do with the utmost
truthfulness and integrity, by virtue of its pureness, must be
transparent as light.
In the third satire, he asks: -
"Est aliquid quo tendis, et in quod dirigis arcum?
An passim sequeris corvos, testave, lutove,
Securus quo pes ferat, atque ex tempore vivis?"
Is there anything to which thou tendest, and against which thou
directest thy bow?
Or dost thou pursue crows, at random, with pottery or clay,
Careless whither thy feet bear thee, and live _ex tempore_?
The bad sense is always a secondary one. Language does not
appear to have justice done it, but is obviously cramped and
narrowed in its significance, when any meanness is described.
The truest construction is not put upon it. What may readily be
fashioned into a rule of wisdom, is here thrown in the teeth of
the sluggard, and constitutes the front of his offence.
Universally, the innocent man will come forth from the sharpest
inquisition and lecturing, the combined din of reproof and
commendation, with a faint sound of eulogy in his ears. Our
vices always lie in the direction of our virtues, and in their
best estate are but plausible imitations of the latter.
Falsehood never attains to the dignity of entire falseness, but
is only an inferior sort of truth; if it were more thoroughly
false, it would incur danger of becoming true.
"Securus quo pes ferat, atque ex tempore _vivit_,"
is then the motto of a wise man. For first, as the subtle
discernment of the language would have taught us, with all his
negligence he is still secure; but the sluggard, notwithstanding
his heedlessness, is insecure.
The life of a wise man is most of all extemporaneous, for he
lives out of an eternity which includes all time. The cunning
mind travels further back than Zoroaster each instant, and comes
quite down to the present with its revelation. The utmost thrift
and industry of thinking give no man any stock in life; his
credit with the inner world is no better, his capital no larger.
He must try his fortune again to-day as yesterday. All questions
rely on the present for their solution. Time measures nothing
but itself. The word that is written may be postponed, but not
that on the lip. If this is what the occasion says, let the
occasion say it.
