A Discourse of Life and Death, by Mornay

In Short

This collection binds two distinct sixteenth-century works—Philippe de Mornay’s philosophical essay on the nature of mortality and Robert Garnier’s classical tragedy, Antonius. Translated by the Countess of Pembroke, these texts offer a meditation on the human condition, contrasting the Stoic and Christian reconciliation with death against the chaotic, ruinous passions of a fallen ruler. The book endures because it speaks directly to the existential vertigo of the human experience, juxtaposing the calm acceptance of the soul’s departure with the desperate, dramatic thrashing of those who have lost everything to pride and love.

The Story

The volume opens with a philosophical inquiry into the nature of existence. Mornay argues that life is a "Penelopes web," a cycle of endless toil, anxiety, and superficial ambition. He observes that while we celebrate the laborer who reaches home or the sailor who finds port, we view death—the final destination—with irrational terror. He posits that our attachment to the world is a form of blindness, a sickness that prevents us from seeing that our true nature is celestial. Life, in this view, is merely an exile, a temporary confinement of the soul within the "bark and shell" of the body. To overcome the fear of death, one must recognize that it is not a loss, but a "beginning of life," the moment the soul is finally unburdened of its earthly weight.

This philosophical framework provides a somber, detached prelude to the tragedy that follows. The second half of the book dramatizes the final, agonizing collapse of Mark Antony following his defeat at Actium. Here, the abstract arguments about the vanity of worldly honor take human form. Antony, once a powerful commander, now finds himself reduced to a state of total isolation, betrayed by his own forces and consumed by his obsession with Cleopatra. He is no longer a hero of Rome, but a man "vanquished by sweet baits," his reason lost to the "poisonous power" of a love that has left his kingdom in ruins and his honor dead.

The narrative arc of the tragedy tracks Antony’s spiral toward his self-inflicted end. He fluctuates between self-loathing, jealousy, and a lingering, painful devotion to the Queen. His final moments are defined by the bitter realization that his life has been a waste, spent pursuing "smoke and wind." Cleopatra, mirroring his despair, seeks to join him in death, believing it the only way to preserve her dignity against the looming triumph of Octavius Caesar. The play concludes in the shadows of their tombs, where the pride of empires and the heat of human passion are rendered meaningless. By placing the stoic calm of the essayist against the frantic, weeping end of the lovers, the book forces the reader to confront the two ways a human life might conclude: either as a willing, peaceful release or as a desperate, violent surrender to the inevitable.

How It Unfolds

The call to harbor. The text begins by questioning why human beings view the end of life with such profound horror, comparing our mortal struggle to the relief a sailor feels upon finally reaching a safe port.

The anatomy of ambition. The argument shifts to the emptiness of worldly status, describing how the pursuit of honor and the favor of princes serves only to chain the individual to a life of hollow pretense and eventual ruin.

The internal war. Mornay explores the futility of escaping the world by retreating into solitude, noting that even the wisest thinkers cannot flee their own internal conflicts between passion and reason.

The promise of release. The philosophical section culminates in a vision of death as a holy liberation, where the soul sheds its earthly shell to return to its true, celestial home.

The collapse of the hero. The tragedy of Antony begins as the fallen commander contemplates his betrayal, lamenting how his pursuit of love has stripped him of his military honor and his standing in Rome.

The chorus of ruin. The philosophers and attendants surrounding Antony reflect on the destructive nature of his passion, framing the loss of the empire as a consequence of irrational desire.

The final theater. In the closing acts, the focus narrows to the tomb of Cleopatra, where the Queen and her attendants prepare to face their end, ultimately choosing death over the humiliation of Caesar’s captivity.

The People

Philippe de Mornay serves as the voice of moral reason and spiritual detachment. He seeks to persuade the reader that the world is a place of "vanity and vexation," urging a detachment from material concerns in favor of divine contemplation. He remains calm, analytical, and uncompromising in his view that true peace is found only in the abandonment of the ego.

Mark Antony is the personification of human frailty. Once a legendary commander, he is now undone by his own passions. He wants to reclaim his glory, yet he remains trapped by a "cureless wound" of love. He is a man who recognizes his own folly but lacks the strength to change his course, ultimately finding in death the only escape from his shame.

Cleopatra shares Antony’s burden, though she is more acutely aware of the political cost of their union. She is torn between the desire to preserve her royal line—the "tender souls" of her children—and the crushing weight of her own pride. Her transition from a powerful queen to a woman ready to die in a tomb marks the total evaporation of her royal agency.

Octavius Caesar looms over the tragedy as the instrument of fate. He is the cold, calculated mirror to Antony’s fire. He represents the inevitable triumph of worldly order and the "destined decree" that demands the subjection of all who oppose him.

In Its Own Voice

"This life is but a Penelopes web, wherein we are alwayes doing and vndoing: a sea open to all windes, which sometime within, sometime without neuer cease to torment vs."

Mornay uses this metaphor to describe the exhausting, cyclical nature of human existence.

"He can not rule himselfe: his health's respect Yeldeth to his distempred stomackes heate."

Antony reflects on the loss of his own reason as he continues to pursue a love he knows will destroy him.

"Who feares God, feares not death: and who feares it not, feares not the worst of this life."

The text summarizes its core thesis, suggesting that true freedom is found in the complete absence of fear.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an meditation on the radical disconnect between the soul’s needs and the world’s demands. It asks whether human beings are capable of living with purpose in a world defined by "vanity and vexation." The argument is that we are misplaced, living as exiles in bodies that are essentially prisons. By examining the life of a man who held the world in his hands—Antony—the book illustrates the ultimate pointlessness of power. It questions the legitimacy of human ambition, the reliability of fortune, and the nature of love, concluding that everything we grasp in this life is a shadow.

Why Read It Today

This is a challenging read, demanding a patience for sixteenth-century prose and a willingness to engage with a worldview that is deeply, overtly theological. The language is rhythmic and often dense, reflecting the intellectual rigor of a period that treated the nature of the soul as a matter of urgent, public debate. Readers who enjoy classical philosophy, the somber beauty of early modern English, or the tragic character studies of Shakespeare will find much to admire here.

There is a strange, quiet comfort in the book’s starkness. It does not offer the soft platitudes often found in modern discussions of grief; rather, it demands that the reader look directly at the reality of their own impermanence. It is a book for those who want to be reminded of the "futility of the world" not as a cause for despair, but as a path to a broader perspective. While the play of Antonius may feel distant in its political stakes, the emotional reality of a man losing everything remains hauntingly recognizable. You will likely finish it feeling less like you have read a story and more like you have spent an afternoon in a library listening to a very old, very serious, and very kind mentor discuss the inevitable, steady approach of the end.