Philothea: A Grecian Romance

by Lydia Maria Child

"A short time ago, he who had dared to propose the erection of such an altar would have been put to death," said Anaxagoras. "The pestilence has not been sent in vain, if the faith in images is shaken, and the Athenians have been led to reverence One great Principle of Order, even though they call it unknown."

"It is fear, unmingled with reverence, in the minds of many," replied the philosopher of Academus. "As for the multitude, they consider all principles of right and wrong as things that may exist, or not exist, according to the vote of the Athenian people. Of ideas eternal in their nature, and therefore incapable of being created or changed by the will of a majority, they cannot conceive. When health is restored, they will return to the old worship of forms, as readily as they changed from Pericles to Cleon, and will again change from him to Pericles."

The aged philosopher shook his head and smiled, as he said: "Ah, Plato! Plato! where will you find materials for your ideal republic?"

"In an ideal Atlantis," replied the Athenian, smiling in return; "or perchance in the fabled groves of Argive Hera, where the wild beasts are tamed—the deer and the wolf lie down together—and the weak animal finds refuge from his powerful pursuer. But the principle of a republic is none the less true, because mortals make themselves unworthy to receive it. The best doctrines become the worst, when they are used for evil purposes. Where a love of power is the ruling object, the tendency is corruption; and the only difference between Persia and Athens is, that in one place power is received by birth, in the other obtained by cunning.

"Thus it will ever be; while men grope in the darkness of their outward nature; which receives no light from the inward, because they will not open the doors of the temple, where a shrine is placed, from which it ever beams forth with occult and venerable splendour.

"Philosophers would do well if they ceased to disturb themselves with the meaning of mythologic fables, and considered whether they have not within themselves a serpent possessing more folds than Typhon, and far more raging and fierce. When the wild beasts within the soul are destroyed, men will no longer have to contend against their visible forms."

"But tell me, O admirable Plato!" said Anaxagoras, "what connection can there be between the inward allegorical serpent, and the created form thereof?"

"One could not exist without the other," answered Plato, "because where there is no ideal, there can be no image. There are doubtless men in other parts of the universe better than we are, because they stand on a higher plane of existence, and approach nearer to the idea of man. The celestial lion is intellectual, but the sublunary irrational; for the former is nearer the idea of a lion. The lower planes of existence receive the influences of the higher, according to the purity and stillness of the will. If this be restless and turbid, the waters from a pure fountain become corrupted, and the corruption flows down to lower planes of existence, until it at last manifests itself in corporeal forms. The sympathy thus produced between things earthly and celestial is the origin of imagination; by which men have power to trace the images of supernal forms, invisible to mortal eyes. Every man can be elevated to a higher plane by quiescence of the will; and thus may become a prophet. But none are perfect ones; because all have a tendency to look downward to the opinions of men in the same existence with themselves: and this brings them upon a lower plane, where the prophetic light glimmers and dies. The Pythia at Delphi, and the priestess in Dodona, have been the cause of very trifling benefits, when in a cautious, prudent state; but when agitated by a divine mania, they have produced many advantages, both public and private, to the Greeks."

The conversation was interrupted by the merry shouts of children; and presently a troop of boys and girls appeared, leading two lambs decked with garlands. They were twin lambs of a ewe that had died; and they had been trained to suck from a pipe placed in a vessel of milk. This day, for the first time, the young ram had placed his budding horns under the throat of his sister lamb, and pushed away her head that he might take possession of the pipe himself. The children were greatly delighted with this exploit, and hastened to exhibit it before their old friend Anaxagoras, who always entered into their sports with a cheerful heart. Philothea replenished the vessel of milk; and the gambols of the young lambs, with the joyful laughter of the children, diffused a universal spirit of gladness. One little girl filled the hands of the old philosopher with tender leaves, that the beautiful animals might come and eat; while another climbed his knees, and put her little fingers on his venerable head, saying, "Your hair is as white as the lamb's; will Philothea spin it, father?"

The maiden, who had been gazing at the little group with looks full of tenderness, timidly raised her eyes to Plato, and said, "Son of Aristo, these have not wandered so far from their divine home as we have!"