Thoreau and the Sibyl

A Sibyl and a Sage

(c) Copyright (2016) by Kathleen Spaltro

All Rights Reserved

Among my most special travel experiences, I include the enchanting, tiny, fake temple to the god Aesculapius in Rome's Villa Borghese—an 18th-century temple sitting mid-pond and patrolled by swans, geese, and ducks. Other memorable visits were to the Sibyl of Cumae in her cave near Naples and to the American sage Henry David Thoreau in his cabin near Concord and Boston. Neither oracle prophesied in my hearing, but both sibyl and sage intrigued and touched me.

Many other visitors to the Sibyl had preceded my husband and me. Roberto Rossellini's film "Journey to Italy" has Ingrid Bergman visit the cave of the Sibyl of Cumae and the ruined temples above her cave. Tony Soprano also goes to the Sibyl's cave. In the novel and TV series "I, Claudius," the Sibyl of Cumae appears early on when the future emperor seeks to learn his destiny. Most importantly, the Trojan refugee Aeneas visits the Sibyl to find his father in the underworld of Hades, entered nearby at Lake Averno, and to discover his own fate as father of the Romans.

Her visitors sought insight from the famous oracle. As Philip Coppens wrote on his website, "The Antrum of the Sibyl is a long, straight tunnel, with side chambers. At the end, there is a cave on the left hand side, where the Sibyl made her prophecies. It was apparently here that Apollo took possession of her, resulting in her ranting and raving, but equally able to see the future. Virgil worded it as such: 'the Sibyl sang her fearful riddling prophecies, her voice booming in the cave as she wrapped the truth in darkness, while Apollo shook the reins upon her in her frenzy and dug the spurs into her flanks. The madness passed.' "

Sadly, the Sibyl was not at home when we visited her. But, hand-in-hand and alone (in late autumn, no other tourists were there), we walked together into the elongated tunnel that leads to her cave. Startled pigeons strafed us, adding to the tension. We so enjoyed the slightly macabre atmosphere that we immediately repeated our exploration, walking hand-in-hand down the tunnel again. Then we climbed dangerously uneven steps to gain access to the ruined Temple of Jupiter and Temple of Apollo above the Sibyl's cave. There I unexpectedly sensed the numinous presence of past spirituality and reverence.

Although not a frenzied sibyl, Henry David Thoreau spoke, or rather wrote, as an oracle—indeed, almost as a god. I have heard, and read, complaints of Thoreau's arrogance. Only 30 years old when he left his hut at Walden Pond, Thoreau enunciated his beliefs with great, if unexplained, authority. Indeed, Thoreau's "Walden" consists of one long bout of needling:  "I do not wish to flatter my townsmen, nor to be flattered by them, for that will not advance either of us. We need to be provoked—goaded like oxen, as we are, into a trot."  This disturbs some readers, but it does not bother me. What others judge as arrogant, I see as thought-provoking, challenging, powerful, robust. My husband and I have always shared a passion for "Walden," which each of us has read many times.

Within his self-built cabin at Walden Pond, Thoreau embarked on one of humanity's greatest spiritual journeys. Determined to test all maxims for himself, to take nothing on credit, Thoreau noted, "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived." He challenged his neighbors' constant sacrifice of their time and energy to values that he saw as illusory:  "Most of the luxuries, and many of the so-called comforts of life, are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind. With respect to luxuries and comforts, the wisest have ever lived a more simple and meagre life than the poor." He elevated the spiritual above the material:  "The millions are awake enough for physical labor; but only one in a million is awake enough for effective intellectual exertion, only one in a hundred millions to a poetic or divine life. To be awake is to be alive. I have never yet met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face?"

He prodded us out of our spiritual slumber. I admire Thoreau's mastery of prose style—such gorgeous sentences—and robust perspective. When I visited the foundation of his cabin, and I saw the beautiful Walden Pond, tears came. Again, I sensed a numinous presence. In Concord itself,  I saw Henry David's touchingly simple gravestone in the Thoreau family plot: only a small buff headstone with "Henry" chiseled on it—a humble memorial to a most unhumble sage.

first appeared in The Woodstock Independent