This enormous, slightly terrifying statue is of Athena, Greek goddess of wisdom, courage and just war, and a smattering of other things the Athenians liked to ascribe to themselves. It is a replica of the original, and sits inside the full-scale replica of the Parthenon, in Nashville’s Centennial Park. She stands some 41 feet tall, and there is no photograph that can do justice to the experience of standing before her gleaming presence.
The exterior of Nashville’s Parthenon is impressive in its own right, but its style and details have been so copied and borrowed from through the ages that, even walking along its soaring colonnade, you are not likely to be dumbstruck. Upon entering the east room, however, your jaw naturally drops as your eyes ascend. The replica fills the room, and the artist’s attention to historically accurate detail conveys powerfully the feeling that the ancients must have had when standing or kneeling before the original.
It’s tempting to look at the statue and architecture, imagining the ancient Greeks fearfully groveling in worship, and think ourselves somehow superior. We are sometimes wont to think of this sort of expenditure of effort and resources as quaint and misguided, even as we ourselves stand marveling at the creation. But later, as Katie and I were resting on the steps in front of the impossibly large amalgamation of metal and glass that is the Bridgestone Arena, I was again reminded that we haven’t changed dramatically, even since the 5th century BC. Only our priorities have changed, not our penchant for devoting some of the greatest works of architecture and art to things that may be seen in the future as archaic and meaningless.
With that in mind, I was left wondering, as I often do, what things will be remembered about us, two millenia in the future, if there is anyone left then to remember.
