“I gave no hint of it,” said Elisama, “because in this sense it does not exist. To say nothing of its being as yet an undetermined point, whether the Jews learned these things from the Egyptians, or the Egyptians from the Jews; I will suppose that the wisdom of the Egyptians is of that high antiquity which you ascribe to it, and maintain that Jehovah wisely chose institutions for his people not too remote from those to which they were accustomed; that some things, which were for higher reasons essential in the Jewish economy, have an accidental coincidence with circumstances of the Egyptian customs. But disregarding outward and accidental things, let the spirit of the two systems be compared, and you will find that one is the spirit of God, and the other the spirit of the world. In our religion there is no worship of animals or of images, no polytheism, no secret doctrines of the priests. These are essential points, which show that the legislation of Moses must have had a higher origin, and was not learned by him from any other nation. Would it, besides, be surprising if, in giving a divine revelation to his people, Jehovah should have chosen a form for its communication, in which, as being familiar to them, they would more readily adopt it? Though this form was of human invention, it was purified and hallowed by God’s adoption of it.” “I will confute his heathen unbelief in another way,” said Helon, “and turn his own weapons upon him, more successfully, I hope, than he lately endeavoured to do upon me.” “Speak then,” said Myron, “do you question, and I will reply: here in the desert let us renew our ancient practice among the Academic philosophers. A dialogue will be a relief too, for your uncle presumes upon more patience in his hearers than belongs to Greeks of Athenian blood.” “This,” said Helon, “is not the only thing which is tiresome to you.” “I acknowledge it—a transient gleam of the Divinity from time to time is well; but my thoughts must return to the things of earth.” “How well hast thou characterised thyself and the religion of thy heathen brethren,” said Helon. “You have, indeed, a gleam of divine truth, a remnant of ancient, primeval tradition, eclipsed and shrouded in the darkness of human error.” “To look on the sun, and only on the sun, dazzles the eyes. Elisama is always pointing thither, and my eyes already ache with straining.” “The rising sun does not dazzle or strain the eye,” replied Helon, “and Elisama will tell you, that as yet we only see the dawn, and that thousands of years will pass before noon arrives. But I was going to confute you out of your own Plato. Does he not say that truth and virtue cannot be taught?” “He does.” “How then, O wise Myron, can they be attained?” “Only in the state of divine inspiration, as we have often read in the dialogues of the god-like sage,” replied Myron. “What name then must be given to the knowledge of that which is true, and which is?” continued Helon.