No More Learning

Everything proceeds from the Fates, you say?

_Zeus_. Yes.

_Cyn_. And is it in your power to unspin what they have spun?

_Zeus_. It is not.

_Cyn_. Shall I proceed, or is the inference clear?

_Zeus_. Oh, clear enough. But you seem to think that people
sacrifice to us from ulterior motives; that they are driving a
bargain with us, _buying_ blessings, as it were: not at all;
it is a disinterested testimony to our superior merit.

_Cyn_. There you are, then. As you say, sacrifice answers no
useful purpose; it is just our good-natured way of acknowledging
your superiority. And mind you, if we had a sophist here, he would
want to know all about that superiority. You are our fellow slaves,
he would say; if the Fates are our mistresses, they are also yours.
Your immortality will not serve you; that only makes things worse.
We mortals, after all, are liberated by death: but for you there is
no end to the evil; that long thread of yours means eternal
servitude.

_Zeus_. But this eternity is an eternity of happiness; the
life of Gods is one round of blessings.

_Cyn_. Not all Gods' lives. Even in Heaven there are distinctions,
not to say mismanagement. _You_ are happy, of course: you are king,
and you can haul up earth and sea as it were a bucket from the
well. But look at Hephaestus: a cripple; a common blacksmith. Look
at Prometheus: _he_ gets nailed up on Caucasus. And I need not
remind you that your own father lies fettered in Tartarus at this
hour. It seems, too, that Gods are liable to fall in love; and to
receive wounds; nay, they may even have to take service with mortal
men; witness your brother Posidon, and Apollo, servants to Laomedon
and to Admetus. I see no great happiness in all this; some of you I
dare say have a very pleasant time of it, but not so others. I
might have added, that you are subject to robbery like the rest of
us; your temples get plundered, and the richest of you becomes a
pauper in the twinkling of an eye. To more than one of you it has
even happened to be melted down, if he was a gold or a silver God.
All destiny, of course.

_Zeus_. Take care, Cyniscus: you are going too far. You will
repent of this one day.

_Cyn_. Spare your threats: you know that nothing can happen to
me, except what Fate has settled first. I notice, for instance,
that even temple-robbers do not always get punished; most of them,
indeed, slip through your hands. Not destined to be caught, I
suppose.

_Zeus_. I knew it! you are one of those who would abolish
Providence.

_Cyn_. You seem to be very much afraid of these gentlemen, for
some reason. Not one word can I say, but you must think I picked it
up from them. Oblige me by answering another question; I could
desire no better authority than yours. What is this Providence? Is
she a Fate too? or some greater, a mistress of the Fates?

_Zeus_. I have already told you that there are things which it
is not proper for you to know. You said you were only going to ask
me one question, instead of which you go on quibbling without end.
I see what it is you are at: you want to make out that we Gods take
no thought for human affairs.

_Cyn_. It is nothing to do with me: it was you who said just
now that the Fates ordained everything. Have you thought better of
it? Are you going to retract what you said? Are the Gods going to
push Destiny aside and make a bid for government?

_Zeus_. Not at all; but the Fates work _through us_.

_Cyn_. I see: you are their servants, their underlings. But
that comes to the same thing: it is still they who design; you are
only their tools, their instruments.

_Zeus_. How do you make that out?

_Cyn_. I suppose it is pretty much the same as with a carpenter's
adze and drill: they do assist him in his work, but no one would
describe them as the workmen; we do not say that a ship has been
turned out by such and such an adze, or by such and such a drill;
we name the shipwright. In the same way, Destiny and the Fates are
the universal shipwrights, and you are their drills and adzes; and
it seems to me that instead of paying their respects and their
sacrifices to you, men ought to sacrifice to Destiny, and implore
_her_ favours; though even that would not meet the case, because I
take it that things are settled once and for all, and that the
Fates themselves are not at liberty to chop and change. If some one
gave the spindle a turn in the wrong direction, and undid all
Clotho's work, Atropus would have something to say on the subject.

_Zeus_. So! You would deprive even the Fates of honour? You
seem determined to reduce all to one level. Well, we Gods have at
least one claim on you: we do prophesy and foretell what the Fates
haye disposed.

_Cyn_. Now even granting that you do, what is the use of
knowing what one has to expect, when one can by no possibility take
any precautions? Are you going to tell me that a man who finds out
that he is to die by a steel point can escape the doom by shutting
himself up? Not he. Fate will take him out hunting, and there will
be his steel: Adrastus will hurl his spear at the boar, miss the
brute, and get Croesus's son; Fate's inflexible law directs his
aim. The full absurdity of the thing is seen in the case of Laius:

Seek not for offspring in the Gods' despite;
Beget a child, and thou begett'st thy slayer.

Was not this advice superfluous, seeing that the end must come?
Accordingly we find that the oracle does not deter Laius from
begetting a son, nor that son from being his slayer. On the whole,
I cannot see that your prophecies entitle you to reward, even
setting aside the obscurity of the oracles, which are generally
contrived to cut both ways. You omitted to mention, for instance,
whether Croesus--'the Halys crossed'--should destroy his own or
Cyrus's mighty realm. ' It might be either, so far as the oracle
goes.

_Zeus_. Apollo was angry with Croesus. When Croesus boiled
that lamb and tortoise together in the cauldron, he was making
trial of Apollo.

_Cyn_. Gods ought not to be angry. After all, I suppose it was
fated that the Lydian should misinterpret that oracle; his case
only serves to illustrate that general ignorance of the future,
which Destiny has appointed for mankind. At that rate, your
prophetic power too seems to be in her hands.

_Zeus_. You leave us nothing, then? We exercise no control, we
are not entitled to sacrifice, we are very drills and adzes. But
you may well despise me: why do I sit here listening to all this,
with my thunder-bolt beneath my arm?

_Cyn_. Nay, smite, if the thunder-bolt is my destiny. I shall
think none the worse of you; I shall know it is all Clotho's doing;
I will not even blame the bolt that wounds me. And by the way--
talking of thunder-bolts--there is one thing I will ask you and
Destiny to explain; you can answer for her. Why is it that you
leave all the pirates and temple-robbers and ruffians and perjurers
to themselves, and direct your shafts (as you are always doing)
against an oak-tree or a stone or a harmless mast, or even an
honest, God-fearing traveller? . . . No answer? Is this one of the
things it is not proper for me to know?

_Zeus_. It is, Cyniscus. You are a meddlesome fellow; I don't
know where you picked up all these ideas.

_Cyn_. Well, I suppose I must not ask you all (Providence and
Destiny and you) why honest Phocion died in utter poverty and
destitution, like Aristides before him, while those two unwhipped
puppies, Callias and Alcibiades, and the ruffian Midias, and that
Aeginetan libertine Charops, who starved his own mother to death,
were all rolling in money? nor again why Socrates was handed over
to the Eleven instead of Meletus? nor yet why the effeminate
Sardanapalus was a king, and one high-minded Persian after another
went to the cross for refusing to countenance his doings? I say
nothing of our own days, in which villains and money-grubbers
prosper, and honest men are oppressed with want and sickness and a
thousand distresses, and can hardly call their souls their own.

_Zeus_. Surely you know, Cyniscus, what punishments await the
evil-doers after death, and how happy will be the lot of the
righteous?

_Cyn_. Ah, to be sure: Hades--Tityus--Tantalus. Whether there
is such a place as Hades, I shall be able to satisfy myself when I
die. In the meantime, I had rather live a pleasant life here, and
have a score or so of vultures at my liver when I am dead, than
thirst like Tantalus in this world, on the chance of drinking with
the heroes in the Isles of the Blest, and reclining in the fields
of Elysium.

_Zeus_. What! you doubt that there are punishments and rewards
to come? You doubt of that judgement-seat before which every soul
is arraigned?

_Cyn_. I _have_ heard mention of a judge in that connexion; one
Minos, a Cretan. Ah, yes, tell me about him: they say he is your
son?

_Zeus_. And what of him?

_Cyn_. Whom does he punish in particular?

_Zeus_. Whom but the wicked? Murderers, for instance, and
temple-robbers.

_Cyn_. And whom does he send to dwell with the heroes?

_Zeus_. Good men and God-fearing, who have led virtuous lives.

_Cyn_. Why?

_Zeus_. Because they deserve punishment and reward
respectively.

_Cyn_. Suppose a man commits a crime accidentally: does he
punish him just the same?

_Zeus_. Certainly not.

_Cyn_. Similarly, if a man involuntarily performed a good
action, he would not reward him?

_Zeus_. No.

_Cyn_. Then there is no one for him to reward or punish.

_Zeus_. How so?

_Cyn_. Why, we men do nothing of our own free will: we are
obeying an irresistible impulse,--that is, if there is any truth in
what we settled just now, about Fate's being the cause of
everything. Does a man commit a murder? Fate is the murderess. Does
he rob a temple? He has her instructions for it. So if there is
going to be any justice in Minos's sentences, he will punish
Destiny, not Sisyphus; Fate, not Tantalus. What harm did these men
do? They only obeyed orders.

_Zeus_. I am not going to speak to you any more. You are an
unscrupulous man; a sophist. I shall go away and leave you to
yourself.

_Cyn_. I wanted to ask you where the Fates lived; and how they
managed to attend to all the details of such a vast mass of
business, just those three. I do not envy them their lot; they must
have a busy time of it, with so much on their hands. Their destiny,
apparently, is no better than other people's. I would not exchange
with them, if I had the choice; I had rather be poorer than I am,
than sit before such a spindleful, watching every thread. --But
never mind, if you would rather not answer. Your previous replies
have quite cleared up my doubts about Destiny and Providence; and
for the rest, I expect I was not destined to hear it.




ZEUS TRAGOEDUS


_Hermes. Hera. Colossus. Heracles. Athene. Posidon. Momus.
Hermagoras. Zeus. Aphrodite. Apollo, Timocles. Damis_

_Herm_. Wherefore thus brooding, Zeus? wherefore apart,
And palely pacing, as Earth's sages use?
Let me thy counsel know, thy cares partake;
And find thy comfort in a faithful fool.

_Ath_. Cronides, lord of lords, and all our sire,
I clasp thy knees; grant thou what I require;
A boon the lightning-eyed Tritonia asks:
Speak, rend the veil thy secret thought that masks;
Reveal what care thy mind within thee gnaws,
Blanches thy cheek, and this deep moaning draws.

_Zeus_. Speech hath no utterance of surpassing fear,
Tragedy holds no misery or woe,
But our divinest essence soon shall taste.

_Ath_. Alas, how dire a prelude to thy tale!

_Zeus_. O brood maleficent, teemed from Earth's dark womb!
And thou, Prometheus, how hast thou wrought me woe!

_Ath_.
Possess us; are not we thine own familiars?

_Zeus_. With a whirr and a crash
Let the levin-bolt dash--
Ah, whither?

_Hera_. A truce to your passion, Zeus. _We_ have not these good
people's gift for farce or recitation; _we_ have not swallowed
Euripides whole, and cannot play up to you. Do you suppose we do
not know how to account for your annoyance?

_Zeus_. Thou knowst not; else thy waitings had been loud.

_Hera_. Don't tell me; it's a love affair; that's what's the
matter with you. However, you won't have any 'wailings' from me; I
am too much hardened to neglect. I suppose you have discovered some
new Danae or Semele or Europa whose charms are troubling you; and
so you are meditating a transformation into a bull or satyr, or a
descent through the roof into your beloved's bosom as a shower of
gold; all the symptoms--your groans and your tears and your white
face--point to love and nothing else.

_Zeus_. Happy ignorance, that sees not what perils now forbid
love and such toys!

_Hera_. Is your name Zeus, or not? and, if so, what else can
possibly annoy you but love?

_Zeus_. Hera, our condition is most precarious; it is touch-
and-go, as they call it, whether we are still to enjoy reverence
and honour from the earth, or be utterly neglected and become of no
account.

_Hera_. Has Earth produced a new brood of giants? Have the
Titans broken their chains, overpowered their guards, and taken up
arms against us once more?

_Zeus_. Nay, fear not that; Hell threatens not the Gods.

_Hera_. What can the matter be, then? To hear you, one might
think it was Polus or Aristodemus, not Zeus; and why, pray, if
something of that sort is not bothering you?

_Zeus_. My dear, a discussion somehow arose yesterday between
Timocles the Stoic and Damis the Epicurean; there was a numerous
and respectable audience (which particularly annoyed me), and they
had an argument on the subject of Providence. Damis questioned the
existence of the Gods, and utterly denied their interest in or
government of events, while Timocles, good man, did his best to
champion our cause. A great crowd gathered round; but no conclusion
was reached. They broke up with an understanding that the inquiry
should be completed another day; and now they are all agog to see
which will win and prove his case. You all see how parlous and
precarious is our position, depending on a single mortal. These are
the alternatives for us: to be dismissed as mere empty names, or
(if Timocles prevails) to enjoy our customary honours.

_Hera_. This is really a serious matter; your ranting was not
so uncalled-for, Zeus.

_Zeus_. You fancied me thinking of some Danae or Antiope; and
this was the dread reality. Now, Hermes, Hera, Athene, what is our
course? We await your contribution to our plans.

_Herm_. My opinion is that an assembly be summoned and the
community taken into counsel.

_Hera_. And I concur.

_Ath_. Sire, I dissent entirely; you should not fill Heaven
with apprehensions, nor let your own uneasiness be visible, but
take private measures to assure Timocles's victory and Damis's
being laughed out of court.

_Herm_. It cannot be kept quiet, Zeus; the philosophers'
debate is public, and you will be accused of despotic methods, if
you maintain reserve on a matter of so great and general interest.

_Zeus_. Make proclamation and summon all, then. I approve your
judgement.

_Herm_. Here, assemble, all ye Gods; don't waste time, come
along, here you are; we are going to have an important meeting.

_Zeus_. What, Hermes? so bald, so plain, so prosy an
announcement--on this momentous occasion?

_Herm_. Why, how would you like it done?

_Zeus_. Some metre, a little poetic sonority, would make the
style impressive, and they would be more likely to come.

_Herm_. Ah, Zeus, that is work for epic poets or reciters, and
I am no good at poetry. I should be sure to put in too many feet,
or leave out some, and spoil the thing; they would only laugh at my
rude verses. Why, I've known Apollo himself laughed at for some of
his oracles; and prophecy has the advantage of obscurity, which
gives the hearers something better to do than scanning verses.

_Zeus_. Well, well, Hermes, you can make lines from Homer the
chief ingredient of your composition; summon us in his words; you
remember them, of course.

_Herm_. I cannot say they are exactly on the tip of my tongue;
however, I'll do my best:

Let ne'er a God (tum, tum), nor eke a Goddess,
Nor yet of Ocean's rivers one be wanting,
Nor nymphs; but gather to great Zeus's council;
And all that feast on glorious hecatombs,
Yea, middle and lower classes of Divinity,
Or nameless ones that snuff fat altar-fumes

_Zeus_. Good, Hermes; that is an excellent proclamation: see,
here they come pell-mell; now receive and place them in correct
precedence, according to their material or workmanship; gold in the
front row, silver next, then the ivory ones, then those of stone or
bronze. A cross-division will give precedence to the creations of
Phidias, Alcamenes, Myron, Euphranor, and artists of that calibre,
while the common inartistic jobs can be huddled together in the far
corner, hold their tongues, and just make up the rank and file of
our assembly.

_Herm_. All right; they shall have their proper places. But
here is a point: suppose one of them is gold, and heavy at that,
but not finely finished, quite amateurish and ill proportioned, in
fact--is he to take precedence of Myron's and Polyclitus's bronze,
or Phidias's and Alcamenes's marble? or is workmanship to count
most?

_Zeus_. It should by rights. Never mind, put the gold first.

_Herm_. I see; property qualification, comparative wealth, is
the test, not merit. --Gold to the front row, please. --Zeus, the
front row will be exclusively barbarian, I observe. You see the
peculiarity of the Greek contingent: they have grace and beauty and
artistic workmanship, but they are all marble or bronze--the most
costly of them only ivory with just an occasional gleam of gold,
the merest surface-plating; and even those are wood inside,
harbouring whole colonies of mice. Whereas Bendis here, Anubis
there, Attis next door, and Mithras and Men, are all of solid gold,
heavy and intrinsically precious.

_Pos_. Hermes, is it in order that this dog-faced Egyptian
person should sit in front of me, Posidon?

_Herm_. Certainly. You see, Earth-shaker, the Corinthians had
no gold at the time, so Lysippus made you of paltry bronze; Dog-
face is a whole gold-mine richer than you. You must put up with
being moved back, and not object to the owner of such a golden
snout being preferred.

_Aph_. Then, Hermes, find me a place in the front row; I am
golden.

_Herm_. Not so, Aphrodite, if I can trust my eyes; I am
purblind, or you are white marble; you were quarried, I take it,
from Pentelicus, turned by Praxiteles's fancy into Aphrodite, and
handed over to the Cnidians.

_Aph_. Wait; my witness is unexceptionable--Homer. 'The Golden
Aphrodite' he calls me, up and down his poems.

_Herm_. Oh, yes, no doubt; _he_ called Apollo rich, 'rolling in
gold'; but now where will you find Apollo? Somewhere in the
third-class seats; his crown has been taken off and his harp pegs
stolen by the pirates, you see. So _you_ may think yourself lucky
with a place above the fourth.

_Col_. Well, who will dare dispute _my_ claim? Am I not
the Sun? and look at my height. If the Rhodians had not decided on
such grandiose dimensions for me, the same outlay would have
furnished forth a round dozen of your golden Gods; I ought to be
valued proportionally. And then, besides the size, there is the
workmanship and careful finish.

_Herm_. What shall I do, Zeus? Here is a difficulty again--too
much for me. Going by material, he is bronze; but, reckoning the
talents his bronze cost, he would be above the first class.

_Zeus_. What business has he here dwarfing the rest and
blocking up all the bench? --Why, my excellent Rhodian, you may be
as superior to the golden ones as you will; but how can you
possibly go in the front row? Every one would have to get up, to
let you sit; half that broad beam of yours would fill the whole
House. I must ask you to assist our deliberations standing; you can
bend down your head to the meeting.

_Herm_. Now here is another problem. Both bronze, equal
aesthetically, being both from Lysippus's studio, and, to crown
all, nothing to choose between them for birth--two sons of yours,
Zeus--Dionysus and Heracles. Which is to be first? You can see for
yourself, they mean to stand upon their order.

_Zeus_. We are wasting time, Hermes; the debate should have
been in full swing by now. Tell them to sit anyhow, according to
taste; we will have an _ad hoc_ meeting another day, and then
I shall know how to settle the question of precedence.

_Herm_. My goodness, what a noise! what low vulgar bawling!
listen--'Hurry up with that carving! ' 'Do pass the nectar! ' 'Why no
more ambrosia? ' 'When are those hecatombs coming? ' 'Here, shares in
that victim! '

_Zeus_. Call them to order, Hermes; this nonsense must cease,
before I can give them the order of the day.

_Herm_. They do not all know Greek; and I haven't the gift of
tongues, to make myself understood by Scythians and Persians and
Thracians and Celts. Perhaps I had better hold up my hand and
signal for silence.

_Zeus_. Do.

_Herm_. Good; they are as quiet as if they were so many
teachers of elocution. Now is the time for your speech; see, they
are all hanging on your lips.

_Zeus_. Why--there is something wrong with me--Hermes, my boy
--I will be frank with you. You know how confident and impressive I
always was as a public speaker?

_Herm_. I know; I used to be in such a fright; you threatened
sometimes to let down your golden cord and heave up earth and sea
from their foundations, Gods included.

_Zeus_. But to-day, my child--it may be this terrible crisis--
it may be the size of the audience--there is a vast number of Gods
here, isn't there--anyhow, my thoughts are all mixed, I shiver, my
tongue seems tied. What is most absurd of all, my exordium is gone
clean out of my head; and I had prepared it on purpose to produce a
good impression at the start.

_Herm_. You have spoiled everything, Zeus. They cannot make
out your silence; they are expecting to hear of some terrible
disaster, to account for your delay.

_Zeus_. What do you think? Reel off the exordium in Homer?

_Herm_. Which one?

_Zeus_. Lend me your ears, Gods all and Goddesses.

_Herm_. Rubbish! you made quite exhibition enough of yourself
in that vein in our cabinet council. However, you might, if
you like, drop your metrical fustian, and adapt any one of
Demosthenes's Philippics with a few alterations. That is the
fashionable method with speakers nowadays.

_Zeus_. Ah, that is a royal road to eloquence--simplifies
matters very much for a man in difficulties.

_Herm_. Go ahead, then.

_Zeus_. Men of--Heaven, I presume that you would be willing to
pay a great price, if you could know what in the world has
occasioned the present summons. Which being so, it is fitting that
you should give a ready hearing to my words. Now, whereas the
present crisis, Heavenians, may almost be said to lift up a voice
and bid us take vigorous hold on opportunity, it seems to me that
we are letting it slip from our nerveless grasp. And I wish now (I
can't remember any more) to exhibit clearly to you the apprehensions
which have led to my summoning you.

As you are all aware, Mnesitheus the ship's-captain yesterday made
his votive offering for the narrow escape of his vessel off
Caphereus, and those of us whom he had invited attended the banquet
in Piraeus. After the libations you went your several ways. I
myself, as it was not very late, walked up to town for an afternoon
stroll in Ceramicus, reflecting as I went on the parsimony of
Mnesitheus. When the ship was driving against the cliff, and
already inside the circle of reef, he had vowed whole hecatombs:
what he offered in fact, with sixteen Gods to entertain, was a
single cock--an old bird afflicted with catarrh--and half a dozen
grains of frankincense; these were all mildewed, so that they at
once fizzled out on the embers, hardly giving enough smoke to
tickle the olfactories. Engaged in these thoughts I reached the
Poecile, and there found a great crowd gathered; there were some
inside the Portico, a large number outside, and a few seated on the
benches vociferating as loud as they could. Guessing correctly that
these were philosophers of the militant variety, I had a mind to
stop and hear what they were saying. I was enveloped in a good
thick cloud, under cover of which I assumed their habit, lengthened
my beard, and so made a passable philosopher; then I elbowed my way
through the crowd and got in undetected. I found an accomplished
scoundrel and a pattern of human virtue at daggers drawn; they were
Damis the Epicurean and Timocles the Stoic. The latter was bathed
in perspiration, and his voice showed signs of wear, while Damis
goaded him on to further exertions with mocking laughter.

The bone of contention was ourselves. Damis--the reptile! --
maintained that we did not concern ourselves in thought or act with
human affairs, and practically denied our existence; that was what
it came to. And he found some support. Timocles was on our side,
and loyally, passionately, unshrinkingly did he champion the cause;
he extolled our Providence, and illustrated the orderly discerning
character of our influence and government. He too had his party;
but he was exhausted and quite husky; and the majority were
inclining to Damis. I saw how much was at stake, and ordered Night
to come on and break up the meeting. They accordingly dispersed,
agreeing to conclude the inquiry next day. I kept among the crowd
on its way home, heard its commendations of Damis, and found that
his views were far the more popular, though some still protested
against condemning Timocles out of hand, and preferred to see what
he would say for himself to-morrow.

You now know the occasion of this meeting--no light one, ye Gods,
if you reflect how entirely our dignity, our revenue, our honour,
depend on mankind. If they should accept as true either our
absolute non-existence or, short of that, our indifference to them,
farewell to our earthly sacrifices, attributes, honours; we shall
sit starving and ineffectual in Heaven; our beloved feasts and
assemblies, games and sacrifices, vigils and processions--all will
be no more. So mighty is the issue; believe me, it behoves us all
to search out salvation; and where lies salvation? In the victory
and acceptance of Timocles, in laughter that shall drown the voice
of Damis. For I doubt the unaided powers of Timocles, if our help
be not accorded him.

Hermes, make formal proclamation, and let the debate commence.

_Herm_. Hear, keep silence, clamour not. Of full and qualified
Gods, speak who will.