Playing With Fire

Long ago, when the gods walked alongside mankind, there was a lesser titan known as Prometheus. While the gods held little regard for the pitiful creatures that worshipped them, Prometheus was sympathetic towards their plight and befriended as many of them as he could. Born of Iapetus, a titan, and Clymene, a nymph, his parents had been lost in the primordial war between gods and titans. It was Zeus, chief among the gods, who had dealt them the fatal blow and, taking pity on their orphaned infant son, had taken him in and raised him as his own. Though he loved the child in his own way, the god never showed him any affection, due in large part to his guilt. It was Zeus’ wife, Hera, who had showered him with kindness and had nurtured the boy into the fine young man he would become.

But Prometheus had a rebellious streak, no doubt inherited from his birth mother, an ocean nymph, who had the sea’s unpredictable temperament. Fits of melancholy would be juxtaposed with bouts of rage but, despite this, he was kind and caring, especially where humans were concerned. This, naturally, enraged his stepfather, who would do whatever he could to avoid the godforsaken mortals.

“You are not to cavort with those animals,” Zeus had instructed the boy as a teenager. “I’d rather you slop around with pigs.”

“But Father,” Prometheus retorted. “They’re good people. They may be simple, but they have a great deal of potential.”

“Precisely,” the thunder god seethed. “You give them an inch and they’ll rise up against you. Is that what you want? To be forgotten while they worship their own vain achievements?”

The young titan knew it was pointless to try and convince him. Storming off, Prometheus would descend from Olympus’ misty summit and hold court with the humans, only to be discovered by his stepfather a short time later and dragged, kicking and screaming, back home.

“So he’s a bit impetuous,” Hera said one day as her stepson sulked in his chambers. “Is that a reason to unjustly punish him?”

“’Unjustly?!’” Zeus repeated, appalled. “That boy does what he does just to spite me! Is that gratitude for taking him in and raising him?”

“Children know things,” Hera replied, darkly. “They can sense and are aware of what’s unspoken.”

Zeus turned to her, eyes blazing. “What are you saying?”

She paused, calculating. “All I’m saying is that maybe, deep down, he knows you killed his parents.”

The thunder god leapt from his throne to shush his wife. “Quiet, woman! He might hear you!”

“Sooner or later, you’ll have to tell him,” the goddess snapped. “You owe it to him.” Her words hung heavy in the air between them. All Zeus could do was hold his head in his hands.

The years went by, and Prometheus grew into a fine young man. In what seemed no time at all, he came of age. To mark the occasion, Zeus called the gods and, reluctantly, the mortal tribesmen, together in celebration. In a rite of passage, Artemis, goddess of the hunt, offered up her bow and quiver of arrows to the lad, who was to slay a wild ox unaided. Wandering alone through the pastures, he soon spotted a large bull male, fat from having feasted on the bountiful grasses. Taking aim, he shot the poor brute straight through the heart and watched as it collapsed in a heap onto the ground. Upon his return, with the slain beast on his shoulders, both gods and humans cheered. Only Zeus remained stoic, his expression unreadable.

But the young titan had a trick up his sleeve, one that would knock his cruel stepfather down a peg. When it came time to divvy up the ox, away from the prying eyes of the thunder god, he split the carcass into two piles: one rich with meat which he covered in the creature’s unappetizing stomach lining, the other with bones he adorned with delicious fat. When it came time to present the offerings up to Zeus, he made his stepfather choose. “O great god, Zeus,” he began ceremoniously, holding both trays aloft. “You are the father of the heavens and all that lies beneath them, yet this bounty, which I have foraged with my own hand, must be divided between mortals and the gods.” He paused dramatically. “The first choice, of course, belongs to you.”

With bated breath, he watched as Zeus’ eyes darted between the two offerings. At long last, he chose the platter in Prometheus’ left hand…the one with the bones disguised beneath the fat. Heart racing, the titan saw his stepfather take the first bite. A loud crunch ensued, to which the thunder god instantly became furious and tossed the food aside.

“YOU INSOLENT BRAT,” he bellowed. “After all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?!”

Hera leapt to her husband’s side to console him, but he brushed her off. “Stop defending him,” he spat at her. “You’ve always been too lenient on him.”

She stepped back, but not before offering, “Don’t do anything foolish,” shooting him a warning look.

“I give you food, I give you clothing, I give you shelter,” the god prattled on, directing his wrath at Prometheus. “I take you in and raise you as my son after your good-for-nothing parents died…”

“What do you know of my parents?” the titan interrupted, his own anger mounting.

“Don’t be naïve, boy,” the thunder god retorted. “It was war…”

“ZEUS,” Hera countered.

“Your father was a titan, sworn enemy of the gods,” Zeus continued, completely ignoring his wife’s pleas. “I killed them. It was my duty to kill them.”

A collective gasp rose from both gods and humans. Prometheus stood there, trembling, as the weight of his stepfather’s words crashed over him like a tidal wave. Though shocked by the confession, deep down in the darkest fathoms of his being, he had somehow known all along, but had never dared address it. “You…lied to me,” he spat upon finding his voice. “All this time, you’ve kept this from me.”

“I did it for your own good,” the thunder god countered. “You’d be dead were it not for me!”

“It’s because of you my parents are dead!” Prometheus shot back. “You’re not a god! You’re a murderer!”

Another gasp came from the crowd. For the first time, the young titan saw fear in his stepfather’s eyes, and it gave him a great deal of satisfaction. But it was too late for the god to repent now.

Zeus had been caught. With nowhere to turn, he cast his rage elsewhere. “You,” he said, turning his attention to the mortals who were present. “From now on, you’re no longer allowed to see the light of day. All you’ll know is darkness!”

“Father, no!” Prometheus shouted. He watched in horror as Zeus drew down the sun, reducing it to a ball of flame which the god then hid away in his toga. The sky instantly turned as black as night and the mortals cowered in fear, weeping and begging forgiveness from the vengeful god.

“You tyrant, they’ve done nothing wrong!” Prometheus shouted. “Punish me but leave them out of this!”

“This is your punishment!” the thunder god roared. “Because of you, your precious humans will suffer!” That was the final word. Zeus stormed off with Hera in tow, the latter of whom cast her stepson an expression of remorse. The other gods took pity on Prometheus and the mortals, but who were they to challenge Zeus’ authority? But the young titan stood firm, holding his ground. Upon seeing the retreating figure of his hated stepfather, he cursed him and stormed off in the opposite direction with the mortals.

“Prometheus!” Hera called after him.

“Let him go,” Zeus hissed. “He’s no longer our concern.” But he recoiled when his wife shot him a look of pure scorn. They and the other gods returned to Olympus without a word.

For years, centuries, eons, the earth was cast in total darkness. Only those creatures who thrived in the nighttime flourished while other species began dying out en masse. Plants shriveled up and withered away. Soon, the entire globe became a vast wasteland. All day, the humans sat shivering in their caves, wondering when, if ever, the light would return. Though they prayed to the gods for leniency, their pleas were in vain, for none of the deities could overrule Zeus’ cruel verdict.

As for Prometheus, he lived as a hermit of sorts, helping as many mortals as he could by hunting the nocturnal creatures that were left. Countless humans died from cold or starvation. Wracked with guilt, he would sit and sulk whenever he wasn’t hunting, wishing there was a way to remedy the horrible situation in which the Earth and all its living things had been plunged. If only he could bring back the sun…

…That was it!

It was a bold move, to be sure, a suicide mission, but the young titan was willing to take the risk if it meant saving humanity. After everything that had already happened to him, what did he have to lose? All he had to do was wait for the opportunity to present itself.

A few days later, it did. As the deities embarked on their annual pilgrimage to the edge of the world to commemorate the primordial war between gods and titans, Prometheus snuck into Zeus’ chambers. There, beside his stepfather’s bed, was the sun in the form of a fire at the end of a torch. Producing a tied bundle of twigs from within his robe, he dipped it within the white-hot flames. They licked at the branches until they took hold. He smiled, marveling at the sight and his heart swelled knowing that humanity and the world would be spared.

But Prometheus had one last trick up his sleeve, one more way in which he could get even with his stepfather. Leaning close to the fire, he whispered all he knew upon it: logic, writing, art, mathematics, science, the secrets to civilization itself. This would ensure that the humans would reach their full potential, much to Zeus’ chagrin. With that, the titan came down the mountain and presented his gift to humanity.

The mortals watched with tear-soaked eyes as the sun ascended back to the heavens. Shortly thereafter, life returned to the Earth. Plants grew and blossomed, animals multiplied, and humans left their lives in the caves behind forever. They built magnificent cities out of wondrous inventions, all of which were chronicled in new written languages. They fashioned beautiful works of art out of limestone, marble and bronze and wrote plays that made people laugh and cry. They tried to make sense of their very existence using logic, reverting to scientific and mathematical theorems when words fell short. All this Prometheus beheld from the sidelines, beaming with pride for his beloved mortals.

It wasn’t long before Zeus received word that the sun had returned, and that humanity was thriving. Furious, he sought out his stepson and condemned him to be chained to the summit of Mount Elbrus in the Caucasus, where an eagle would peck daily at his liver, for all eternity. The young titan accepted his fate with dignity and without complaint. When asked by the thunder god if he would do it all over again, he said yes without the slightest hesitation, angering Zeus further. So it was that Prometheus was tethered to the peak by unbreakable chains forged by Hephaestus himself while an eagle arrived each day to feast upon his liver, which regrew every night. Not once did he scream or cry. He just sat there, enduring this cruel fate while the humans neither sought him out nor remembered him and the great gift he had bestowed upon them. Such is human nature, though Prometheus would never admit it. Despite this, he still loved them and would never wish them any harm.

To this day, no one knows what ultimately became of the titan, for the summit of Mount Elbrus is now as barren and lifeless as the Earth was in its days of darkness. Some say he was rescued by the mighty hero, Heracles, in ancient times. Others believe Zeus ultimately took pity on him and the two reconciled their differences. Still more think he died up there, long before either his stepfather or any demigod could save him from his bizarre sentence. But, if you ask me, he’s still out there, walking, hidden, among us. Prometheus wished each of us to reach our full potential and I believe he continues to do so. Whenever that spark of creativity or inspiration strikes us, it’s him, waiting in the wings to see what new wonder we’ve made for ourselves and the world.