Part 6 (1/2)
ZEUS
In Judea, when Jahveh was addressed, he answered, if at all, with a thunderclap. Since then he has ceased to reply. Zeus was more complaisant. One might enter with him into the intimacy of the infinite. The father of the Graces, the Muses, the Hours, it was natural that he should be debonair. But he had other children. Among them were Litai, the Prayers. In the _Vedas_, where Zeus was born, the Prayers upheld the skies. Lame and less lofty in Greece, they could but listen and intercede.
The detail is taken from Homer. In his Ionian Pentateuch is the statement that beggars are sent by Zeus, that whoever stretches a hand is respectable in his eyes, that the mendicant who is repulsed may perhaps be a G.o.d[37]--suggestions which, afterward, were superiorly resumed in the dictum: ”Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
[Footnote 37: Odyssey, xviii. 485, v. 447, xiv. 56.]
The Litai were not alone in their offices. There were the oracles of Delphi, of Trophonios and of Mopsos, where one might converse with any divinity, even with Pan, who was a very great G.o.d. But Olympos was neighbourly. It was charming too. There was unending spring there, eternal youth, immortal beauty, the harmonies of divine honey-moons, the ideal in a golden dream; a stretch of crystal parapets, from which, leaning and laughing, radiant G.o.ddesses and resplendent G.o.ds looked down, and to whom a people, adolescent still, looked up.
In that morning of delight fear was absent, mystery was replaced by joy. The pageantry of the hours may have been too near to nature to know of shame, it was yet too close to the divine to know of hate.
Man, then, for the first time, loved what he wors.h.i.+pped and wors.h.i.+pped what he loved. His brilliant and musical Bible moved his heart without tormenting it. It conducted but did not constrain. It taught him that in death all are equal and that in life the n.o.ble-minded are serene.
In the Genesis of this Bible there is an account of a golden age and of a paradise into which evil was introduced by woman. The account is Hesiod's, to whom the Orient had furnished the details. It may be that both erred. If ever there were a golden age it must have been in those days when heaven was on earth and, mingling familiarly with men, were processions of G.o.ds, G.o.ds of love, of light, of liberty, thousands of them, not one of whom had ever heard an atheist's voice. Related to humanity, of the same blood, sons of the same Aryan mother, they differed from men only in that the latter died because they were real, while they were deathless because ideal.
The ideal was too fair. Presently Pallas became the soul of Athens.
But meanwhile from the East there strayed swarms of enigmatic faces; the harlot handmaids of her Celestial Highness Ishtar, Princess of Heaven; the mutilated priests of Tammuz her lover; dual conceptions that resulted in Aphrodite Pandemos, the postures of Priapos, the leer of the Lampsacene, and, with them, forms of wors.h.i.+p comparable, in the circ.u.madjacent beauty, to latrinae in a garden, ign.o.ble shapes that violated the candour of maidens' eyes, but with which Greece became so accustomed that on them moral aphorisms were engraved. ”In the mind of h.e.l.las, these things,” Renan, with his usual unctuousness, declared, ”awoke but pious thoughts.”
Pious at heart h.e.l.las was. Even art, which now is wholly profane, with her was wholly sacred. The sanct.i.ty was due to its perfection. The perfection was such that imbeciles who fancy that it has been or could be surpa.s.sed show merely that they know nothing about it. At Athens, where Pheidias created a palpable Olympos, Pallas stood colossally, a torch in her hand, a lance at her shoulder, a s.h.i.+eld at her side, a plastron of gold on her immaculate breast, a golden robe about her ivory form, and on her immortal brow a crown of gold, beneath which, sapphire eyes, that saw and foresaw, glittered. To-day the place where the marvellous creation stood is vacant. With the gorgeous host Pallas has departed. But the torch she held still burns. From the emptiness of her virginal arms, that never were filled, proceeds all civilization.
Adjacently at Eleusis was Demeter. Pallas was the soul of Greece.
Eleusis was the Jerusalem, Demeter the Madonna.
Demeter--the earth, the universal mother--had, in a mystic hymen with her brother Zeus, conceived Persephone. The latter, when young and a maiden, beckoned perhaps by Eros, wandered from Olympos and was gathering flowers when Pluto, borne by black horses, erupted, raped her, and tore her away. The cries of the indignant Demeter sterilized the earth. To a.s.suage her, Zeus undertook to have Persephone recovered, provided that in Hades, of which Pluto was lord, she had eaten nothing. But the girl had--a pomegranate grain. It was the irrevocable. Demeter yielded, as the high G.o.ds had to yield, to what was higher than they, to Destiny. Meanwhile, in the shadows below, Persephone was transfigured.
Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh and that weep; For these give joy and sorrow: but thou, Proserpina, sleep....
O daughter of earth, of my mother, her crown and blossom of birth, I am also, I also, thy brother; I go as I came unto earth.
In the night where thine eyes are as moons are in heaven, the night where thou art, Where the silence is more than all tunes, where sleep overflows from the heart, ...
And the murmur of spirits that sleep in the shadow of G.o.ds from afar Grows dim in thine ears and deep as the deep dim soul of a star.
In the sweet low light of thy face, under heavens untrod by the sun, Let my soul with their souls find place and forget what was done or undone.
Thou art more than the G.o.ds that number the days of our temporal breath For these give labour and slumber; but thou, Proserpina, death.
Like Hesiod, Swinburne erred, though perhaps intentionally, as poets should, for the greater glory of the Muses. Persephone brought not death but life. The aisles of despair she filled with hope.
Transfigured herself, Pluto she transformed. She changed what had been h.e.l.l into what was to be purgatory. It was not yet Elysium, but it was no longer Hades. Plato said that those who were in her world had no wish at all for this.
It is for that reason that Demeter is the Madonna of Greece, as her ethereal daughter was the saviour. The myth of it all, brought by Pythagoras from Egypt is very old. Known in Memphis, it was known too in Babylon, perhaps before Memphis was. But the legend of Isis and that of Ishtar--both of whom descended into h.e.l.l--lack the transparent charm which this idyl unfolds and of which the significance was revealed only to initiate in epiphanies at Eleusis.
Before these sacraments Greece stood, a finger to her lips. Yet the whispers from them that have reached us, while furtive perhaps, are clear. They furnished the poets with notes that are resonant still.
They lifted the drama to heights that astound. Even in the fancy b.a.l.l.s of Aristophanes, where men were ribald and the G.o.ds were mocked, suddenly, in the midst of the orgy, laughter ceased, obscenities were hushed. Afar a hymn resounded. It was the chorus of the Initiate going measuredly by.
The original mysteries were Hermetic. Enterable only after a prolonged novitiate, the adept then beheld an unfolding of the theosophy of the soul. In visions, possibly ecstatic, he saw the series of its incarnations, the seven cycles through which it pa.s.sed, the s.h.i.+p of a Million Years on which the migrations are effected and on which, at last, from the Valley of the Shadow of Death, it sails to its primal home.
That home was colour, its sustenance light. There, in ethereal evolutions, its incarnations began. At first unsubstantial and wholly ineffable, these turned for it every object into beauty, every sound into joy. Without needs, from beat.i.tude to beat.i.tude blissfully it floated. But, subjected to the double attraction of matter and of sin, the initiate saw the memories and attributes of its spirituality fade.
He saw it flutter, and fluttering sink. He saw that in sinking it enveloped itself in garments that grew heavier at each descent.
Through the denser clothing he saw the desires of the flesh pulsate.
He saw them force it lower, still lower, until, fallen into its earthly tenement, it swooned in the senses of man. From the chains of that prison he learned that the soul's one escape was in a recovery of the memory of what it had been when it was other than what it had become.
That memory the mysteries provided. Those of Eleusis differed from the Egyptian only in detail. At Eleusis, in lieu of visions, there were tableaux. Persephone, beckoned by desire, straying then from Olympos, afterward fainting in the arms of Pluto, but subsequently, while preparing her own reascension, saving and embellis.h.i.+ng all that approach, was the symbol, in an h.e.l.lenic setting, of the fall and redemption of man.