Zeus In The Iliad Quotes

Ruin, eldest daughter of Zeus, she blinds us all, that fatal madness—she with those delicate feet of hers, never touching the earth, gliding over the heads of men to trap us all. She entangles one man, now another.

Rage - Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles, murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses, hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls, great fighters' souls, but made their bodies carrion, feasts for the dogs and birds, and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end. Begin, Muse, when the two first broke and clashed, Agamemnon lord of men and brilliant Achilles.

Hyrtacides pummeled his thighs and groaned and bit his lip and said: "O Father Zeus, you, even you, turn out to be a liar." [bk.12]

Căntã, zeițã, mânia ce-aprinse pe-Ahil Peleianul, Patima crudã ce-Aheilor mii de amaruri aduse; Suflete multe viteze trimise pe lumea cealaltã, Trupul fãcându-le hranã la câini și la feluri de pãsãri Și împlinitã fu voia lui Zeus, de când Agamemnon, Craiul nãscut din Atreu, și dumnezeiescul Ahile S-au dezbinat dupã cearta ce fuse-ntre dânșii iscatã.

Then in anger divine Aphrodite addressed her: “Do not provoke me, wicked girl, lest I drop you in anger, and hate you as much as I now terribly love you, and devise painful hostilities, and you are caught in the middle of both, Trojans and Danaans, and are destroyed by an evil fate.” So she spoke; and Helen born of Zeus was frightened; and

We men are wretched things, and the gods, who have no cares themselves, have woven sorrow into the very pattern of our lives...Zeus the Thunderer has two jars standing on the floor of his palace, in which he keeps his gifts, the evils in one and the blessings in the other.

The Wrath of Achilles is my theme, that fatal wrath which, in fulfillment of the will of Zeus, brought the Achaeans so much suffering and sent the gallant souls of many nobleman to Hades, leaving their bodies as carrion for the dogs and passing birds.

Nyx, born of Chaos in Greek mythology, was the goddess of “all-subduing” night who, in the Iliad, makes even Zeus tremble.

Both were gods of the same line, a single father, but Zeus was the elder-born and Zeus knew more.

However, what is done is better left alone, though we resent it still, and we must curb our hearts perforce...as for my death, when Zeus and the other deathless gods appoint it, let it come.

          Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus        and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Achaians,        hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls        of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting 5     of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished

ARES (MARS) The God of War, son of Zeus and Hera, both of whom, Homer says, detested him. Indeed, he is hateful throughout the Iliad, poem of war though

Now the gods were seated in assembly by Zeus

the will of Zeus

But Zeus does not fulfill all human plans.

for a dream, too, is from Zeus,

Poor fool! He did not know the plans of Zeus.

But I suppose almighty Zeus decided we Greeks should die here, far away from Greece, 70 and lose our names. I knew it even when 90 the god was kind to us and kept us safe.

So I shall cast my spear but it is Zeus who will determine how all this will turn out.

Even a fool would see that Zeus is helping 630 the Trojans! Whether weak or strong, they always achieve their aim with every spear they throw!

The aid of Zeus 490 can easily be recognized by humans.

Zeus was riling up the Trojans.

release to me my beloved daughter, take instead the ransom,​20 revering Zeus’ son who strikes from afar—Apollo.

the bronze blade stripped bark and leafage, and now at last the sons of the Achaians carry it in their hands in state when they administer the justice of Zeus.

Men—let one of them die, another live, however their luck may run. Let Zeus decide the fates of the men of Troy and men of Argos both, to his deathless heart’s content—that is only right.

He was the loveliest born of the race of mortals, and therefore the gods caught him away to themselves, to be Zeus' wine-pourer, for the sake of his beauty, so he might be among the immortals.

so evenly was strained their war and battle, till the moment when Zeus gave the greater renown to Hector, son of Priam, who was the first to leap within the wall of the Achaians. In a piercing voice he cried aloud to the Trojans: "Rise, ye horse-taming Trojans, break the wall of the Argives, and cast among the ships fierce blazing fire." So spake he, spurring them on, and they all heard him with their ears, and in one mass rushed straight against the wall, and with sharp spears in their hands climbed upon the machicolations of the towers. And Hector seized and carried a stone that lay in front of the gates, thick in the hinder part, but sharp at point: a stone that not the two best men of the people, such as mortals now are, could lightly lift from the ground on to a wain, but easily he wielded it alone, for the son of crooked-counselling Kronos made it light for him. And as when a shepherd lightly beareth the fleece of a ram, taking it in one hand, and little doth it burden him, so Hector lifted the stone, and bare it straight against the doors that closely guarded the stubborn-set portals, double gates and tall, and two cross bars held them within, and one bolt fastened them. And he came, and stood hard by, and firmly planted himself, and smote them in the midst, setting his legs well apart, that his cast might lack no strength. And he brake both the hinges, and the stone fell within by reason of its weight, and the gates rang loud around, and the bars held not, and the doors burst this way and that beneath the rush of the stone. Then glorious Hector leaped in, with face like the sudden night, shining in wondrous mail that was clad about his body, and with two spears in his hands. No man that met him could have held him back when once he leaped within the gates: none but the gods, and his eyes shone with fire. Turning towards the throng he cried to the Trojans to overleap the wall, and they obeyed his summons, and speedily some overleaped the wall, and some poured into the fair-wrought gateways, and the Danaans fled in fear among the hollow ships, and a ceaseless clamour arose.

Zeus the Father who marshals ranks of storm clouds gave commands, “Leap to it then. Launch Athena against him— the queen of plunder, she’s the one—his match, a marvel at bringing Ares down in pain.

35      So he spoke and went away, and left Agamemnon        there, believing things in his heart that were not to be accomplished.        For he thought that on that very day he would take Priam’s city;        fool, who knew nothing of all the things Zeus planned to accomplish,        Zeus, who yet was minded to visit tears and sufferings 40   on Trojans and Danaäns alike in the strong encounters.

Would, by father Zeus, Athene, and Apollo, that not a single man of all the Trojans might be left alive, nor yet of the Argives, but that we two might be alone left to tear aside the mantle that veils the brow of Troy.

Deadly Delusion ruins and deludes all men. She is the eldest child of Zeus. Her feet are soft—she never walks on earth. She passes through the minds of human beings and damages them all, and puts in shackles one man in two.

Sing, Goddess, Achilles' rage, Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls Of heroes into Hades' dark, And left their bodies to rot as feasts For dogs and birds, as Zeus' will was done.

It is Helen, daughter of Zeus, who most clearly articulates the relationship between her father’s plans and those of the poetic tradition: “Zeus set an evil lot upon us all, to make us topics of a singer’s tale for people in the future still unborn.

The Greeks have often spoken to me about the things I said and blamed me for them. It was not my fault! The ones to blame are Destiny and Zeus and the avenging night-walker, the Fury, who set a wild delusion in my mind during the council meeting on the day when I removed the trophy from Achilles.

But Phoebus Apollo called to blazing Ares, “Ares, Ares, destroyer of men, reeking blood, stormer of ramparts, can’t you go and drag that man from the fighting? That daredevil Diomedes, he’d fight Father Zeus! He’s just assaulted Love, he stabbed her wrist— like something superhuman he even charged at me!

That day, Zeus stretched the painful work of war for men and horses, struggling for Patroclus. But all the while, godlike Achilles still knew nothing of his death, because the battle 520 was very far away from the swift ships, beneath the wall of Troy, and he had not expected in his heart his friend would die.

Hector...boast while you may. The victory is yours, a gift from Zeus the Son of Cronos and Apollo. They conquered me...Listen to this and ponder it well. You too, I swear it, have not long to live. Already sovran Destiny and Death are very close to you, death at the hands of Achilles, the peerless son of Peleus

Sit still and wait for orders from your officers, who are better men than you, coward and weakling that you are, counting for nothing in battle or debate. We cannot all be kings here; and mob rule is a bad thing. Let there be one commander only, one king, set over us by Zeus the Son of Cronos of the Crooked Ways

Through the will of Zeus your earlier request has been fulfilled. With arms raised high you prayed that all the Greeks, confined beside the ships’ sterns, would endure terrible suffering and mortal danger and yearn for you. So it has been fulfilled.” Swift-footed Lord Achilles, groaning, answered, “Yes, Mother, Zeus has granted me that prayer.

Zeus the Thunderer in his own person and with all solemnity made me certain promises. These you tell me to forget; and instead you would have me base my actions on the flight of birds, winged creatures who do not interest me at all - in fact I do not care whether they fly to the right towards the morning sun or to the left into the western gloom.

since he went storming up the plain like a winter-swollen river in spate that scatters the dikes in its running current, one that the strong-compacted dikes can contain no longer, 90  nor do the mounded banks of the blossoming vineyards hold it rising suddenly as Zeus’ rain makes heavy the water and many lovely works of the young men crumble beneath

So the immortals spun our lives that we, we wretched men live on to bear such torments-the gods live free of sorrows. There are two great jars that stand on the floor of Zeus's halls and hold his gifts, our miseries one, the other blessings. When Zeus who loves the lightning mixes gifts for a man, now he meets with misfortune, now good times in turn.

Wrath, goddess, sing of Achilles Pēleus’s son’s calamitous wrath, which hit the Achaians with countless ills— many the valiant souls it saw off down to Hādēs, souls of heroes, their selves left as carrion for dogs and all birds of prey, and the plan of Zeus was fulfilled — from the first moment those two men parted in fury, Atreus’s son, king of men, and the godlike Achilles.

Zeus in his sphere of power, Aphrodite in hers, are irresistible. To be a god is to be totally absorbed in the exercise of one's own power, the fulfillment of one's own nature, unchecked by any thought of others except as obstacles to be overcome; it is to be incapable of self questioning or self-criticism. But there are human beings who are like this. Preeminent in their particular sphere of power, they impose their will on others with the confidence, the unquestioning certainty of their own right and worth that is characteristic of gods. Such people the Greeks called "heroes"; they recognized the fact that they transcended the norms of humanity by according them worship at their tombs after death. Heroes might be, usually were, violent, antisocial, destructive, but they offered an assurance that in some chosen vessels humanity is capable of superhuman greatness, that there are some human beings who can deny the imperative which others obey in order to live. The heroes are godlike in their passionate self-esteem. But they are not gods, not immortal. They are subject, like the rest of us, to failure, above all to the irremediable failure of death. And sooner or later, in suffering, in disaster, they come to realize their limits, accept mortality and establish (or reestablish) a human relationship with their fellowmen.

Let us pin our faith in the almighty Zeus, who governs all mankind and the gods as well. Fight for your country - that is the best and only omen. But why should you, of all men, shirk from battle? Even if the rest of us are slaughtered wholesale by the argive ships, you need have no fear for your own safety - you are not the man to stand and fight it out. None the less, if you do shirk, or dissuade any of the others from fighting, I shall not hesitate to strike you with this spear and take your life.

Igual que bajo la tormenta la oscura tierra se empapa entera el día otoñal en que con insuperable violencia vierte el agua Zeus para manifestar su ira, rencoroso contra los hombres que en la plaza dictan sentencias torcidas abusando de su poder y destierran la justicia sin ningún miramiento por los dioses; los cauces de todos sus ríos se desbordan, los torrentes hienden entonces barrancos en muchas colinas y en la ondulante costa se precipitan con grandes clamores desde la cima de los montes, anegando las labores de las gentes; tan grandes eran los clamores de las yeguas troyanas al correr.

For suddenly, just as the men tried to cross, a fatal bird-sign flashed before their eyes, an eagle flying high on the left across their front and clutching a monstrous bloody serpent in both talons, still alive, still struggling-it had not lost its fight, writhing back to strike it fanged the chest of its captor right beside the throat-and agonized by the bites the eagle flung it away to earth, dashed it down amidst the milling fighters, loosed a shriek and the bird veered off along the gusting wind. The Trojans shuddered to see the serpent glistening, wriggling at their feet, a sign from storming Zeus.

As they were urgent to cross a bird sign had appeared to them, an eagle, flying high and holding to the left of the people and carrying in its talons a gigantic snake, blood-colored, alive still and breathing, it had not forgotten its warcraft yet, for writhing back it struck the eagle that held it 205  by chest and neck, so that the eagle let it drop groundward in pain of the bite, and dashed it down in the midst of the battle and itself, screaming high, winged away down the wind’s blast. And the Trojans shivered with fear as they looked on the lithe snake lying in their midst, a portent of Zeus of the aegis.

Thetis in tears replied, “My boy, my child, why did I birth you for such suffering? Why did I mother you, take care of you? I wish you could sit quietly by your ships, 550 and never have to suffer tears or trouble, because it is your destiny to live so very short a time, not long at all. But even as your death runs fast behind you you are the most unhappy man alive. A curse attended at your birth. I shall go to Olympus where the snow lies deep 420 and talk to Zeus, who loves the thunderbolt. I hope I can persuade him. And meanwhile, sit by your ships and rage against the Greeks, 560 and stay entirely away from war.

He stretched his arms towards his child, but the boy cried and nestled in his nurse's bosom, scared at the sight of his father's armour, and at the horse-hair plume that nodded fiercely from his helmet. His father and mother laughed to see him, but Hector took the helmet from his head and laid it all gleaming upon the ground. then he took his darling child, kissed him, and dandled him in his arms, praying over him the while to Zeus and the other gods. "Zeus," he cried, "grant that this my child may be even as myself, chief among trojans; let him be not less excellent in strength, and let him rule Ilius with his might. The may one say of him as he comes from battle, 'The son is far better than the father.

And Zeus said: “Hera, you can choose some other time for paying your visit to Oceanus — for the present let us devote ourselves to love and to the enjoyment of one another. Never yet have I been so overpowered by passion neither for goddess nor mortal woman as I am at this moment for yourself — not even when I was in love with the wife of Ixion who bore me Pirithoüs, peer of gods in counsel, nor yet with Danaë, the daintly ankled daughter of Acrisius, who bore me the famed hero Perseus. Then there was the daughter of Phonenix, who bore me Minos and Rhadamanthus. There was Semele, and Alcmena in Thebes by whom I begot my lion-hearted son Heracles, while Samele became mother to Bacchus, the comforter of mankind. There was queen Demeter again, and lovely Leto, and yourself — but with none of these was I ever so much enamored as I now am with you.

And Athena, daughter of Zeus who wields the aegis, let fall her rippling robe upon her father's floor, elaborate with embroidery, which she herself had made and labored on with her own hands, and putting on the cloak of Zeus who gathers clouds, she armed herself for tearful war. Around her shoulders she flung the tasseled aegis a thing of dread, crowned on every side with Panic all around, and Strife was on it, and Battle Spirit and chilling Flight, and on it too the terrible monstrous Gorgon head, a thing of awe and terror, portent of Zeus who wields the aegis; and on her head Athena placed her helmet, ridged on both sides, with four golden bosses, adorned with fighters of a hundred cities; she made her way on foot toward the flame-bright chariot, and seized her spear heavy, massive, powerful, with which she beats down the ranks of warrior men, with whom she, born of the mighty Father, might be angered.

In the same breath, shining Hector reached down for his son—but the boy recoiled, cringing against his nurse's full breast, screaming out at the sight of his own father, terrified by the flashing bronze, the horsehair crest, the great ridge of the helmet nodding, bristling terror— so it struck his eyes. And his loving father laughed, his mother laughed as well, and glorious Hector, quickly lifting the helmet from his head, set it down on the ground, fiery in the sunlight, and raising his son he kissed him, tossed him in his arms, lifting a prayer to Zeus and the other deathless gods: "Zeus, all you immortals! Grant this boy, my son, may be like me, first in glory among the Trojans, strong and brave like me, and rule all Troy in power and one day let them say, 'He is a better man than his father!'— when he comes home from battle bearing the bloody gear of the mortal enemy he has killed in war— a joy to his mother's heart.

If I bought a house anywhere I’d buy one here,” said Camilla. “I’ve always liked the mountains better than the seashore.” “So have I,” said Henry. “I suppose in that regard my tastes are rather Hellenistic. Landlocked places interest me, remote prospects, wild country. I’ve never had the slightest bit of interest in the sea. Rather like what Homer says about the Arcadians, you remember? With ships they had nothing to do.…” “It’s because you grew up in the Midwest,” Charles said. “But if one follows that line of reasoning, then it follows that I would love flat lands, and plains. Which I don’t. The descriptions of Troy in the Iliad are horrible—all flat land and burning sun. No. I’ve always been drawn to broken, wild terrain. The oddest tongues come from such places, and the strangest mythologies, and the oldest cities, and the most barbarous religions—Pan himself was born in the mountains, you know. And Zeus. In Parrhasia it was that Rheia bore thee,” he said dreamily, lapsing into Greek, “where was a hill sheltered with the thickest brush.…

And the old man groaned, and beat his head With his hands, and stretched out his arms To his beloved son, Hector, who had Taken his stand before the Western Gate, Determined to meet Achilles in combat. Priam's voice cracked as he pleaded: "Hector, my boy, you can't face Achilles Alone like that, without any support— You'll go down in a minute. He's too much For you, son, he won't stop at anything! O, if only the gods loved him as I do: Vultures and dogs would be gnawing his corpse. Then some grief might pass from my heart. So many fine sons he's taken from me, Killed or sold them as slaves in the islands. Two of them now, Lycaon and Polydorus, I can't see with the Trojans safe in town, Laothoë's boys. If the Greeks have them We'll ransom them with the gold and silver Old Altes gave us. But if they're dead And gone down to Hades, there will be grief For myself and the mother who bore them. The rest of the people won't mourn so much Unless you go down at Achilles' hands. So come inside the wall, my boy. Live to save the men and women of Troy. Don't just hand Achilles the glory And throw your life away. Show some pity for me Before I go out of my mind with grief And Zeus finally destroys me in my old age, After I have seen all the horrors of war— My sons butchered, my daughters dragged off, Raped, bedchambers plundered, infants Dashed to the ground in this terrible war, My sons' wives abused by murderous Greeks. And one day some Greek soldier will stick me With cold bronze and draw the life from my limbs, And the dogs that I fed at my table, My watchdogs, will drag me outside and eat My flesh raw, crouched in my doorway, lapping My blood. When a young man is killed in war, Even though his body is slashed with bronze, He lies there beautiful in death, noble. But when the dogs maraud an old man's head, Griming his white hair and beard and private parts, There's no human fate more pitiable." And the old man pulled the white hair from his head, But did not persuade Hector.

When the victor, in a fight of the cities, according to the law of warfare, executes the whole male population and sells all the women and children into slavery, we see, in the sanction of such a law, that the Greek deemed it a positive necessity to allow his hatred to break forth unimpeded; in such moments the compressed and swollen feeling relieved itself; the tiger bounded forth, a voluptuous cruelty shone out of his fearful eye. Why had the Greek sculptor to represent again and again war and fights in innumerable repetitions, extended human bodies whose sinews are tightened through hatred or through the recklessness of triumph, fighters wounded and writhing with pain, or the dying with the last rattle in their throat? Why did the whole Greek world exult in the fighting scenes of the "Iliad"? I am afraid, we do not understand them enough in "Greek fashion," and that we should even shudder, if for once we did understand them thus. But what lies, as the mother-womb of the Hellenic, behind the Homeric world? In the latter, by the extremely artistic definiteness, and the calm and purity of the lines we are already lifted far above the purely material amalgamation: its colours, by an artistic deception, appear lighter, milder, warmer; its men, in this coloured, warm illumination, appear better and more sympathetic — but where do we look, if, no longer guided and protected by Homer's hand, we step backwards into the pre-Homeric world? Only into night and horror, into the products of a fancy accustomed to the horrible. What earthly existence is reflected in the loathsome-awful theogonian lore: a life swayed only by the children of the night, strife, amorous desires, deception, age and death. Let us imagine the suffocating atmosphere of Hesiod's poem, still thickened and darkened and without all the mitigations and purifications, which poured over Hellas from Delphi and the numerous seats of the gods! If we mix this thickened Boeotian air with the grim voluptuousness of the Etruscans, then such a reality would extort from us a world of myths within which Uranos, Kronos and Zeus and the struggles of the Titans would appear as a relief. Combat in this brooding atmosphere is salvation and safety; the cruelty of victory is the summit of life's glories. And just as in truth the idea of Greek law has developed from murder and expiation of murder, so also nobler Civilisation takes her first wreath of victory from the altar of the expiation of murder. Behind that bloody age stretches a wave-furrow deep into Hellenic history. The names of Orpheus, of Musaeus, and their cults indicate to what consequences the uninterrupted sight of a world of warfare and cruelty led — to the loathing of existence, to the conception of this existence as a punishment to be borne to the end, to the belief in the identity of existence and indebtedness. But these particular conclusions are not specifically Hellenic; through them Greece comes into contact with India and the Orient generally. The Hellenic genius had ready yet another answer to the question: what does a life of fighting and of victory mean? and gives this answer in the whole breadth of Greek history.

Like the dying Roland Akhilleus has his vision (and ours) widened as he makes peace with his soul. At first Roland cannot bear the thought that his sword will fall into another's hands - as in the Iliad the loss of weapons is the ultimate disgrace. Then he reflects that he holds the sword not for his own glory but for that of Charlemagne, finally that the sword, whose pommel contains holy relics, is a symbol of his faith. So Roland dies not cursing his conquerors in heroic style but as a Christian confessing his sins to God. That is the sort of vision an epic poet should have. With Priam kneeling before him Akhilleus too realizes that heroism is not enough. The conclusion of his dictum [A man dies still if he has done nothing, as one who has done much] (9-320) is not that he should do more killing but that he should recognize that all men suffer the same troubles and the same end - that is, that he should shed tears for the nature of things. Accordingly he bows to the will of Zeus, who offers him a new honour (24.110) which victors and defeated can both share.

Souvent il arrivait que papa et Jacky martèlent de concert. Pas un mot, pas un cri, juste des souffles mêlés comme font les amants. De lourds coups sur l’acier, de petits sur l’enclume, en rythme cadencé, sorte de concerto pour enclume et marteaux où la basse continue n’était autre que celle de leurs respirations. Et puis ces escarbilles, toujours ces escarbilles, petites étoiles filantes que chacun d’eux apprivoisait pour qu’elles n’aillent pas, comme des baisers voraces, mordre le corps de l’autre. Et assis sur un banc ou sur un tas de ferraille, un enfant de cinq ans regarde leurs poitrails, écoute leurs silences dans cet orage d’acier et ne croit plus à rien, ni à Dieu, ni à Diable, ni à tous ces héros que déjà il pressent puisqu’il sent bien, ce gosse, qu’il arrive à la vie de parfois défaillir, ou simplement faillir, et qu’il faut certains soirs, pour supporter son poids, accepter les légendes et les mythes qu’ont inventés les hommes afin de s’endormir un petit peu plus grand et à peine moins mortel. Heureusement pour lui, foin d’Ulysse, de Titans, de dragons flamboyants et de dieux en jupette plus ou moins ridicules, il les a sous les yeux ces lares de pleine chair qui dressent des éclairs et créent des épopées avec chaque barre de fer. L’odeur de la limaille, du fer chauffé à rouge, du fer chauffé à blanc, l’odeur des corps en sueur qui parfois s’effaçaient derrière la fumée blanche, l’odeur des grains d’acier en gerbes braisillantes, l’odeur même des marteaux, masses, pinces, massettes, et l’odeur de l’enclume qui les recueillait tous. Papa et Jacky, ferronniers d’art ; ils maîtrisaient le feu mais ignoraient Vulcain, Prométhée et Wotan, Zeus ou Héphaïstos. Les dieux du Walhalla, d’Olympe ou de l’Iliade leur étaient inconnus. Même saint Éloi, patron des forgerons, ne les concernait pas. Ils étaient incultes, c’est-à-dire intelligents mais sans les livres capables de leur nommer, soit cette intelligence, soit cette inculture. Ils s’en moquaient, de tout cela, des trois divinités, des quatre horizons, des douze travaux d’Hercule ou des Mille et Une Nuits. À quoi bon s’inventer des dieux de pacotille quand on en a sous la main et que l’on parvient, à coups brefs et précis, à leur donner la forme que l’on veut. Pas besoin de légende, ils se créaient la leur, façonnant dans l’acier les mots pour la chanter. Et l’enfant de cinq ans lorsqu’il lui adviendra, plus tard, beaucoup plus tard, d’apercevoir Tarzan sautant de liane en liane en se frappant le torse à grands coups de battoir pour ne rien forger d’autre qu’un long cri ridicule, rira comme un beau diable s’il est vrai qu’il s’avère, dans l’Hadès ou ailleurs, qu’un diable puisse être beau.

We have been dreaming of robots since Homer. In Book 18 of the Iliad , Achilles’ mother, the nymph Thetis, wants to order a new suit of armor for her son, and so she pays a visit to the Olympian atelier of the blacksmith-god Hephaestus, whom she finds hard at work on a series of automata: . . . He was crafting twenty tripods to stand along the walls of his well-built manse, affixing golden wheels to the bottom of each one so they might wheel down on their own [automatoi] to the gods’ assembly and then return to his house anon: an amazing sight to see. These are not the only animate household objects to appear in the Homeric epics. In Book 5 of the Iliad we hear that the gates of Olympus swivel on their hinges of their own accord, automatai , to let gods in their chariots in or out, thus anticipating by nearly thirty centuries the automatic garage door. In Book 7 of the Odyssey , Odysseus finds himself the guest of a fabulously wealthy king whose palace includes such conveniences as gold and silver watchdogs, ever alert, never aging. To this class of lifelike but intellectually inert household helpers we might ascribe other automata in the classical tradition. In the Argonautica of Apollonius of Rhodes, a third-century-BC epic about Jason and the Argonauts, a bronze giant called Talos runs three times around the island of Crete each day, protecting Zeus’s beloved Europa: a primitive home alarm system.

My mother, where art thou? In what hills dost thou dwell? Have wild beasts slain thee in thy wandering? But even the wild beasts tremble before the offspring of high Zeus.

In order to understand the conflicts between Zeus and Hera in the myths, we need to understand the symbolism of divine conflict in general. In the Iliad, Hephaistos characterizes the conflict between Zeus and Hera as “for mortals’ sakes” (Il. I 574), inasmuch as bringing forth the mortal world is a “work of sorrow [loigia]” (573). One of the principal theological messages of the Iliad and similar myths is that the Gods enter into conflict with one another to bring forth our own essentially conflictual plane of Being. Driving the process of manifestation forward to its furthest limits requires [155] conflict if things are to fully express themselves and find their niche in the world.