"Lessons from Ovid" by John Amos

It’s an old story but a good one: a story for our own time, really.

And my guess is, not many people have heard it before. A short version goes something like this.

The man knew what he was doing, but he did it anyway. And then he laughed about it. As he laid the axe to the trunk of the oak, he knew he was wrong, defying the will of the gods. He knew these trees were sacred, but he just kept going. Without a qualm, he hacked down every tree in the grove. Then he looked up and scoffed, as if to say, “What are you going to do about it?”

But the gods will not be mocked.

They visited on him a punishment, tailored to fit his crime. They condemned him to perpetual, infinite, insatiable hunger.

During the day he ate everything within reach but was never satisfied. At night he dreamed of banquets, but the food tasted of nothing. Emptying bowls of heaped food, he craved bigger bowls, heaped higher. Food for a whole city could not satisfy him. Eventually he sold all his property, converting every possession into what he could eat.

At last, mad with hunger, a monster no longer a man, he gnawed his own limbs, and in a final feast, devoured himself.

Listen and learn: The gods will not be mocked.

That story, about a fool named Erisichthon*, comes from the ancient Roman poet, Ovid. His timeless work of mythology, Metamorphoses, contains dozens of such cautionary tales; and though it was written almost 2000 years ago during the reign of Augustus Caesar, it’s more than worth reading today.

Certainly Erisichthon’s story about human arrogance and the desecration of the natural world pertains to our day and time. If we listen, it has much to say about our insatiable appetite for more, our instinctual drive to consume without ever being satisfied. And it has even more to say about a race that’s blithely, casually intent on destroying the planet. Most importantly, it insists that there will be payback for our foolishness.

I recently read this story with a group of high school seniors. They got it. Immediately, intuitively. I didn’t need to preach about the environment or rampant consumerism or the spiritual emptiness of material things.

A good teacher just gets out of the way and lets the poet speak:

“None of it was enough. Whatever he ate
Maddened and tormented his hunger
To angrier, uglier life.”

Here’s a sampling of similar stories you can find in Ovid’s Metamorphoses: King Midas, granted the golden touch, realizes too late that he can’t drink water without it turning to gold in his mouth. Arachne challenges the goddess Athena to a weaving contest, loses and is transformed into a spider. Icarus escapes the Labyrinth on wings attached to his shoulders with wax. When he flies too close to the sun, the wings melt, and he falls into the sea. Narcissus stares into a pool and falls in love with his own reflection.

These stories, with their fairy tale qualities, might seem aimed at children. And in fact, it’s not hard to find beautifully illustrated, tamed-down versions in the children’s sections of bookstores.
But Ovid isn’t for children. He’s for adults. To quote poet Ted Hughes, “Above all, Ovid is interested in passion. Or rather, what passion feels like to the one possessed by it. Not just ordinary passion either, but human passion in the extreme—passion where it combusts…”

“Combustible passion.” Now there’s an idea that accurately describes our time. Terrorists strap bombs to themselves and blow up the innocent. Preachers beat the Bible and then get caught with their pants down. Cities burn as sports fans “celebrate” victory.

Listen. Every murder, rape, and suicide, every ugly out-of-control argument, every tongue-lashing a parent gives a child and every temper tantrum that child throws to get his way, every incident of road-rage, every common adultery, every needle in every vein: behind it all is passion run amok.

I’m telling you, Ovid speaks to our age. People are people: 2000 years ago in Rome or today in the United States. We’re all slaves to passion.

The great Roman poet shows us who and what we really are. Which is precisely why we should continue to read him.

- John Amos
from his column "Every Now and Then"
©2008 by John Amos, reprinted by permission
"Every Now And Then: Occasional Essays"

*My prose retelling of the Erisichthon story borrows phrases from Ted Hughes’ beautiful modern-verse translation, Tales from Ovid. Farrar, Strauss, and Giroux, 1997

Day 41 of the WJMA Web Watch.

Mything the Point

John Amos had an excellent article in the Orange Review this past week (sorry, no link -- I'll see if I can get permission to reprint it here). Amos was talking about how Bible stories are no longer a part of our common heritage, and how that stunted a modern reader's understanding of classic literature.

His column comes on the heels of a recent experience my wife had. She's a social worker and took a new worker out on a child protective services call with her. Two divorced parents were fighting (literally) over custody of their children, and my wife explained that she was going to use the Judgement of Solomon to break the deadlock. She was met with a blank look.

On the way back to the office afterward, the worker revealed that she had never heard of Solomon, and had no idea what my wife was talking about.

According to Amos, that kind of ignorance is becoming increasingly common. While most people are fully conversant with pop culture references, Bible stories are almost unknown. Ditto for Greek mythology and other bulwarks of Western civilization.

One of my favorite books in elementary school was "D'Aulaires Book of Greek Myths." I discovered it in 6th grade and read and reread it many times. It very simply (and with a lot of pictures) told the stories of the Greek gods and heroes. What a cool book. It's where I learned about Athena springing full-grown from Zeus' head, and Pandora's box, the punishment of Sisyphus, Jason and the Argonauts, Hercules, and the rest.

I've since read other more extensive tellings, but it gave me a good grounding in classical literature (just as Sunday School gave me a solid background in the Bible).

So why is any of this important?

Because these stories can still speak to us. I've used the illustration of the Sword of Damocles before -- and it was a perfect illustration of my point. I'm not a good leader, and when people insist on putting me in charge of their committee, I warn them it's like Phaeton taking the reigns.

Stomping out terrorism is likeHercules fighting the hydra -- cut off one head, and two grow in its place. Hercules defeated the monster by doing something different, and perhaps there's a lesson for us as well.

If you're not familiar with Greek mythology, pick up a copy of D'Aulaires' book, or Edith Hamilton's "Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes" and treat yourself. They're both enjoyable reads, and you'll be surprised at how much more conversant you'll be about other fields that reference Greek mythology.

The psychological condition of narcissism references the story of Narcissus (as does the flower that shares his name). Vulcanization refers to Vulcan ( the Roman name for Hephaestus) in describing this fire-based process. The Achilles' tendon is located at the one spot this Greek hero was vulnerable. The word "tantalize" comes from the myth of Tantalus -- and there's many more.

So I'm with John Amos on this one. Sure, its great to be able to catch that reference to "Jerry McGuire" (you had me at [fill in the blank]), but that's a much shallower form of cultural literacy. Having a working knowledge of Greek mythology will just make you a better-informed person in many ways.

And the Bible? Well, a thorough knowledge of that book can be even more rewarding.

- Ralph