Hello RIL-ers. Hope you are all in the best of health and happiness. RIL is very quiet these days probably because its summer and everyone’s either vacationing or doing some extra work. So for our mutual entertainment purposes I am posting here an in class exam I had for my ‘Greek Mythology’ course.

To know what the question was about it is first important to know the Myth of Tantalus. For a detailed review visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tantalus. For a shorter review, read my summary: Tantalus was a human in Greek Mythology who was favoured by the gods and invited often to their dinner table. However, being a Promethean figure he chose to steal the sacred nectar (ambrosia) from the gods and give it to humans. Some versions of the myth say that the nectar made its drinker immortal. This angered the gods and they punished him in Tartarus (the underworld) by imprisoning him in a place that had luscious fruits hanging from tree boughs above him and sweet water at his feet but whenever he would reach out to eat the fruit or drink the water, they would recede from him. The word ‘tantalize’ finds its roots in Tantalus’ name. Some version also say that there was a boulder hanging over his head forever threatening to fall. A few versions of the myth state his crime not as stealing from the gods but killing his own son, dismembering him, cooking him and serving him to the gods only to test if the gods could distinguish between human and animal flesh.

The question required our opinion about Tantalus’ punishment, whether we thought it was justified or not and what changes would we make to it if we were the judge. We could take any critical/analytical/creative approach to it. Following is my answer.

The bell tolls, the doors of the courtroom open, the trial is about to start. Tantalus stands trial today; he has stolen the nectar from the table of the gods, the sacred ambrosia that can give eternal life. The two lawyers will fight their case and look to the judge for the final decision. The judge sits there in his starched suit, poised, erect, a symbol of justice, an epitome of objectivity. Surely he has to decide the case in the light of the law, he can’t let personal feelings come in between. Everybody has total faith in his power of decision. And the judge looks upon them with a face as stoic as a rock, “of course my children,” he seems to say “of course the decision would be neutral and impartial.”

But those clothes, that face, that elevated pedestal hides a lot. And I can tell you that because I am in that position today. Behind my impartial face, I hide my biases. I am a human and no matter how much I try to be neutral, my sympathies lie with Tantalus. Call me unfair if want, but where will you find fairness in a world that is inherently unfair? Oh forget humans, I am talking about gods. The hearing starts, the case is made against Tantalus.

“We invited him into our homes, on our dinner table, we shared our food with him and his insolence! He stole it! Stole the sacred nectar, the ambrosia from us! And his nerve, he gave it to the mortals! Those lowly creatures subject to death will now compete with us? Gods!” the opposing god-lawyer thunders against Tantalus. He has more to say, I can see that from his face, but I make a little note on my diary, ‘Abusing humans-not a smart move.’

“Proceed,” I calmly tell him.

“And now, the audacity of the jury to grant him a hearing only after five years of his tantalizing punishment in Tartarus!” the opposing lawyers roars on, “I say he should stay there for an eternity. No! Better yet, he should be killed!”

“I object me-laaard!” the defending human lawyer interjects, “Stealing is a crime, yes, but hasn’t Tantalus done his time for that? Stealing does not demand killing, not even a five year sentence that he has already done.”

“Objection noted,” I say calmly and tell the first lawyer to bring forth any more points.

“I have full confidence that you will make the right decision about this case,” he addresses me and I make another small note ‘too much buttering-distasteful,’ and continue to hear his next point.

“He dismembered his son’s body, cooked it and served it to the gods! Oh his nerve, he wanted to check if the gods could differentiate between human or animal flesh!”

“Objection me-laaard, it was offered as a sacrifice to the gods, a sacrifice to please them. What better thing can be offered by a mortal than his own flesh and blood? His own child! Nothing can be nobler!” retorts the defending lawyer.

Tantalus stands in his place like a rock, waiting for his fate, waiting for my verdict. I restore order in the court and command them to stop the bickering that has started amongst them.

“Do you have any more charges?” I ask the god-lawyer.

“No me-laaard,” he answers, “I put all my faith in your decision now.” I put a // sign under the previous note I made about buttering in my small diary.

I ask the same thing to the human lawyer. He does not have anything more to add, but he does not have any comment about my power of decision either. ‘No artificial modesty-admirable,’ I write down.

“Firstly,” I start my verdict and all eyes are riveted on me, “I think it is unfair that Tantalus has not been allowed a hearing in the past five years he’s been bound in Tartarus. It was his due right. Secondly,” I continue immediately, feeling that if I stop, people would start to talk, “Tantalus’ punishment was prescribed by the judge who ruled his court before me. I did not agree with its severity. To torture someone like that! To make him live in the eternal fear of a boulder falling on his head! To entice him with luscious fruit and sweet water only to draw it away when he reaches for it! What cruelty! It is like condemning a person to a life time of listening to the ticking of the clock or the dripping of water. Maddening!”

I pause and I take a breath, observing the tense faces around me.

“I had no power to object to this punishment back then, but I am the ruling judge now, and I, using the power the state has vested in me” (and here I glance at the god-lawyer who had so much faith in my decision,) “I free Tantalus of all charges. The punishment he has borne is more than enough!”

“Oh tyranny!” the opposing judge spits out, “Stealing and cannibalism not acknowledged as big enough crimes, oh god of justice, where art thou?”

“I do not,” I shout, to make my voice louder than the lawyer’s, “I do not endorse stealing or cannibalism, they remain vices in all books of law. But the judiciary interprets these laws. The age when our morals were measured against those written in books of law is long gone. If a human’s trial is being conducted against a god, the god’s moral standards become my judgment standards. And stealing! How many times have you gods stolen from each other? Oh how many times have you stolen from humans? Does Zeus not steal every girl’s virginity he sets his heart on?”

“I, by no standards, endorse cannibalism either, but did Uranus not eat his own children? Did Mot not chew Baal like a morsel? Do not get me started on cannibalism in your race, you god! This case is closed to hearing!” I concretize its finality by striking my wooden hammer on the table.

Everyone starts to file out of the courtroom silently. They do not have any arguments left. Tantalus, joyous, relieved of his misery is the last one to leave the room. As he leaves I feel, for an instant, that he turns back and winks at me.

True, I said I was bias, but at the end of the trial, did I not make a good enough argument? As I close the court room door behind me I wonder, “Have the gods made this human cleverer than themselves, unintentionally? Are they regretting it now?”