EARTH
Who was before I am dark
without limbs, dancing, spinning
space without heat who
was before I am alight
without body, blazing, dividing
continents on rocking mud who
was before I am breathing
without eyes, floating, rooted
bloody with outcry who
was before I am a singing
ground, wormy-dark, alight
aloud with leaves, eyes and
gardeners, the last plants I grew who
uplifted you who
was before I am?
GOD
Who is before you now!
I grasp all ground, mother.
The gardeners you grew were common men, a brood
too silly and shapeless to be any good
outside my state, which has made them new.
They cannot remember being born by you.
They are my image now. I am who
they all want to obey, or if not obey, be.
EARTH
Not Prometheus.
GOD
Yes, Prometheus! Punishment is changing him into a cracked mirror of me.
There is a sudden terrible cry of pain. Two great birds with dripping beaks fly out of the cleft between the earth’s breasts. Light enters it and shows the crucified Prometheus, a strong man of middle age with a bleeding wound in his side. Though smaller than his mother he is a giant to the God who stands high above him and declares that this is the end of the titan who made men, and made them hard to govern, by giving them hope of better life. The great mother, with a touch of passion, tells God that though he is supreme he is also very new, and his state will perish one day, like all states, and only Prometheus knows how. God does not deny this. He says he has a lot of work to do and will reconsider the case of Prometheus when he has more time. He turns and goes down behind the earth’s head.
The cloud closes over her. Prometheus, twisting his face up, asks the gods on the ridge to tell him the present state of mankind. They sing a chorus describing the passage of over two thousand years. Men combine into rich empires by many submitting to a few. They discover the world is vaster than they thought, and add new realms to tyranny. Liberators are born who create new religions and states, and the rulers of the world take these over and continue to tighten their grip. At last human cunning grasps, not just the world but the moon and the adjacent planets, yet half mankind dies young from bad feeding, and young courage and talent is still warped and killed by warfare. The controllers of the world fear the people under them as much as each other, and are prepared to defend their position by destroying mankind and the earth which bore them. This is the final state to which we have been brought by cunning without foresight. Prometheus cries out, “This cannot last!” From the middle of her cloud this cry is repeated by the great mother, then by the chorus and orchestra, and then (the cloud clearing) by God himself, who stands on the height with his arms flung sideways in a gesture which resembles the crucified Prometheus. God is also now a middle-aged man. He walks down from the height, sits on the edge of the cleft and tries to engage Prometheus in friendly conversation. He is sorry he punished Prometheus so harshly and promises not to set vultures on him again. When he came to power he had to be harsh, to keep control. People needed strong government, in those days, to drag them out of the idicoy of rural life. But the whole world now belongs to the city states. He is sure Prometheus knows that neither of them is completely good or completely bad, and have a lot to give each other. If they cooperate they can save mankind. He asks Prometheus for the secret of the force which will destroy him. Prometheus asks to be released first. God is sorry, but he cannot release Prometheus. If he did Prometheus would seize power.
GOD
I am not the stark power who chained you here.
I am softened by what you endured, while my laws
have made you a hard reflection of the tyrant I once was.
It cannot be right to enthrone
a killing revenge the world should have outgrown,
or if right, then right will make greater wrong.
PROMETHEUS
It is right to give back what you stole — liberty.
You see me as I am. You cannot see
who I will become when I am free.
Why do you think I will kill?
GOD
Your every glance threatens me terrible ill.
PROMETHEUS
I am in pain! My illness, the illness you dread, is yours, is you!
GOD
Then endure my terrible nature!
I must endure it too.
(God has lost his temper. Prometheus laughs bitterly.)
PROMETHEUS
At last you unmask, old man
and show what you are again:
the ruler of a kingdom kept by pain.
All history has added nothing to you
but a mad wish to be pitied for what you do.
I paused. My woman said, “What happens then?” I said, “I cannot imagine.”
She started laughing. I said, “To end happily my play needs a new character, someone we have already seen, without much interest, in the chorus, or even audience. The action until now is between a man, a big woman, and another man. To strike a balance the fourth character must be a woman. She is a new wisdom who will unite our imprisoned intelligence with the productive earth, reducing government from a form of mastery to a form of service. She is sensuous, for both governments and rebels keep asking us to crush our senses in order to gain an ultimate victory which never arrives. But she is not disorderly, not a beatnik, not careless. She is living proof that when our senses are freed from fear our main desire is to make the world a good home for everyone. I cannot concive such a heroine. Can you conceive her? Could we conceive her together?” My woman looked thoughtful then said slowly, “I am qualified to assist you. I have been a daughter and a mother, a victim and a tyrant. I saw my father torment his wife into her grave. I have driven a man to suicide, or very nearly. I know how love heats and warps us, but I feel there is still hope for me, and the world.”
I said, “That indicates a kind of balance.”
“I have climbed mountains in Scotland and Germany. I have swum underground rivers in the Auvergne.”
I said, “That also indicates balance, but a balance of extremes. The tension you feel must be nearly unbearable. We must connect the extremes where you squander so much energy with the centre where my knowledge lies chained and stagnant.”
Her mouth and eyes opened wide, she raised her chin and gazed upward like the Pythoness on the tripod when Apollo enters her. For nearly a minute she became pure priestess. Then her gaze shrank, descended and focussed on the table where my great, droll, attentive head rested sideways on my folded arms. A look of incredulity came upon her face. I had never before seemed to her so improbably grotesque. She pretended to glance at her wristwatch, saying, “Excuse me, I must go.”