The Atonement of Hercules

Though I became familiar with many of the myths about Hercules from an early age, I did not take any special interest in them, as I initially saw little more than tales about a "strong guy" proving his toughness. I preferred Superman in that regard, because at least Superman was also presented as being driven by his deep sense of right and wrong. 

Only later did I realize how those elements were also present in the stories of Hercules, and I simply hadn't bothered to look as carefully as I should have. I now understand that while I may never have the physical powers of a demigod, there is nothing stopping me from continually training my moral powers. 

The Labors of Hercules are far more than celebrations of brawn, or even of cleverness. The entire context of why he commits to these seemingly impossible tasks is not about bragging rights, but rather about doing something right to make up for something wrong. Yes, I even call it a sort of atonement, since Hercules is doing a form of penance for his sins. 

Hera was not too fond of Hercules, and she had cursed him with a madness. In this enraged state, he murdered his own wife and children. Upon realizing what he had done, Hercules visited the Oracle at Delphi to learn  how he might cleanse himself of his guilt. He was told he must serve at the will of his cousin, King Eurystheus, and to perform any tasks given to him. 

Eurystheus originally demands ten labors, though he ended up considering two to be incomplete, and so there were ultimately twelve. 

There are different versions of these, though this is the set I came to know: 

1) Slaying the Nemean Lion 

2) Slaying the Lernaean Hydra 

3) Capturing the Ceryneian Hind 

4) Capturing the Erymanthian Boar 

5) Cleaning the Augean Stables 

6) Slaying the Stymphalian Birds 

7) Capturing the Cretan Bull 

8) Obtaining the Mares of Diomedes 

9) Obtaining the Girdle of Hippolyta 

10) Obtaining the Cattle of Geryon 

11) Obtaining the Apples of the Hesperides 

12) Capturing Cerberus 

Each of these, of course, has the element of action and adventure, often with a clever twist, and yet I must remember that they are bound together as challenges of character as well as challenges of the body. My duties for the day might not be as grand, though I can still approach them with the same motivation. 

I have wondered if, as with all good stories, their meaning could be taken allegorically, and I will sometimes reflect on one of labors in terms of what symbolic struggle it might represent. Hence I was pleased to find how Heraclitus the Grammarian had already expressed the point much more precisely than I could: 

I turn to Heracles. We must not suppose he attained such power in those days as a result of his physical strength. Rather, he was a man of intellect, an initiate in heavenly wisdom, who, as it were, shed light on philosophy, which had been hidden in deep darkness. 

The most authoritative of the Stoics agree with this account. 

The Erymanthian boar which he overcame is the common incontinence of men; the Nemean lion is the indiscriminate rush towards improper goals; in the same way, by fettering irrational passions he gave rise to the belief that he had fettered the violent Cretan bull. 

He banished cowardice also from the world, in the shape of the hind of Ceryneia. 

There was another "labor" too, not properly so called, in which he cleared out the mass of dung from the Augean stables—in other words, the foulness that disfigures humanity. 

The Stymphalian birds he scattered are the windy hopes that feed our lives; the many-headed hydra that he burned, as it were, with the fires of exhortation, is pleasure, which begins to grow again as soon as it is cut out. . . . 

We all carry our own peculiar burdens, big or small, and Hercules can inspire us in every one of of them. 

—9/2005