My Life as Athena: The Private Memoirs of a Greek Goddess

by Daphne Ignatius

  I have to mention the goddess Morrigan, as she holds the distinction of being the only foreign deity who successfully repulsed a Roman invasion multiple times. In the words of today’s youth: she was kickass. I wished that I could have gotten to know her.

  Julius Caesar attempted to invade Britannia twice, but was unable to hold it each time. It was during the second attempt that my father sent Ares and me to help. The Catuvelauni tribesmen of Britannia were formidable warriors, but they also magically seemed to be able to foretell what Caesar was about to do. As the legion marched, soldiers were picked off only to return as artistically mutilated corpses on the trail ahead. Rumors ran wild in the Roman encampment that dark creatures watched them from the thick tree line. Ares dismissed the rumors as the raving of superstitious soldiers, but truth be told, I too felt it.

  It turned out that Morrigan had her ravens all over Caesar’s encampment, listening to his soldiers’ battle plans. No wonder, then, that the Catuvelauni were always prepared for us. I saw Morrigan herself only once, during a riverside battle. She stood behind her people, her dark feather cloak covering her from neck to ankle. She made an intimidating figure, with her long black hair and bleached skin; terrible yet striking. Her eyes found me across the lines of struggling men. She gave me one quick nod of acknowledgement before dissolving into a flock of ravens that dived into the mass of soldiers to sow confusion and claw out a few eyeballs.

  Morrigan managed to repulse the great Caesar twice, but was defeated by Claudius a hundred years later. Even then, she wasn’t completely done. It took a couple of centuries, but the Romans finally abandoned Britannia as being too troublesome to bother holding. Though it was disloyal of me, I got a deep sense of satisfaction that ultimately it was a goddess who managed to evict Rome.

  The centuries passed and the Roman Republic evolved into an empire, with an emperor at the head of it. As Zeus was our king, you would have thought we would have been comfortable with the idea of a monarch. Yet even with a titular king, we Olympians still operated on a system of consensus, with a voting council and Zeus acting as tiebreaker. Thus, the elevation of a single fallible mortal with the ability to affect the lives of millions of citizens felt like a very bad idea.

  It started with Julius Caesar, who first pushed the idea to his peers of being a living god. We all know what happened to Caesar after that point: He roasts in Tartarus along with Alexander, as we speak.

  His heir Octavian was far more intelligent. He caught Zeus’s attention when he went up against Mark Anthony and Cleopatra and won. He was a man after Zeus’s heart: unrelentingly ambitious, but with the outward appearance of humility and devotion to the gods. Zeus began communicating with Octavian in his dreams and guided him to a spectacular career. At his death, the senate voted to make him a god. Since Octavian had nothing to do with that particular declaration, he was spared and went to Elysium in recognition of his accomplishments.

  Over time, Zeus recognized the benefit of having the emperor’s interest aligned with his. Zeus was at the height of his reign, worshipped by millions. He had power aplenty, and he used it to bind each emperor to him by granting them the one thing they couldn’t get for themselves. He gifted them with just enough divine power and ability to convince the populace that they really were living gods.

  In gratitude and to maintain their own supremacy, each emperor made it a priority to continue expanding the empire, until Rome held supreme control over the lives of millions.

  A New Religion

  Around 60 AD, a new challenge appeared on the horizon. Thirty years before, an iterant preacher in Judea had been crucified for preaching about a new kingdom with the Jewish god, Jehovah, as its king (or something like that). He managed to antagonize the leaders of his own people, who then chose to present him to the Roman leadership for judgment. As Rome generally had a dim view of anybody who challenged its authority, the man was promptly executed and buried. Usually, such a person would slide into an ignominious obscurity, but this man had dedicated followers who travelled through the empire claiming that he had risen from the dead. Of course, these followers couldn’t prove that this man had indeed risen from the dead, but the poor and the gullible still fell for it.

  Initially, we didn’t pay this Christ any attention. We had traditionally maintained a non-interference policy with other gods. Let the Judeans keep their god and this crazed preacher, if that was their will. They were on the fringes of the empire anyway. Surprisingly, over the course of thirty years, the cult of Christ defied expectations and spread like wildfire among the lowest strata of society, even into Rome itself. It was only when Christianity penetrated the middle class that we began to pay attention. And once we looked closer, what we saw disturbed us.

  “I don’t understand why women are joining this religion,” said Aphrodite, wrinkling her nose. “There’s nothing in it for them that I can see.”

  “A god can’t possibly understand the challenges and fears a woman deals with in daily life,” replied Hera dismissively. “It takes a goddess to understand the fears of a woman risking her life in childbirth, or to intervene as an invading army reaches her city. A religion without a feminine balance cannot last.”

  “We are not perfect, but we have never claimed to be the only immortals in this universe,” I countered. The other council members nodded in agreement. “We acknowledge the sovereignty of other deities, even as we face them in conflict. That is something to take pride in.”

  Zeus lounged silently on his throne, fingering his beard as the debate continued around him. Eventually, he straightened and spoke. “We need to get closer to this religion, to understand if it is just a harmless cult or a true threat.” There were nods all around.

  “Athena, find these Christians and investigate,” Zeus added, his gaze swinging around to meet mine. “Find out if they are a danger to Rome or to us. We will make a final decision then.”

  I inclined my head silently to indicate agreement. “I will return shortly with my findings.”

  I knew that finding the Christians would not be easy, as they did not have an established temple, as far as I was aware. However, I also knew that the courtyard fountains that supplied water to the neighborhoods were the perfect place to start searching for them. Everyone needed water, and the local women used the fountains as a gathering place to share gossip. I cloaked myself and haunted a high-volume fountain, eavesdropping on the people dropping by to fill their amphora. Most of the conversations were useless to me, but I did eventually gather that the Christians used a fish symbol to identify themselves.

  The streets of Rome were “decorated” with graffiti well above the height of a man. Graffiti was the ever-present backdrop to daily life, and people quickly learned to ignore it. Nevertheless, it was the graffiti that eventually led me to a Christian gathering place. Once I started looking, the fish symbol was everywhere, most commonly near the base of the wall where eyes wouldn’t wander unless looking specifically for it. I found one such trail and followed it to a narrow side street that looked primarily residential. That’s where the trail of fishes ended.

  Looking about me in puzzlement, I couldn’t figure out to which residence the trail was pointing. The buildings looked identical, and there was only a butcher shop and a hair styling business on that particular street. Puzzled, I sat invisibly on a stoop and watched the activity on the street.

  Luckily for me, it wasn’t particularly busy or I might not have noticed that the people who entered the butcher shop didn’t always come back out. Within the space of an hour, three men and one woman entered, but none of them exited. The next time a customer entered the shop, I trailed him invisibly. The shop was narrow, the butcher chopping a cow leg on a counter near its entrance. The man I was following reached under the neck of his tunic and showed something to the butcher. The butcher nodded and returned to his work, while the customer slipped by him and went out the back door. I followed him out into a bright courtyard that contained a medium-sized shed. The m
an opened the shed door and slipped quietly inside, with me close behind.

  Inside the dim shed were a number of ice slabs with meat arrayed on top. There were also several men and women crammed inside, including the ones I had noticed earlier in the day. They were already deep in prayer, keeping their voices low. It was then that I saw that each of them wore a pendant around their necks, in the shape of a cross. I recoiled automatically at the sight. The cross at that time was a symbol of disgrace and punishment. Back then, choosing to wear a cross would have been as bizarre as a person wearing a hangman’s noose in today’s world.

  There was nothing unusual about the people clustered in that shed, with the exception of their crosses. A middle-aged man in the center led the prayers in a low voice. He spoke of the sacrifice of this Christ, who was supposedly the son of their god. He went on to speak of a new kingdom of heaven that they would all eventually join. Only those who believed in Christ could go to heaven, the rest would burn in a land that sounded much like Tartarus.

  In truth, everything the Christian leader said was typical religious dogma. Every religion has a heaven that their followers aspire to, and most have a realm of punishment. Every religion stresses positive behavior while discouraging damaging behavior. The unusual thing about this particular religion was that the Christian leader stressed that their god was the only true god and that we, the Olympians, were false gods who didn’t exist.

  I was insulted and out of patience. I was certainly not false. Although I was not as all-powerful as most humans thought, I absolutely did have the power to condemn a soul to Tartarus or elevate them to Elysium. It was lucky for them that it was I, and not Zeus, who overheard them. My father would have called down a thunderbolt for their impiety.

  The next time the council met, I gave them my impressions.

  “These Christians seem to be a fairly harmless sect. They believe in spreading love, peace, and self-restraint. They claim that the preacher they worship is actually the son of their god. This Jesus Christ intentionally allowed himself to be crucified in order to save their souls.” The rest of the council members glanced at each other in puzzlement.

  “How would a bad death change anything?” asked Hera.

  “I don’t know. I don’t understand it myself. I believe they see suffering as the road to salvation,” I replied. I took a deep breath. This next part wouldn’t go over well. “They also claim that their god Jehovah is the only true god and that we, Olympians, are false and do not actually exist.” The council didn’t react the way I expected. They broke out into gales of laughter.

  “So this minor desert god that we trounced, is the only true god?” Apollo wiped a tear of laughter from his right eye as he looked around the rest of the council. “And before us, his people were enslaved by the Egyptians! No wonder he claims that suffering leads to salvation! Suffering is the only thing he’s been able to deliver on!” More laughter. Even Zeus produced a thin smile before it disappeared beneath his flowing beard.

  “By claiming that he is the only true god, this Jehovah has insulted not only us, but all the other gods and goddesses that we know of,” added Zeus in an even voice. “I will not permit outright disrespect in our lands. I don’t care what these Christians do in private, but they will show us the respect that we are due in public.”

  So, that was why Zeus whispered to Emperor Nero in his sleep, that the Christians needed to demonstrate loyalty to Rome and to its gods. If you’ve heard of Nero, you know that he wasn’t the most stable man. Nero promptly went overboard, convinced that the Christians were un-Roman and were plotting to overthrow his rule. Before we knew it, he had hunted down several Christian leaders and blamed the great fire of 64 AD on the Christians.

  Although the persecution of Christians was not our original intent, we did nothing to stem it and, frankly, I didn’t have a problem with that. When you criticize your hosts, you must be prepared to live with the consequences.

  Thanks to Nero’s influence, the average citizen learned to view Christians with great suspicion. At best, it was a strange cult that worshipped an executed criminal and refused to acknowledge the divine nature of the emperor. At worst, they were terrorists, and posed a grave threat to decent society. Christianity was driven underground, where it continued to spread in secret. Nero’s successors tended towards moderation, utilizing social stigma to discriminate against the new religion. That changed three hundred years later, when the situation rapidly heated to a boil.

  Opening Gambit

  By any standard, Diocletian was a hard man. He had spent forty years in the military, and it showed in the way that he handled the empire. He ruled it with an iron fist.

  In 303 AD, he decided to use much more radical methods to force Christians into the fold. He started actively looking for worshippers of Christ, most of whom practiced their religion privately and weren’t bothering anyone. He passed edicts rescinding their legal rights, and demanded that they publically adhere to traditional Roman religious practices. Those who refused to acknowledge his divinity or make sacrifices were arrested and creatively executed in an arena for the entertainment of the masses.

  Zeus and Hera were very supportive of Diocletian’s actions. Over the centuries under Roman influence, we had all changed, but none more than our leaders. Zeus had always been flawed, but his ability to influence the policies of the empire through his pet emperors had made him dictatorial and arrogant. Hera too had been demanding, but her rigidity had once been balanced with a deep compassion. Over the centuries, I saw that compassion warp as the Roman way of life influenced her. Even gentle Hestia hardened, condemning a couple of her vestals to a lingering death because they broke their vows of chastity.

  It sounds terribly arrogant, but I was the only one who didn’t change for the worse. I escaped purely because I was on the decline and simply didn’t have the number of worshippers to affect me the way the others had been affected. When Zeus requested the presence of the council at one of the emperor’s games, I couldn’t refuse.

  I stood alone at the railing of the royal box with the council seated behind me. Diocletian was not present that day, even though he was paying for the games out of his own purse. The games started as they usually did, with a parade of gladiators, animals in cages, and speeches. Once the formalities were done, the crowd settled in for the rest of the day.

  The first entertainment started, featuring a mangy lion set against a bull. They were released into the arena to the cheers of the packed Coliseum. The lion had clearly been starved, its ribs showing through its tawny skin. The bull was in its prime, muscled and bestowed with a pair of metal-tipped horns. It faced the lion with horns lowered, shaking its head threateningly.

  The lion tried repeatedly to circle to reach the bull’s hindquarters, but the bull anticipated his every move, adroitly turning to keep his eye on the lion. The volume of cheers escalated each time the lion darted forward, fading to easy laughter each time it failed to flank the bull. As the starving lion’s strength faded, it slowed before finally making one last desperate attempt. This time, the bull lunged forward, horns lowered, and caught the lion squarely on its horns. The metal tips sank easily into the lion’s flank and its cry of pain sent the crowd to its feet, screaming in excitement. The bull tossed its head and the lion literally flew over its back to land in a heap. The bull wheeled around and finished the lion with its hooves. The volume of the mob was earsplitting as bloodlust was satisfied for the first time that day.

  The next display was what my father had come to see. A ragtag group of four unarmed Christians, three men and one woman, were shoved into the arena. They stumbled around, blinking in the bright sunshine, clearly aware of what was to come. One man leapt up the side of the arena, trying to get a handhold on the smooth stone, but dropped to the floor each time. Another man, probably the husband, took the woman in his arms as if to offer a last moment of comfort as she wept into his chest. It was heartbreaking to watch, even as the booing and the insults from the c
rowd around me increased. Zeus stepped up next to me, so I glanced over at him.

  “You disapprove?” he asked.

  I chose my words carefully, as I suspected the others would be listening. “I have always disapproved of forcing religion on other cultures.”

  “These people were born in Rome. They were born to us. They converted to Christianity of their own free will.”

  I tried a different tack. “What use is it to command worship from those who do not truly believe in us? Such prayers are worthless. Would it not be better to let them go and invest in the true believers?”

  “So you think demanding loyalty from our people is unreasonable.”

  “You’re trying to put words in my mouth, Father,” I said. “I value loyalty if it is heartfelt. Is it really loyalty if you feel nothing, and are just going through the motions?”

  Zeus sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t dance around with words so much, Athena. Just say what you mean. Do you think this punishment is inappropriate?”

  “Yes, I do,” I said honestly.

  In the arena, two lions and two bears were released—one predator for each of the humans. The Christians fled to the furthest end of the Coliseum, to no avail. Their wails of fear rose on the air, paired with the cheering from the crowd.

  “What would you do with these Christians, then?” asked Zeus. “You’ve agreed that their philosophy of one god is inaccurate and disrespectful to us. These people refuse to recognize our authority in any way. They refuse to acknowledge your authority.”

  “I would treat them the same way we treat the Jews, who share many of the same tenets. Let them pay a fine for the privilege of practicing their religion. The pain to the pocket alone will discourage new followers.”