The Gift_ Creativity and the Artist in the Modern World - Lewis Hyde [148]
If we imagine an ancient road at dusk, a road passing through no-man’s-land and connecting two towns but itself neither here nor there, we will begin to imagine the ancient Hermes, for he is the God of the Roads, identified not with any home or hearth or mountain but with the traveler on the highway. His name means “he of the stone heap”: a traveler seeking the protection of Hermes would pile rocks into a cairn by the road or erect a herma, a stone pillar with a head on top.
At these roadside altars Hermes assumed his other ancient forms, the God of Commerce and the Protector of Thieves. He wants everything to be on the road: travelers, money, and merchandise. And as his patronage of both merchants and thieves shows, the moral tone of an exchange does not concern him. Hermes is an amoral connecting deity. When he’s the messenger of the gods he’s like the post office: he’ll carry love letters, hate letters, stupid letters, or smart letters. His concern is the delivery, not what’s in the envelope. He wants money to change hands, but he does not distinguish between the just price and a picked pocket. Hermes still appears at a country auction whenever the auctioneer awakens our daydreams of “making a steal,” that Hermetic mixture of commerce and larceny that cannot fail to loosen the cash. When we come to our senses later, wondering why we bought a cardboard carton full of pan lids, we know that Hermes was the auctioneer.
Hermes is not greedy, however. He likes the clink of coin but he has no hidden pile. Pictures of Hermes usually show him with a little bag of change, just enough to get the trading started. He’s no miser asleep on heaps of gold. He loves the fluidity of money, not the weight. When he’s a thief he’s usually a generous thief. In the Homeric Hymn to Hermes, the newborn god steals some of Apollo’s cattle but immediately sacrifices them to the other gods. Later he invents the lyre and makes it a gift to Apollo, who, though he’s still angry about the cattle, gives Hermes a staff in return. Hermes is hardly a god of gift exchange, but as the gift is marked by motion, he is not its antagonist, either.
Unlike the other gods, Hermes is never identified with a place. He can stay “on the road” because he has no territory to defend. Other Greek gods have, as it were, an ego position to uphold; they can always be pinned down, therefore, caught in a streak of vanity. Hermes is untrappable. It’s not that he’s humble, he’s shameless. After he steals Apollo’s cattle, Apollo (who’s very serious about right and wrong) takes the thief before Zeus. But Hermes just invents a fantastic lie, until Zeus, who knows very well what has happened, begins to laugh at his brassy denials. In that laugh Hermes remains free; he can’t be hooked on Apollo’s moral tone.
Hermes is sexually shameless as well. In the Odyssey Hephaestus makes a magic net and catches his wife in bed with Ares. The gods gather around, laughing at the trapped adulterers, and when someone says, “Can you imagine yourself in Ares’ position?” only Hermes pipes up: “Yes!” He can climb into bed when the chance arises, but never gets stuck there. He has none of the virtues of the hearth. He’s a god of what we call “cheap sex,” sex on the highway. People who go through a series of casual affairs after a divorce have put themselves in the care of Hermes. Their other gods, those who call for more durable affection, may speak up (“Will he be with you on Christmas?”), but the first sparks of erotic fantasy cannot be struck from such serious tones.
Hermes can’t be trusted, of course. They say “he either guides the way or leads astray.” If you are stuck, Hermes will get you into bed or sell you something or push you down