#3: Hercules & Pantagruel

Maybe I was being a bit too hard on myself last week by comparing my current woes to Sisyphus. If I’m looking for inspiration, then maybe I should look to a more positive Greek role model.

Like Hercules.

Hercules was sent by the god Apollo to work for ten years in the service of the king of Mycenae, Eurystheus. Over the decade King Eurystheus set him a series of twelve difficult feats, impossible for most mere mortals. But Hercules was a demi-god, so he got on with it.

But even as a demi-god, surely he must have felt a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction once the twelve challenges were completed?

Even though his labours were strenuous, perilous, maybe even at times as painful as getting your liver pecked out, there must have been some satisfaction in achieving these incredible deeds. Unlike poor old Sisyphus, Hercules got the job done.

Except…

The tasks certainly required superhuman strength and cunning, but none of them actually left him with a useful skill or any knowledge he could use afterwards.

You can only slay the fabled Nemean lion once. After you’ve defeated the Lernaean Hydra, remembering how you did that doesn’t really come in handy again for your future travels around Greece.

Isn’t it better to spend your time on things that will be useful again later? Practical stuff, like learning how to make a nice moussaka? I guess Hercules didn’t really have a choice about how he spent his time while he was employed by Eurystheus.

OK forget Hercules.

You’ve probably never heard of Pantagruel, but chances are you have heard of his father, Gargantua. If the name seems familiar, it may be because it’s where we get the English word gargantuan from. He was a giant with a voracious appetite.

Written by Francois Rabelais in the 16th century, The Life of Gargantua and of Pantagruel is a series of novels telling the adventures of the two giants. It seems that in his father’s eyes, Pantagruel had a lot to live up to before he could be considered a man of the world.

Gargantua demanded of his son the following labours:

“I intend and insist that you learn all languages perfectly; first of all Greek, in Quintilian’s method; then Latin, then Hebrew, then Arabic and Chaldee. I wish you to form your style of Greek on the model of Plato, and of Latin on that of Cicero.

Let there be no history you have not at your fingers’ ends, and study thoroughly cosmography and geography. Of liberal arts, such as geometry mathematics, and music, I gave you a taste when not above five years old, and I would have you now master them fully. Study astronomy, but not divination and judicial astrology, which I consider mere vanities. As for civil law, I would have thee know the digests by heart.

You should also have a perfect knowledge of the works of Nature, so that there is no sea, river or smallest stream that you do not know for what fish is noted, whence it proceeds and whither it directs its course; all fowls of the air, all shrubs and trees where forest or orchard, all herbs and flowers, all metals and stones, should be mastered by you.

Fail not at the same time most carefully to peruse the Talmudists and Cabalists and be sure by frequent anatomies to gain perfect knowledge of that other world called the microcosm, which is man. Master these in your young days, and let nothing be superficial; as you grow into manhood you must learn chivalry, warfare, and field manoeuvres.”

So in modern terms this is basically a bit like your dad casually telling you over breakfast one morning that to amount to anything in life and to gain any kind of respect from him, you need to join the army and immediately rise to the rank of general, then go to medical school and become a world-renowned surgeon, study law and be appointed Attorney General, learn music to virtuoso standard and write a symphony that would make Mozart weep, become a test pilot and be the first astronaut to go to Mars, discover a cure for cancer from a rare plant found only in the rim of a remote volcanic crater in Papua New Guinea, paint a renaissance masterpiece worthy of Raphael, become a master craftsman, scientist, marine biologist, Newtonian mathematical genius, and speak languages like C3PO.

Hey, why not throw in a few more?

Invent a cheap and clean renewable energy source, solve global warming, reverse climate change, deal with over-population, feed everyone on the planet, end all wars and eradicate sickness and disease.

Thanks dad. No pressure then.

Obviously there’s no way that anyone, even a giant, can achieve all of those things or even half of them in one lifetime. Most of us choose one thing and then make a career out of it. Maybe two, or even three, because sometimes things don’t always work out how we thought they would.

This is something I have thought about a lot. Or rather, daydreamed about. Because there are many things in the world that I am really interested in. If I had several lifetimes instead of just one, I would have several careers, perhaps dozens. I’d want to achieve as much I could in each, rather than just dabbling in amateur hobbies and side-hustles. But in one lifetime there simply isn’t enough time to master them all.

If I did have several lifetimes, what would I do?

Do you remember being a kid and being asked by adults: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

My answers were probably pretty standard for my age. I wanted to be a cowboy, a fireman, a train driver or a motorcycle cop. Obviously.

Looking back now, I must have been covering all my bases in case there was a chance of joining the Village People.

I was aware the general idea was that you were meant to pick something and stick with it. I remember thinking that you could choose to go down several different paths, but once you chose one… then that was supposed to be it. Until you retired.

From that point forward your life was on a linear trajectory. Finish school, get good qualifications, move on to higher education, complete any required training, get experience, then… keep doing it. Forever.

Fortunately for me, I knew what that one thing was. I was lucky that, even from a very early age, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life.

I wanted to fly.

Simple as that. I knew aviation was for me, no question. I had a rock-solid certainty about it. I knew what my goal was and I knew what I had to do to achieve it. A lot of people finish school and even tertiary education and still have no idea what to do next. They haven’t discovered their passion yet or haven’t found what they’re looking for.

Some people never figure it out.

So before I even got to high school, whenever an adult pinched my cheek and asked me what I was going to do when I left high school, I could immediately and confidently reply, “I’m going to be a commercial pilot.”

But although I had that singular determination and that was going to be my main thing, it didn’t stop there. I had other interests. Other passions. Endless curiosity. I knew I couldn’t do everything, so I had a list and ranked them in order of career choices. There would always be a Plan B.

“I’m going to be a commercial pilot, definitely. But if I can’t do that, I will learn to speak several languages and work as an interpreter at the UN. Third choice, I’d like to be a concert pianist. Then if that doesn’t work out for any reason, I’m going to train as a wildlife cameraman and make nature documentaries. After that? I fancy being an architect.”

This probably raised a few bemused eyebrows as I reeled off the list like a precocious little turd.

I now realise that I had then, and have now, an appetite for Pantagruel’s labours. I still have an insatiable desire for knowledge, learning and generally trying to understand the world I live in as much as I can. I want to speak more languages than I’ll ever be able to and even play a musical instrument or two reasonably well. I’m becoming fascinated by astronomy, art and history. I never have time to read but want to catch up on a vast body of literature.

The list just seems to keep growing as I get older.

If I have any hope whatsoever of even scratching the surface of these things, to discover the joy, surprise and wonder in each of them that I know must be lurking within… and the reward that will bring me – how can I do any of this with the time I have remaining on this planet? How can I possibly do all those things I thought I could do so easily as a child?

Maybe I do need to take some inspiration from Hercules after all. He just rolled up his sleeves and got on with it. Perhaps I should too.

OK then, so what would I do with several lifetimes? What if I was indeed stuck in an infinite time loop in an endless, Groundhog Day where I could become an expert at anything I wanted?

Either way it seems to be a question of time. In the first option (several lifetimes) I have as much time as I like because presumably, I am reincarnated somehow and become an adult many times over.

I mean, this is my fantasy so it works however I want.

In the second, time is also no barrier because the same day repeats over and over. I never get older, but I retain my memories and any newfound knowledge or skills from the day before. Given that Sisyphus was doomed to roll the stone for eternity, that means he’s still doing it now. I bet his technique is superb though.

Sadly, I don’t have any more lifetimes than the one I have right now, and time is running out.

But unlike Hercules and Pantagruel, how I choose to spend that time is completely up to me. I have the advantage of writing the gargantuan list myself, rather than someone else acting as taskmaster.

Right, best I get on with it then…

If you want to know more about Gargantua and Pantagruel, you can visit Project Gutenberg which has published the novels online as an eBook for anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever.

https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1200/1200-h/1200-h.htm#link22HCH0008

Hercules fighting the Nemean lion (c.1615) by Peter Paul Rubens, V&A Museum, London, United Kingdom