There was no one quite like Prometheus. A Titan, or giant, he stole fire from the gods, and gave it to mankind. The seventh-century BC poet Hesiod told his story across two poems, the Theogony and Works and Days. On the one hand Prometheus’ gift of fire was a blessing for humans since it enabled them to live self-sufficiently from the gods. On the other, it spelled the end of their Golden Age, in which they had lived happy lives free from work and suffering. Another consequence of Prometheus’ actions was the creation of the first woman, Pandora (‘all-gifted’). Epimetheus, Prometheus’ less intelligent brother, was quick to fall for her charms.

Theogony

for Prometheus once had matched wits
against the great son of Kronos.

It was when gods, and mortal men,
took their separate positions

at Mekone, and Prometheus,
eager to try his wits, cut up

a great ox, and set it before Zeus,
to see if he could outguess him.

He took the meaty parts and the inwards
thick with fat, and set them

before men, hiding them away
in an ox’s stomach,

but the white bones of the ox he arranged,
with careful deception,

inside a concealing fold of white fat,
and set it before Zeus.

At last the father of gods
and men spoke to him, saying:

“Son of Iapetos, conspicuous among all Kings,

old friend, oh how prejudicially
you divided the portions.”

So Zeus, who knows imperishable counsels,
spoke in displeasure,

but Prometheus the devious-deviser,
lightly smiling,

answered him again, quite well aware
of his artful deception:

“Zeus most high, most honored
among the gods everlasting,

choose whichever of these the heart within
would have you.”

He spoke, with intent to deceive, and Zeus,
who knows imperishable

counsels, saw it, the trick
did not escape him, he imagined

evils for mortal men in his mind,
and meant to fulfil them.

In both his hands he took up the portion
of the white fat. Anger

rose up about his heart
and the spite mounted in his spirit

when he saw the white bones of the ox
in deceptive arrangement.

Ever since that time the races of mortal men
on earth have burned

the white bones to the immortals
on the smoky altars.

Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer
in great vexation said to him:

“Son of Iapetos, versed in planning
beyond all others,

old friend, so after all you did not forget
your treachery.”

So Zeus, who knows imperishable counsels,
spoke in his anger,

and ever remembering this deception
thereafter, he would not

give the force of weariless fire
to the ash-tree people,

not to people who inhabit the earth
and are mortal,

no, but the strong son of Iapetos
outwitted him

and stole the far-seen glory
of weariless fire, hiding it

in the hollow fennel stalk;
this bit deep into the feeling

of Zeus who thunders on high,
and it galled the heart inside him

when he saw the far-seen glory of fire
among mortal people,

and next, for the price of the fire,
be made an evil thing for mankind.

Works and Days