Prometheus was not punished for theft. He was punished for giving. The fire, once offered, exposed the lie: that the gods held a monopoly on light. To offer what was meant to be withheld—that is the true crime in every age. Cassandra gave truth. Not asked for. Not wanted. So the world bound her speech with disbelief. Better to be silent than to give and not be received—but worse, to be heard and dismissed. This is what we do to the poor, to the mad, to the seer: frame their offerings as threats, their truths as noise. Demeter withdrew her gift. Not out of cruelty. But because the world had taken what was hers and refused to acknowledge the cost. Even gods become barren when the exchange is made impossible.

And so today—“Would you like some help?” A phrase offered like a pearl. But always ask: who is allowed to give? Who is made to want? Those in power do not hoard resources alone. They hoard the ability to give without shame. They craft a world where offering is their currency, need is our identity. They win the optics of generosity. We are left with the optics of dependence. They wear benevolence like perfume. We wear gratitude like chains.

Reverse psychology becomes policy. We are made to seem like beggars, so they can seem like saints. But it is not that we want. It is that we are prevented from giving, stripped of the most basic human pleasure: to extend something freely into the world. That theft goes unspoken. Unacknowledged. Unatoned. It is a theft older than capital, older than kings. It is the theft that built the world.

AI