One of the most interesting things about mythology is how you can draw different meanings from the same tale.
Here I give you a familiar story translated by Rhoda A Hendricks from the Latin verse by Ovid.
Daedalus, meanwhile, hating Crete and his long exile, and influenced by a longing for his native land, sought escape but was hemmed in by the sea.
“Though King Minos may block me off by land and sea,” he said, “at least the sky indeed lies open. We shall go that way. He may control all else, but Minos is not master of the air.”
When he had spoken, Daedalus turned his mind toward unknown skills and changed nature, for he placed feathers in a row, beginning with the smallest, with a shoter one just below each longer one, so that you could almost believe the feathers had grown on such a slope.
Then he fastened the feathers at the middle with thread and at the end with wax. When they had been arranged thus, he bent them in a slight curve to imitate real birds’ wings.
The boy Icarus was standing close by, and, with smiling face-not knowing he was handling things that would be dangerous for him-he now caught at the feathers that a random breeze had moved, now softened the golden wax with this thumb. So, by his play, he hindered the wonderful work of his father.
After the finishing touch had been placed on the undertaking, the craftsman himself balanced his own body on twin wings and hung in the moving air. Also, he instructed his son and said, “I warn you to go by a middle course lest, if you go too low, the water might weigh down the feathers or, if you fly too high, the heat of the sun might scorch them. Fly between the two. With me as your leader, take your course.”
At the same time he gave the instructions for flying and adjusted the unfamiliar wings to his shoulders. Between the work and the warnings, the aged cheeks grew moist and the hands of the father trembled. To his son he gave kisses that were destined never again to be repeated. Then, lifted up by the feathers, he flew ahead and feared for his companion, like a bird that leads forth its tender offspring into the air from the high nest. And he urged him to follow and taught him the fateful art, as he himself moved his own wings and looked back at his son.
Some fisherman catching fish with trembling rod, or some shepherd leaning on his staff, or a plowman resting upon his plow handle saw them and was astonished; and, because they could make their way through the air, he thought they were gods.
Sooon the island of Samos, sacred to Juno, was on their left, both Delos and Paros had been left behind, Lebinthos was on their right, and Calymne, rich in honey, had been passed, when suddenly the boy began to rejoice in the bold flight. He deserted his leader and, carried away by the eagerness for the sky, set his course higher.
The nearness of the destructive sun softened the fragrant wax-the fastening of the feather-and the wax melted. He shook his bare arms and, because he lacked wings, could not make use of the air. And his lips, crying out his father’s name, were swallowed up in the dark blue water that gets its name, Icarian sear, from him.
But the unfortunate father, although no longer a father, called “Icarus, Icarus, where are you? In what region shall I seek you?” As he kept calling, “Icarus,” he caught sight of the feathers in the waves, and he cursed his craftsmanship. He buried the boy in a tomb, and the land of his burial was called Icaria, from his name.
The most common conclusion on the theme is that we should listen to our parents and the bearers of wisdom or foolish youth will bring a quick end to us.
The thing I love most about this story is its simple presentation but yet many layered interpretations.
In some stories, Icarus actually gets to touch the sun and in the comic book Aria, published by Avalon Studios the main character narrates her thoughts on the story.
To quite literally reach the zenith of one’s potential, to behold and touch that which no mortal has ever laid a hand on… What would you give up for that chance?
Some times, despite other’s warnings, we must strike out on our own. Though they may be consequences to our decisions, they are our decisions to make.
I also like to look at this story from a Daedalus perspective. He knew his son, he knew that a warning was necessary. He tried to prevent a potential situation he saw coming a mile away. But sometimes people will not listen. You can give them all the sound advice in the world but they go right out and do the very thing you told them not to. We can’t save everyone.
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