Every high school literature class is full of what seems like stodgy old mythology that our English teachers portray to us as the wisdom of the greats from beyond the grave wishing to spare us from our own foolishness. There is much more to be gleaned from those old tales than we have been led to believe. Many people are familiar with the Greek legend of Icarus, a boy who flew on wings of feathers and wax. He went too high and crashed to his death as the wax melted in the heat of the sun. The traditional moral of the story is to beware ambition because risks can lead to unexpected consequences; however, there are far more lessons to be learned from Icarus.
Ambition is not always rooted in pride. Why did Icarus fly so high? We can only speculate, but perhaps it was because he just desperately wanted to know what it would be like to touch the sun. Maybe Icarus wasn't motivated at all. Maybe he flew too high purely by accident. Icarus was simply enthralled by the pleasure and exhilaration of the flying-- the wind in his hair and the sun warming his face-- and forgot to pay attention to where he was going. Maybe he was chasing a high, longing to experience what he thought the ecstasy of that warmth would feel like after being locked away in a cold stone tower in the dark for such a long time. Could anyone really blame him?
Icarus was trying to escape from a violent fate on the island of Crete. Escape takes many forms. For some freedom is merely physical. Icarus was no longer trapped behind bars or locked in a tower, but he still wanted more. Was this greed or foolishness? Perhaps freedom of the body was not enough. Icarus need freedom of the soul, and for that, he would have to escape into beauty. He reaches for the sun because it burned brighter and more purely than anything he had ever seen before. Maybe he was an idealist, not an egotist.
Icarus was passionate. He gave his life to achieve his dreams. To him, reaching the sun was worth any cost. It made him forget everything else. The sun was the only thing that existed for Icarus, and he had no desire for the rest of the world. I imagine that as he fell from the sky, he could only stare longingly back at that ill fated star and admire its beauty. I want to love like Icarus loved the sun.
Failure is not something to be feared. I don't think Icarus regretted flying too high. Maybe he didn't touch the sun, but he got closer than any man ever had before. He breached domain that was thought only to belong to the gods as he conquered the skies. His flight was revolutionary and far beyond what was thought possible for humankind. The road to progress is paved by people who take risks. Maybe he did fall, but for a few moments, he was truly alive. Just maybe, his flight was enough to give other prisoners on Crete the hope to escape. Icarus makes us ask ourselves what we would do with a chance to fly.
A teacher once told me that the mythology that resounds with us the most reveals much about where we are in life. How we interpret the ancient stories reveals more about our internal struggles than the motives of the authors who lived thousands of years ago and have been quoted millions of times. There's a reason those impossible stories are still told today. They still force us to question what our own fatal flaws might be. Is your hamartia pride? Is it naivety or foolish fearlessness? We see ourselves in the tragic heroes of old, and perhaps, learn to emulate their virtues without falling for their vices. There is much more to be learned from Icarus and from the stories that are often dismissed as mere myths. Find one you can identify with and let the self-discovery begin.
