Misqouting Icarus

"It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us." - Marianne Williamson

“I warn you, Icarus - limit your flight to the region between heaven and earth. If you go too high the fire will burn your wings”

Icarus. Overly ambitious. He flew too close to the sun and plummeted to the earth. A fool to most, some might even call him ignorant. His father Daedalus warned him clearly; his wings were made of wax and seagull feathers. He flew too close to the sun too focused on the excitement, failing to notice the perils of his youthful curiosity, inevitably crashing to his death in the cold sea below.

For centuries, the myth of Icarus has been a cautionary tale, used to steer the brave onto a safer path, warning against the dangers of dreaming too big. The most famous rendition of Icarus’s tale was written by the Roman poet Ovid, in his narration of mythological history, Metamorphoses, just over 2000 years ago.

Icarus, the son of the genius inventor Daedalus, was imprisoned alongside his father on the island Crete by King Minos. Growing tired of their incarceration, Daedalus collected feathers from flocking seagulls, while meticulously studying their wings. He toiled relentlessly, using wax to turn the arrangement of feathers into a large pair of wings, of which he made 2 sets. While fastening the wings to the playful Icarus, Daedalus warned him clearly to avoid flying too close to the sun as the wax and feathers would surely catch fire, destroying the wings. During the flight Icarus ignored his father’s advice, overly excited by the joy of soaring through the pale blue sky. He was filled with a strong desire to touch the heavens, pursuing an ever-higher path. The Mediterranean sun in its ferocity melted the wax lining, the wings were no more. Icarus tried in vain to flap his naked arms but plummeted to the earth, swallowed by the dark sea below.

A clear meaning can be extracted from the myth of Icarus. There is real danger in overambition. It is always safer to take the road more travelled. One of the biggest pitfalls in human endeavour is misjudging one’s own abilities. There are very clear consequences for attempting to push past the boundaries of sensibility. Icarus in his recklessness became a lesson for all to hold in the back of their minds when seeking to dance an extreme path. Hubris invites ruin, there is always a pride before the fall.

History is full of figures who share Icarus’s tale.

Napolean Bonaparte, one of the greatest military minds the world has ever seen, is an excellent example. By 1812, Napolean had conquered most of Europe. He was invincible. He eagerly laid Russia in his sights, defeating them would mean crushing his last major rival. He amassed his Grande Armée, over 600,000 soldiers strong, and set off to conquer the motherland.

There was one problem. He greatly underestimated the Russian winter and the Russians willingness to survive, to endure. The weather was brutal. Soldiers soon grew sick, many suffering the loss of their extremities due to hypothermia, some even freezing to death. On top of this the Russians employed a scorched earth tactic, literally burning cities to the ground as they retreated. Napolean’s men would arrive to rubble. No food, no clean water, no equipment, no horses, no hope. The Russians would rather see their homes reduced to nothing than see them fall into Napolean’s hands. The Russian campaign was a total failure. Eventually Napolean announced a retreat, by the time they escaped the Russian winter, only 100,000 of the original army remained. Napolean flew too close to the sun, or in this case snow, and watched his wings tear to shreds.

Perhaps the Titanic, the ship hailed as unsinkable. At the time, 1912, the Titanic was regarded as the peak of human engineering. It was the largest and most luxurious passenger liner ever built. One shipbuilder even remarked that “Not even God could sink this ship”. Ill words now scolded into the scroll of history. The ship’s compartments were watertight, making designers believe that it could withstand any damage. It carried fewer lifeboats than necessary, and safety drills were ignored. It was believed that the ship could overcome nature itself.

Even when faced with the treacherous North Atlantic Sea, Captain Edward Smith chose to maintain a dangerously high speed, putting aside Iceberg concerns. He believed, akin to the ship’s designers, that human ingenuity, a pair of meticulously designed wings, could withstand the sun’s blazing rays. On April 14, 1912, at 11:40 pm, the Titanic struck an iceberg. It took less than 3 hours to sink, with over 1500 people dying. Nature answered man’s flaunting with a devastating display of what happens when one’s excessive pride clouds logic or sensibility.

So that’s my message to you. Don’t fly too close to the sun or suffer the consequences.

Well…

Not exactly.

I misquoted Icarus’s tale.

“I warn you, Icarus - limit your flight to the region between heaven and earth. If you go too low, then water vapour will weigh down your wings. If you go too high, fire will burn them. So fly between the two.”

These were the real words spoken by Daedalus in Ovid’s poem.

There’s one glaring difference. The first instruction was not to avoid flying too close to the sun, but rather to avoid flying too close to the sea. Flying too low. Failing to chase your ambition. The water vapour of mediocrity weighing you down until you can no longer hold yourself up. Not a dramatic fall, a gradual decline.

There is a real danger in deciding to play it safe. We humans are dreamers. We gaze out every day desperate to taste the unknown horizon. We are adventurers, ever ambitious, ever enthusiastic about the prospect of a tomorrow undiscovered. We have danced across the heavens in ships steered by fire. We have waltzed the dark ocean floors in pods of steel and wires.

To me there is far more danger in choosing to avoid a dream, than there is in failing an attempt to pursue it. So many of us spend our days petrified of chasing our ambition for fear of falling. We fly too close to the sea, trapped in cages of our own design, as we let life pass us by. We feel exhausted daily, never realising that our strain is being created by the weight of a million lost futures sitting heavy on our shoulders. Gradually we sink, until one day the ocean gently opens its gaping maw, and the tomorrows run dry.

We are all at one point the youthful Icarus. We all look up at the heavens in eager excitement. Yet so many of us force ourselves to look down instead. An entire generation of children convincing themselves that they’re better off shrinking away than they ever would be chasing a wild fantasy. A murder of passion, fuelled by dark machines who desire control, misquoting Icarus as a tool to acquire the one thing that can truly keep us obedient: the belief that we are not special.

We are more scared of our wings burning than we are of accepting the chance that maybe, just maybe, choosing to fly higher might finally ignite the spark of one’s soul. A spark tragically snuffed by a society that values complacency more than anything truly extraordinary.

Yes, Icarus did fly too close to the sun. Yes, his wings did melt. Yes, he fell from the heavens and drowned in the sea.

But I challenge you, maybe his was a better fate.

At least for one brief moment, he saw the sky’s true beauty. He saw the top of the world, the peaks of the clouds, iridescent in the sun’s gorgeous glow.

And as he fell, he fell from grace. Better than never having flown at all. Better than never falling at all.