THE STORY ANALYSIS OF DAEDALUS AND ICARUS
His name is Daedalus, and he encompasses many talents: architect, engineer, inventor, metalsmith, sculptor, and father. But he is also a symbol and a metaphor. As history has progressed, Daedalus himself has become a figure from which a succession of artists and writers have drawn inspiration for the structuring of their own works. His larger myth cycle however, with all of its attendant characters, can also be understood as a vehicle carrying the secrets behind the creative act itself, revealing the benefits of inspiration rooted in observation of the natural world, demonstrating the need for destruction, sacrifice, and major shifts in perspective, and depicting the dangers of invention falling into corrupted hands. Daedalus' particular story, and the larger myth cycle in which he revolves, has been told and retold by various authors throughout classical and modern times to suit many different purposes and according to their respective cultural beliefs. This study will explore the works of these authors and their purposes, either artistic or political.
Tracing specific textual references from the ancient world will show that Daedalus preserves an older, more established body of knowledge that originally came to the Mediterranean from Egypt and the East, through the ancient Minoan culture on Crete to Greece during their ascent to power and influence, from Greece to Rome, and beyond Rome's decline to the rest of Western culture. This study will then conclude by showing how Daedalus as a literary figure and the Daedalus myth cycle as a whole has continued to influence literature even today, creating a vital thematic thread from Homer down to the 21st century.
The story most people are popularly familiar with is that of the Roman poet, Ovid, his works being continually influential on Western writers since the time of ancient Rome. Older sources written in Greek vary widely in their depiction and often disagree on specific details, if giving much information at all about Daedalus himself, but it is possible to construct an overall narrative of his story without regard to language, place, or chronology. According to Ovid's Metamorphosis, the earliest chapter in Daedalus' story begins in archaic age Athens, before the various tribes of Hellenes were incorporated into the city-state Athens eventually came to be, when he appears as a fully grown adult. No tales remain that speak of his childhood or upbringing, although it seems the Athenians of the classical age later incorporated him into their genealogies as a way of claiming him and his story for their own.
This part of his story is problematic for any study of Daedalus that seeks to laud his talents and inspirational qualities, and yet is a necessary part of his story. This scar on his character works to make Daedalus distinctly human; he is unlike the gods because his skills and sphere of influence have limits. Even though he is able to create art and artifice in a godlike, superior way, he is never considered a demigod like Hercules. Therefore Daedalus' level of skill, while superior, is portrayed as potentially attainable by other humans.
He reveals how Daedalus' skill and abilities are widely known by Minos, Pasiphae, and the ruling elite on Crete, a much more highly advanced civilization than archaic Athens. Pasiphae one day enlists Daedalus to build her an artificial cow body into which she desires to crawl so she might copulate with a special bull Minos once failed to sacrifice according to the god Poseidon's wishes, and for which Pasiphae was driven mad with an unnatural lust by the god in order to revenge Minos' failure. Daedalus' artificial cow works perfectly and from this union, Pasiphae gives birth to the halfman, half-bull Minotaur. Minos is appalled and conscripts Daedalus, presumably for his role in bringing him to life, to build the famous Labyrinth in order to forever imprison the Minotaur from the light of day. This Daedalus does so skillfully, so that once it is finished, he himself scarcely can remember the way out of its convoluted corridors.
Daedalus is putting the finishing touches on two sets of artificial wings he has created, one for him and one for his son, to fly far away from the Labyrinth and the tyranny of Minos. He warns Icarus not to fly too low or the spray from the sea will weigh down his wings, and not to fly too high or the sun's heat will melt the wax holding the feathered wings together. Daedalus and Icarus launch themselves upon the air, but Icarus disobeys his father and flies too high, sure enough melting his wings and swiftlyplummeting to his death in the sea hundreds of feet below and causing great despair in his father
While some sources differ on where Daedalus actually flew, the next time Daedalus resurfaces he is in Sicily. This chapter of the story has Daedalus working as a kind of tutor for King Cocalus' daughters, and inventing nothing more exciting than complicated dolls for children. One day Minos and his entourage appear during their Mediterranean-wide search for Daedalus who he blames for everything. Minos challenges everyone to attempt running a thread through the twists of a conch shell, knowing that Daedalus would not be able to resist such a challenge, and thereby hoping to draw him out of hiding. Daedalus accomplishes this by drilling a hole in one end and putting a drop of honey there while tying the thread to an ant that he lets walk through the shell, enticed and driven toward the sweet reward at the other side. Minos knows Daedalus is being sheltered by Cocalus, but before Cocalus gives him up, Cocalus' daughters and Daedalus conspire against Minos, boiling him alive while he takes a bath
In contrast to the composite of the myth here constructed, references in ancient Greek and Latin sources provide versions of how the character of Daedalus and his story have been constructed over time, where and how the details of the overall story differ, how widespread he was in the everyday imagination, and just how important he was as a symbolic figure and organizing principle for other creative people in the ancient Greco-Roman world.
This early reference not only presents Daedalus as some kind of skillful maker connected to creative expression (dancing), but firmly establishes his presence in Crete at an unspecified time prior to the writing down of Homer's epic. There is no mention of a "labyrinth" or any other part of the Daedalus cycle, although the reference to Ariadne is a definite link to the overall setting and characters of the myth. As will be seen, Herodotus supplies a possible dating of Daedalus' time in Crete by crossreferencing the date of the Trojan War.
The labyrinth from which Theseus escaped by means of the clew of Ariadne was built by Dædalus, a most skilful artificer. It was an edifice with numberless winding passages and turnings opening into one another, and seeming to have neither beginning nor end, like the river Mæander, which returns on itself, and flows now onward, now backward, in its course to the sea. Dædalus built the labyrinth for King Minos, but afterwards lost the favor of the king, and was shut up in a tower. He contrived to make his escape from his prison, but could not leave the island by sea, as the king kept strict watch on all the vessels, and permitted none to sail without being carefully searched. "Minos may control the land and sea," said Dædalus, "but not the regions of the air. I will try that way." So he set to work to fabricate wings for himself and his young son Icarus.
He wrought feathers together, beginning with the smallest and adding larger, so as to form an increasing surface. The larger ones he secured with thread and the smaller with wax, and gave the whole a gentle curvature like the wings of a bird. Icarus, the boy, stood and looked on, sometimes running to gather up the feathers which the wind had blown away, and then handling the wax and working it over with his fingers, by his play impeding his father in his labors. When at last the work was done, the artist, waving his wings, found himself buoyed upward, and hung suspended, poising himself on the beaten air. He next equipped his son in the same manner, and taught him how to fly, as a bird tempts her young ones from the lofty nest into the air. When all was prepared for flight he said, "Icarus, my son, I charge you to keep at a moderate height, for if you fly too low the damp will clog your wings, and if too high the heat will melt them. Keep near me and you will be safe." While he gave him these instructions and fitted the wings to his shoulders, the face of the father was wet with tears, and his hands trembled. He kissed the boy, not knowing that it was for the last time. Then rising on his wings, he flew off, encouraging him to follow, and looked back from his own flight to see how his son managed his wings. As they flew the ploughman stopped his work to gaze, and the shepherd leaned on his staff and watched them, astonished at the sight, and thinking they were gods who could thus cleave the air.
They passed Samos and Delos on the left and Lebynthos on the right, when the boy, exulting in his career, began to leave the guidance of his companion and soar upward as if to reach heaven. The nearness of the blazing sun softened the wax which held the feathers together, and they came off. He fluttered with his arms, but no feathers remained to hold the air. While his mouth uttered cries to his father it was submerged in the blue waters of the sea, which thenceforth was called by his name. His father cried, "Icarus, Icarus, where are you?" At last he saw the feathers floating on the water, and bitterly lamenting his own arts, he buried the body and called the land Icaria in memory of his child. Dædalus arrived safe in Sicily, where he built a temple to Apollo, and hung up his wings, an offering to the god.
Dædalus was so proud of his achievements that he could not bear the idea of a rival. His sister had placed her son Perdix under his charge to be taught the mechanical arts. He was an apt scholar and gave striking evidences of ingenuity. Walking on the seashore he picked up the spine of a fish. Imitating it, he took a piece of iron and notched it on the edge, and thus invented the saw. He put two pieces of iron together, connecting them at one end with a rivet, and sharpening the other ends, and made a pair of compasses, Dædalus was so envious of his nephew's performances that he took an opportunity, when they were together one day on the top of a high tower, to push him off. But Minerva, who favors ingenuity, saw him falling, and arrested his fate by changing him into a bird called after his name, the Partridge. This bird does not build his nest in the trees, nor take lofty flights, but nestles in the hedges, and mindful of his fall, avoids high places.
The death of Icarus is told in the following lines by Darwin:
"…with melting wax and loosened strings Sunk hapless Icarus on unfaithful wings; Headlong he rushed through the affrighted air, With limbs distorted and dishevelled hair; His scattered plumage danced upon the wave, And sorrowing Nereids decked his watery grave; O'er his pale corse their pearly sea-flowers shed, And strewed with crimson moss his marble bed; Struck in their coral towers the passing bell, And wide in ocean tolled his echoing knell."
SYMBOLISMS:
Actually, there's more. Humans aren't really meant to fly—because of this, Daedalus and Icarus are pretty unusual. And as you might expect, artistic representations of the myth usually either portray the father/son pair gliding on their wings through the sky, or the moment Icarus' wings fall apart, causing him to plummet downward. The whole flying thing is definitely the most important part of this story.
We can see this image of the winged man in two ways. On the positive side, it represents man's triumph over his natural limits through science (we like to imagine Daedalus saying, "Take that, gravity!" as he launches into the sky). The image of Daedalus and Icarus soaring through the sky is a source of inspiration for inventors and explorers who look to the duo as pioneers and innovators. Oh, and we can't forget about the general sense of freedom that comes with this image. It should give hope to anyone who dreams of escaping their current circumstances and achieving something grander. Not bad.
But then there's the negative side—you know, the whole Icarus falling to the ground thing. When we look at it this way, nature triumphs over man. Sorry, man. Portrayals of Icarus' descent also emphasize the cautionary part of the myth, which is basically this: if you try to achieve too much too soon, you might end up failing miserably. Better to accept average success than to risk everything by trying to attain glory. What do you think? Do you agree?
The modern-day winged man imagery includes everything from the Wright brothers' first plane to James Bond wearing a jetpack. Anytime someone wears (or rides) a newfangled contraption into the heavens, you could safely pull a cultured-student move and remark: "That sure reminds me of Daedalus and Icarus…" We dare you.
You know the evil genius hard at work inside his laboratory, laughing manically to himself as he concocts his latest creation? That's Daedalus. With his amazing inventing skills, he created the famous wings, the Labyrinth, a cow suit, the folding chair, and countless beautiful statues and images. That's a pretty hefty résumé.
Like the mad scientists who followed him, Daedalus doesn't pay too much attention to the consequences of his inventions. When King Minos' wife asks him to build her a cow suit so that she can strike up a relationship with a bull, Daedalus goes ahead and does it without stopping to wonder whether this would anger his buddy King Minos.
And of course, when he's escaping Crete, Daedalus decides to build wax wings for himself and his son Icarus, not bothering to consider what would happen if Icarus disobeyed his father (like young boys do) and flew too close to the sun.
We start on the scenic island of Crete, where Daedalus arrives after being kicked out of Athens for the attempted murder of his nephew (not a great start). Crete is the biggest island in Greece—it was a crossroads between Asia, Europe, and Africa, giving it a cosmopolitan sensibility. Fancy, we know.
Unfortunately, Daedalus' Cretan vacation comes to an end when the island's ruler, King Minos, imprisons him. Depending on which writer you ask, Daedalus and Icarus either get locked up in a tower, or confined to the famous Labyrinth, which Daedalus himself built. Karma can be pretty feisty.
Either way, his surroundings are pretty dark and depressing, so Daedalus decides to escape. With their homemade wings, he and Icarus fly over the ocean—but they only make it north about 100 miles before Icarus crashes and burns (literally). Daedalus names the sea where his son fell the Icarian Sea, which is part of today's Aegean Sea. Yep, these are all real places.
Speaking of real places—after Icarus's death, Daedalus flew about 600 miles west to the Italian island of Sicily where he made himself at home, befriending the island's ruler and becoming part of his court.
We've got one more setting snack for you. Before the dynamic duo takes off, Daedalus warns Icarus not to fly too close to either the sun or the ocean. Getting too near the sun will cause his wings to melt, and swooping down to the water will make them damp. But by sticking to a middle height, Icarus and his wings will make it through the journey just fine.
Depending on how you look at it, the story of Daedalus and Icarus is either completely depressing or completely inspirational. On the one hand, it's a cautionary tale about what can happen when you disobey your parents and overstep your bounds. But on the other hand, it's an examination of mankind's need to explore, invent, and be creative, especially when it comes to achieving flight.
Like most Greek myths, long before this tale was written down it was passed around by word of mouth. But once it was committed to paper, there were surprisingly few differences between the versions. Overall, the story has actually remained pretty consistent over the years.
One of the first major accounts was written by a guy named Diodorus Siculus, who included the myth in The Library of History, a forty-book account of the history of Greece, Rome, India, and Egypt. Diodorus wrote between 60 and 30 B.C.E., and actually gives two versions of the myth. In his first account, he says that Daedalus and Icarus escaped from Crete by boat, not by wings. Um, that changes things! But Icarus still met a tragic death when he tried to disembark from the boat in a "reckless manner." In his second account (which he calls a "tale of marvel"), Diodorus tells the more classic story—this version was probably so well known by then that Diodorus couldn't help but include it.
Next up, the Roman poets Virgil and Ovid. Virgil mentions Daedalus briefly in the Aeneid (19 B.C.E.). When the story's main character, Aeneas, reaches Sicily, he stops to admire the beautiful temple that Daedalus built, scoping out all of the awesome sculptures that adorn its walls. Virgil adds a little flare to the story, saying that Daedalus tried twice to make a golden statue of Icarus, but was so overcome with grief that he dropped it each time. Wah wah.
Ovid's account of the story is much longer and, as usual, much more poetic. In The Metamorphoses (8 CE), Ovid takes great pains to describe Daedalus' fear before the flight, and his devastation afterward. Makes him look like a pretty good dad, right? And in a poetic twist, Ovid mentions that Daedalus' nephew (who Minerva had turned into a partridge when Daedalus tried to pushed him off the Acropolis), watches Daedalus perform the funeral rites for Icarus. It really drives home the point that a lot of young men fell to their doom under the supervision of Daedalus.
A couple centuries later, two other notable accounts of the story appear. In 160 C.E., the Greek geographer Pausanias included the myth in his Descriptions of Greece. Like Diodorus, Pausanias says that Daedalus and Icarus escaped by boat instead of wing. Pausanias' version is short and to the point, as is the account described in Epitome of the Library, a compilation of Greek history originally attributed to the writer Apollodorus. Whew—that's a lot of versions. But the take-away is always the same: don't be a crazy mad scientist and trust your parents.
