THE FALL OF ICARUS, WHEN A MAN TRIES TO REACH THE SUN
One day, Icarus, who was imprisoned on the island of Crete, wanted to escape by air, flying. His father Daedalus, an inventor, made him wings. The eagle’s feathers were collected and arranged, and finally, a pair of wings became, glued with candles to the child’s body. He flies, but he flies too high, approaching the sun. The wax was melted by the solar heat, and the wings were dated. Icarus fell to earth, into the Aegean. He drowned and died.
Greek mythology does not describe a sad accident or a dramatic event. Quite the opposite, comedy. A normal life does not seem to be shaken by the fate of someone who is being and taken away by death. That what happened was not a tragedy, but something funny, like slipping a banana skin? No sense of the child’s soul, what’s his fault? The question is disturbing. A tragedy that is left passing meaningless.
Perhaps the unfortunate fate of Icarus, the story of a flying and inaccessible young man, is part of everyday life, there are working farmers and vessels on the trade, but there are also people who seek out but the guards. Or perhaps Icarus is an example of the vanity of humanity who is arrogant and forget to be careful. So if he fell and died let it be. Perhaps, life is better served by receiving the enjoyment that exists, such as a pastor who is grateful for a clear season. Or better to live in an honest way, by plowing the earth through the sea. Why not emulate Icarus diligent farmers, herders are patient, and the prosperous merchant on the ship? Why should he violate the established human nature, that he is not a bird?
If it is so easy that we determine the meaning of nature, we will be fooled by formulating “nature” or “essence”, we will never suspect a time when humans will be able to penetrate that formula. Icarus has failed, but if nobody dares to fly, liberate and become “bizarre” the world will remain as medieval. There were no Wright brothers, two Americans who in 1903 with a machine can fly for 10 minutes in a field in North Carolina and thereby pave the way for people to roam the air, like birds, even beyond the birds, until the sky is not scary anymore.
When we fail. Like, when we as students are faced with teachers who are increasingly satisfied with more and more make the students stay class. We are grateful, we are not Icarus. We live, he dies. Life is amazing because we, on a sad day, can actually pick a ripe orange fruit, and taste it, and share it.
Is there any defeat? No, hope not.
We will always get warm and light, we always try to get there. But is it possible to reach that sky, with salvation, blood, prayer, and iron though? Probably not, but life means not because it reaches. Life means by searching.
We remember Icarus’s wings trying to reach the sun. He will not (will) arrive.