The Myth of Icarus

What a lot of people don't know about Icarus is that he crashed dozens of times before that one big fall that finally did him in. Each time it was the same basic scenario -- reengineer the wings and tail assembly to correct the fatal flaw in the last embarassing and painful debacle, test the new design in extremely-low-altitude runs and then, after being absolutely satisfied that all forseeable complications were accounted for and making sure the weather was promising, take off flapping.

Most of the time, the new design proved to be more successful than any previous configuration and the ultimate altitude achieved exceeded all earlier efforts. But, the teasing sun seemed to get no closer, and that one final attempt to push the limits of the design and of the body's strength to their utmost ended inevitably in the crash that turned the wings into so much debris, and gave their owner reason to feel lucky if only months of recuperation was necessary.

The truth is that Icarus could have flown away from the prison where he and his father were being held many times. To do so, however, would have terminated the research grant offered by the same king who was holding the two, and so he always returned.

Icarus had eventually taken to gliding around about ten feet off of the ground with a fabric glider reminiscent of some of his earliest artifical wings. Still sore from his latest crash, he'd taken to thinking that maybe he should stick to low-altitude gliding -- it was something he was good at, and it wouldn't kill him.

But every night the sun went away, telling Icarus: "I give you the smallest fraction of my light and warmth, and then to remind you who is in charge here, I take it away from you. Then you wake up in the morning with gratitude that I have returned. You will die as you have lived, separate from me, to become part of the ball and chain that holds you now. You cannot be any more courageous than the other ignorant mortals exiled to your dark, cold rock."

His final design was a tribute to his genius, his skill, and his obsession -- he had always taken inspiration from the birds, but he had never trusted the design or the materials to scale up well enough to be appropriate for his needs. Alas, he had never been able to improve on the feather in the ratios of strength and surface area and weight. His new design took advantage of natural construction -- feathers and the skillfully-engineered honeycomb replaced canvas and reeds.

Rapidity of safe altitude change, maneuverability, airspeed, aerodynamics, energy expension -- all improved noticibly. Soon, even his test flights were casually setting altitude records. His dad had warned him not to fly over the water because of what moisture could do to artificial wings; but with these wax-sealed feather wings, Icarus could skim the ocean's surface like a pelican for hours.

Daedalus had also said that it was foolhardy to try to reach the sun -- anyone could see, he said, that it was on fire and couldn't be approached safely, especially by air. And that's why, Icarus thought, my dad is going to die in prison here on earth, never taking his share of the world's glory.

And I'm going to die of a broken neck, he thought. But not if I'm smart. No man has ever worn wings like these, and no man has ever learned the art of flying as I have. If the sun can be reached, if it is possible for a mortal man to attain release from this rocky island through his own effort and courage, that man will be me.

Because Icarus was not sure how long it would take to reach the sun, he left in the morning, and because he left in the morning, the wind was coming in from the ocean. He stood at the edge of a cliff watching the sun rise, his wings folded around him to keep him warm. Daedalus was still asleep and would not awaken to feed his favorite birds until after Icarus was gone.

He jumped from the cliff just as the sun's full circle appeared over the mirrored horizon, but this time, instead of fighting for equilibrium he allowed the incoming wind to carry his body up ever higher, his arms locked into a position where the strain on his wings could mostly be carried by his chest rather than his arms.

He was higher than he had ever flown before and he hadn't even noticed yet. His mind was set only on the sun; the things of the earth and therefore all of the things of his past were only the shell he was hatching from. He didn't take notice of his great height until the air suddenly changed direction and temperature and he thought to himself that it was far colder than he would have expected if, as his father thought, he was approaching a great fire in the sky.

The wind was carrying him away from the sun, but he thought, I must gain altitude. That is the most important thing. If I am high enough then even if I have gone in the wrong direction I can turn around and swoop down on the sun from wherever I am.

But the sun, as it rose, gained on him from behind, and was soon directly overhead, and seeming as far away as ever. The winds became less steady, and some hours Icarus could not, despite his best efforts, be sure that he was continuing to gain altitude. But this is not a problem, he thought. The sun must sink; it does so every day. And I am fast. When the sun goes down behind the western hills I will fly there to meet it.

He locked his wings to save energy and let the wind carry him like a toy wooden glider. And then the sun began to sink (Icarus had actually entertained the worry that the sun might seek to avoid him by delaying its usual fall). As slow as this fall was, and as fast as Icarus' wings were able to take him, it was all he could do to stay under the sun as it began to descend.

There are two stories about what happened next. In one, he realized too late that the sun was moving across the sky too quickly to be caught and did not have the strength remaining to land. He fell gracelessly to earth, exhausted and dehydrated and barely capable of registering fear or dismay.

In the other story, Icarus' wings held up to the pressure as he pushed them to unprecedented strain, plunging from his height and using the speed from the fall to propel him forward and under the setting sun. Only then did he find that his father's warning was true. His faithful and amazing wings began to ripple behind his arms; feathers pulled loose and stuck together in useless gobs -- he began to have to flap to maintain altitude. The wax began to sweat and the outer foot or so of his left wing was bent up at about a sixty-degree angle.

But still the sun was coming closer -- it wasn't until the left wing came almost entirely loose, flapping behind Icarus' falling body, that the struggle ended.

Which story is true? It's not of much concern unless you're an astronomer or aviator. Icarus is dead, and Daedalus never did find the body. He's designing sails for yachts now. The sun didn't even blink. Funny you should ask.



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