The Apotheoses of Daedalus and Icarus

The Apotheosis of Daedalus

Agonizing in his inability to glimpse a path of escape from the labyrinth fashioned by his own mind, Daedalus, the one marked with the seal of genius, contemplated the azure catapetasma rising proudly above the corridors erected at the command of the accomplished King Minos. Icarus, the scion of the sun god, fallen into the torment of despair, watched as the cries of the vultures faded into the blood-red rays of dawn and their wings merged with the crimson halo of Helios.

This crypt of the Minotaur would have served both of them as a final resting place, just as it would have served everyone else, had there not been, within the human heart, the sacrosanct desire to fly. The labyrinth of existence, with all its hidden corners, with all the paths leading toward emptiness, with all the traps of the great sea, may fulfill the sober role of a mausoleum of marble or ashes for every man beneath the sun, should he decide to surrender before nihilism.

The Nietzschean Minotaur of inner perfection haunts ceaselessly the living chambers within you; it cannot be struck down by a demigod, by an Übermensch. The love of the immensity of life, despite its endless vicissitudes, can be attained only through a legendary character. Excellence can be reached only by the blade of the inner sword. This Minotaur has been tamed in the child upon whose head the fierce strategy of struggle against suffering was beginning to take shape: Amor Fati. Only a modern Theseus can triumph in such a battle. To overcome the asperities of fate, you need neither a mythological spirit nor celestial wings adorned with gold.

Daedalus, the innovator par excellence, he whose statues floated in the shimmering oniric realm of verisimilitude, he who breathed life like a demiurge into his revolutionary ideas, had through his genius surpassed the leaden horizon of the labyrinth walls. Where others would have confined themselves to lamenting and cursing destiny, he smiled blissfully and, like any artist, rebelled against his modest condition as a mere man chained to the clod of earth and had the courage to desire more, had the courage to fly.

He told his son that their escape would lie in overcoming the immense tomb of so many souls that was the Cretan labyrinth. Flight through the boundlessness of the ether is the path of liberation from the human condition; flight is the path of the artist. Overcoming the labyrinth of life is the path of the artist truly transcending life through his work—the path toward the apotheosis of all. Art rises above time; it is betrothed to eternity. Art is the solemn hymn that transcends, through its cadences, the symphony of existence. Art is the smile of the absolute and of divinity.

Icarus laughed melodiously as his father presented him with the wings that were to free them from the talons of Minos. The old man sternly warned him of the wings and told him not to rise too high or fly too low. He told him not to approach the sun too closely, for abundance of light can burn the souls of idealists. The kiss of the celestial body can turn hearts afflicted by lyricism into ashes. Daedalus continued his plea, gazing anxiously at the wings bound with wax, but Icarus smiled impatiently, without listening to him, fixing his provocative gaze upon Helios.

The Apotheosis of Icarus

Daedalus had also advised him not to approach the waves of the sea. The ocean’s dark calls were powerful, and the light of the soul could be extinguished with ease in those unknown abysses. The emerald waves would have brought with them a bitter kiss of lead. If the tips of the wings became wet, nothing would follow but a tragic plunge into a dark void, where only the enticing song of the sirens reverberates morbidly through the ashen expanse.

All the lessons offered by his father seemed to the son, seized by the desire for ascent, like a liturgy of desertion. Subjugated by the frenzy of the ecstasy of transcending the earthly condition, Icarus nodded absentmindedly, while his bold and fearless eyes drank droplets of immortality from the ether painted with the roses of dawn. Silken clouds smiled at him like playful nymphs in copper groves, inviting him joyfully to join the celestial dance of eternity.

When, at last, the two broke free from the earth, the hierophany of flight intoxicated Icarus’s soul. A metaphysical dissonance enveloped father and son. The old man’s caution offered flight harmony, elegance, and clarity, humming melodiously upon the staff of the heavens like a sacred solfeggio, untouched by the seal of chaos. His promenade across the celestial horizon was like the graceful gliding of a swan upon the calm surface of a lake. His wings undulated gently like ballerinas among cotton clouds, sweeping away the silken mist of dawn like a magical fan.

While his father shone within a magical halo of harmony and grace, the son surrendered himself to the angelic mirage of flight, defying the heavens like a demon thirsting for deification. Without hesitation, his wings conquered the bloodied ether. Icarus tasted the immaculate nectar of infinity. The golden vermilion coursed through clouds and brought forth the ambrosia of the absolute. The sacred myrrh of beatitude flooded him and delighted his senses. The human condition faded into the shadow of the celestial mosaic. His heart was consumed by a lyrical agony.

Icarus sought, like a virtuoso, to hear the symphony of the heavens as it benevolently flooded his being, in an unheard musical perfection. He had cast off the garment of the mortal, becoming the demiurge of his own vision, metamorphosed into the desire for pure mastery of the a priori mysteries of the absolute. He flew ever higher and higher, and higher still, to find his fulfillment. He sought the holy pearl of Eudaimonia upon the altar of the heavens.

The soul, intoxicated by divine light, does not see the darkness that surrounds it in its search for divinity. Icarus’s flight was a fresco of chaos. His wings rustled like a requiem of inner darkness. Within him was reflected the ferocity of a vulture rushing uncontrollably to tear apart the rays of the sun. The hunger for the boundlessness beyond downfall. The search for the jewel of eternity leads to the embrace of transience.

Helios, his soul drowned in jealousy, looked contemptuously upon the one who was breaking the rusted chains of earthly limitations. The god could not endure such an insult. He began to burn ever more fiercely, hurling incandescent spears toward the celestial heights. Murderous waves of light swept across the ocean of the sky, crashing maliciously against the rocky body of Icarus, who seemed enraptured within a halo of light.

The desperate cries of Daedalus echoed vainly into the void. Helios sent toward the seeker of flight the bloodied arrow of the soul, which warned, through the sharp edge of the sun’s rays, that whoever wishes to tame the celestial fire becomes ashes swept away by the harsh wind of fate. Thus fell the one who had defied the divine forces. Thus fell Icarus, reaping from the ether the thorns of destiny.