Dädalus und Ikarus

Daedalus, der inzwischen die Insel Kreta und die lange Verbannung haßte, und der berührt war von der Liebe zu seinem Geburtsort, war durch das Meer eingesperrt. "Mag er", sagte er, "Länder und Meere versperren"; "aber der Himmel steht sicher offen; wir werden dort gehen; Mag er auch alles besitzen, Minos besitzt nicht die Luft."
Er sagte dies, dann richtet seinen Geist auf unbekannte Künste und erschafft sich neue Natur. Denn er legt die Federn der Reihe nach hin, bei der kleinsten angefangen, wobei immer einer langen eine jeweils kürzere folgt, so dass man glauben könnte, sie wären auf einer Anhöhe gewachsen. So stieg einst die Panflöte allmählich mit unterschiedlichen Schilfrohren an.
Dann verbindet er alle Federn in der Mitte mit einer Leinenschnur und ganz unten mit Wachs, und biegt die so zusammengefügten Federn mit einer leichten Krümmung, um echte Vögel nachzuahmen.
Der kleine Icarus stand dabei, und nicht wissend, dass er seine eigene Gefahr anfaßt, greift er bald mit freudestrahlendem Gesicht nach Flaumfedem, die ein vorüberziehender Lufthauch bewegt hatte; bald machte er mit dem Daumen das gelbe Wachs weich und behinderte das wunderbare Werk seines Vaters durch sein Spiel.
Nachdem die letzte Hand an das Unternehmen gelegt worden war, schwang der Baumeister selbst seinen Körper in die doppelten Flügel im Gleichgewicht hinein und schwebte in der bewegten Luft.
Er unterrichtet auch seinen Sohn, und sagt, "Ich ermahne dich, Icarus, dich auf mittlerer Bahn zu halten, damit, wenn du zu tief gehst, nicht die Wellen die Federn beschweren, und wenn du zu hoch fliegst, das Feuer sie nicht versengt. Zwischen beiden fliege! Ich befehle dir auch, nicht den Bootes, den großen Wagen oder das gezückte Schwert des Orion anzuschauen. Nimm deinen Weg unter meiner Führung." Zugleich gibt er ihm Flugvorschriften und paßt seinen Schultern die unbekannten Flügel an.
Zwischen der Arbeit und seinen Mahnungen wurden die greisen Wangen naß, und es zitterten die väterlichen Hände. Er gab seinem Sohn Küsse, die nicht wiederholt werden sollten. Und durch die Fedem erhoben, fliegt er voraus und fürchtet um seinen Begleiter, wie ein Vogel, der von seinem hohen Nest seine zarten Nachkommen in die Luft geführt hat, und er ermahnt ihn zu folgen und lehrt ihn verhängnisvolle Künste und bewegt selbst seine Flügel und schaut auf die seines Sohnes zurück.
Diese sah jemand, während er mit zittemder Angelrute Fische fing, oder ein Hirte, der sich auf seinen Stab oder einen Bauer, der sich auf seinen Pflug stützte, und staunte und glaubte, dass solche, die ihren Weg durch die Lüfte nehmen könnten, Götter seien.
Und schon war auf der linken Seite das der Iuno heilige Samos (sowohl Delos als auch Paros waren zurückgelassen worden) und auf der rechten Seite Lebinthos und das an Honig reiche Calymne, als der Knabe begann sich über den kühnen Flug zu freuen, sich von seinem Führer trennte und, angezogen durch die Begierde nach dem Himmel, einen höheren Weg nahm. Die Nähe der glühenden Sonne machte das duftende Wachs, das Band der Federn, weich.
Das Wachs war geschmolzen. Jener schwingt die nackten Arme, und da er keinen Flugapparat mehr hat, bekommt er keine Luft zu fassen, und sein Mund, der den väterlichen Namen ruft, wird durch das blaue Wasser aufgenommen, das von ihm seinen Namen bekam.
Und der unglückliche Vater – nun schon nicht mehr Vater – rief: "Icarus". "Icarus!" rief er. "Wo bist Du? In welcher Richtung soll ich Dich suchen?" "Icarus!" rief er. Da erblickte er die Federn in den Wellen, und er verfluchte seine Künste und er barg den Körper in einem Grab; und die Erde wurde nach dem Namen des Bestatteten benannt.

- Ovid, Metamorphosen - 08, 183-235




4 Kommentare:

  1. Explained of Arts and Artists in Kingdoms and States
    The ancients have left us a description of mechanical skill, industry, and curious arts converted to ill uses, in the person of Dædalus, a most ingenious but execrable artist. This Dædalus was banished for the murder of his brother artist and rival, yet found a kind reception in his banishment from the kings and states where he came. He raised many incomparable edifices to the honour of the gods, and invented many new contrivances for the beautifying and ennobling of cities and public places, but still he was most famous for wicked inventions. Among the rest, by his abominable industry and destructive genius, he assisted in the fatal and infamous production of the monster Minotaur, that devourer of promising youths. And then, to cover one mischief with another, and provide for the security of this monster, he invented and built a labyrinth; a work infamous for its end and design, but admirable and prodigious for art and workmanship. After this, that he might not only be celebrated for wicked inventions, but be sought after, as well for prevention, as for instruments of mischief, he formed that ingenious device of his clue, which led directly through all the windings of the labyrinth. This Dædalus was persecuted by Minos with the utmost severity, diligence, and inquiry; but he always found refuge and means of escaping. Lastly, endeavouring to teach his son Icarus the art of flying, the novice, trusting too much to his wings, fell from his towering flight, and was drowned in the sea.

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  2. Explanation
    The sense of the fable runs thus. It first denotes envy, which is continually upon the watch, and strangely prevails among excellent artificers; for no kind of people are observed to be more implacably and destructively envious to one another than these.
    In the next place, it observes an impolitic and improvident kind of punishment inflicted upon Dædalus, - that of banishment; for good workmen are gladly received everywhere, so that banishment to an excellent artificer is scarce any punishment at all; whereas other conditions of life cannot easily flourish from home. For the admiration of artists is propagated and increased among foreigners and strangers; it being a principle in the minds of men to slight and despise the mechanical operators of their own nation.
    The succeeding part of the fable is plain, concerning the use of mechanic arts, whereto human life stands greatly indebted, as receiving from this treasury numerous particulars for the service of religion, the ornament of civil society, and the whole provision and apparatus of life; but then the same magazine supplies instruments of lust, cruelty, and death. For, not to mention the arts of luxury and debauchery, we plainly see how far the business of exquisite poisons, guns, engines of war, and such kind of destructive inventions, exceeds the cruelty and barbarity of the Minotaur himself.
    The addition of the labyrinth contains a beautiful allegory, representing the nature of mechanic arts in general; for all ingenious and accurate mechanical inventions may be conceived as a labyrinth, which, by reason of their subtilty, intricacy, crossing, and interfering with one another, and the apparent resemblances they have among themselves, scarce any power of the judgment can unravel and distinguish; so that they are only to be understood and traced by the clue of experience.
    It is no less prudently added, that he who invented the windings of the labyrinth, should also show the use and management of the clue; for mechanical arts have an ambiguous or double use, and serve as well to produce as to prevent mischief and destruction; so that their virtue almost destroys or unwinds itself.
    Unlawful arts, and indeed frequently arts themselves, are persecuted by Minos, that is, by laws, which prohibit and forbid their use among the people; but notwithstanding this, they are hid, concealed, retained, and everywhere find reception and skulking-places: a thing well observed by Tacitus of the astrologers and fortune-tellers of his time. 'These,' says he, 'are a kind of men that will always be prohibited, and yet will always be retained in our city'.
    But lastly, all unlawful and vain arts, of what kind soever, lose their reputation in tract of time; grow contemptible and perish, through their over-confidence, like Icarus; being commonly unable to perform what they boasted. And to say the truth, such arts are better suppressed by their own vain pretensions, than checked or restrained by the bridle of laws.

    - Francis Bacon

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  3. Explained of Mediocrity in Natural and Moral Philosophy
    Mediocrity, or the holding a middle course, has been highly extolled in morality, but little in matters of science, though no less useful and proper here; whilst in politics it is held suspected, and ought to be employed with judgment. The ancients described mediocrity in manners by the course prescribed to Icarus; and in matters of the understanding by the steering betwixt Scylla and Charybdis, on account of the great difficulty and danger in passing those straits.

    Icarus, being to fly across the sea, was ordered by his father neither to soar too high nor fly too low, for, as his wings were fastened together with wax, there was danger of its melting by the sun's heat in too high a flight, and of its becoming less tenacious by the moisture if he kept too near the vapour of the sea. But he, with a juvenile confidence, soared aloft, and fell down headlong.

    Explanation

    The fable is vulgar, and easily interpreted; for the path of virtue lies straight between excess on the one side, and defect on the other. And no wonder that excess should prove the bane of Icarus, exulting in juvenile strength and vigour; for excess is the natural vice of youth, as defect is that of old age; and if a man must perish by either, Icarus chose the better of the two; for all defects are justly esteemed more depraved than excesses. There is some magnanimity in excess, that, like a bird, claims kindred with the heavens; but defect is a reptile, that basely crawls upon the earth. It was excellently said by Heraclitus, A dry light makes the best soul for if the soul contracts moisture from the earth, it perfectly degenerates and sinks. On the other hand, moderation must be observed, to prevent this fine light from burning, by its too great subtilty and dryness. But these observations are common.

    In matters of the understanding, it requires great skill and a particular felicity to steer clear of Scylla and Charybdis. If the ship strikes upon Scylla, it is dashed in pieces against the rocks; if upon Charybdis, it is swallowed outright. This allegory is pregnant with matter; but we shall only observe the force of it lies here, that a mean be observed in every doctrine and science, and in the rules and axioms thereof, between the rocks of distinctions and the whirlpools of universalities; for these two are the bane and shipwreck of fine geniuses and arts.

    - Francis Bacon

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