The gods, being all-powerful, needed a more subtle praise than obedience.
They preferred their intention to become man's aspiration, their whim, his law. Athena, in particular, liked to be served this way. The gray-eyed goddess of wisdom, whose sign was the owl, taught men the arts they needed to know, not through wide proclamations, but through firing the brightest spirits to a white heat wherein they perceived the secret laws of nature and made discoveries and inventions.
Now, in those times, her favorite among all mortals was an Athenian named
Daedalus. In the white city of the goddess, Daedalus was honored among
all men, and treasure after treasure flowed from his workshop - the wheel,
the plow, the loom. Finally, as happens to many men, his pride raced away
with his wits. He fell into a black envy of his own nephew, Perdix, a most
gifted lad, whom he had taken into his workshop, and who, everyone said,
was bound to follow in his footsteps.
"Aye, but he's following too fast," grumbled Daedalus to himself. "He's treading on my heels."
Daedalus, at that time, was working on a special project, a blade to cut wood
more quickly than knife or ax. He had puzzled, tested, and tried many
things, but nothing seemed to work. Then, one day, coming early to his
workshop, he heard a curious sound. It was his nephew, Perdix, who had
come even earlier. He was leaning over, holding a board pinned to a low
table under his knee, and swiftly cutting into it with what looked like the
backbone of a fish.
The boy turned to him, smiling. "Look, Uncle," he cried. "See, how
splendid! Yesterday I saw a large fish stranded on the beach, half-eaten
by gulls, and a notion came to me that his spine with its many sharp teeth
might be just the thing we're looking for. So I took it from the fish who
had no more need of it and tried it right there. I cut through a great piece of
driftwood. Isn't it wonderful? Don't you think the goddess, Athena, herself,
washed the fish on shore for me to see? Why are you looking at me that way,
Uncle? Are you not pleased?"
"Very pleased, my boy. I have long been considering your case and have
been weighing how to reward you according to your merit. Well, now I think
I know. But first we must go to Athena's temple to give thanks for this timely
inspiration."
He took the boy by the hand and led him up the sunny road to the top of
the hill, to the Acropolis where the temple of Athena stood - and still stands.
Daedalus led him to the roof of the marble building; there, as the lad stretched
his arms toward heaven, Daedalus stepped softly behind him, placed his hands
on his shoulders, and pushed. The boy went tumbling off the temple, off the
hill, to the rocks below. But Athena who had heard the first words of the boy's
prayer, caught him in mid-air, and turned him into a partridge, which flew
away. She then withdrew her favor from Daedalus.
Word of the boy's death flashed through the city. Nothing could be proven
against Daedalus, but he was the target of the darkest suspicions, which,
curiously enough, he took as an affront, for nothing could be proved, and so
he felt unjustly accused.
"Ungrateful wretches!" he cried. "I will leave this city. I will go elsewhere
and find more appreciative neighbors."
He had not told them about the invention of the saw, but he took the model
Perdix had made and set out for Crete.
