Legendary Self-Discipline: Lessons from Mythology and Modern Heroes on

Choosing the Right Path Over the Easy Path By Peter Hollins

Hear it Here - https://bit.ly/legendaryselfdiscipline

00:00:00 Legendary Self-Discipline

00:01:20 Pandora’s Box and the practice of discretion and patience

00:13:42 Daedalus and Icarus and the merits of moderation

00:27:24 Athena and Arachne and the saboteur that is ego

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B089G6MNQC

Fight temptation, tame your impulses, and learn to persevere.

We know we should use self-discipline, just like we know we should

budget more wisely, or eat more healthy. But just because we know about

something doesn’t mean we know how to do it.

See role model; copy role model. It's the quickest path from Point A to

Point B.

.#Arachne #Athena #Daedalus #DelosIsland #Icarus #EmperorAugustus #Epimetheus #Prometheuss #KingMinos #Pandora #PandorasBox #Zeus #RussellNewton #NewtonMG #PeterHollins #TheScienceofSelf #LegendarySelf-Discipline #UnlockYourInnerHero #Self-DisciplineLessonsFromMythology

Legendary Self-Discipline:

Lessons from Mythology and Modern Heroes on Choosing the Right Path Over the Easy Path By Peter Hollins, narrated by russell newton.

Though every one of the stories that

follow could be interpreted in many

ways,

we’ll be looking at them through a

very practical,

modern-day lens and asking what they

can teach us today about personal

development,

ethics,

discipline,

mastery and maturity.

These stories are not “true” in the

sense that they ever actually took

place,

but they are true in that they tell us

something deep and intimate about the

psyches (incidentally,

Psyche herself was also a Greek

goddess!)

of the storytellers.

Can we glean some fundamental truths

about human nature by looking at the

stories we’ve been telling ourselves

for millennia?

Myths are potent,

mysterious and have very dark,

distant origins in the human mind and

in our history.

Reading them is a little like shifting

through architectural ruins and

imagining the places that people built

for themselves in the past,

and why.

Can we see any echoes of our own

humanity in these ancient stories?

And if so,

can we learn any powerful lessons from

our distant ancestors about how to live

a wise,

fulfilled and moral life?

Pandora’s Box and the practice of

discretion and patience in the pursuit

of knowledge.

In Greek mythology,

Pandora was the first human female,

and she was made from earth and water

in the workshop of Hephaestus,

the god of metalworking,

masonry and sculpture.

Zeus had asked her to be made in an

effort at revenge after Prometheus had

stolen fire from the gods and given it

to humanity.

The pantheon of gods all gave gifts to

the new woman,

whose very name means “all gifts."

Aphrodite,

the goddess of love,

gave her beauty,

and Athena,

the goddess of wisdom and war,

gave her intelligence.

Zeus,

however,

gave her the most curious gift of all -

a stone jar (subsequently described as

a “box”)

that he told her to never,

ever open.

Zeus then sent Pandora with all her

gifts to Epimetheus,

Prometheus’s brother.

Expecting revenge,

Prometheus had told his brother never

to accept any gifts from Zeus,

but as you can guess,

he welcomed Pandora and she then failed

to resist and opened the jar to see

what was in it.

Flooding out of the jar came all the

evils of the world - sickness,

death,

hatred,

hunger,

fear,

sadness… Pandora quickly tried to

close the box,

but it was already too late.

She had “opened a can of worms” and

everything had already escaped.

By the time she closed it,

there was only one thing left inside -

hope.

Evil and pestilence had been let out

into the fresh world,

and for what?

How should we interpret this myth

today,

thousands of years after its first

telling?

Scholars have picked apart the exact

meaning,

but we will likely have no need for the

academic details here.

The fable is certainly an evocative

one,

bringing to mind themes of Eve eating

the forbidden fruit,

or of Bluebeard’s wife opening a door

in the castle she was told never to

enter.

It may even call to mind the story of

Sleeping Beauty,

who is also gifted many virtues of

supernatural origin,

as well as a curse from a more

malicious source.

We can wonder at the nature of the

gifts—beauty and wisdom naturally

seem like wonderful things,

but in gifting a jar of evils,

was Zeus intending these things to

merely bedevil humankind or are they,

in a way,

gifts as well?

This is made more curious still by the

fact that hope is included as one of

the evils,

and it does not make it out into the

world—is having hope an essentially

good or bad thing?

Though we will miss certain nuances

here (our intention is not to conduct

an academic analysis of the classics)

we can engage with this myth as it

stands,

seeing what ideas and emotions it

evokes in us.

There are perhaps two interpretations

here that may spring to mind.

The first is that the evils of the

world have come to be because of a flaw

in a character who does not obey orders

and do what they’re told.

Pandora simply doesn’t listen.

It’s not that she’s a bad person,

she’s simply too curious.

The gods,

making their wishes clear,

forbid Pandora from certain kinds of

knowledge (just as Eve is forbidden

from eating from the tree of the

knowledge of good and evil).

But who wants to be told that there is

something in the world they are not

allowed to know—especially when no

reason is given for this rule?

Unable to control herself,

Pandora’s curiosity compels her to

trespass and break a rule imposed on

her by a higher authority.

For this she is punished,

and the lesson is clear - do as

you’re told,

rein in your nosiness and you’ll

remain blissfully unaware of the bad

things in life.

In fact many myths and stories take

this shape - the protagonist is too

inquisitive for their own good,

and wants to know things that are

forbidden to them,

only to be punished when they really

experience that knowledge.

The idea is that there is innocence in

ignorance,

but that knowledge is somehow painful.

You can probably relate to this on some

level—we have the tale of a nosy wife

who wished she hadn’t pried in her

husband’s secrets,

or the shadowy C. I. A. agent who tells

us,

You can’t handle the truth.

The other interpretation is a little

more subtle.

Zeus only embarks on this caper because

he is already angry at how much humans

know—they’ve received the fire of

the gods which was forbidden to them

(and Prometheus has much in common with

Pandora in breaking rules to spread

knowledge).

Zeus did not merely unleash evils on

the world,

which he could have easily done.

Rather,

he gave humankind the choice.

He must have known that in forbidding

them,

in concealing the evils in a jar,

Pandora would open it willingly and

unleash the evils on herself.

This could well be seen as a

punishment,

but we can also see these things as a

kind of gift.

The allegory can suggest that something

in humankind propels us to learn,

to grow and find out more—in other

words to be curious!

It doesn’t matter if we are

forbidden,

or if higher authorities tell us not to.

In fact,

this might increase the appeal!

But there is a price for knowledge.

There is always a sacrifice,

and nothing comes for free.

Unlike the “good” gifts,

which can be received easily as they

are,

the “bad” gifts come about as a

result of free will.

In learning more about the world,

our eyes open,

we cannot unsee what we have seen,

and sometimes the things we learn may

be very upsetting.

Human progress,

driven by curiosity,

the desire to know and understand more

and more,

leads to the evils of the world.

It’s akin to being expelled from Eden

after learning “the truth."

This can be seen as a lesson in

maturity.

Every parent wants to protect their

innocent child from learning about the

world too fast,

from absorbing information that may be

too much for them too soon.

This myth is a stern warning about

respecting the fact that knowledge

often comes with a price.

It is both a tale of what happens when

you don’t obey wiser authorities,

but perhaps also a lesson in how these

things are inevitable—children often

have to try out something for

themselves to learn,

and in learning that lesson,

they incur some pain.

If we bluster ahead merely because we

have the free will to do so,

merely because we cannot contain our

curiosity,

we may wade into territory that we are

not equipped to deal with,

and make choices we cannot undo.

What is the correct attitude to

learning,

to progress and development?

Humankind has been making

advances—scientific,

social and even spiritual—since the

beginning of time.

But some of these advances can be said

to have come at an enormous price.

Developments in physics are the result

of an insatiable curiosity on the part

of the scientists,

but were used to create the atom bomb,

poisons,

new and deadly weapons,

machines for control and torture—all

things that can be said to be

“evils” to humanity.

We cannot go back,

just as Pandora cannot put any of the

world’s evils back in the jar.

But many of us would say that even

though development and progress is

sometimes marred with poor judgment,

harsh lessons and horrible realizations

that can’t be undone—we wouldn’t

necessarily want them to be undone.

In other words,

the cost was worth it.

In our own lives,

we can approach our personal

development with a similar degree of

consciousness and maturity - rushing

ahead before we truly understand

something or before we are ready for it

is usually disastrous.

We must rein ourselves in and exercise

self-discipline.

Seeking out knowledge simply because we

are curious is fine,

but learning must be undertaken with an

understanding that sometimes the things

we discover can be quite frightening,

and will result in a loss of innocence.

This lesson may come across as

distinctly old-school to the modern

reader.

It’s the equivalent of an old woman

sternly warning you to take heed of

your elder’s advice,

or else.

But perhaps this is where the modern,

particularly Western reader may most

benefit.

From our cultural context,

progress is often seen as an absolute

good,

and knowledge is to be sought almost

for its own sake,

with nobody sparing a thought for the

outcomes.

The idea is that it doesn’t matter

whether you should,

but whether you can.

But there are many Pandora’s boxes

that have been opened in such a spirit,

and now cannot be closed again.

How can we use this wisdom in our own

lives?

Curiosity is a wonderful thing,

and nobody would suggest you lose all

wonder and interest in learning new

things.

Rather,

when you embark on a new project of

learning,

be wise about it.

Are you really prepared and ready for

what you may learn?

When we forbid young children from

watching certain movies,

for example,

it’s not because we want to control

them—it’s because we want to

protect them.

When they are old and mature enough,

they can truly process what they see

without harm.

Can you exercise the same wise

discretion for yourself?

Self-control and self-discipline are

paramount here.

They can serve as the mental equivalent

of treading carefully on a hike,

and making sure you don’t embark on

terrain you are not physically fit

enough to endure.

An obvious,

practical,

real-world example is that of the nosy

spouse.

They see their partner’s private

journal that they are compelled to

read,

despite knowing it’s wrong.

Curiosity gets the better of them.

They soon know far more than they ever

did—but the cost is that the

“evils” that come from this

knowledge are enough to damage the

relationships forever.

Consider also someone who asks their

friend,

“Tell me what you think of my

screenplay,

I want you to be really honest” and

then is told,

to their heartbreak,

that the screenplay is garbage.

On a purely practical level,

there is the image of a precocious

novice who is told by his teacher to

focus on certain tools,

techniques or texts that are

appropriate to his level.

In his arrogance,

he rushes ahead and wants to know it

all at once.

He uses a tool that he can’t manage

and hurts himself,

or reads a text that thoroughly

confuses or distresses him,

or sets his progress back because he

suddenly realizes how far he has to go

and is demoralized.

Curiosity is good,

and so is learning.

But self-discipline is invaluable in

telling us the pace we should take in

our development.

Though we would like to believe

otherwise in our modern and democratic

times,

not all knowledge is for all people at

all times.

There are remote and isolated tribes in

pockets of the world that governments

deliberately forbid any contact with.

It’s because they know that

encountering that much knowledge all at

once,

essentially millennia of progress in a

single lifetime,

would completely overwhelm and threaten

these tribes.

Rather they must be left alone to

develop at their own pace.

The wisdom,

then,

is in knowing one’s own limitations

and having the discipline to be

patient,

to direct one’s curiosity through the

appropriate channels.

Try to guard against seeking out

knowledge merely because you can’t

contain your nosiness.

Rather,

plan your path to wisdom as though you

were making your own carefully

considered curriculum.

Build on your knowledge in stages,

take your time and digest what you

learn completely before moving on.

Lastly,

the biggest lesson may come in the

realization that knowledge inevitably

brings with it a certain loss of

innocence,

a certain maturity.

Approach this gently,

thoughtfully and with awareness,

and the “evils” of the world can be

seen as lessons that give us wisdom.

Daedalus and Icarus and the merits of

moderation .

Many of the Greek myths have the same

flavor we find in the tale of

Pandora’s box—warning against going

too far,

being too arrogant,

and trespassing into the realms that

more rightly belong to the gods.

The famous story of Daedalus and his

son Icarus is a prime example,

and even today this theme survives in

modern stories of special people who

“flew too close to the sun” and

failed.

The story is simple.

Daedalus was a master inventor and

designer,

trained by the mighty goddess Athena

herself,

and he was commissioned by King Minos

to create a vast and complicated

labyrinth.

The purpose of the labyrinth was to

forever trap the monster minotaur,

who was half bull and half human.

The existence of this aberrant creature

is a complex tale in itself—powerful

Minos was favored by the gods and given

a white bull.

They told him to sacrifice it,

but he disobeyed,

and in revenge the gods caused

Minos’s wife to fall in love with the

white bull,

producing their monster child,

the minotaur.

To hide his shame,

Minos needed a place to put this

creature,

and this is where Daedalus and his son

come in.

Having completed this glorious maze,

however,

King Minos imprisoned father and son

inside it (Minos is clearly not the

most ethical of characters!)

to prevent anyone learning about the

labyrinth at all.

But crafty Daedalus concocted a plan on

how to escape.

Gathering feathers from birds and

sticking them together with wax to make

wings,

the pair designed their escape—they

would fly out of the maze.

As they made their escape,

wise Daedalus warned his son not to fly

too close to the sun because the warmth

would melt the wax and disintegrate his

wings.

They succeeded for some time,

but after they passed Delos Island,

Icarus forgot the warning and flew

higher and higher.

As Daedalus predicted,

the sun melted the wax,

the wings broke,

and poor Icarus fell to the sea and

drowned.

This myth is a powerful one because it

so clearly and simply explains rather

complex ideas of overambition and human

egotism.

The warning takes the symbolized shape

of flying “too high."

In many languages and myths,

those who are “down to earth,”

“salt of the earth” or with their

“feet firmly on the ground” are

practical,

realistic,

and straightforward types.

It’s the idea of ascension that

belongs to lofty goals,

rising up to new,

better heights,

grand visions and glorious achievements.

These things are symbolized in all

human psyches as belonging to the

inviting but frightening realms of the

air.

Haven’t we all looked at the birds

and dreamt that one day we,

too,

could break the earth’s hold on us

and soar freely like them?

But in this story,

ascension—especially when it is

unwise and unchecked—leads to

disaster.

Not only does Icarus fall back to

earth,

his fall kills him entirely.

In going too high,

we are punished and made to fall an

equal distance back down again.

We see modern-day Icarus characters all

around us in the form of celebrities

who rise to meteoric fame only to be

dashed down to earth through one

scandal or another,

seemingly punished with a fall that

corrects their overambitious ascent.

Precocious child prodigies,

overnight millionaires or superstar

entrepreneurs have all charted this

path of too high too soon.

In interpreting this story,

we can see that it’s not flight per

se that is dangerous.

Finding a clever and innovative way to

solve problems is not strictly

punishable,

since the wise and crafty Daedalus

survives using the very same tools and

plan that his son does.

He succeeds,

perhaps,

because he uses his wings purely as a

tool to escape his predicament.

He understands the limitations of these

wings,

and respects them.

A crucial part of the story that is

often left out is the extra piece of

advice Daedalus gives to his son—that

he is not to fly too low either,

or the water will make his wings heavy

and pull him down.

So,

what was the nature of Icarus’s

mistake?

Why did he have to pay his life for

this mistake?

Icarus does not use the wings purely as

a tool.

He doesn’t remain cognizant of their

limitations—his limitations—and

forgets the wise advice of his father.

Can you picture young Icarus,

whooping and soaring and feeling like a

king after being trapped in the

dungeon-like maze?

Can you imagine the thrill of having

wings?

It’s easy to think of the youth

forgetting that the wings are there to

help him escape,

and instead getting caught up in the

delight of flying,

showing off,

“spreading his wings” and daring

himself to greater and greater delights

in the air.

In other words,

Icarus allowed his ego to overtake his

common sense.

His ambitions are understandable,

but they were unbalanced,

overreaching.

They took him past his own limitations.

His was a failure to maintain

moderation—why?

Perhaps,

in tasting a little bit of freedom and

the thrill of flying,

he was seduced to greater and greater

heights,

well out of the bounds of the normal

and practical.

This elevated range is not sustainable.

The heat of the sun (an eternal symbol

of something godlike,

rarified,

ultimately powerful,

life giving but not safe to stare

directly at!)

is too strong and destroys his wings.

The wings here are the very things that

allow him to reach the heights in the

first place,

but are undermined by too sharp an

ascent.

A modern parallel is a young rock star

whose brilliant talent allows him a

steep rise to fame.

But he keeps on rising,

getting closer and closer to his own

“sun,” until the rigors of fame

(exhaustion,

drug use,

poor mental health,

money squabbles,

family trouble,

etc.)

start to corrode the very talent that

allowed him to find success in the

first place.

He “falls."

A person suffering bipolar disorder may

experience this same arc

regularly—seduced by the sun in the

form of overambitious and lofty goals,

only to find the heights are

unsustainable—and it’s a long,

long way down.

Icarus’s behavior is a warning to us

all.

We can imagine Daedalus trying to teach

his son—yes,

it’s tempting to go as high as you

can,

to stretch your abilities to the limit

and beyond,

but you need to respect your

limitations or be destroyed by them.

It may seem far more fun to go all-out,

have grand plans and epic dreams,

but in the long run these ambitions may

actually be less sustainable than a

path forged more moderately.

The question of moderation turns up

frequently,

and not just in Greek mythology.

The wise path is frequently the middle

one - like Goldilocks’ perfect

porridge,

it’s not too hot or too cold.

It’s just right.

An implied corollary lesson in the tale

of Icarus is that it would be just as

bad to fly too low.

Those people who have too few ambitions

and who plod along too close to the

earth can also suffer because of it.

You get bogged down and perish all the

same if you never challenge yourself,

never rise to the occasion,

never follow your dreams but instead

stick close to the path well-trod by

others.

The best way is seldom the biggest,

best,

flashiest and most dramatic one.

The best technique is rarely to go all

out.

Rather,

it’s a question of appropriateness.

Of balance and a light touch to discern

when to push and when to hang back.

The truly successful in life,

the tale seems to suggest,

know how to practice self-control and

restraint,

tempering the human urge to vault into

the unknown without a care in the world.

How can we apply these principles to

our own lives,

especially when it comes to moderation?

It can be tricky when we live in a

world that in many ways encourages epic

and unsustainable levels of success.

Surrounding us are stories and images

of impossibly beautiful women,

impossibly wealthy men,

impossibly skillful scientists and

creators,

impossibly talented athletes and

impossibly intelligent philosophers…

We tell our children to dream big and

lap up stories of rags to riches and

the American Dream,

telling us that an ordinary person can

and even should aspire to the absolute

peak of achievement.

Not only does the intensity of this

ambition frequently backfire (how many

of us actually achieve it?)

but for the few that “succeed,” the

intensity is often damaging.

We don’t hear as often the stories of

successful entrepreneurs who have

sacrificed everything at the altar of

business,

including relationships,

physical health,

even their sanity.

We forget about the stars after they

burn out and retreat.

Ours is a culture that encourages

people to always be more,

more,

more.

The irony is that the more measured,

mature (and to some,

more boring!)

approach actually has the better chance

of lasting success and happiness.

Fly,

but not too close to the sun.

Strive,

develop and have goals—but temper

these with realistic restraint.

Daedalus never forgets what he is meant

to be doing - escaping to safety.

It’s this that is at the front of his

mind,

and not the wings themselves.

Icarus’s downfall could also be a

warning against narcissism and vanity.

By becoming enamored with his own

ability to fly,

Icarus forgets what the wings are

actually there for.

Thus,

an author that finds sudden and

spectacular fame may get a big head and

start to view his art more as ego

stroking for his vanity,

and not about the writing itself.

To combat this sort of waywardness,

we have to consistently be aware of and

resist the temptation to go further

than we should—or can.

In all your goals and dreams,

can you be honest with yourself and ask

what proportion of the goal is simply

for your own self-glorification?

Have you ever tasted a little success

and then ran with it,

well beyond your limits?

Self-discipline is difficult,

and it’s most difficult to conjure up

in the moments it’s most needed -

those times when we feel seduced by the

“big lights” of our own grand

narcissism,

the temptation to be a star in our own

lives,

to have a grand,

thrilling life.

This is,

essentially,

an immature state of mind,

and one that the older Daedalus knows

to ward against.

A young man could be raised up out of

poverty by being selected for a sports

scholarship.

He is praised by others and soon starts

to enjoy the attention,

relishing in his own natural talents

and pushing himself further.

He achieves some success and almost

becomes addicted to it.

Why not expand?

He could put his name to popular brands

to make more money.

He finds himself “living large” and

going into debt to live in princely

homes,

indulging in expensive and

unsustainable habits.

He stars in cameo roles on T. V.,

his ego growing day by day.

Some warn that he has forgotten his

roots,

and has lost touch with reality.

He starts dabbling with politics,

fancying himself as a businessman and

philanthropist who wants to use his

money to invest and start foundations

and scholarships… You already know

the end to the story!

However,

you don’t have to actually live a

dazzling tale like this to derive value

from the Icarus story.

Every time you ignore your own limits

in order to strive for some lofty goal

purely for your own ego,

you are like Icarus,

failing to heed the advice of

moderation.

A good technique is to constantly

maintain awareness of your motivations,

and your real goals.

Icarus could have done well to remember

what he was doing—escaping.

Don’t forget your own goals.

What are you truly after?

Don’t get distracted from that,

no matter what tempting offers come to

sidetrack you.

Truly masterful and accomplished people

know that the ego and naïve,

youthful ambition can actually get in

the way of achievement,

rather than support it.

Take yourself out of the equation and

never forget to ask how you can be

better,

no matter how much success you feel you

have and want to celebrate.

Be moderate and measured.

Drop notions of godlike glory and

fame—you may feel like a champion for

pulling an all-nighter working on your

brilliant new business idea,

but you’d be better off living a more

balanced lifestyle,

channeling your excitement

appropriately.

The choice may be between one

all-nighter followed by a crash and a

completely failed project,

or a week of patient,

balanced workdays and a successful

project.

“Pride comes before a fall” goes

the old wisdom.

Being too attached to the outcome of a

goal can ironically undermine your

performance.

If you think of truly brilliant and

accomplished people in this world (not

the momentary celebrities,

but the lifelong masters),

their approach is slow-and-steady,

and they work on their goal for the

goal’s sake,

not for their own glorification.

They aren’t superstars,

and they’re not failures,

but rather they have found that

perfectly moderate Goldilocks zone in

the middle.

Athena and Arachne and the saboteur

that is ego.

Let’s take a closer look at ego and

how it can undermine even genuine

talent.

You don’t have to be a student of the

Greek classics to notice that many of

the myths have a consistent theme in

the supposed correct relationship of

humans to the gods - obedient,

humble and deferential.

There are many stories of what happens

when mere mortals fail to know their

place,

but one of the most striking is the

story of Athena and Arachne.

Arachne was a shepherd’s daughter,

who from a young age showed astounding

skill at weaving.

However,

she was a boastful woman and didn’t

acknowledge that her talents stemmed

from,

in part,

the goddess Athena,

who was patroness of weaving.

To teach Arachne a lesson,

Athena challenged her to a contest,

but allowed her to gracefully bow out

to save face.

Arachne refused to step down,

claiming that she was the best weaver

and could beat even the goddess herself.

Her attitude was what the ancient

Greeks called hubris—an overreaching

sense of arrogance.

At the contest,

Athena weaved classical scenes of the

god’s rebuking and punishing mortals

who believed themselves on their level.

Arachne depicted the god Zeus

deceiving,

tricking and even seducing mortals—a

very cheeky statement indeed.

The goddess,

seeing this and noting also that

Arachne’s work was indeed better than

hers,

was furious.

She destroyed the weaving and struck

Arachne,

who was so ashamed that she soon hanged

herself.

Athena’s stern punishment was to turn

Arachne into a spider (indeed her name

means spider in ancient Greek),

so she could spin for all eternity.

What are we to make of this tale?

Here it’s important to note that the

historical and cultural nuances of this

story are complex,

and carry themes of provoking authority

and perhaps even a satirical poke at

what was autocratic rule by Emperor

Augustus at the time.

Nevertheless,

we can adapt this tale for more modern

tastes quite easily.

Though few today will claim to

seriously believe in “the gods,”

the truth is that we do function with a

fixed idea of external authorities that

rule over our lives—our “gods”

could be government,

the various powers that be,

“the rich,” the culture at large

and its norms and values,

the economy,

the law,

even natural scientific principles that

are felt to reign over us in a more or

less non-negotiable way.

By seeing the allegorical gods in Greek

myths more as ideas,

archetypes and beliefs,

we can begin to uncover more depth to

the story.

Arachne’s transgression is clear -

she’s arrogant,

and immature.

Her overconfidence allows her to see

herself as the sole cause of her

success,

rather than acknowledging that luck,

fate or the support of others might

have played a role,

too.

Rather than being grateful for her

abilities,

she is cocky and boastful.

She is like a student who precociously

challenges their master,

completely forgetting that the master

has taught them so much of what they

know,

or a cheeky young child mocking his

parents for being boring and uncool,

not realizing that his parents are that

way in part because they’ve worked so

hard to provide for him!

A crucial detail in this story is that

Arachne is actually right—she is a

better weaver than the goddess and

proves it.

She accurately shows an unflattering

portrait of Zeus himself,

criticizing his behavior to mortals.

But this does nothing to stop the

outcome of the story.

In fact the goddess,

doubly enraged by the impetuosity,

punishes her even more harshly where

she was willing to forgive in the

beginning.

Does this really mean that the tale is

telling us to fold and submit to higher

authorities,

even when they are wrong and we are

right?

One of the lessons here is an

uncomfortable one - being right

doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll get

what you want in life.

We can imagine a modern-day analogy - a

plucky young intern joins a powerful

company and starts to challenge the

bosses,

stepping out of line,

disobeying orders and publicly

disparaging the entire way the company

does business.

He may well be right,

but those in charge aren’t likely to

respond well to his attitude,

and he may quickly find himself out of

a job and even blacklisted.

The fact that he legitimately knew

better won’t figure into the

story—it’s his nerve and

condescending attitude that earn him a

smiting from the “gods."

The intern fails to properly understand

that his role in the organization,

his salary and his position,

all come from those higher up.

He may not agree with everything they

say,

but it is certainly unwise to

flagrantly challenge them.

Ultimately they still have the power,

just as Athena has the power to

completely destroy Arachne,

whether she won the contest or not.

This interpretation can seem a little

discouraging to those who like to

imagine that the world always rewards

truth and honesty,

but again here the more subtle message

is the power of patience,

moderation and self-control.

Arachne simply doesn’t think about

what she’s doing.

She knows she’s right,

she’s prideful and full of herself,

and never stops to imagine how things

may play out for her.

Let’s imagine the gods and goddesses

as more abstract principles.

Have you ever known anyone who railed

and fought relentlessly against,

for example,

the government,

religion,

culture,

the law,

other people in general?

Those people who always felt themselves

to be in the right,

those know-it-alls who seldom respect

others,

in particular if those others are in

positions of authority?

This is a rebellious,

haughty person who likes to push back

against business as usual,

the higher-ups… or anything,

really.

If we understand the gods to be

symbolic principles of a natural

universal order,

a person who challenges this is someone

who doesn’t respect forces greater

than himself.

Perhaps he’s a daredevil with no care

for his own mortality,

and essentially challenges the gods to

a contest every time he performs some

reckless stunt.

Maybe he’s a haughty scientist who

boldly claims that there simply are no

“gods,” only the rational world of

science,

which he will soon get the better of

using nothing more than his own

intellect (a version of the myth

that’s perhaps a little more relevant

for modern audiences?)

He might be a person who can’t be

bothered learning about history or the

lessons of his ancestors,

and so condemns himself to repeat their

mistakes (i.e. he is punished).

In any case,

a person who doesn’t properly respect

the larger order around them,

including the rank and position of

their “betters,” is inviting a

serious reprimand.

Of course,

nobody would suggest that there’s no

room for challenging the old ways,

for innovation,

creativity and new ideas.

And the myths don’t seem to say that

the gods are unreasonable or have an

illegitimate rule over mortals.

Rather,

it’s a question of attitude - Arachne

has little self-control and zero

humility.

Her ego rages over her self-discipline.

She is talented,

but what does it amount to if she

insists on being so haughty about the

fact?

We can learn from Arachne and her

mistakes.

The unfortunate fact is that all of us

have to live in a world of hierarchies,

and there will always be people in

power who we are required to defer to.

Beyond that,

there are universal laws that we simply

cannot push back against,

and shouldn’t.

The myth is not about whether this is

wrong or right,

however (or indeed about what’s

“fair”).

Rather,

it’s about the smart way to deal with

things.

History is littered with people who had

genius ideas but who lacked the tact

and strategy to get them implemented.

Diplomacy and the right attitude can go

a very long way!

If the myth of Arachne resonates with

you,

you might like to get in the

self-discipline habit of setting aside

the question of who is “right."

It’s always a good idea in any social

interaction to be respectful where it

matters,

courteous and humble,

and understand that even if you are

right,

it’s seldom helpful to brag about it.

The mark of maturity is knowing when

and how to practice a little

self-restraint—and how to hold your

tongue even if you’re itching inside

to prove that you know better!

With wisdom,

we find the discipline to act in the

interests of harmony and good

diplomacy,

and we trump vanity or our ego’s need

to feel vindicated.

Do you ever carry on and on with an

argument,

unable to let it go unless you’ve

thoroughly “won” and the other

person acknowledges it?

Take a page from Arachne’s book and

let it go.

At the end of the myth,

Arachne is no longer human,

and is condemned arguably to weave

creations that are nowhere near as

beautiful as the ones she once made.

This is the old advice to never “bite

the hand that feeds you."

Arachne,

for all her impressive skill,

derives her talent from the gods,

who can swiftly take it away again.

Arachne’s falls from her arrogant

position,

and her ultimate humiliation is to be

stripped of the skills she was so ready

to boast about.

In the same way,

people who are arrogant and barge ahead

without a second thought often find

themselves in a much-weakened position.

A daredevil young person may be

overconfident and reckless with their

own lives,

but in doing so,

the gods can take that life away again,

showing that it always belonged to them

in the first place.

This has been

Legendary Self-Discipline:

Lessons from Mythology and Modern Heroes on Choosing the Right Path Over the Easy Path By Peter Hollins, narrated by russell newton.