Legendary Self-Discipline: Lessons from Mythology and Modern Heroes on Choosing the Right Path Over the Easy Path By Peter Hollins

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00:01:31.630 In Greek mythology, Pandora was the first human female

00:14:21.940 Daedalus was a master inventor and designer

00:37:27.370 The Monkey’s Paw and the dangers of shortcuts

00:50:37.069 Hercules and the Twelve Labors and embracing hardship

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.

Legendary Self-Discipline teaches you tough lessons in clear ways. Want to learn to resist distraction, push through your pain, and embrace a life of hardship yet ultimate fulfillment? The ancient Greeks were onto something. Not only that - we’ll dive into a few more modern role models to emulate, and understand how we can cope with the difficulties of life, yet never stop and keep on going.

This book imparts a multitude of lessons in two sections. The first section is on mythology and seeing willpower and great hardship play out - this allows you to understand the best mindset. The second section is on real-life titans of self-discipline and perseverance - this shows you what is truly possible.

How to keep going when the going gets tough.

Peter Hollins has studied psychology and peak human performance for over a dozen years and is a bestselling author. He has worked with a multitude of individuals to unlock their potential and path towards success. His writing draws on his academic, coaching, and research experience.

Learn the willpower lessons that have withstood the test of time.

Pandora’s Box, the 12 labors of Hercules, the story of Arete and Kakia, Icarus and Daedalus, and many more tales to capture your imagination and motivate you to be better. Plus, well-known modern figures such as Victor Frankl, Stephen King, Thomas Edison, and Benjamin Franklin.

Identify the tiny changes you can make for huge results in your life.

Many times, what we want is not complex. You might even call it simple. Yet, it is rarely easy. And that’s because self-discipline holds us back. Our habits, addictions, and limited comfort zone control us. But that’s no way to live. Take inspiration from heroes of old and present-day warriors.

Achieve your long-term goals by clicking the BUY NOW button.

This is the sixth book in the “Live a Disciplined Life” series, as listed below:

1.The Science of Self-Discipline: The Willpower, Mental Toughness, and Self-Control to Resist Temptation and Achieve Your Goals

2.Finish What You Start: The Art of Following Through, Taking Action, Executing, & Self-Discipline

3.Neuro-Discipline: Everyday Neuroscience for Self-Discipline, Focus, and Defeating Your Brain’s Impulsive and Distracted Nature

4.Mind Over Matter: The Self-Discipline to Execute Without Excuses, Control Your Impulses, and Keep Going When You Want to Give Up

5. Practical Self-Discipline

6.Legendary Self-Discipline: Lessons from Mythology and Modern Heroes on Choosing the Right Path Over the Easy Path

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Legendary Self-Discipline, lessons from mythology and modern heroes on choosing the right path

over the easy path, written 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 great

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 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 open 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 has 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. Duty and wisdom naturally seem like wonderful things,

but in gifting a jar of evils, was Zeus intending these things to merely be double 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're 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. It was your 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 into her husband's secrets, or the shadowy CIA 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 receive 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 allegories 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're not equipped to deal with

and make choices we cannot undo. What is the correct attitude to learning,

to progress and development? Human kind 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 into 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 unnecessarily 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're 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

sink, 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're 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're 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 that 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 Minus

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 Minus 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 Minus's wife to

fall in love with the white bull, producing their monster child a Minotaur. To hide his shame,

Minus needed a place to put this creature, and this is where Daedalus and his son come in.

Having completed this glorious maze, however, King Minus imprisoned father and son inside it.

Minus 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. 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 in 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 deadless 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' 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. He 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 external symbol of something

godlike, rarefied, 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 son, 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' 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 forward 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 have too few ambitions, or who plot 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 our 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. Dedalus 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' 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 Daedalus knows to ward against.

A young man could be raised up out of poverty by being selected for a sports scholarship.

He's praised by others and soon starts enjoying 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 TV, his ego growing day by day.

Some warn that he's 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 of 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 ego and naive 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 on 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 work days 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 gods 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 in 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's 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're wrong and when 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 publishing 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 earned 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 always felt themselves to be in the right,

those know-it-alls who seldom respect others, in particular if those others are in a position 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 daring devil 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 right or wrong, 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,

curious 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 talents 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.

The Monkey's Paw and the Dangerous of Shortcuts

This classic piece of literature is certainly not as old as the Greek myths we've already

considered, but it nevertheless contains a theme of warning that wouldn't have been

alien to the ancient Greeks. This short story, written by W. W. Jacobs in 1902,

has been widely interpreted as a warning against using supernatural means to interfere

with the wise hands of fate. There are actually several stories in more modern folklore that

tackle the same themes, and the moral of them all seems to be encapsulated in the old adage,

be careful what you wish for. The story very briefly goes like this.

Mr. White and his son Herbert are playing chess one night when Sergeant Major Morris

comes to visit them. He stays for dinner and afterwards shows them a fascinating artifact

he found while serving in the British Army in India, a mummified monkey's paw.

Morris explains that an Indian faker had placed a magical spell on the paw

so that it would grant the owner three wishes. He also explains that the paw has brought him

nothing but grief, and with that throws it into the fire. Morris warns Mr. White that using the

three wishes only brings dire consequences, but Mr. White, intrigued and not heeding the warning,

quickly retrieves the paw. Mr. White later decides to wish for the remaining amount left on his

mortgage, the equivalent of around $30,000. The next morning, Herbert, the son, goes to work

and is tragically killed in a machinery accident. The company denies responsibility but makes a

payment to the family, a payment of roughly $30,000. The wishes come true, but in the most

hideous form. Mrs. White, overcome with grief, demands that Mr. White use another wish to

bring their son back. Can you see where this is going? He does so, and an hour later there's

a knock at the door, and Mr. White immediately understands that the monster at the door is

not really his son at all. He quickly makes the third wish, the knocking outside stops,

Mrs. White opens it to find nobody there, and screams out in anguish.

Despite its horror elements, the story has a classical mythical structure to it,

with three wishes and an ill-considered tampering with fate,

leading to a sort of punishment from the gods themselves. The monkey's paw will appeal to

a modern audience because the lessons in it seem so relatable, who hasn't wished for something,

only to discover that it's not at all what they really wanted.

Let's dig deeper to unravel the useful life lessons within this story. It is, like our previous

two tales, a story of transgression and punishment. But what is the nature of Mr. White's crime?

He's shown the monkey's paw and told repeatedly that it is dangerous

and will result in dire consequences, but ignores these warnings entirely.

Why? It's easy to imagine a few reasons. He's greedy and gets carried away with the endless

possibilities, or he's desperate and sees in the paw a way out of his life troubles.

Perhaps his failure to take Morris's warnings seriously shows a simple foolishness on his part.

Why heed any caution when the prospect of getting everything you want is so close at hand.

Whatever it is, Mr. White ignores the warnings, and at his own peril. His first wish is for

something some might think trivial, given this seemingly unlimited magical power of the paw.

He wishes for money, but doesn't say how this money will come into being.

The horrifying consequence, his son dying in effect to produce this money,

seems to be a kind of cosmic lesson in cause and effect. There is no such thing as a free

lunch, and if the money were to really magically appear, it would need to come from somewhere.

The menace we see from the monkey's paw seems to be a stern lesson. Life is as it is, for a reason,

and if you interfere without understanding what you're doing, you will only bring calamity on

yourself. The theme repeats until the wishes are finished. Arguably, Mrs. White's wish is

less selfish than her husband's, but she makes the fatal mistake of not learning from his mistake.

Rather than destroying the paw there and then, they dig themselves further into the hole by

making more wishes, and in the end, the only way to get out of the trouble is use the wishes

completely and be worse off than they started. The characters in this story are not bad people.

They lack foresight or a greater vision. It's as though, ignorant of the complex

webs of life behind their current situation, they wish for something that is unrealistic,

undeserved, almost unnatural. Most of us have likely had thoughts of this kind.

We wish we could win the lottery, or magically wake up one morning with the body of our dreams,

and ten years younger, or get a lucky break and become famous overnight. But all these

wishes are the antithesis of carefully considered mature goals that are worked out in the real world

while obeying natural laws. The warning against messing with fate is a profound one. It tells us

that we don't always understand why things are as they are, and so cannot always get what we want.

In our limited human perspective, it's unwise to pout and wish for reality to be something else,

especially when we have no real understanding of the mechanisms underlying this reality.

We are not meant to play God and toy with the universe of which we are only a part.

A popular Buddhist fable has the same lesson. A farmer one day loses his only horse, and his

neighbor says, how unfortunate for you. But the farmer only replies, maybe, maybe not, we'll see.

Later the horse comes back, and following it is another, better horse. The neighbor now says,

how fortunate for you. And again the farmer replies, maybe, maybe not, we'll see.

Later the farmer's son is injured trying to train this new horse, and the neighbor again

chips in, saying how unlucky the farmer is. The farmer only says, maybe, maybe not, we'll see.

Some time later, war is declared, and every young man drafted to serve. However the farmer's son

being injured is exempt and can stay home, surely saving his life. Again the neighbor

congratulates the farmer, and says how lucky he is, and the farmer in his wisdom only smiles and says,

maybe, maybe not, we'll see. The moral of this story is obvious. In our limited

perspective, we're never truly in the position to say whether events or circumstances are fortunate

or unfortunate, good or bad. Some calamities later turn out to be blessings in disguise,

and some gifts are later understood as curses. Many people say that their most painful life

challenges taught them the most about life, and many people discover, with little time and wisdom,

that what they thought they wanted brought them no happiness at all.

It's this strictly human limitation on perspective that makes us so ill-equipped to decide fate is

wrong and that we know better. Just as a child who has given the power to decide what to have for

dinner might foolishly decide on four bowls of ice cream and be sick, we can't always know the best

course for life to take in the grand scheme of things. How do we take the lessons from the

monkey's paw and put them into practice in real life, though? None of us, thankfully,

have access to a magical yet cursed item that gives us whatever our heart desires.

At the end of such stories, the characters have learned their lessons. There's a heavy load of

regret and the feeling now that they should have left things just as they were. In our own lives,

it's important to be realistic and as mature as possible when it comes to deciding our grand dreams

and wishes for ourselves. Again, this takes a degree of restraint and self-discipline.

On a wild whim, we might decide that what we really want is to go and live off-grid in the

forest somewhere, only to go and find ourselves dangerously unprepared and with all our illusions

of that way of life completely shattered. On the other hand, many of us will look at a challenge

or a failure in our lives and rail against it, calling it a mistake or a punishment that we

don't deserve, but is it really? The monkey's paw tale reminds us that human beings have limitations

and that it's always better to stick to your realm of control rather than overreach into the

supernatural or, in more practical terms, the overly ambitious, unethical, or unrealistic.

What is our appropriate realm of control? Well, we can always make goals and plans to the best of

our knowledge, work hard and honestly to achieve those, and adapt as we go along and learn more.

We can have the wisdom and maturity to look at the events in our life and withhold judgment,

like the Buddhist farmer. Maybe it's a blessing, maybe not, who's to say? Like Mr. and Mrs. White,

when they play God without knowing what they're doing, the results are monstrous.

On a basic level, it's always prudent to hold off on interfering with things you don't understand

especially those that come with explicit warnings. An obvious example is a student

who takes an illicit drug to help him cram before an exam without any care of the inevitable

side effects coming his way. Rather than approaching the problem in the normal way,

studying and doing his best, he tries to cheat and uses a tool he doesn't understand or respect

and suffers the consequences. We can see echoes of this moral in stories of people being bitterly

disappointed to find that the proverbial grass is not, in fact, greener on the other side,

and that there is no way to magically find a shortcut through life.

The classic stories of making a deal with the devil are a similar warning. We're lured by the

promise of money or fame or luxury, and in our blindness and ignorance, we barge ahead not

reading the fine print, i.e., that we have sold our souls to get what we wanted. In myths and stories,

the person cutting a supernatural deal is always burnt in the end, sometimes on a technicality

like in The Monkey's Paw, or sometimes because what the person thought they wanted is soon

discovered to be awful, like King Midas, who quickly realizes what a stupid idea it is to

turn everything you touch to gold. In our lives, we can become adept at using self-discipline

and restraint when we develop goals and dreams. Can we routinely ask what it is we think we want

and be honest about why? Are we acting because we hope to find some kind of cheat code to the game

of life? Are we letting ourselves be deceived by something that promises us our wildest dreams

without stopping to understand exactly what that means? This could apply to pyramid schemes and

poor investments, or to being suspicious of romantic or business partners who promise the world,

or to gurus or coaches who claim you can have whatever you want with no effort.

Self-discipline is having the presence of mind to think carefully before your own greed or desire

runs away with you. Just like in The Deadless and Icarus story, the best path is seldom the

flashiest one, but more often goes along with ordinary, consistent hard work and an unfailing

eye on the goal, just by temptations or flashy promises that end up being worse for you in the

long run. It's a lesson in good sense. The monkey's paw is, on some level, just a fun,

spooky tale. But on another level, it's a very deep warning to let go of a foolish desire to

boss the universe around. Instead, it's better to cultivate a mature acceptance of life and its

hardships, especially those we don't like or understand. Suffering is inevitable, and trying

to avoid it never works, or even leads to more suffering. Actions undertaken without any proper

understanding of what you're doing can't be expected to work and, at worst, can be dangerous.

Rather than foolishly wishing for things to be different, take a wiser, broader view,

and resist the urge to decide prematurely what's best. On the most practical level,

a wonderful lesson is simply to be patient. Sometimes, things resolve themselves merely

by you waiting without acting. What was a problem reveals itself in time to be an integral part

of a bigger process. Wisdom and self-discipline teach us that interfering in these bigger processes

can only lead to trouble. Hercules and the Twelve Labors and Embracing Hardship

Even those unfamiliar with Greek mythology will recognize the name Hercules and the Twelve

near-impossible feats of strength and bravery he was assigned to complete. But few know why Hercules

labored on these tasks and what the deeper lesson of the story is. Context matters here. Hercules

was born of Zeus, as so many were. He was a busy deity. However, he was only a demigod,

since his mother was Alcmene, a mortal. Zeus was married to the goddess Hera at the time,

who was so enraged that she vowed to destroy Hercules, the incarnation of her husband's infidelity.

To take revenge, she sent snakes to the baby Hercules' crib, but the boy, showing incredible

strength, simply killed the snakes. He grew to be a strong, successful man who later married and

had three strong sons. Jealous and angry at his success, Hera upped the ante and caused the

adult Hercules to fall into an insanity that caused him to kill his own children and wife,

Magara. Once the insanity lifted, Hercules was overcome with grief. He sought the Council of

Wise Apollo, who told him that to redeem himself, he must serve Eurystheus, the king of Tirrens.

Unfortunately, Hera found a way to sneakily suggest that the king assign impossible tasks

that would surely kill Hercules. He had to slay a nine-headed hydra monster.

He had to kill the fierce Nemean lion, capture the Irementhean boar and the Cretan bull,

obtain the belt of Hippolita, and several other dangerous or near-impossible feats.

For posterity, the rest of the twelve labors of Hercules were as follows.

Capture the stag of Arcadia. Clean the cattle stables of King Augeus of Elis.

Shoot the carnivorous birds of the Stemphalian marshes. Capture the mad bull of the island of

Crete. Capture the man-eating mayors of King Diomedes of the Bistones. Take the girdle of

Hippolita, Queen of the Amazons. Steal the cattle of the three-bodied giant Gurion of the island of

Eurythia. Retrieve the golden apples at the world's end guarded by hisperides. Fetch from the

underworld the three-headed dog Cerberus, guardian of the gates of the underworld.

No small feats. Astonishingly, Hercules achieved all the tasks one by one with his strength,

determination, and cunning, and a little help from others along the way.

Hercules continued to have many escapades after completing his missions, and the ferocious Hera

never quite stopped trying to trick, destroy, or humiliate him. But eventually, the gods were

so impressed with Hercules' strength that they elevated him to a full god.

What can we learn from poor Hercules seemingly never-ending life troubles and dramas?

Like other mythical figures, consider the biblical Job, who similarly has misfortune

after misfortune thrown his way. He seems to embody the occasional human suspicion that there's a

vengeful god out there constantly trying to mess with us. Sometimes, it feels like life is just

one difficulty after another. The myth of Hercules teaches us that we are all, in a way, demigods.

We have a weaker, fearful, and mortal human side, but also a stronger, wiser, god-like aspect

that can help us triumph over any adversity if we can follow it rather than give in to the

temptation to give up. In fact, Hercules does face this very decision in a lesser known story from

his childhood. The story of Kakiya and Aret tells us a lot about what the myth of Hercules is really

all about. It goes like this. In Hercules' youth, he was confronted by two very different goddesses.

The first was beautiful, alluring Kakiya, who offered Hercules a life of easy pleasure.

Though she told him she was called happiness, her name actually means vice. Kakiya promised a path

that was free of pain and hard work, and was filled instead with pleasure and delight, i.e.,

the easy way. You can guess how Aret compared. She was a humble, quiet goddess who told Hercules

that her path was the only way to genuine happiness and achievement, but it would be long and difficult,

even painful at times. Her message was simple. Nothing worthwhile in the world was to be gained

without hard work and effort. Pleasure and wisdom had a price, which the wise men understood and

paid willingly. Her promise was only that if Hercules wanted to achieve great things, he must

learn to master those skills, and he must work for what he wanted, and in laboring for them,

they would be worth so much more. Her name meant virtue and suggested a life path that was slower,

more steadfast, but ultimately the best hope at a good moral existence, i.e., real happiness.

Aret's path was the hard way. By his conduct throughout his life, we already know which

path Hercules ultimately chose. By going the way of virtue instead of vice, he set himself up for

mountains of hard work, pain, suffering, discomfort, difficulty. But he also paved the way for himself

as a hero and future god, none of which would have been possible if he had shrunk away from

challenge or given up when faced with adversity. So in reading the story of Hercules, we needn't

feel sorry for him and the constant attacks from Hera. Rather, these are trials that only

strengthened the already powerful Hercules. Rather than his adversity disrupting a life

path that was meant to be easy and pleasurable, the struggle was the very cause of his later

success and contentment. Hercules went along with his twelve labors willingly. That he did so can

teach us a lot about ourselves and our own inner demons. Hercules teaches us first that

a bad start in life doesn't have to be the end of the world. He truly had the cards stacked

against him. He was a child of an affair and had someone out to kill him from the day of his birth.

But he had other things in his favor which he capitalized on. He was still a demigod and was

raised to develop and strengthen his talents despite his origins and difficulties. In Hercules'

very nature we see the two potential paths, the option for the easier, more mediocre life,

or the chance at greatness, at godlike achievement, and all the heroic deeds it would demand of him.

Hercules teaches us another lesson that is perhaps less common in modern times than it was in

ancient Greece. Life is hard. Even when you're a half god, life is still difficult and dangerous

and uncomfortable and chaotic. It doesn't matter that Hercules has superhuman strength,

even he is tested to the limits of his abilities. So it doesn't really make a difference what gifts

or advantages we possess. Life will always push us to those limits and demand we step up and be

even better. These lessons, however, will never be easy. They will take grit and determination

since they'll come in the form of struggle, disappointment, and challenge. It's a matter of

attitude. If we expect that life should be easy, we will be dismayed when it inevitably isn't.

We'll see the challenges that come our way as mistakes or unwanted barriers in our path

that should lead us directly and easily to the finish line. It's a perspective, in other words,

that guarantees we will give up, lose faith, or resort to blame when we cannot achieve the

things we want for ourselves. But if we acknowledge that life is not easy and never will be, and

perhaps that it shouldn't be, then we can adopt the attitude of finding ways through and around

troubles with us coming out the other end, strengthened and ennobled. Nothing that is

truly valuable is given for free. And in life, the best things of all are often those things

that you've won and earned for yourself, with blood, sweat, and tears. There's never an easy

way out. But knowing this, we can not only endure hardships but actually embrace them,

grateful for the opportunity to test and prove ourselves, to dig deep, and show ourselves

what we're made of. Anyone can succeed in easy times, but it takes character and active effort

to prove yourself in the hard times. The success won in these hard times will be infinitely more

valuable in reaching the end of an easy life, with nothing much to show for it.

It's also important to remember that life's struggles never really go away. Hera never

stops pursuing Hercules. She's taken as a fact of life. But just like iron can be strengthened

and made sharper in a forge of fire, or by being run along an even sharper sword, our adversities

can sometimes be our training partners, the very force in life that challenges us to be better.

This force will always be there. We're on our path and suddenly things don't go to plan.

There's an obstacle in the road, an enemy, a misfortune, or accident. And after that,

there's another one. It's not the presence of these obstacles, but how we respond to them

that will determine the quality of our success. The easy path of avoiding troubles and seeking

only pleasure may feel good in the moment, but it weakens a person. Willpower can be thought of

as a muscle. When it's not exercised, it withers. The promise of a good, easy life is ultimately

an illusion because nothing is for free, and one way or another we pay for it. In forfeiting the

challenge, in running away, avoiding hardship, blaming others or failing to rise to the challenge,

we actually impoverish ourselves and pass up a golden opportunity to become more than what we

currently are. The Goddess of Rate is the perfect personification of this idea. Discipline, sacrifice,

humble hard work, and a virtuous life can seem plain and unexciting in the moment,

but reap massive rewards later on. The flashy Goddess Kakiya promises a lot, but is all talk.

When it comes down to it, she is only offering a life of shame and pointlessness.

The easy life is nothing to be proud of because it doesn't teach us anything,

it doesn't inspire the best from us. In other words, it's cheap because it costs us nothing.

Sometimes we can look at amazing and accomplished figures and not see them for what they really are.

We can envy those who are smarter, wealthier, more attractive, or more talented,

and want their life, perhaps because we imagine that it's so much easier to be them,

but the truth is, nobody is spared hard work and difficulty in life, and in fact,

those that do well in life often experience more adversity because they welcome it into their lives

as a teacher. Hercules was naturally very strong, but his feats were never easy, never any less

frightening or difficult than they would be for anyone else. In fact, we can be grateful that in

comparison, our challenges are so much less daunting than poor Hercules. Many of the

individuals in our book have faced difficulties that actually go beyond the normal lot of human

suffering. These are the people who preach inner strength, commitment, hard work, discipline,

and all the rest. Isn't it curious that those we consider most successful in these cases

often actually faced more challenge and adversity than the average person?

It makes you wonder how much this average person could achieve with their relatively small portion

of troubles if they only adopted the attitude of Victor Frankel, Thomas Edison, or Hercules.

Heroes, or gods of all kinds, both modern and ancient, have all the same fears and weaknesses,

but the difference is that they don't allow their fear and weakness to be in the driving seat.

The path is taken willingly. The feeling of valor, pride, and satisfaction at the end of life

is directly proportional to how much one was able to achieve in the face of hardship.

There are no accolades awarding for taking the easy path, i.e., big monsters, big prizes.

Each of us is half human, half god, since we have free will and possess the potentiality to

be either exceptional or ordinary. Adversity is the arena where we prove to ourselves which

aspect we will develop, which path we will go down. Each of us is confronted by kakia and a rate,

by the choice to take the easy or the difficult route. Sometimes several times a day,

but instead of imagining that life has thrown you a curveball and been unfair,

look at your struggles for what they really are, invitations to be better.

This has been Legendary Self-Discipline. Lessons from mythology and modern heroes on choosing

the right path over the easy path, written by Peter Hollins, narrated by Russell Newton,

copyright 2020 by Peter Hollins, production copyright by Peter Hollins.