Web Weaver
Arachne vs Athena
Content warnings: assault, attempted suicide
Reader warning: This post contains outdated standards surrounding suicide. You matter to the world, you matter to us; the bravery isn’t in dying, it’s in living. If you or someone you know needs help with suicidal thoughts, the International Association for Suicide Prevention can help find resources local to you.
Arachne was the daughter of Idmon, a purple dye merchant who lived in Lydia. She was famous in town for having an unparalleled skill in weaving, producing stunning works of art day after day. Whenever she would set to work, the sound of her shuttle would draw in townspeople and nearby nymphs from their fields who wanted to come and watch her nimble fingers craft her enviable tapestries.
Arachne knew that the work she produced was unmatched in quality; no customer of hers had found her equal anywhere in the Greek world. As a result, she wasn’t afraid to announce her skill to her audience and show them the proof of it. While they couldn’t help but privately agree, they feared that her bold words would attract a less obliging form of attention and told her so, warning her to be modest about her extraordinary talent.
Athena, goddess of wisdom, was also the goddess of needlework and weaving; for Arachne to be too outspoken about her admirable talents would be tantamount to heresy. Arachne didn’t care, though; she was proud of her abilities and knew that she was a capable and exceptional weaver, refusing to bow to a goddess whose work she had never seen — no matter whose feelings got hurt.
The townspeople’s warnings weren’t without reason, however. Athena had indeed heard of Arachne’s work, not to mention her claims that she was the greatest weaver in the world. She was drawn to investigate this upstart’s claims, to see what this ‘greatest weaver’ could produce that was so much better than the goddess herself.
In disguise as a harmless old woman, Athena joined the crowd thronging Arachne’s workshop. She pushed her way gently to the front, appearing eager to see the young woman at work. For some time she watched as the vivid threads formed under Arachne’s shuttle into a magnificent tapestry. It was true — the young woman’s work was remarkable.
Athena praised Arachne, who thanked her, claiming once again that she believed herself to be the greatest in the land. The old woman warned her, as so many had before, that she could not be better than the great goddess Athena, that she should respect her superiority and godliness by being humble and praising her for giving Arachne such a gift.
Arachne couldn’t help but roll her eyes — so many times she had heard the same but never had she seen evidence of her godly rival’s allegedly fantastic works. She couldn’t believe that she had been given a gift either; Arachne had worked hard to hone her skills and they were given by no god but by practice. She said as much to the old woman, adding that if Athena wished for her to grovel in her greatness, first the goddess must prove worthy of her praise. Arachne was no liar and she wouldn’t start now to sate anyone’s ego, not even the gods’.
Athena then threw off her disguise, announcing herself to the surrounding crowd as they gasped and dropped to their knees before her. Arachne, however, stood tall, even if she did have an expression of shock across her usually set features. Athena, trying not to respect the audacity of her mortal rival to be so unfazed, challenged Arachne to a contest; whoever won would truly be the greatest weaver in the world. Arachne, her countenance clearing with confidence and defiance, accepted and both women readied themselves at their looms.
Arachne and Athena set to work, their fingers flying as they wove their stunning colours into an intellectual argument over the might and will of the gods and their treatment of mankind.
Athena wove a tale of their greatness, showing the Olympians in all of their powerful glory. She showed them admonishing disobedient mortals who dared compare themselves to the gods and the messy ends they met, viciously warning Arachne with every stitch.
Meanwhile, Arachne wove a story, not of how the gods were a force for mighty vengeance, but how they were instead just spoiled children. She detailed their lusts for humans and their petty revenges against mortals who had done no real wrong. She showed that the gods were just as flawed as humans and were therefore no better than mankind. Arachne’s work terrified the onlookers in the crowd that had gathered, each new panel astonishing them further with her audacity.
Once both works were complete, they were scrutinised thoroughly by both weavers. Athena’s tapestry was stunning, faultless in its execution with colours and scenes so perfect it surely couldn’t be beaten. However, even the talented and envious Athena couldn’t find a single flaw in Arachne’s work.
The goddess, previously so certain that she could beat the boastful mortal, exploded with rage at the immaculate tapestry. She ripped and tore at Arachne’s final work, destroying it for its beauty and its heresy, entirely proving the point that Arachne had been making. Athena was reduced to childishness, dispensing of her ever-wise, ever-poised self for revenge on Arachne’s talent as she beat her with the broken pieces of her own loom.
Arachne, just as irate at the goddess’ entitlement, made a choice as she watched the destruction of her art, her workshop and suffered the bitter blows of Athena’s rage. She would be prey to no god, she wouldn’t let their self-importance destroy her. She would dictate the course of her own life.
Arachne took the warrior’s path and hung herself from a tree. In ancient Greece, warriors would rather fall on their sword than be bested, refusing defeat rather than letting their enemy take control over their free will. Only Arachne would defeat herself, on her terms.
Athena, stilled in her shock, was no fool; she was fully aware of how perfect Arachne’s weaving really had been. If it hadn’t won against her own work, it had definitely tied with such exceptional quality. She recognised a part of herself in Arachne, in her toughness and bravery, in her self-certainty. In Arachne’s last moments, Athena turned the rope around her neck into a silk thread, saving her. She then held her face tenderly in her hands, promising her a life of nothing but weaving, where nobody could take away her skill, then turned her into a spider.
Arachne remained an exceptional weaver in her eight-legged form, weaving artwork after silken artwork with her own body, passing her talent down to her descendants where they could make silk tapestries across the globe, each creation tying back to her, the greatest weaver in the world.
