rms he felt that he had suddenly become strong and fearless and sure of himself. But his lips would not bend to kiss her. (Joyce 94-5) From his early school days on, Stephen is at the edge of group life, observing himself. As he grows older, he becomes even more absorbed in his own ideas until he finally withdraws from his familiar surroundings (Brandabur 159). In contrast, it is also Stephen’s acceptance of his own sinfulness that sets him free. Guilt and fear of punishment keep him in a sterile, pale world of virtue where he is always hounded by the pressure to confess, admit, or apologize (Drew 276). By committing a mortal sin of impurity and falling from grace like Adam from Paradise, like Lucifer expelled from Heaven, or even like Icarus from freedom, he is thrust back into the earthly world of the senses, a world that releases his creative powers (Booth 227): Could it be that he, Stephen Dedalus, had done these things? His conscience sighed in answer. Yes, he had done them, secretly, filthily, time after time and, hardened in sinful impenitence, he had dared to wear the mask of holiness before the tabernacle itself while his soul within was a living mass of corruption. How came it that God had not struck him dead? (Joyce 131) Stephen will sin again and again, but instead of confessing he will write. Stephen’s metaphoric descent into hell, like his ascent into an aesthetic heaven, is private, uniquely vouchsafed him by a higher power (Pope 114). Stephen is the son of Dedalus, and what the son of Daedalus did was fall. It seems clear that Stephen sees himself as a figure who, even if he heeds his father’s advice, will eventually fly too high and fall (Kenner 231). Living in the earthly world, Stephen fears many things. He has a fear of water (also giving allusion to Icarus’ demise) since he views it as an emblem of his own futility. Ironically it is the seaside ep>