Theseus was born into uncertainty. His mother, Aethra, was a respected woman of Troezen, and his father, though never officially acknowledged, was almost certainly Aegeus, the ruler of Athens. His birth was not greeted with omens or prophecies, but with anxiety. The political situation in Attica was fragile, its small communities often at odds, and Aegeus feared that any recognized heir would attract rivals before the boy could defend himself. So, he left Troezen quietly, entrusting Aethra with raising their son far from Athenian politics.

As Theseus grew, people noticed two things about him: he was unusually determined, and he had a strong sense of justice. Plutarch (1914) implies that he admired the order Hercules brought wherever he travelled; in a human retelling, we might say Theseus grew up hearing accounts of leaders who confronted bandits and tyrants, restoring safety to common travelers. These stories became ideals for him, images of the kind of man he wanted to be (Acuna, 2025).

At sixteen, Aethra finally revealed the truth: she showed him the sandals and sword Aegeus had hidden beneath a heavy stone years before and told him that his father had left them as proof of lineage. Theseus lifted the stone, not as a heroic feat, but as an act of resolve. With the items in hand, he understood that he had a responsibility not only to claim his heritage but also to face the dangers that plagued the regions between Troezen and Athens.

The Road to Athens

The journey he chose was not the safe one. Rather than sail directly to Athens, he walked the inland road, the long, rough route where petty warlords, gangs of thieves, and corrupted strongmen controlled local territories. Many travelers feared that road; Theseus considered it a necessary test. If he was to be a leader, he had to see firsthand the disorder that common people suffered (Acuna, 2025).

The “bandits” Plutarch names, Periphetes, Sinis, Sciron, Procrustes, can be understood not as monstrous figures but as violent men who imposed their will through brutality. Each ruled a small region, extracting payment, forcing humiliation, or meting out cruelty under the guise of authority. When Theseus confronted them, he was not slaying giants; he was dismantling local tyrannies (Acuna, 2025).

These confrontations shaped him. He learned quickly that violence was not glorious. One does not fight a man like Periphetes, who murdered travelers with a club, without sensing the weight of taking a human life. Yet Theseus also saw that refusing to act meant leaving future victims behind (Acuna, 2025).

By the time he reached Athens, people were already whispering of a young traveler who challenged injustice and survived.

Arrival in Athens

Athens itself was tense. Aegeus, aging and heirless, was trapped in political uncertainty. His wife Medea, foreign, brilliant, and calculating, held influence in court but was resented by many. Theseus entered the city anonymously to study the situation before declaring himself. He understood that announcing his lineage without preparation could lead directly to assassination or political manipulation.

Plutarch’s (1914) version has Medea plotting against him. In a historical reinterpretation, she likely saw him as a threat personally and politically, another claimant who could destabilize her standing. The poisoning at the banquet becomes not a mythic intrigue but an entirely plausible political maneuver (Acuna, 2025). When Aegeus recognized Theseus’ sword, he did not see destiny; he saw his past returning with consequences. And in that moment of recognition, he stopped the attempt on Theseus’ life.

Theseus was acknowledged as the prince.

The “Tribute to Crete”

The Minotaur, in a human retelling, is no beast, just a symbol layered over time (Acuna, 2025). The truth may have been political oppression. Athens had once surrendered after a failed confrontation with Crete, and part of the agreement required sending young Athenians as hostages. They were not fed to a monster; they were absorbed into Cretan households, labor, or military service. Some never returned. The Athenians lived with the bitterness of subjugation.

Theseus’ decision to join the delegation of youths was therefore not an act of heroism against a monster but one of political risk. He intended to break the cycle of humiliation (Acuna, 2025). In Crete, he negotiated, persuaded, challenged traditions that no longer fit the current political reality. Ariadne may not have been a princess in love but a Cretan noblewoman sympathetic to reform, providing guidance, introductions, or access to factions ready for change.

Eventually, Theseus secured the release of the Athenian hostages and the end of the tribute. There was no labyrinth, only a labyrinth of political tensions, competing interests, and careful diplomacy (Acuna, 2025).

The Return and the Black Sails

When Theseus sailed home, his mind was full of what he had accomplished, and what remained to be done. He forgot the signal he had promised Aegeus: hoisting white sails if he survived. When the black sails appeared on the horizon, Aegeus believed his son lost and threw himself into the sea (Plutarch, 1914).

This was not divine tragedy. It was human tragedy. A moment of joy mixed with exhaustion and distraction turning into irreversible grief (Acuna, 2025). It haunted Theseus for the rest of his life.

Theseus the Reformer

Once king, Theseus tried to unify Attica. The small communities of the region often clung to their independence, fracturing the territory. Through negotiation, alliances, and, when necessary, force, he consolidated them into a single political unit. This “synoecism” was one of his greatest achievements. It transformed Athens from a scatter of loosely connected towns into a single people with shared institutions.

He also initiated reforms: expanded citizenship rights, created festivals that united communities, and reorganized the city with clearer civic roles, farmers, craftsmen, religious officials. It can be said that he envisioned a society in which citizens participated actively rather than remaining subjects under noble families.

The Later Years

Plutarch (1914) suggests that Theseus died in exile, pushed out by shifting political tides. In this version, his end is not a fall from divine favor but the fate of many strong rulers whose popularity wanes as rivals rise. Democracies, oligarchies, and monarchies alike move on from leaders, even from founders.

Theseus died far from the city he had unified, an old man who had fought bandits, navigated foreign politics, and reshaped Athens. His legacy survived not because he battled supernatural beasts, but because he challenged human cruelty, faced political realities, and built structures that allowed Athens to grow into something greater than he could have imagined.

Comparative Chart: Plutarch’s Life of Theseus vs. “Theseus: A Human Story”

Element	Plutarch’s Life of Theseus	“Theseus: A Human Story” (Human-Centered Modern Retelling)
Birth & Parentage	Theseus’ birth is semi-divine: Aegeus and Aethra both play a role, but Poseidon is also invoked (Plut. Thes. 3–6). Omens and prophecies accompany his conception.	Theseus’ birth is purely human. No divine parentage, no omens, only political anxiety about succession and dangerous rivalries in Attica. His father is very likely Aegeus, but unacknowledged due to political risk.
Aethra’s Role	Aethra is important but secondary; her primary significance is her involvement in Theseus’ conception (Plut. Thes. 3–4).	Aethra is a fully developed political actor. She protects Theseus, raises him consciously away from Athenian turmoil, and reveals Aegeus’ tokens when Theseus is mature enough.
The Hidden Sword & Sandals	Aegeus hides these items under a stone as a divine test of strength (Plut. Thes. 6–7).	The lifting of the stone is not miraculous, just a symbolic act of resolve. The items serve as pragmatic evidence of lineage, not divine ordination.
Early Heroic Examples / Hercules	Theseus models himself after Hercules’ heroic labors and divine missions (Plut. Thes. 2–3).	Theseus grows up hearing stories about leaders who bring justice to regions plagued by violence. He models himself on human ideals of justice, not divine feats.
Journey to Athens	Plutarch recounts battles with monstrous or superhuman bandits (Periphetes, Sinis, Sciron, Procrustes) (Plut. Thes. 8–12).	All “bandits” are reframed as violent local tyrants, gang leaders, or corrupt authorities. Theseus dismantles oppressive micro-regimes, learning that justice requires moral courage and political awareness.
Nature of Violence	Theseus’ killings often mirror the criminals’ own methods, emphasizing poetic justice (Plut. Thes. 11–12).	The killings are depicted as grim, morally weighty necessities. Theseus sees violence as tragic rather than heroic, emphasizing human cost and ethical burden.
Arrival in Athens	Theseus is welcomed cautiously; Medea plots against him using poisons and enchantments (Plut. Thes. 15–16).	Medea becomes a political strategist, not a sorceress. Her attempted poisoning represents a plausible courtly assassination to retain influence over Aegeus.
Aegeus’ Recognition	Recognition is dramatic and rooted in divine fate (Plut. Thes. 16).	Recognition is human: Aegeus sees political consequences resurfacing and intervenes to prevent Medea’s attack. His acknowledgment is emotional, not mythic.
The Tribute to Crete	Athens sends fourteen youths every nine years to be devoured by the Minotaur in the Labyrinth (Plut. Thes. 15).	Tribute is reinterpreted as sending political hostages/slaves after a military defeat. No Minotaur exists, only human subjection and inter-polity tension.
Theseus’ Mission to Crete	Motivated by heroic idealism and divine approval (Plut. Thes. 17).	Motivated by political agency: Theseus wants to break cycles of oppression, challenge Cretan dominance, and restore Athens’ dignity.
Ariadne’s Role	Ariadne falls in love, gives Theseus a thread, and helps him survive the Labyrinth (Plut. Thes. 19).	Ariadne becomes a Cretan noblewoman sympathetic to reforms. She assists through political introductions, information-sharing, and strategic insight. No magical tools.
The Labyrinth	Literal structure designed by Daedalus to contain the Minotaur (Plut. Thes. 15).	A metaphor: Crete’s political system, complex networks of factions, alliances, risks, and negotiations.
Killing the Minotaur	Central heroic feat (Plut. Thes. 19).	Removed entirely. The “victory” is diplomatic: Theseus negotiates the end of the tribute and secures freedom for Athenian hostages.
Escape from Crete	Mythic escape with divine interventions and Ariadne’s support; Ariadne later abandoned (Plut. Thes. 20).	Escape is political: Theseus must flee Crete quickly after ending the tribute. Ariadne’s eventual abandonment is framed as political complication or personal conflict, not divine punishment.
Return & Black Sails	A tragic mistake ordained by fate, leading Aegeus to throw himself into the sea (Plut. Thes. 22).	A deeply human error: exhausted, Theseus forgets the signal. Aegeus dies from grief, not destiny. Theseus carries emotional guilt and trauma.
Reforms and Synoecism	Plutarch presents Theseus as a founder of Athenian unity and political institutions (Plut. Thes. 24–25).	Same outcome is retained but reframed: Theseus uses diplomacy, alliances, and governance reforms to unify Attica. His contributions are political, not mythic.
Later Years & Death	Exile and violent death on Scyros attributed to political upheaval and betrayal (Plut. Thes. 32–35).	Theseus declines like a real statesman whose influence fades as new political forces emerge. His death is part of a historical pattern: founders are often discarded by the systems they create.
Purpose of the Narrative	To blend history and myth, modeling virtue through heroic biography.	To reinterpret Theseus as a fallible but principled human leader whose accomplishments arise from moral conviction, political acumen, and personal sacrifice.
Focus of Moral Lessons	Virtue expressed through physical valor and divine-linked heroism (Plut. Thes. Proem).	Virtue expressed through ethical leadership, empathy, diplomacy, and the ability to recognize the human cost of political action.

San José, Costa Rica

Monday, January 28, 2026

📚 References 

Acuña Solano, J. (2025, December). Literary Reflective Journaling: Theseus. [Unpublished reflections on literature and myth].

Plutarch. (1914). Theseus. In B. Perrin (Ed. & Trans.), Plutarch’s Lives (Vol. 1). Harvard University Press. (Original work ca. 100 CE)

📚 Sources to Explore on Plutarch, Myth Interpretation, and Athenian History

Arrighetti, G. (2018). Plutarch and the shaping of Greek moral identity. Classical Antiquity, 37(2), 241–267.

Buxton, R. (1994). Imaginary Greece: The contexts of myth and storytelling. Cambridge University Press.

Duff, T. (1999). Plutarch’s Lives: Exploring virtue and vice. Oxford University Press.

Hägg, T. (2012). The art of biography in antiquity. Cambridge University Press.

Pelling, C. (2002). Plutarch and history: Eighteen studies. Duckworth.

Stadter, P. A. (2014). Plutarch and his Roman readers. Oxford University Press.

Walker, H. J. (1995). Theseus and Athens. Oxford University Press.

Theseus, A Human Story by Jonathan Acuña

Introduction

Differentiation has become a central concept in contemporary language education, particularly in contexts characterized by learner diversity, mixed-ability groups, and varied motivational profiles. In English language teaching (ELT), differentiation responds to the pedagogical challenge of ensuring that all learners, regardless of background, proficiency, or learning preferences, can meaningfully engage with instruction and achieve shared learning objectives.

This essay, my 519th publication in this blog, explores the concept of differentiation through the lens of TeachingEnglish: Managing learners and resources, a course offered by the British Council, with particular attention to Module 2, Unit 1: Understanding differentiation. Drawing on the British Council’s definitions, Carol Ann Tomlinson’s theoretical framework, and practitioner perspectives, the essay also integrates reflective insights from my own professional practice. The discussion argues that differentiation is not merely a set of techniques, but rather a pedagogical mindset grounded in respect for learner diversity and a commitment to maximizing each learner’s potential.

Defining Differentiation in Language Teaching

According to the British Council (n.d.), differentiation occurs when “a teacher adapts some parts of the task, instructions, lesson or activity to suit the needs of the particular learners, to ensure all learners are included in the lesson.” This definition highlights inclusion as the primary goal of differentiated instruction. Importantly, differentiation does not imply lowering standards or fragmenting learning objectives. On the contrary, “all learners should achieve the same aim, but they may do this in different ways” (British Council, n.d.). For example, learners may demonstrate comprehension through writing, drawing, or oral explanations, depending on their linguistics or cognitive strengths and learning preferences.

In a differentiated lesson, teachers take into account learners’ levels, interests, and needs. Some learners may extend beyond the core objective, while others may achieve it at a more basic level, such as responding with one-word answers instead of complete sentences. This flexible approach recognizes variability as a natural condition of classrooms rather than an exception to be managed.

Differentiation as a Way of Thinking: Tomlinson’s Framework

Carol Ann Tomlinson’s work provides a foundational theoretical perspective on differentiation. In her influential article, Tomlinson (2000) emphasizes that differentiation is not a formula or a discrete instructional strategy. As she asserts, “what we call differentiation is not a recipe for teaching… It is a way of thinking about teaching and learning. It is a philosophy.” This philosophy is grounded in a set of beliefs about learners, learning, and the role of schools.

Tomlinson’s (2000) first belief recognizes that students of the same age differ significantly in “readiness to learn, interests, styles of learning, experiences, and life circumstances.” These differences are not trivial; rather, they “make a major impact on what students need to learn, the pace at which they need to learn it, and the support they need from teachers and others” (Tomlinson, 2000). Learning, therefore, is most effective when supportive adults push learners slightly beyond what they can do independently, echoing Vygotskian notions of mediated learning.

Further, Tomlinson (2000) argues that learning is enhanced when students can connect curricular content to their own interests and life experiences, when learning opportunities feel natural, and when classrooms foster a sense of community in which learners feel “significant and respected.” Ultimately, she contends that “the central job of schools is to maximize the capacity of each student” (Tomlinson, 2000). The British Council’s paraphrased version of these beliefs reinforces their practical relevance by foregrounding learner significance, respect, and capacity-building as core educational values.

Learner Differences in the Language Classroom

Understanding learner differences is a prerequisite for effective differentiation. Reflecting on this issue, I have argued that although learners may be grouped under the same proficiency level, “there are many differences when two learners are compared” (Acuña, 2026). Learners vary in cognitive load, cognitive capacity, prior knowledge, motivation, and the degree of scaffolding they require. No two language learners occupy the same zone of current development or zone of proximal development at any given time (Acuña, 2026).

These observations align with practitioner insights shared in the British Council course. Stephen Sharpe, a teacher in Tunisia, notes that learners differ in their motivation, reasons for learning, and opportunities to practice the language. Lucy Widdowson, teaching in England, emphasizes age-related differences, learning pace, interests, and learner attitudes, including confidence and willingness to participate. Similarly, Alister Widdowson highlights differences in background, experience, aptitude, and specific language needs, concluding that “we can’t treat every child or every student the same” if we want all learners to progress.

Collectively, these perspectives point to a wide range of factors influencing learner diversity, including socio-economic background, cultural factors, learning preferences, attitudes toward the teacher, and aptitude for particular skills. Differentiation, therefore, emerges as a pedagogical necessity rather than an optional enhancement.

How Teachers Differentiate in Practice

Differentiation can be operationalized in multiple ways within the language classroom. From my own practice, I rely on Kolb’s experiential learning cycle to identify learner preferences, recognizing that classes often include “feelers, thinkers, doers, and watchers” (Acuña, 2026). Awareness of these learner types allows for more effective task design, increased participation, and strategic pairing or grouping of students.

Practitioner accounts from the British Council further illustrate practical differentiation strategies. Sharpe suggests varying lesson content and task types to address individual needs. Lucy Widdowson focuses on differentiating instructions so that “different learning paths will lead to the same learning outcome,” while continuously adjusting lessons based on learner responses. Alister Widdowson emphasizes interaction patterns, such as pairing stronger and weaker students, grouping learners by level, adjusting task difficulty, and allowing flexible timing.

These strategies demonstrate that differentiation can occur through content, process, interaction, and pacing, all while maintaining common learning goals.

Why Differentiation Matters

The rationale for differentiation is strongly articulated by both theory and practice. Sharpe argues that differentiation ensures all learners have access to lesson content and experience success (British Council, n.d.). Lucy Widdowson adds that it allows learners to demonstrate what they know, reach their full potential, and develop motivation and confidence, noting that “one size does not fit all” (British Council, n.d.). Alister Widdowson goes even further, asserting that “we can’t really teach without it,” as differentiation enables learners to progress at their own pace and measure their development (British Council, n.d.).

From my perspective, the ultimate objective of differentiation is to ensure that “all learners have achieved learning objectives by the end of the class” (Acuña, 2026). In communicative language teaching contexts, this means that learners should be able to use target vocabulary and structures in tasks that reflect real-life communication (Acuña, 2026). When learners can successfully perform such tasks, they are able to self-assess their level of assimilation and practical language use (Acuña, 2026).

Differentiation by Resource Use

Resources play a crucial role in supporting differentiation. Reflecting on my synchronous virtual classes, I note that one of the most valuable resources is “the other learners,” as peer interaction maximizes opportunities for practice (Acuña, 2026). Digital presentations help structure lessons, while exam-practice websites provide additional individualized practice aligned with learner goals.

The way resources are used can significantly affect learners. Based on learner success rates and course attrition, I perceive a positive impact, though I also acknowledge the need for greater variety to sustain attention and interest. Using diverse resources supports differentiation by motivating learners and emphasizing language use over rote study. In adult education contexts, differences between young adults and working adults are particularly salient, as professional needs and life experiences strongly shape engagement and outcomes.

The British Council’s (n.d.) teaching tip encapsulates this idea succinctly: teachers are “most likely to meet the needs of a wider range of learners if [they] use a wide range of resources.” Inviting learners to contribute resources or create their own materials can further enhance ownership and differentiation.

Conclusion

Differentiation in language teaching is best understood not as an add-on strategy, but as a pedagogical philosophy rooted in learner-centeredness, inclusivity, and respect for diversity. The British Council’s framework, Tomlinson’s theoretical insights, practitioner testimonies, and reflective classroom experience collectively underscore that learners differ in meaningful ways that directly impact learning.

Differentiation responds to this reality by offering flexible pathways toward shared learning goals. When thoughtfully implemented through instructional design, interaction patterns, and resource use, differentiation enables teachers to push learners toward their zone of proximal development while maximizing each learner’s capacity. In this sense, differentiation is not simply good practice; it is essential practice in effective language education.