The Cave

Philosophy just wouldn’t be philosophy without Plato’s Allegory of the Cave.  Plato asks that we imagine a cave where people are trapped in seats, unable to turn from side to side, and only able to see the wall in front of them.  Behind them is a fire and between the fire and the people are puppets, that cast a parade of shadows on the wall.  All that can be seen, all that has ever been seen, by these people are the shadows and the shadows become their reality.

Lo and behold, someone escapes from the cave and finds their way into the light of outdoors, discovering the world as it really is.  That same person returns to share with the others the truth that lies outside the cave.  However, that person’s message is unwelcome.  Not only don’t the others want to hear the news, they’re ready to kill the messenger.

The first half-dozen times I heard this story, I didn’t get it.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how frighteningly important the allegory really is.  In this era of modern media, we are constantly bombarded by shadows on the wall and we are quick to make those shadows our reality.

As someone who occasionally teaches Intro to Philosophy, I have tried to figure out how best to teach this allegory in a meaningful way.  Having recently read Salem’s Lot, It, and 11/22/1963, I have decided that the next time I teach Plato’s allegory, I will teach it as a horror story, ala Stephen King.

Imagine a group of people trapped in a dark chamber, strapped to their chairs, and unable to look left or right. They must look forward, compelled to watch a giant T.V. screen. Twenty-four-hours-a-day, day in and day out, all that they see is an endless stream of Hallmark Christmas movies.  For them, this is their reality. They believe in a world where everyone has straight white teeth and perfect hair, a world where every love story has a happy ending, and a world where it always snows on Christmas Eve.

Behind these people sit the puppeteers, conspirators who write a thousand variations of the same plot.  They scheme day and night to profit from the mind-numbing, feel-good world that they peddle.

Lo and behold, our protagonist escapes from the room, and ventures into the world seeing it for what it really is.  Freed from the illusions of a perfect world and white Christmases, our protagonist feels a duty to tell the others, and so returns to the chamber.

“Listen, not everyone has straight white teeth and a beautiful head of hair. Not every love story has a happy ending.  Not all Christmases are white and some people don’t even celebrate Christmas. Come, see for yourselves.”

The room fills with a collective gasp.  Hearing their plot exposed, the puppeteers gape in horror. Not wanting their movie interrupted, those strapped to their chairs react with vengeful rage.

Then someone realizes that they are not really trapped in their seats.  They can get up and move about whenever they choose.  One by one they do so. Together in common purpose they surround our well-intentioned, but now helpless, protagonist. They proceed to bludgeon this messenger of ill tidings with Christmas ornaments . . . and then they return to their seats to continue watching the movie.

Thank you, Stephen King.