Cyrus closed his eyes without a flicker of hesitation. He relished in Solon’s philosophical parables, learned while attending the exclusive Academy of Athens where he studied among giants such as Plato, Aristotle and Eudoxus.
“Darkness abounds,” Cyrus said with an air of impatience.
“This tale was conceived by Plato himself. I am certain that, upon hearing it, you will gain a deeper understanding of our nature, and the nature of the universe.”
“Carry on, then,” Cyrus insisted.
“Very well. Imagine people living in an underground, cave-like dwelling deep beneath the earth, its mouth open to the sky,” he began, lowering his voice in a theatric manner. “These people have lived there since infancy, held captive by heavy, iron chains, their stiff backs fixed against a wall, their heads and necks fettered so they can see only straight ahead, never side to side, their dispirited stares constantly fixed upon the wall before them.
Above and behind them, an enormous fire constantly burns, and between the prisoners and the fire lies a dirt path with a tall ledge. Now imagine, behind this ledge there are people carrying a menagerie of objects—statues of people and animals made from wood, stone, and every other sort of material. These people hold their objects above their crowns so, while they themselves are hidden by the ledge, their objects rise above it. In this way, they are like puppeteers holding up their puppets. With the fire blazing behind them, these objects cast shadows on the wall before the prisoners, creating a fantastic shadow play, the figures moving and talking as their puppeteers move and talk.
All their lives, the prisoners have watched shadows cast by men whom they cannot see, and they have listened to their echoes—this world of shadows is the only world the prisoners know, for they have never seen anything besides. It is reasonable, then, to conclude that the prisoners would believe that the truth is nothing other than those objects shadow-playing on the wall, is it not?” Solon asked.
“That is a reasonable conclusion,” Cyrus nodded.
“Imagine, then, what would transpire if one of these prisoners was released, set free from his fetters, and ascended out of the cave. Upon seeing the light, he would be cured of his ignorance.
He would wish to tell his friends, but when shouting down to them from the mouth of the cave, he would appear as a grotesque, unfamiliar shadow on the wall, his echo bouncing about the cave, its sound strange and muffled. The prisoners would not recognize their friend, nor comprehend what he says. And because they will not make the same ascent out of the cave, they will never know the truth of the world—they will never see the light. But, though they will not know that world, it is not any less real.”
“That is certainly so!” Cyrus said with exuberance.
“Herein lies the lesson,” Solon said. “Now listen close. The prison dwelling represents the material realm. The material world consists of the things we apprehend with our senses—but like the shadows in the cave, it is not the real world. It is a mere reflection, a cast of shadows, whose existence can be attributed to something much greater, namely, an unseen world. This unseen world can only be accessed through an upward journey of the soul, like the prisoner’s upward journey out of the cave from darkness to light, and comprehended not by way of our eyes and ears, but through our intellect.
And this is our truth, my dear Cyrus: Seeing the world’s material shell alone is like living in darkness, never apprehending the world’s true essence. And so, we must all strive to see beyond the material realm to grasp the true nature of things, to see the world itself rather than its shadows, and hereby, we too will see the light.”
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