The Polyphemus Effect

One of Odysseus’s wildest adventures takes place in and around the cave of a monster named Polyphemus, who is a son of Odysseus’s arch enemy Poseidon and one of the Cyclopes.  That means he has only one eye.  Hmmm, one wonders.  In the way of mythology, might there be some significance here?

When Polyphemus returns to his cave and finds Odysseus and his men inside with his sheep, he does something that reminds me of a passage in my oft-quoted Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.  The inhabitants of a certain planet are listed in the guide as “making a good meal for their guests,” when in truth they make a good meal of their guests.  What’s a simple preposition among friends?  So Polyphemus promptly kills and eats some of his guests.  In an epic poem virtually obsessed with the importance of hospitality, this shows extremely bad manners.

When he leaves, Polyphemus blocks the entrance to his cave with a huge rock that even the hero Odysseus is unable to move (where is Hercules when you need him?), so he and the others have to wait until their host returns.  Then Odysseus, having sharpened an olive stake (aha!, from the tree of Athena, and therefore related to the preservation of civilization) in the fire, waits until Polyphemus is asleep, and drives the stake into his single eye.  He and his men escape the monster’s grasp by riding underneath some sheep as they go out to pasture.

But what about that single eye?  Greek civilization is largely built on dialogue, the obvious epitome of this tradition being the work of Socrates and his interpreter, Plato.  Whereas much of previous civilization has been imposed from above, the Greeks want new ideas—or old ones, for that matter—to be hashed out, with first one opinion and then another being brought to the fore.  We are familiar with it in our debating societies:  point, counterpoint, and then responses until the time is up and we are ready for a vote.

Polyphemus sees from only one point of view, and since he is a son of the Poseidon who isn’t exactly a god ready to listen to a well-reasoned argument it is no wonder.  Those creatures who have two eyes and therefore three-dimensional vision have a great advantage in dealing with reality, but Polyphemus’s vision is flat.

I submit that we’re going Polyphemus’s way in this society, even as we pretend to celebrate pluralism.  I say pretend because all too often it’s a matter of “I will not tolerate any deviation from pluralism.”  That, of course, leads to lowest-common-denominator thinking.

Two politicians of the sixties that I appreciated very much, although not necessarily for their political views in general, were Barry Goldwater and Hubert Humphrey.  What I liked about them was that they could argue like a couple of fanatics in the Senate for the simple reason that they felt passionately about what they thought would be best for the country, yet they were the best of friends.  They were friends because each knew the other genuinely wanted the best for his beloved country and valued hearing all possible opposing viewpoints in order to get it right.

Now it appears our “world’s greatest debating society,” along with the House of Representatives, exists largely for the purpose of seeing whose power base is stronger, who can marshal enough power to push something through for purposes that the welfare of the common people may not enter into at all.  One recalls that when President Clinton was impeached, the vote went straight down party lines.  A wonderful lesson for our children as they learn how democracy works, right?

Now we hear, “We have to push this bill through to a vote before the opposition can get organized.”  Or a major journalist suggests, “The president should squash his opposition!”  Hello?  Anyone out there?  That ain’t what I was taught in my Civics class.

What it may come down to is whether we’re going to be the heirs of Polyphemus or Socrates.