Only one of the parables presents a hero who is
truly safe from the world and fortified against
its wiles: not a biblical figure, but a classical
hero: Odysseus. Here Kafka offers us the closest
approach to the ideal of individual comportment
in the world. It is entitled "The Silence of the
Sirens" and was written in October 1917. It
begins with a paradoxical statement: "proof that
inadequate, even childish measures may preserve
one from peril." Then he recounts the details of
the wax and Odysseus' decision to have himself
lashed to the mast, adding slyly that there is no
reason why other voyagers might not have done the
same, "but it was known to all the world that
such things were of no help whatsoever," because
the song of the Sirens was so persuasive that
those tempted by it "would have burst far
stronger bonds than chains and masts." But
Odysseus was, in Kafka's view, not really
tempted: he was too childlike, too confident in
his simple devices: "But Odysseus did not think
of that, although he had probably heard of it. He
trusted absolutely to his handful of wax and his
fathom of chain, and in innocent elation over his
little strategem sailed out to meet the
Sirens.
At this point the parable seems to
shift direction: "Now the Sirens have a still
more fatal weapon than their song, namely their
silence. And though admittedly such a thing never
happened, it is still conceivable that someone
might possibly have escaped from their singing;
but from their silence certainly never. Against
the feeling of having triumphed over everything
before it, no earthly powers can resist." And
indeed, the Sirens maintained silence, either
because they thought that Odysseus could be
vanquished only in this manner, or because at the
sight of his trustful bliss they forgot to sing.
He, on the other hand, was under the impression
that they were singing all the time and equally
convinced that he was immune to their
blandishments - so much so, as a amatter of fact,
that the Sirens seemed to vanish into thin
air.
Thus Odysseus, if one may so express
it, did not hear their silence; he thought they
were singing and that he alone did not hear them.
For a fleeting moment he saw their throats rising
and falling, their breasts lifting, their eyes
filled with tears, their lips half-parted, but
believed that these were accompaniments to the
air which died unheard around him. Soon, however,
all this faded from his sight as he fixed his
gaze on the distance, the Sirens literally
vanished before his resolution, and at the very
moment when they were nearest to him he knew of
them no longer.
But they - lovelier than ever
- stretched their necks and turned, letting their
awesome hair flutter unbound in the wind, and
freely stretched their claws on the rocks. They
no longer had any desire to allure; all that they
wanted was to hold as long as they could the
radiance that fell from Odysseus' great eyes.