Complete Works (204 page)

J.M.C.

[530]
S
OCRATES
: Ion! Hello. Where have you come from to visit us this time? From your home in Ephesus?

I
ON
: No, no, Socrates. From Epidaurus, from the festival of Asclepius.

S
OCRATES
: Don’t tell me the Epidaurians hold a contest for
rhapsodes
in honor of the god?

I
ON
: They certainly do! They do it for every sort of poetry and music.

S
OCRATES
: Really! Did you enter the contest? And how did it go for you?

[b] I
ON
: First prize, Socrates! We carried it off.

S
OCRATES
: That’s good to hear. Well, let’s see that we win the big games at Athens, next.

I
ON
: We’ll do it, Socrates, god willing.

S
OCRATES
: You know, Ion, many times I’ve envied you rhapsodes your profession. Physically, it is always fitting for you in your profession to be dressed up to look as beautiful as you can; and at the same time it is necessary for you to be at work with poets—many fine ones, and with [c] Homer above all, who’s the best poet and the most divine—and you have to learn his thought, not just his verses! Now that is something to envy! I mean, no one would ever get to be a good rhapsode if he didn’t understand what is meant by the poet. A rhapsode must come to present the poet’s thought to his audience; and he can’t do that beautifully unless he knows what the poet means. So this all deserves to be envied.

I
ON
: That’s true, Socrates. And that’s the part of my profession that took the most work. I think I speak more beautifully than anyone else about [d] Homer; neither Metrodorus of Lampsacus nor Stesimbrotus of Thasos nor Glaucon nor anyone else past or present could offer as many beautiful thoughts about Homer as I can.

S
OCRATES
: That’s good to hear, Ion. Surely you won’t begrudge me a demonstration?

I
ON
: Really, Socrates, it’s worth hearing how well I’ve got Homer dressed up. I think I’m worthy to be crowned by the Sons of Homer
¹
with a golden crown.

[531]
S
OCRATES
: Really, I shall make time to hear that later. Now I’d just like an answer to this: Are you so wonderfully clever about Homer alone—or also about Hesiod and Archilochus?

I
ON
: No, no. Only about Homer. That’s good enough, I think.

S
OCRATES
: Is there any subject on which Homer and Hesiod both say the same things?

I
ON
: Yes, I think so. A good many.

S
OCRATES
: Then, on those subjects, would you explain Homer’s verse better and more beautifully than Hesiod’s?

[b] I
ON
: Just the same Socrates, on those subjects, anyway, where they say the same things.

S
OCRATES
: And how about the subjects on which they do not say the same things? Divination, for example. Homer says something about it and so does Hesiod.

I
ON
: Certainly.

S
OCRATES
: Well. Take all the places where those two poets speak of divination, both where they agree and where they don’t: who would explain those better and more beautifully, you, or one of the diviners if he’s good?

I
ON
: One of the diviners.

S
OCRATES
: Suppose
you
were a diviner: if you were really able to explain the places where the two poets agree, wouldn’t you also know how to explain the places where they disagree?

I
ON
: That’s clear.

S
OCRATES
: Then what in the world is it that you’re clever about in Homer [c] but not in Hesiod and the other poets? Does Homer speak of any subjects that differ from those of
all
the other poets? Doesn’t he mainly go through tales of war, and of how people deal with each other in society—good people and bad, ordinary folks and craftsmen? And of the gods, how
they
deal with each other and with men? And doesn’t he recount what happens in heaven and in hell, and tell of the births of gods and heroes? Those are [d] the subjects of Homer’s poetry-making, aren’t they?

I
ON
: That’s true, Socrates.

S
OCRATES
: And how about the other poets? Did they write on the same subjects?

I
ON
: Yes, but Socrates, they didn’t do it the way Homer did.

S
OCRATES
: How, then? Worse?

I
ON
: Much worse.

S
OCRATES
: And Homer does it better?

I
ON
:
Really
better.

S
OCRATES
: Well now, Ion, dear heart, when a number of people are discussing arithmetic, and one of them speaks best, I suppose
someone
will know how to pick out the good speaker. [e]

I
ON
: Yes.

S
OCRATES
: Will it be the same person who can pick out the bad speakers, or someone else?

I
ON
: The same, of course.

S
OCRATES
: And that will be someone who has mastered arithmetic, right?

I
ON
: Yes.

S
OCRATES
: Well. Suppose a number of people are discussing healthy nutrition, and one of them speaks best. Will one person know that the best speaker speaks best, and another that an inferior speaker speaks worse? Or will the same man know both?

I
ON
: Obviously, the same man.

S
OCRATES
: Who is he? What do we call him?

I
ON
: A doctor.

S
OCRATES
: So, to sum it up, this is what we’re saying: when a number
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of people speak on the same subject, it’s always the same person who will know how to pick out good speakers and bad speakers. If he doesn’t know how to pick out a bad speaker, he certainly won’t know a good speaker—on the same subject, anyway.

I
ON
: That’s so.

S
OCRATES
: Then it turns out that the same person is “wonderfully clever” about both speakers.

I
ON
: Yes.

S
OCRATES
: Now
you
claim that Homer and the other poets (including Hesiod and Archilochus) speak on the same subjects, but not equally well.
He’s
good, and they’re inferior.

I
ON
: Yes, and it’s true.

[b] S
OCRATES
: Now if you really do know who’s speaking well, you’ll know that the inferior speakers are speaking worse.

I
ON
: Apparently so.

S
OCRATES
: You’re superb! So if we say that Ion is equally clever about Homer and the other poets, we’ll make no mistake. Because you agree yourself that the same person will be an adequate judge of all who speak on the same subjects, and that almost all the poets
do
treat the same subjects.

I
ON
: Then how in the world do you explain what
I
do, Socrates? When [c] someone discusses another poet I pay no attention, and I have no power to contribute anything worthwhile: I simply doze off. But let someone mention Homer and right away I’m wide awake and I’m paying attention and I have plenty to say.

S
OCRATES
:
That’s
not hard to figure out, my friend. Anyone can tell that you are powerless to speak about Homer on the basis of knowledge or mastery. Because if your ability came by mastery, you would be able to speak about all the other poets as well. Look, there is an art of poetry as a whole, isn’t there?

I
ON
: Yes.

[d] S
OCRATES
: And now take the whole of
any
other subject: won’t it have the same discipline throughout? And this goes for every subject that can be mastered. Do you need me to tell you what I mean by this, Ion?

I
ON
: Lord, yes, I do, Socrates. I love to hear you wise men talk.

S
OCRATES
: I wish that were true, Ion. But wise? Surely you are the wise men, you rhapsodes and actors, you and the poets whose work you sing. As for me, I say nothing but the truth, as you’d expect from an ordinary [e] man. I mean, even this question I asked you—look how commonplace and ordinary a matter it is. Anybody could understand what I meant: don’t you use the same discipline throughout whenever you master the whole of a subject? Take this for discussion—painting is a subject to be mastered as a whole, isn’t it?

I
ON
: Yes.

S
OCRATES
: And there are many painters, good and bad, and there have been many in the past.

I
ON
: Certainly.

S
OCRATES
: Have you ever known anyone who is clever at showing what’s well painted and what’s not in the work of Polygnotus, but who’s powerless to do that for other painters? Someone who dozes off when the work of
[533]
other painters is displayed, and is lost, and has nothing to contribute—but when he has to give judgment on Polygnotus or any other painter (so long as it’s just
one
), he’s wide awake and he’s paying attention and he has plenty to say—have you ever known anyone like that?

I
ON
: Good lord no, of course not!

S
OCRATES
: Well. Take sculpture. Have you ever known anyone who is clever at explaining which statues are well made in the case of Daedalus, [b] son of Metion, or Epeius, son of Panopeus, or Theodorus of Samos, or any other
single
sculptor, but who’s lost when he’s among the products of other sculptors, and he dozes off and has nothing to say?

I
ON
: Good lord no. I haven’t.

S
OCRATES
: And further, it is my opinion, you’ve never known anyone ever—not in flute-playing, not in cithara-playing, not in singing to the cithara, and not in rhapsodizing—you’ve never known a man who is clever at explaining Olympus or Thamyrus or Orpheus or Phemius, the rhapsode [c] from Ithaca, but who has nothing to contribute about Ion, the rhapsode from Ephesus, and cannot tell when he does his work well and when he doesn’t—you’ve never known a man like that.

I
ON
: I have nothing to say against you on that point, Socrates. But
this
I know about myself: I speak about Homer more beautifully than anybody else and I have lots to say; and everybody says I do it well. But about the other poets I do not. Now see what that means.

S
OCRATES
: I do see, Ion, and I’m going to announce to you what I think [d] that is. As I said earlier, that’s not a subject you’ve mastered—speaking well about Homer; it’s a divine power that moves you, as a “Magnetic” stone moves iron rings. (That’s what Euripides called it; most people call it “Heraclean.”)
²
This stone not only pulls those rings, if they’re iron, it also puts power
in
the rings, so that they in turn can do just what the [e] stone does—pull other rings—so that there’s sometimes a very long chain of iron pieces and rings hanging from one another. And the power in all of them depends on this stone. In the same way, the Muse makes some people inspired herself, and then through those who are inspired a chain of other enthusiasts is suspended. You know, none of the epic poets, if they’re good, are masters of their subject; they are inspired, possessed, and that is how they utter all those beautiful poems. The same goes for lyric poets if they’re good: just as the Corybantes are not in their right
[534]
minds when they dance, lyric poets, too, are not in their right minds when they make those beautiful lyrics, but as soon as they sail into harmony and rhythm they are possessed by Bacchic frenzy. Just as Bacchus worshippers
³
when they are possessed draw honey and milk from rivers, but not when they are in their right minds—the soul of a lyric poet does this too, as [b] they say themselves. For of course poets tell us that they gather songs at honey-flowing springs, from glades and gardens of the Muses, and that they bear songs to us as bees carry honey, flying like bees. And what they say is true. For a poet is an airy thing, winged and holy, and he is not able to make poetry until he becomes inspired and goes out of his mind and his intellect is no longer in him. As long as a human being has his intellect in his possession he will always lack the power to make poetry [c] or sing prophecy. Therefore because it’s not by mastery that they make poems or say many lovely things about their subjects (as you do about Homer)—but because it’s by a divine gift—each poet is able to compose beautifully only that for which the Muse has aroused him: one can do dithyrambs, another encomia, one can do dance songs, another, epics, and yet another, iambics; and each of them is worthless for the other types of poetry. You see, it’s not mastery that enables them to speak those verses, but a divine power, since if they knew how to speak beautifully on one type of poetry by mastering the subject, they could do so for all the others [d] also. That’s why the god takes their intellect away from them when he uses them as his servants, as he does prophets and godly diviners, so that we who hear should know that
they
are not the ones who speak those verses that are of such high value, for their intellect is not in them: the god himself is the one who speaks, and he gives voice through them to us. The best evidence for this account is Tynnichus from Chalcis, who never made a poem anyone would think worth mentioning,
except
for the praise-song everyone sings, almost the most beautiful lyric-poem there is, [e] and simply, as he says himself, “an invention of the Muses.” In this more than anything, then, I think, the god is showing us, so that we should be in no doubt about it, that these beautiful poems are not human, not even
from
human beings, but are divine and from gods; that poets are nothing but representatives of the gods, possessed by whoever possesses them. To
[535]
show
that
, the god deliberately sang the most beautiful lyric poem through the most worthless poet. Don’t you think I’m right, Ion?