“I want you to think,” Socrates says in his trial, “of my adventures as a sort of pilgrimage undertaken to establish the truth of the oracle once and for all. After I had finished with the politicians, I turned to the poets, dramatic, lyric, and all the rest, in the belief that here I should expose myself as a complete ignoramus. I used to pick up what I thought were their most perfect works and question them closely about what they had written, in the hope of incidentally enlarging my own knowledge. Well, gentlemen, I hesitate to tell you the truth, but it must be told. It’s hardly an exaggeration to say that any of the bystanders could have explained those poems better than their actual authors. So I soon made up my mind about the poets too. I decided that it was not wisdom that enabled them to write their poetry, but a kind of instinct or inspiration, such as you find in seers and prophets who deliver all their sublime messages without knowing in the least what they mean. It seemed to me clear that the poets were in much the same case, and I also observed that the very fact that they were poets made them think that they had a perfect understanding of all other subjects, of which they were totally ignorant.”[3]
In the Ion, Socrates meets someone from the world of poets: Ion is a rhapsode, a professional reciter of poetry. He has just won a competition at Epidaurus in the Peloponnesus. Socrates hails him for his gifts: “That your art requires of you always to go in fine array, and look as beautiful as you can, and meanwhile to be conversant with many excellent poets, and especially with Homer, the best and most divine of all, and to understand his thought, and not merely learn his lines — all this is most admirable. In fact, one never could be a good rhapsode if one didn’t comprehend the utterances of the poet, for the rhapsode must become an interpreter of the poet’s thought to the audience, and to do this well is quite impossible unless one knows just what the poet is saying.”[4]
Ion agrees, and notes, “I judge that I, of all men, have the finest things to say of Homer; that neither Metrodorus of Lampsacus, nor Stesimbrotus of Thasos, nor Glaucon, nor anyone else who ever lived, had so many reflections, or such fine ones, to present on Homer as I do.”
Socrates inquires if Ion can interpret other poets equally well. No, he replies, he is successful only in interpreting Homer. Well, imagine a case in which both Homer and Hesiod talk about divination. Would you be a better interpreter of these things or would a diviner? Surely the diviner would do better. What of the case in which several people are speaking about number — who will judge their speeches better than a mathematician? And who will judge speeches about healing better than a doctor? “We may therefore generalize, and say: When several persons are discussing a given subject, the person who can distinguish the one who is speaking well on it, and the one who is speaking badly, will always be the same individual.”[5]
By parity of reasoning, the same person should be able to judge when Homer is speaking well or badly and when any other poet is speaking well or badly. Ion admits the general point but confesses that he tends to nod off when any poet other than Homer is being discussed.
“The riddle is not hard to solve,” Socrates responds. “No, it’s plain to everyone that not from art and knowledge comes your power to speak concerning Homer. If it were art that gave you power, then you could speak about all the other poets as well.”[6]
Socrates is again appealing to his craft analogy, according to which virtue is like a craft or an applied science. Exploring the analogy further, Socrates asks who could judge the maneuvers of a charioteer in a chariot race, such as Homer describes. Is it not a charioteer? If the skill of a rhapsode is an art, it must have a subject matter that is distinct from other arts. But what is left when we eliminate all the other arts that poets touch on in their poetry? Would the speech a general gives to his soldiers be the object of the poet’s art? Yes! replies Ion. But then the rhapsode’s art will be the same as the general’s. Does it follow then that a good rhapsode is a good general?
“Absolutely,” answers Ion.
“Well, and you are the ablest rhapsode in Greece?” asks Socrates.
“Yes indeed, Socrates.”
“And the ablest general, Ion? The ablest one in Greece?”
“You may be sure of it, Socrates. I learned this also from Homer.”[7]
What a shame, Socrates observes, that while you are recognized as a rhapsode, you are not recognized as a general. Or is it rather that you are saying this to avoid stating what your art of interpreting Homer consists of? I look for an interpreter of poetry and find a general instead! Perhaps it is best to admit you have no art, but rather are inspired. Socrates earlier suggested that the power of poetry is like that of a magnet. The magnet can attract an iron ring, but it can also magnetize the ring so that it attracts another, and forms a chain.[8] The poet, inspired by the Muses, conveys his inspiration to the rhapsode, who as a reciter and interpreter, transmits the power to the hearer. The inspiration reaches from the god to the hearer through intermediaries. These, however, act not by art and knowledge, but by a kind of divine inspiration.
In the end Ion accepts this characterization of his own ability. His insights amount to inspiration, not technical skill. He lacks the knowledge of the craftsman to understand the several technical feats that are described in Homer. And he lacks the knowledge of the craftsman to apply the same understanding to poets other than Homer. He has a divine gift but no technical expertise. In this case too, Socrates is unable to prove the oracle wrong; the poets and rhapsodes have a divine gift, but they fall short of wisdom.
Again, Socrates is unable to prove the oracle wrong. The poets and their performers, for all their abilities, lack wisdom.
[3].Plato Apology 22a-c.
[4].Plato Ion 530b-c.
[5].Plato Ion 531e-532a.
[6].Plato Ion 532c.
[7].Plato Ion 541a-b.
[8]. Plato Ion 533d-e.