I very much appreciate Finkelberg’s observation on the changing role of poetry in Plato. As she claims, the earlier dialogues which present link poetry to divine inspiration, the Apology, the Ion and the Meno, give way, with the discovery of the pseudo-crafts in the Gorgias, to a developed theory of mimesis in the Phaedrus and the Republic. This allows Plato to make the following observations in his account of divine madness in the Phaedrus:
There is a third form of possession or madness, of which the Muses are the source. This seizes a tender, virgin soul and stimulates it to rapt passionate expression, especially in lyric poetry, glorifying the countless deeds of ancient times for the instruction of posterity. But if any man comes to the gates of poetry without the madness of the Muses, persuaded that skill alone (techne) will make him a good poet, then shall he and his works of sanity with him be brought to nought by the poetry of madness, and behold, their place is nowhere to be found.
Technique is not sufficient; one has to be inspired in order to be a good poetry. Enthusiasmos, inspiration, is required; when present, the poet belongs alongside the philosopher. And when it is absent? The poet is an imitator, concerned with mimesis alone. One finds the same distinction between inspired and non-inspired poetry in The Republic. In book 3, Plato distinguishes mimetic poetry, which works through impersonation, taking on roles (dramatic poetry) and non-mimetic poetry or ‘plain discourse’ which ‘the report of the poet himself’ and is exemplified by lyric poetry, in the dithyramb. There is a third category – mixed poetry, which contains elements from the previous two categories. Epic poetry is a good example of this. Mimetic poets of all kinds – tragedians, comedians, and even epic poets like Homer – are to be expelled from the city. Lyric poetry may remain, but only on the condition that it is purified; henceforward, it will concern only the gods and good men, performed in a standardized rhythm and mode.
Aristotle, of course, presents a very different view of poetry, considering poetic mimesis admirable since it allows the poem to present something truly universal, purged of the accidental qualities of empirical reality. Aristotle does not celebrate Homer’s plain discourse, condemning his deviations into imitation, like Plato, but celebrates him for those same deviations; likewise, tragedy, far from being the lowest of the arts, is, for Aristotle, the highest. What is interesting, as Finkelberg points out, is the fact that Aristotle’s emphasis on mimesis leaves no place for Plato’s ideal of a non-mimetic poetry nor indeed an idea of divine possession, of mantic inspiration (since the two, in Plato, go together). Inspiration is relegated to the status of a ‘natural sympathy’ which enables the poet to realize characters more vividly; it is not the wild enthusiasmos of Plato’s inspired poet. There is no special place for lyric poetry, for Aristotle. The Aristotelian poet employs a techne, a technique, an art.
The distinction between these poetics is a fascinating one. Does something like it lie behind Plutarch’s comments on the poor quality of the oracles delivered at Delphi (inspired, enthusiastic) when compared to the sublime work of Sappho (polished, artful)? Finkelberg suggests just this, and proceeds to quote a favourite passage of mine:
‘Do you not see’, he [Sarapion] continued, ‘what grace the songs of Sappho have, charming and bewitching all who listen to them? But the Sibyl "with frenzied lips", as Heraclitus has it, "uttering words mirthless, unembellished, unperfumed, reaches to a thousand years with her voice through the god."’
The quotation from Heraclitus is marvellous, reminding me of another fragment, ‘The Lord at Delphi does not speak but gives a sign’. Marvellous, too, to be reminded of an unexpected relationship between Plato and Heraclitus. For how should one understand the broken fragments of Heraclitus? As remnants of a book, as Aristotle claims? As a cluster of aphorisms nearly sufficient unto themselves, resonating with one another in theme, and hanging together in a fragmentary array? The divine law, the logos, for Heraclitus, can only be heeded by those who, he says, are awake. How might we awaken? The fragments are his answer. Listen.
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