IMAGES OF

EXCELLENCE .
Plato's Critique of the Arts

CHRISTOPHER, JAN AWAY

CLARENDON PRESS • OXFORD

1995
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Of all philosophers he is the most poetical. Yet if he will
defile the fountain out of which his flowing streams have
proceeded, let us boldly examine with what reasons he did
it,
SIR PHJLIP SIDNEY

How could a thing without a rational account

ever be knowledge?
PLATO
This page intentionally left blank
 Preface

PLATO is the greatest writer ever to theorize about the arts, yet—to
over-simplify again—everyone thinks he was wrong. My aim is to
offer evidence pertinent to the first of these statements, and to argue
that 'whether Plato was wrong' about the arts is a question as intricate
and profound as any in philosophy.'
More than ten years ago, as a newly appointed lecturer, I was simul-
taneously developing courses in Greek Philosophy and in Aesthetics,
Encouraged by the example of my predecessor, Ruby Meager, I de-
cided that Aesthetics need not begin with eighteenth-century authors,
and tried to include Plato and Aristotle, I was struck by the power and
lucidity of Plato's writings on poetry, inspiration, and artistic represen-
tation, and wished for a philosophically informed guide to them, some-
thing which I now hope to have written. I did not set out to write
principally for specialist scholars of Greek philosophy, though the end-
product has the ambition of interesting them as well. The more I have
worked to clarify my own interpretation, the more I have been drawn
into the vast field of scholarship on this topic. References in the foot-
notes give the reader the opportunity to retrace some of my paths, but
I do not claim to offer anything like a comprehensive survey of the
field. My governing aim remains to make clear Plato's philosophical
position and what is interesting or important about it,
People occasionally describe aesthetics as the 'Cinderella' of philo-
sophy, perhaps feeling that it doesn't make it to the ball with its sister-
subjects such as logic or ethics, or even that it ought not to (in a
whisper: it's not much of a subject). It is a shame if people think that,
Art, greatly more pervasive in history than science (for example), is one
of the most characteristic things human beings do. Fine forms and
sounds, depictions, and invented stories occupy most of us to some
extent, and for some lives they provide the very backbone. But how
important are they really? Aesthetics is not much of a subject if it takes
for granted that we all know that the arts are valuable,, and why. But
if we assume that neither point is obvious, addressing these questions
becomes a philosophical challenge of the deepest complexity and the
widest import.
It is surprising that Plato should be able to toach us how central the
philosophy of art is. For he stubbornly refuses to set the arts apart as
viii Preface

having a value of their own, and always asks how they help us to be
better people, what elements in our psychological make-up they engage
and promote, how they make a community better to live in, or how they
contribute to the search for truth; and he bids us wrench ourselves away
from art which we love, if it fails to satisfy these stringent tests. But it
is precisely this refusal to privilege or bracket off the arts which chal-
lenges us to say what importance they have. For Plato, the enquiry into
the nature and value of the arts is simply philosophy, and in this I think
he was right.
Parts of Chapters 1, 2, and 6 have appeared in earlier versions in the
following places:
'Plato's Analogy between Painter and Poet*, British Journal of Aesthetics, 31
(1991), 1-12,
'Arts and Crafts in Plato and Collingwood', Journal of Aesthetics and Art
Criticism, 50 (1992), 45-54,
'Craft and Fineness in Plato's Ion', Oxford Studies in Ancient Philosophy, 10
(1992), 1-23.
I am grateful to audiences in Sydney, Melbourne, and Canberra,
where some early material towards Chapters 5 and 6 was presented. Let
me finally thank all those who have shown their interest by listening,
reading, and offering support, and especially the following for giving
me their views on later versions: Anthony Price, Stephen Halliwell,
Roger Scruton, Adam Mills, Malcolm Budd, and. Sebastian Gardner.
C.J.
London
September 1994
 Contents

Preface vii

Abbreviations and Translations x

Introduction 1

1. Rhapsody 14

2. Arts, Crafts, and the Production of Pleasure 36

3. The Fine and the Beautiful 58

4. The Formation of Character 80

5. Mimesis 106

6. Against Mimetic Poetry 133

?, Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 158

8, Plato and 'the Philosophy of Art 182

Bibliography 204

Glossary of Greek Terms 212

General Index 215

Index of Passages in Plato 223

 Abbreviations and Translations

References to Plato's works use the standard marginal page, section,

and line numbers of Bumet's Oxford Classical Text. Names of the
dialogues are abbreviated, where necessary, in the following way:
Apol. Apology Phdo. Phaedo
Char. Charmides Phdr. Phaedrus
Crat. Cratylus Phil, Philebus
Euth. Euthyphro Pol. Politicus
Gorg. Gorgias Prot. Protagoras
HiMa. Hippias Major Rep, Republic
Ion Ion Soph, Sophist
Laws Laws Symp. Symposium
Meno Meno Tht. Theaetetus
Parm. Parmenides Tim. Timtaeus
Unless otherwise stated, quotations from Plato are either in my own
translation, or (more frequently) from the following translators:
Apology, H. Tredennick; Gorgias, T. Irwin; Hippias Major, P. Wood-
raff; Ion, T. J, Saunders; Laws, T. J. Saunders; Phaedrus, C. J. Rowe;
Philebus, J. C, B. Gosling; Protagoras and Meno, W, K. C, Guthrie;
Republic, G. M, A. Grube; Sophist, F, M, Comford; Symposium, W.
Hamilton; Theaetetus, M, J. Levett, revised M, Burnyeat; Timaeus,
H. D. P, Lee,
For publication details see under translators' names in the Bibliography
(items marked *), Sometimes I have adapted these translations in minor
ways without comment. Any important changes are signalled in the
Notes.
 Introduction

THE arts are seen to play a positive role in the lives of many people.
Across cultures, times, places, and class-divisions, people sing, dance,
decorate, enact, represent, narrate, and express, in conventionalized ways,
to audiences who enjoy and participate in these activities, and often
care about them deeply. It seems natural, if not highly informative, to
call such practices 'artistic'. Many of them may also be religious, com-
mercial, therapeutic, political, or educational in their motivation—but
there is usually a fairly clear distinction between pursuing such ends
umethat the arts,
artistically, and doing so in other ways. We tend to a toume
however in the end they may be defined, are in general a good thing.
Some artistic productions are better than others, some are good for one
reason, others for another—but artistic productions as a whole are some-
thing it is better to have than not to have. More inflatedly, we think that
the ability to engage in them is valuable' because it is deeply entrenched
in, or essential to, our being human. Such thoughts are often extremely
vague. So what can philosophy do? Socrates tells us that 'the uaexamined
life is not worth living for a human being* (Apol. 38a5—6). Many of us
live with the arts with few qualms-—philosophy tempts us to step back
out of that security and ask what account can be given, in a general
way, of the nature and value of the arts.
The first attempt at such an examination in western philosophy is that
of its great ancestral figure, Plato. Although Plato's thinking about the
arts of his culture cannot really be described as a systematic theory, he
has consistent preoccupations from Ms earliest to his latest writings,
which reach a peak in the best-known work of his middle period, the
Republic. We find a body of arguments addressing central questions
about the arts, and engaging with themes that are centrally Platonic. If
Plato initiates western philosophy's ethics and theory of knowledge,
then—as part of the same project—he initiates its examination of the
arts in an equally powerful way. Following Socrates' example, he asks
naive questions: Is poetry good for us? Why do we enjoy tragedies?
What does Homer really know about, and what does he teach us about?
The combination of his blunt, unflattering answers and the brilliance of
2 Introduction
the literary medium in which he conveys them gives Plato's critique of
the arts its unique flavour,
Today's writers on the philosophy of art often discuss Plato's views,
or allude to them while in pursuit of their own ends. Such mentions are
not always unfavourable or dismissive;1 nevertheless, Plato has been
dubbed a philistine, Ms arguments have been pronounced bad, Ms crit-
ical attitude to art one-sided and prejudiced, I believe that this is too
harsh a picture. Plato's arguments are by no means flawless, but they
are not stupid. The claim of philosophy's pre-eminence over the arts,
though perhaps too rigid, is there for good reasons. Most of all, as 1
hope to show, Plato was far from being a philistine—he did not lack
appreciation of the arts, nor of their claims to importance. In Ms roost
extreme moment he wished to eliminate the chief forms of poetry from
the city-state and from the republic of the soul, but not for philistine
reasons; rather because, as his examination convinced him, they were
incompatible with a life devoted to truth and the good, and hence, in
his view, incompatible with what it was to be a human being in the
noblest and healthiest of ways. This was an argued position whose
premisses were central to his whole pMlosophy. If we consider that
philosophy worth studying and think it worthwhile to have a view
about the value of poetry, music, and the like, we cannot lightly bypass
Plato's critique of the arts.
Arthur Danto has recently suggested that Plato set the agenda for the
whole history of that philosophical subject which was to become known
as 'aesthetics*. That Plato openly devalued art in comparison with its
rival, pMlosophy, Danto believes is to his credit. At least the nature of
the enterprise is honestly acknowledged, whereas Plato's successors
have played the same game in more underhand fashion: Danto discerns
a 'somewhat shabby history of the philosophy of art as a massive
political effort either to emasculate or to supersede art*, and thinks that
"from the perspective of art aesthetics is a danger, since from the per-
spective of pMlosophy art is a danger and aesthetics the agency for
dealing with it'.2 In that case, the pMlosophy of art has always been
'footnotes to Plato'. An equally broad-brush picture—perhaps equally
plausible—might show us a long line of thinkers sensitive to the position

1
IB recent philosophical aesthetics Plato is taken seriously and maintains a substantial
presence in e.g. Motbersill, and Danto (1981) and (1986). Schaper, and Halliwell (1991)
argue clearly for his importance to contemporary aesthetics.
2
Danto (1986), 16, 13. This piece has influenced me more than I suspected h would
when I first tried to sum it up (Janaway (1989), 198),
 Introduction 3
the arts hold in our lives, and developing glowing philosophical ac-
counts in order to atone for the blasphemy of their ancestor. (Perhaps
both pictures are compatible. It is after all Hegel's philosophical eleva-
tion of art which, for Danto, serves as a way of neutralizing it as an
independent force, by presenting it as a kind of philosophy in imperfect
form.)
If the first western philosophy of the arts turns out to have this kind
of enduring foundational role, then an elucidation of its arguments will
have even greater import. The prime task, however, is to understand
Plato's thought and the extent to which it holds credence. I shall seek
to show how Plato's account of the nature, production, and experience
of the arts (as distinct from the question of value) is often on the right
lines: sometimes it is true, or the beginnings of something true. At other
times it is probably false, but the beginnings of something arguable or
worth entertaining. Either way, Plato provokes us into a more thorough
re-examination (such as he himself envisaged3) of the questions we
need to consider about the nature of the arts, if we are to assign them
a positive value. To find that he occupies such a position in the dialectic
of the philosophy of art will be good enough vindication of Plato against
his less favourable critics, and against those who ignore him.
If this book regards the value of the arts, and especially poetry and
drama, as open to question, it is because prior to an engagement with
Plato we cannot afford to assume that we know what that value is, or,
therefore, that they do have a value. Is art per se, and without extensive
regulation, compatible with a rational and ethical life? We hope so.
Was Plato then wrong about the nature of the arts, or only about the
best way to live? Or was he wrong about both? Does art convey truth
and enable knowledge? Does it harmonize essentially with the ration-
ally chosen good? Or can it be guaranteed to do neither? Are these
perhaps the wrong questions to ask about it? Should we be looking to
a unique kind of pleasure with its own value, and leave truth and
morality aside until that is accounted for? Can 'truth' and 'morality*
even be ranked as some kind of construct on a par with what artists pro-
duce? These are the questions I shall regard as open at the start.
J
Rep, 607c4-el: "If poetic mimesis designed for pleasure has any argument to bring
forward io prove that it must have a place to a well-governed city, [we] should be glad
to welcome i t . . . We should also give its champions who are not poets the opportunity to
speak on its behalf in prose to the effect that it not only gives pleasure but is useful to
cities and to human life. We shall Bstett to them in a friendly spirit* (slightly adapted
from Grebe's translation with help from HalliwelTs), This is neither a philistine nor a
totalitarian voice.
4 Introduction
In any philosophical examination of the arts we must ask sooner or
later bow poetry, drama, or representational painting achieve what they
do. Is some special understanding or other state of mind required for
the production of these things? And what kind of entity does an artist
really produce—something in the same class as a carpenter's table, or
(as many have thought) something quite different? How is it that drama
or painting acquires a content, presents an appearance that we recog-
nize as something from the real world? How do these arts engage our
minds—thoughts, emotions, appetites—as we take.them in? Which parts
of the psyche do they appeal to, and nourish? Plato initiates all these
debates, which are still with us, unresolved in one degree- or another,
Not until we establish one or two answers here will, we be able to'
explain art's relation to the world of real things or to the human rnind,
and not until these relations are understood will we have the basis for
a proper answer to the question of value raised above.
When it comes to art and the community Plato's stance is notoriously
uncompromising. He wants political control over the arts, from nursery
tales onwards. He advocates explicit censorship and, for the most dis-
tinguished and impressive poetry, prohibition and deportation. All such
measures are to be undertaken for the general good of the state—but so,
we should remember, is every measure envisaged in the ideal polis
Plata constructs. With this end in view, he advocates, for example, that
deformed newborns should be abandoned to die because they will be of
no use, and that the state should control human reproduction to ensure
the breeding of the right kind of 'stock' (or 'herd'). In this context,
anyone who is particularly enraged by Plato's willingness to censor
Homer selectively for use in schools, or even by Ms ban on perform-
ances of tragedy, may have things a little out of proportion. It is not,
at any rate, some peculiar blind spot about the arts that prompts Plato's
harshness. So it is a worthwhile exercise, not to deny or to excuse the
abhorrent political measures, but to push them a little into the back-
ground, to see whether there is any sense in what Plato says about the
nature of the arts as such,
Plato insists on raising questions about the educational, political, and
moral value of art, and about what outside itself it enables us to know
or to do better. Such questioning can seem misguided if one is prone
to a blanket-response of 'art for art's sake*. Plato prompts us to recog-
nize an often disguised prejudice which bestows on the arts a self-
contained, self-guaranteeing status. He reveals in us an adherence to
aestheticism, the view that some form of pure pleasure or beauty which
 Introduction 5
can be isolated from other states and values is the dominant or sole
scale of evaluation for the arts, Aestheticism and 'art for sot's sake*
form an easy way of thinking which partly explains the lack of atten-
tion paid to Plato's views. We are the inheritors of a rather vague
orthodoxy, built to an extent on diverse materials laid down in the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, much questioned more recently,
which nevertheless persists in people's minds and practices. What we
may find it hard to forgive in Plato is the apparent arrogance with
which he ignores our orthodoxy. However, if we avoid such an ana-
chronistic attitude and suspend our prejudices, we can allow Plato's case
to be heard. Art may have a self-contained value, but we should not get
away with this as a lazy, unargued, or even unstated assumption.
A point of terminology: is it 'art' we are talking about, or 'the arts'?
Plato discusses poetry (his main interest), drama, story-telling, dance,
painting, and music on various instruments and in various contexts. In
other words, he discusses the arts, or some of what we call the arts
today, and it is these discussions that define my topic. We should hesi-
tate a moment before placing any of Plato's writings in the modem
genre 'philosophy of art'.4 He certainly has no single word that trans-
lates as 'art'. But on the other hand, he makes explicit links between
poetry and painting, especially when elucidating the notion of mim&sis,
the making of appearances or representations. Further, he brackets music'
and poetry together under the wider. Greek conception of mousike. Of
great importance too is the fact that poetry for Plato is usually publicly
performed and, as tragedy and comedy, includes dramatic characteriza-
tion and the music and dance of the chorus. We should remind our-
selves that near to our time the model for the Gesamtkunstwerk, the
total or complete work of art, has been found in Greek drama. Such
works were fiction (or something dose to it), they employed repres-
entation both of character and of scene, they used music, human
movement, lyric poetry, and dialogue, and spoke directly to a whole
community, moving them, to intense emotion, and, they supposed, in-
forming them about themselves, their common past, and their destinies.
This was art, if anything was, whatever Plato and Ms contemporaries
called it. The same can be said of the Iliad and the. Odyssey, which
were also publicly performed in Plato's day and revered for their
as poetry.
4
HalliweB (1991) suggests that we should not hesitate too much; 'The often repeated
claim that the Oreeks had no conception of art "in our sense" is unjustifiably drastic, not
least because of the thinness of the modem concept of "fine att(s)" itself* (325 n. 8).
6 Introduction
Plato's continuing relevance to the philosophy of art lies here. What
he lacks is, as it were, the concept of art with a capital 'A*, the concept
which prejudges questions of the value of artistic activities. Lacking
this attitude to the arts, he raises the question of value with a vigour that
proves hard for many modern readers to stand. Faced directly with
what for us remain paradigmatic works of art, comprehending them,
and indeed admiring them in some ways, he was prepared to reject
them. It is because the rejection strikes deep at what we cherish that we
are so uneasy with Plato, but that is precisely why he is important. If
his case were to hold in the face of Homer and the great tragedians,
there is nothing else we could show Plato—bringing him forward in
time, educating him in the history of all the arts put together-—that
would weigh one iota.
Is there any single point to poetry, fiction, and drama which is also
the point of music, painting, and dance? Should we pin our hopes on
Art with a capital *A*? Some may think the common factor in all
activities is 'aesthetic value*: perhaps if we could explain what that
means, we would have our "answer to Plato'. Aesthetic value is usually
conceived as a value which may obtain independently of all other
values. Take a poem which we regard as a good poem. While it is
legitimate to ask whether the poem is cognitively accurate, ethically
commendable, or useful towards some external end, to ask only these
questions is to miss the further, independent possibility of its being a
good poem in an aesthetic way. And a particular poem might easily be
a good moral judgement, a good description of a state of affairs, and
a good means of inculcating attitudes in the young, without being a
good poem in this further way which we incline to think is in some way
privileged. The inclination is to say that to be good as a poem it must
(whatever else is the case) be good aesthetically,
The second-basic feature of aesthetic value is its relation to certain
ways of experiencing things. A poem or building will not be said to
have positive aesthetic value unless it has a propensity to bring about
some kind of feeling in those who encounter it. This feeling, which
aesthetic theory has found especially elusive, may be pleasure, satisfac-
tion, elevation, or devotion, but is at any rate a feeing which is itself
of positive value to the subject. We respond positively to things that
have aesthetic value, and our doing so is intimately connected with
experiential encounter. Aesthetic value is discerned by looking, listen-
ing, or reading, and opening ourselves to feelings about the objects, of
our own, experience. This sketchiest of outlines is already enough to
 Introduction 7
confront Plato with. For he seems to find no place for aesthetic value
even thus outlined—is that not his chief weakness?
It is tree that anyone expecting a theory of aesthetic valoe or aes-
thetic experience must look to more recent thinkers, for Plato has none
to give. And perhaps one reason for this is that he does not regard
aesthetic value as sufficient to justify the arts or our involvement with
them. However, there are two different views which this summary state-
ment might embody. One is the view of the crude, destructive Plato
whose over-insistence in pressing questions of function and morality
and truth blinds him to the whole glorious realm of the aesthetic. The
more sophisticated Plato, however, is the one who has inhabited this
realm, knows how sweet, wondrous, and divine the arts can be, knows
the argument that pleasure should be the criterion of value, and knows
that the human psyche will always be drawn to fine words, sounds, and
pictures. This second picture is the right one. Only once we acknow-
ledge the aesthetically sensitive side of Plato, the poet, speechmaker,
and musician in him, can we understand the voice he adopts to resist
the aesthetic spell. His resistance is to a part of himself, as he makes
clear in the Republic when he declares his arguments a 'charm' to ward
off the fine works of poetty which his education has taught him to
approach as one approaches a loved one.
Why did Plato need such a defensive spell? M the Platonic dialogues
we meet Socrates, who despite variations in style, mood, and apparent
doctrine, is the steady paradigm of philosophy in its search for ttuth and
the good. But let us consider who else we encounter. There is the
reciter and poetry-critic, Ion, who claims that Homer is omniscient and
that Ms submersion in the peat poet's works makes him an expert on
every subject. There is the teacher of rhetoric Gorgias, who cannot
untangle fine talk from genuine expertise and insight, the sophist
Protagoras, who extols the traditional, method of educating the young
by setting the works of the poets before them, and Ms proud and learned
colleague Hippias, who cannot understand the distinction between beauty
and this or that beautiful thing. There are Agathon and Aristophanes,
fine poets in tragic and comic vein, who delight their audiences but may
not speak the truth and cannot follow Socrates' arguments very well.
Then Phaedrus, whose life is given up to the love of beautiful speeches,
even if they are designed to praise people who cynically manipulate
their sexual partners. We hear too of virtuoso musicians whose only
expertise is in breath-taking displays wMch gratify all and sundry, lovers
of sights and sounds who never miss any production staged at the
8 Introduction
festivals, devotees of Homer who argue that he must know everything
to be able to write so inely, and clever, versatile people whose life is
governed by the pleasures of dramatic artifice and empathizing with the
violent emotions of fictional characters,
Again and again Plato confronts Ms dogged philosopher with the
cultured class of his day. The philosopher overcomes them in argu-
ment, but they remain largely unruffled. Plato is showing us that unless
we hold the arts off at some distance, we become disabled—powerless
to distinguish the pleasing from the good, plausibility from truth, or
cleverness from genuine expertise and wisdom. Unless we question the
poetic, rhetorical, pleasure-loving culture in radical terms, it remains
impervious to the very conceptual distinctions it needs in order to raise
questions of value about itself. Unless philosophy is founded as a mode
of enquiry that resists the arts, they will engulf everything. So I shall
argue that Plato understands the basic premisses of one kind of 'aes-
thetic* defence of She arts. He is aware that some people assign the
t arts
autonomous value on the basis of the pleasure they provide to those
who experience them, and that some who attribute great moral and
educational significance to the arts have not properly disentangled such
achievements from that of giving pleasure. Plato's counter-campaign is
not gratuitous, but is intimately linked with his concern to establish
philosophy as an independent method of enquiry.3
My interpretation of Plato differs from a number of others. There are
those who have argued that really, deep down, Plato is not opposed to
the arts—he is opposed to pseudo-art, to misuse of art, to bad art, to bad
as opposed to good mimesis, or whatever, but really means as to see
that art could (at least) be a good tiling. I think that this way of inter-
preting Plato, sometimes born of wishful thinking and anachronism,
is largely wrong. Plato is sensitive to the arts, and often respectful
towards them; he is willing to grant some art-forms instrumental value
in society, and to regard harmony, form, and proportion as profoundly
educative of the human psyche. But there is no Platomc theory which
proclaims "good art* per se, as the modem world thinks of it, to be
intrinsically important and good. Another camp consists of those who
have thought Plato's views so absurd, or just so badly argued, that they
do not even constitute a case against the arts that is worthy of the name.
I offer to displace this view by presenting a set of tolerable philosoph-
ical arguments that serves at least as an initial case.
5
Cf. HaUiweH (1991) again; "If ... Plato lacked anything narrowly (or currently)
describable as an aesthetic theory, this was not because he failed to see the need for one,
but because he held reasons for actually denying such a need* (328).
 Introduction 9
Plato's fullest and most damning discussion of the arts comes in the
Republic, to which Chapters 4-6 of this study are devoted. But there
is some business to attend to before we reach the Republic, First (Chap-
ter 1) an examination of the witty and puzzling early dialogue, Jon,
which asks how poetry relates to knowledge. Poets themselves are
praised—perhaps with irony—as 'divinely inspired', but in the same
breath Plato makes a negative claim which he never relinquishes. It is
that fine poetry requires neither poet, nor performer, nor audience, to
possess or acquire any knowledge. Plato's greatest ridicule is directed
at people who make extravagant claims to knowledge because they do
not realize that this is true.
It is of course unclear what kind of knowledge we are looking for.
What kind of knowledge might we want to attribute to a poet or a
performing artist? To answer this we must confront the ubiquitous
concept of recline—craft, expertise, expert knowledge, or, in a mislead-
ing'sense, art. We can still speak of the politician's art, or the wrestler's
or the carpenter's art. But clearly we do not mean thereby to embrace
these activities among 'the arts', which, I take it, include music, litera-
ture, drama, painting, sculpture, dance ... (The tinge of vagueness is
harmless: when we turn to the 'arts page' of a newspaper, or discuss the
funding of the arts, we are sure enough what we are talking about.) In
speaking of the art of the politician, wrestler, or carpenter, we mine
a more archaic layer of meaning, more closely akin to the techne of
Plato's Greek. In the Ion, Plato makes the point that poetry does not
succeed by the same kind of rational processes as these ordinary "arts*
or "crafts'; nor does familiarity with poetry teach us any genuine exper-
tise. It is in this sense that it neither proceeds from nor engenders
knowledge.
In Chapter 2, looking especially at the Gorgias (a dialogue usually
placed at the end of Plato's early period and regarded as transitional to
the period of the Republic), I examine Plato's charge that, arts such as
music and drama aim solely at producing pleasure- or gratification, and
(because there are no generalizable principles of pleasure) can give no
rational account of their mode of success. Once again the concept of
techne is used, this time as the ideal of a rational understanding con-
trolled by knowledge of the good. In Plato's early ethical thinking
activities which do not measure up to the ideal of techne cannot be
a route to knowledge of good and evil. How could a thing without a
rational account ever be knowledge?
We are bound to wonder whether beauty is a relevant issue. Is not
beauty what the arts primarily, and distinctively, have to offer? In
10 Introduction
Chapter 3 I consider Plato's view of beauty. In Ms Hippias Major, for
instance, some of the examples of beautiful things are works of art, but
many are not. The Greek word kalos which we translate as 'beautiful*
often means something which is fine or admirable, and is much wider
in its connotations than our 'beautiful* tends to be. People, actions,
political constitutions, and humble artefacts such as a soup-ladle, cart
without any strain be described, and thereby praised, as kalos. If we
think that works of art are pie-eminent in possessing an aesthetic prop-
erty we call 'beauty', kalos is the wrong word for fliis—and again Plato
has no ready alternative. He sometimes calls poetry hedus—sweet, pleas-
ant, or pleasure-giving—but that could apply just as well to a wine or
a summer breeze, and so gives no aid to the arts in their search for a
value of their own,
And yet, although Plato has no word for 'aesthetic', he recognizes
that there is aesthetic fineness or beauty. As he puts it, some things are
fine because, through our sight and hearing, they give us a pleasure
without any particular benefit. He acknowledges that people place value
on the arts because they are fine things in which we take great pleasure.
But he is not swayed by this. Even with an explicit concept of the
aesthetic it would not be easy to convince Plato that the arts roust have
anything particularly valuable about them. Not all aesthetic things are
art-products; and besides, the analysis of the aesthetic may not reveal,
it to have any peculiar value that overrides Plato's other concerns. He
is alive to the charms of beauty, but will not rate them highly compared
with the values of discovering truth and being an excellent human
being. Furthermore, in Ms 'middle period' philosophy Plato has an
account of beauty which reduces any mere beautiful thing to only sec-
ondary importance. 'Beauty itself', a beauty absolute, undimmed, and
unchanging, becomes for him the ultimate value and the ultimate object
of love, as we see in. the famous speech of Socrates in the Symposium,
with which I conclude my Chapter 3. Here we confront the theory of
Forms, This absolute Beauty is a Form, shared in imperfectly by many
perceptible things, but itself imperceptible and accessible only to pure
thought. It is for Plato a supreme object of knowledge and a standard
of all genuine value, akin to the Form of the Good which is the philo-
sopher's highest goal in the Republic. Yet there is little reason to think,
this 'beauty itself has much to do with the arts as such.
In Books 2 and 3 of the Republic Plato discusses the role of poetty
and music in the education of the young citizens of his ideal city-state.
All aspects of content and form, he argues, should be rigorously censored
 Introduction 11
to control their effects on the characters of the young during their
formation. As I hope to show in Chapter 4, Plato has interesting argu-
ments for his view, and starts from premisses that are sensitive to the
importance of the arts. An example is the discussion of the nature and
effects of dramatic characterization (mimesis) on its participants: mimesis
alters people's characters because they tend to become assimilated to
what they habitually enact. Pursuit of dramatic enactment as an end in
itself distorts the personality, making a person 'double' or 'multiple'.
Plato insists throughout that the arts be subservient to moral aims. It is
not immediately obvious whether he is wrong to do this. We should not
be blinded by the levels of political control which he thinks legitimate
in furtherance of his aims. Looking more carefully, we find that the arts
are accorded a strong positive role in early education, that of moulding
the human soul, making it well-proportioned and harmonious, and hence
receptive to right ways of thinking and acting later on.
Chapter 5 is devoted to an analysis of the concept of mimesis, which
emerges in Republic Book 10 as a wider conception of the way the arts
present an appearance of reality. I shall argue that here mimesis is best
understood as what we today call 'representation', and that Plato has,
in outline, a unitary account of how representation is achieved in the
visual, arts and in dramatic and epic poetry. Mimetic artists make no
real thing, only an appearance of a thing of some kind. There is no need
to believe that Plato limits the arts to a crude or mechanical copying or
to the making of literal illusions. He has much subtler concerns, still
linked closely with Ms discussions of ethics and knowledge. This is
revealed in Chapter 6, where I consider the arguments Plato presents in
Book 10 against mimetic poetry. He is highly critical of poetry and
drama, on the grounds that they engage an unstable emotional part of
us and subvert reason, while yet seeming to proceed from, and to trans-
mit, knowledge, He is especially concerned that poets are regarded
as possessing and conveying knowledge in the ethical sphere, when in
fact they have only an ability to produce pleasurable and convincing
'images of excellence*. These arguments, both epistemologicat and
psychological, form Plato's strongest critique of the arts. They are the
arguments which must act as the charm to ward off mimetic poetry,
whose banishment from Socrates' model city founded in words sym-
bolizes its exclusion from the individual psyche.
Plato's thought about the arts and related matters did not cease with
the end of the Republic. In later works he developed bis thinking on
inspiration and madness, pleasure, image-making, techne, and the place
12 Introduction
of the arts in the social order. In Chapter 7 I look at passages which
may seem to evidence a change in Plato's outlook, chief among them
the passages on poetic inspiration in the Phaedrus. But although we
sometimes fiad Plato less vehemently antagonistic to the arts than he
was in the Republic, there is no reason—or so I shall argue—to at-
tribute to him any fundamental reversal of his position. The continuity
of the later with the earlier Plato is shown in the discussions of techne
and mimesis in the Sophist, Statesman, and Philebus* and the well-
considered view of the role of the arts which he constructs in the long
late dialogue, the Laws, Many themes recur from the Republic, but in
the Laws Plato no longer yearns for an ideal community. In the real
world the arts will always be there, and Plato tells us in detail how they
should be organized to contribute to a well-ordered and moral life,
Arguing that pleasure should not be the criterion of evaluation in the
arts, he nevertheless organizes the life of Ms citizens so that they will
learn through play—music, dance, and poetry—how to feel pleasures
correctly. He keeps the arts under strict regulation lest the horrors of
experimentation break out, and he still will not tolerate tragic drama.
Allowing that Plato has made a case, what is its place within the
philosophy of art? In the final chapter, I consider the challenge of
providing a 'defence of art'. Is it possible, by stating what we know
about the arts in the late twentieth century, to lay the Platonic critique
to rest? Though the issue is vast, 1 consider a number of approaches.
One line of thinking says that a proper account of aesthetic judgement
will give us a defence of the arts. Another holds that the mimetic arts
in particular have a direct input into our learning to be better human
beings. Plato need not be left with the last word—yet our thoughts are
liable to be more confused here than Plato's. It is not clear whether the
concepts of art and the aesthetic can. be relied upon to answer Plato's
more radical questions. Is art a serious endeavour? Is its value aesthetic
value? How does aesthetic value relate to other values? Do we not, on
the one hand, sometimes expect to enjoy artworks -'for their own sake*,
locating them in an area where questions about ethical value and literal
truth may be allowed to go fuzzy—or rather, where we may choose
either to invoke such considerations or to ignore them? For Plato that
is no truly serious endeavour: if truth and goodness matter, they matter
absolutely, and if they do not matter absolutely in the arts, then the arts
reduce to harmless play or amusement. On the other hand, do we not
also find ourselves taking art with enormous seriousness as if it em-
braced every conceivable value and improved us in every way Plato
 Introduction 13
could demand? One part of the problem is that modern views of art are
so diverse: Plato poses his questions with a greater suigle-mindedness
than we can muster in response. One part of the answer—perhaps the
least tolerable part to Plato—is that art's values are in principle plural
and elusive, and even to be. cherished because they are so.
 1

Rhapsody

IN many of Plato's early works Socrates is pitted against characters

who claim some kind of knowledge which Socrates doubts they have.
Ion, the poetry enthusiast who gives his name to the shortest of these
elegant dramas, is not a demanding opponent. The dialogue is led from
the front by Socrates, who inflicts a playful humiliation on Ion without
his even, noticing. Yet this brief piece is a good initial approach to the
problems that concern Plato and will concern us.
Shelley translated the ton,1 and in Ms own writings he echoes the
positive account of poetry which it appears to present:
A man cannot say 'I will compose poetry*. The greatest poet even cannot say
it: for the mind in creation is as a fading coal, wMch some invisible influence,
like an inconstant wind, awakens to transitory brightness: this power arises
from within, like the colour of a flower which fades and changes as it is
developed, and the conscious portions of our natures are unprophefie either of
its approach or its departure.2
Socrates tells Ion that fine poetry and the poetry-critic's impressive
discourse stem from a kind of possession or inspiration not within the
mind's conscious control. Yet there is a puzzle for the modern reader;
this apparently familiar Romantic3 idea is not used to portray poetry as
a thing of high value. Instead it purports to explain why poetry and
discourse about poetry are less valuable than they are claimed to be,
because lacking the all-important status of knowledge,
Ion is undoubtedly a master of the rhapsode's art, From the dialogue
itself we learn that a rhapsode was a professional reciter of poetry to a
public audience and could claim to be an expert interpreter—both per-
former and critic—of the works he knew. loa is an expert interpreter
of Homer, and Socrates at first expresses envy of his ability:

1 2
See Shelley, 233-48. Ibid, 135.
3
See. Schaper, 35-8, 120-34, for a wider discussion of Romanticism in relation to
this aspect of Plato,
 Rhapsody 15
4
Your art [techni } makes it right and proper for you to dress up and look as
grand as you can, And how enviable also to have to immerse yourself in a great
many good poets, especially Homer, the best and most inspired of them, and
to have to learn his thought thoroughly aad not just his lines! For if one didn't
understand what the poet says, one would never become a good rhapsode,
because a rhapsode has to be an interpreter of the poet's thought to the audi-
ence, and that's impossible to do properly if OIK does not understand what he
is saying, (Ion 530b6-c5.)

Ion laps this up: agreeing that he is to be envied, he adds that he is

simply the best interpreter of Homer around. Later we hear that 'every-
one agrees' on this point (533c6-7). What is it that Ion is able to do?
Apart from performing scenes from Homer, which is discussed later, he
can 'speak well (or finely) about Homer*. He knows his material so well
from having perfected his performances that he can hold forth in a lecture
or display,5 bringing out convincingly Homer's qualities as a poet. This
role is referred to as that of critic or judge (krites), but also that of eulogist
(epainetes) of Homer. Ion can judge how finely the poet speaks about
what he portrays, and can himself speak finely in praise of the poet
Ion's comic display of arrogance about his own talents does not go
unpunished. Socrates trounces him in argument, showing (ostensibly, at
any rate) that Ms success does not really stem from a techne: he does
not, like a doctor or fisherman, have an expertise which counts as
the systematic, transmissible knowledge of a definite subject-matter.
Although Plato's use of the concept techne can be a fairly complex
matter,* a basic point to grasp straight away is that a techne is a branch
of knowledge. (The phrase ftechne and knowledge [episteme]' makes
no real, contrast between the two terras.7) A techne is a branch of know-
ledge which guides some human activity to a successful outcome.*
4
Mo single word in English captures the sense of techni. 'Craft* and 'expertise* are
the least misleading translations, "art* the most misleading.
5
Epideixis, A good example of the practice is Protagoras* long speech about the
origins of virtue at Prot. 320c ft. Epideixis was a m0thod used by the Sophists, who also
claimed to interpret poetry and "considered themselves to be in the tradition of the poets
and rhapsodes'—see Outline (1971), 41-4.
6
See below, Ch. 2. The present chapter deals with the Plato's use of the concept in
the loa specifically.
1
Techne is often synonymous with epiaimi,,, though the latter has a wider range of
application. Exhaustive treatment of these and related terms is given in Lyons. See also
Nussbaum (1986), 443-4 n, 10.
s
'An organized body of knowledge of the ways to achieve a certain end' (Annas
(1981), 25); *ffte systematic application of intelligence to any ield of human activity*
(Dodds (1973), 11). For more refined, discussion see Woodruff (1990); Roochnik;
Nussbaum (1986), 94-9 and 443-6; and below, Ch. 2,
16 Rhapsody
Some have taken it that the aim of the Ion is to deny the existence
of any rhapsodic techne,9 Certainly Socrates repeats throughout that
rhapsode, and poet succeed in their activities not 'by techne and know-
ledge* but rather through an inspiration which comes from outside
themselves. And yet, as we shall see, in the course of the work Socrates
apparently assumes that there is both a rhapsodic and a poetic techne.
One interpretation10 reconciles these points by saying that Socrates as-
sumes the craft-like nature of the rhapsode's activity only to refute it,
that he traps Ion into an unsustainable claim, to expert knowledge which
will lead to absurdity. Part of the demonstration of that absurdity is the
demonstration that not even poets, on whom rhapsodes depend for their
supposed knowledge, have any genuine techne at all.
I shall offer an alternative interpretation. The dialogue is designed
primarily to refute Ion's claims to knowledge in Ms discourse about
Homer—i.e. in Ms role as critic or eulogist of Homer. His critical
abilities are not an exercise of techne because they do not proceed on
generalizable principles, and Ms intimacy with Homer's poetry bestows
no knowledge of any of Homer's subject-matter. As regards poetic
composition and performance, it is specificaEy their fineness or beauty
that cannot be explained by way of techne. Poets and performers who
delight us do not really know how they do it—they cannot explain their
successes in terms of rational procedures they have followed. But, for
all this, Plato assumes the existence of poetic and rhapsodic technai. He
does not deny the common-sense view that being a poet or rhapsode is
a form of craft or expertise. It is merely that whatever teachable, learn-
able expertise a poet or rhapsode may command is not the true source
of the beauty of good poetry or good rhapsody, not the basis of artistic
success (as we would call it). Seen in this way, the Ion becomes a less
puzzling work. In the denial that techne is responsible for fine poetry
we may see the beginnings of a separating out of-the 'artistic' from
knowledge-based activities such as medicine or building. That explains
why modern readers ind a positive evaluation of poetry here. The
trouble is that Plato, while conscious of the wondrous power of the
'artistic*, is Mghly suspicious of it.
The dialogue divides naturally into three sections. The first and third
9
This is what Sprague means in saying 'the rhapsode is no expert and the rhapsode's
art no art' (1976,2), Flashar (37) holds that the concept of a rhapsodic techne m contra-
dictory. Woodruff claims, with the Ion as witness, that Plato 'will not allow the poets a
techni, even of pure style' (1,982ft, 145),
w
Put forward by Flashar in his very detailed study.
 Rhapsody 17
(53Gal-533e8 and 536d4-542b4) claim that !oa, in Ms capacity as
eulogist of Homer, is not exercising a techne: Ms ability to discourse
about Homer is not a case of expert knowledge. While Ion's claim to
succeed as eulogist by techne is thus in the foreground, Plato allows
Socrates the more or less common-sense assumptions that to be a poet
or a performing rhapsode, is to exercise a techne. Then, in order to give
a positive account of Ion's success as a eulogist, the middle section
(533c9—536d3) offers to explain the nature of fine poetry itself, using
the Shelley-like notion of inspiration. Recognizing that a rhapsode
'speaks finely* about Homer, Plato is drawn to account for this by
characterizing the fineness in poetry itself, which he holds to bypass
techne altogether.
Socrates first pursues the seemingly trivial puzzle that this expert
interpreter is an expert only on Homer: as Ion says himself, when
anyone discusses any other poet, 4I pay no attention, and can offer no
remark of any value. I frankly doze' (532b9-c2). But, fa asking why
this is so, Socrates introduces the principle that knowledge of a techne
must be .generalizable across all its possible subject-matter. Ion claims
to make comparative judgements. Though Homer and Hesiod (or some
other poet) may share subject-matter, such as warfare and the multifari-
ous relationships of humans and gods (531c4—dl), still Homer does
better as a poet—or so Ion judges. But if Homer and Hesiod write
about the same things, then he should be able to interpret both equally.11
And the point applies in particular to comparative judgements: to judge
that A does better and B worse at the same activity requires only a
single judging skill. Parallel examples are the techne of arithmetic ap-
plied to correct and incorrect calculation, and that of me doctor applied
to good and bad diet So, if Ion is exercising a techne in judging Homer,
he is exercising the same techne in judging any other poet. Why then
is he sure he has nothing authoritative to offer on any poet but Homer?
This is the explanation Socrates presses on him: 'it is obvious to
everyone that you are unable to speak about Homer from techne and
knowledge—because if you were about to do it by virtue of a techne,
you would be able to speak about all the other poets too* (532c5-8).
To possess a techne one must be able to apply some general principles
to an appropriately wide range of objects—one does not have an
11
Ion S31a8-bl. Plato confuses matters by talking about poets who do not 'my the
same'. Does this mean poets who share subject-matter, but say different things about it,
or poets who have different subject-matter? It is hard to see how the argument covers the
latter case. See Spragwe (1976), 2-4,
18 Rhapsody
arithmetician's knowledge if one can apply the principle of subtraction
only to the numbers 2 and 3, nor a doctor's knowledge if one can
recognize and treat tonsillitis only in one or two patients. However, it
is not clear how much weight this point will bear. Ion might have said
that interpreting poetry in the role of critic is a techne, but that the range
of poetry of which one must be knowledgeable in order to exercise it
is in principle vague. Or he might have claimed that interpreting epic
poetry, interpreting tragic poetry, interpreting lyric poetry, and so on,
are separable technai; and if that is plausible, why can there not be a
further separable techne of interpreting Homer? After all, this will be
generalizable to cover not just a few lines or scenes, but everything that
the Iliad and the Odyssey have to offer. ("That strikes me as enough',
says Ion (S31a3-4); and we might sympathize.)
But Plato does not allow Ion this reply. He has Socrates press home
his point by stating that every techne, and the poetic techne in particu-
lar, exists *as a whole* (532e8—d3). Parallel cases are painting ('Have
you yet seen anyone who is an expert at demonstrating which paintings
of Polygnotus ... are good and which bad, but can't do the same for
the other painters?' (532e7—533al)), then sculpture, flute-playing, lyre-
playing, singing to the accompaniment of the lyre, and rhapsody it-
self.12 Rhapsody is assumed to be a techne along with the others, with
the same point: if one can judge one rhapsode to be a success or failure
in his endeavours, one must possess a general ability to recognize good
and bad rhapsody among all-comers.
To see how the argument here works, we may distinguish between
critical techne (that exercised by the sculpture-critic, music-critic, and
so on), and object-tecAne (the techne judged—sculpture, music, and so
on). The argument then goes as follows:13
1. If the exercising of an object-teckne is to be Judged by a critical
techne, then the critical techne has principles generalizable across
all instances of the object-fee/we.
2. Examples of object-fecAM which bear this out are sculpture, flute-
12
Halo's examples of techne here are drawn from what we would call 'the arts*. But
he provides no 'theory* of the arts in general—certainly none of 'Art*.
13
For Flashar, poetic techne and rhapsodic techne are ironically assumed to exist in
the Ion, only to have their existence refuted by the argument gs it progresses (see 27—8,
59). But, while the present argument gives reasons why Ion as eulogist or critic is not
exercising a techne, it relies on the assumptions that rhapsody (step 2) and poetry (step
3) are exercises of teckne ripe for systematic judgement If Socrates denies the existence
of technai of poetry and rhapsody, he robs himself of this argument. (See Ferrari (1989),
95, for a similar view.)
 Rhapsody 19
playing, lyre-playing, singing to the accompaniment of the lyre,
and rhapsody.
3, Poetry is a parallel example of an object-techne.
4. If judgements of poetry are made according to a critical techne,
then they are made on the basis of principles generalizable across
all instances of poetry.
5. Ion's judgements of Homer are not made on the basis of
generalizable principles.
6, Therefore, Ion's judgements of Homer are not the exercise of a
critical techne.
It is as if Plato were saying 'Critics of various arts are able to make
judgements about these arts as a whole. They clearly use techne. But
in the case of poetry, the ability to make judgements about it can
bypass techne altogether.*
Faced with this thought, Plato has Socrates expound an alternative
explanation of the rhapsode's critical abilities. The striking passage that
follows is vital in explaining not only these abilities, but the rhapsode's
ability as a public performer, the nature of the audience's response to
Ms performance, and the nature of the good poet. The account has great
economy, tracing all of these to a single source: an attraction by an
exterior force one is unable to control, explain, or resist The image
Plato chooses to capture Ms point is that of a magnetic stooe with the
power to attract a metal ring and pass on the power of attraction to
the ring itself so that it may attract others in a chain. The analogous
description of poets is worth quoting at length;
Similarly, the Muse herself makes some men inspired, from whom a chain of
other men is strung oat who catch their own inspiration from theirs. For all
good epic poets recite all that splendid poetry not by virtue of a techne, but in
a state of inspiration Mid possession. The same is true of good lyric poets as
well; just as Corybantic worshippers14 dance without being in control of their
senses, so too it's when they are not in control of their senses that the lyric
poets compose those fine lyric poems. Bnt once launched into their rhythm
and musical mode, they catch a BaccMc frenzy;15 just like Bacchic women,
who when possessed and out of thek senses draw forth milk and honey from

14
A succinct gloss is provided by Sauwfcrs (1987), 55 n.: 'Corybants were mythical
quasi-divine attendants on Cybele, a Phrygian goddess of nature and fertility; like them,
her human worshippers engaged in frenzied dancing.'
15
Saunders again (ibid.): 'Plato treats the ecstasy and dancing of Corybantie and
Bacchic ritual as essentially similar, Bacchus (Dionysus) was the god of raw natural
vitality.'
20 Rhapsody
rivers—exactly what the souls of the- lyric poets do, as they say themselves.
You see, I understand the poets Inform us that they bring, their lyric poetry to
us from certain gardens and glades of the Muses, by gathering it from honey-
springs, like bees, and flying through the ak like they do. And they are right.
A poet, you see, is a Eght thing, and winged and holy, and cannot compose
before he gets inspiration and loses control of his senses and his reason has
deserted him. No man, so long as he keeps that, can prophesy or compose.
(533e3-S34b7.)

There are, Socrates says, distinct external sources of inspiration to which

poets may succumb, inspiring them to excel at a different genre of
composition, and, as he baldly puts it, 'each of them is hopeless at
anything else* (534c4-5), an alleged fact16 to be explained by the theory
that it is 'not by virtue of a techne, but by a divine power* that they
have their abilities. Farther evidence for the same view is the phenom-
enon of a mediocre poet producing an isolated masterpiece. (Plato's
example is one Tynnichus.) The best description of this,, we are told, is
that a god has spoken through the poet, using him as an instalment or
mouthpiece.
The images in the quoted passage on poets are perhaps good exam-
ples of what Kant would call an 'aesthetic idea*, or "that representation
of the imagination which induces much thought, yet without the pos-
sibility of aay definite thought whatever, i.e. concept, being adequate to
it*.17 Plato uses 'literary* means to 'induce much thought* here. Aban-
doning the clipped dialogue style, he emulates the flow of poetry's
language and its profusion of images, but always on the border of
clich^ and with a hovering sense of irony and ambiguity. Some have
suggested that Plato's own literary sensitivities must detract from, or at
least colour, his later attack on poetry. (According to Shelley, 'Plato
was essentially a poet—the truth and splendour of Ms imagery, and the
melody of his language, is the most intense that it is possible to con-
ceive.*18 He adopts the image of magnetism in his own Defence of
Poetry}9) This issue needs careful handling, but Plato's literariness

16
Apparently not a genuine fact, though. Tigerstedt (1969,28} gives a salutary reminder;
'Everybody knew, for instance, that Pindar had composed both dithyrambs, encomia and
dance-songs. Yet, it suited Plato to disregard this.*
17
Kant, §49, 175-6. The central thought that crystallizes in this Ion passage is, inci-
dentally, one Kant agrees with: 'No Homer or Wieland can show how bis ideas, so rich
at once in fancy and in thought, enter and assemble themselves in his braia, for the good
reason that he does not himself know, and so cannot leach others* (ibid. §47, 170: almost
an allusion to the lanl),
18
Shelley, 114. " Ibid. 124.
 Rhapsody 21
(and act just in flights such as that quoted) is something we must
'acknowledge straight away.
Let us return to the argument. If this account of inspiration should
prove to have some element of troth in it, how does it relate to what
has gone before? How is Ion's ability to judge Homer without exercis-
ing a craft explained by Homer's composing his splendid poetry in a
state of irrational possession? The answer is provided by spelling oat
the image of magnetic attraction with which Socrates* long speech
begins. As the poet is an interpreter of the divine message, so the
performer is in turn an interpreter of the poet for the audience (cf.
535a4-7). The performer's relation to the poet is the same as the poet's
to his divine source. There is a single origin of magnetic power external
to all the metal rings in the chain, which causes each to attract the next.
And, just so, the single divine source of inspiration attracts the per-
former and the audience in turn to the poet's work. Because the poet
is inspired, his work inspires its performer, and the performer's work
inspires us.
It must then be shown that performer and audience are similarly
affected by their attraction to the Mase through the poet. We switch
attention from Ion's ability to discourse about his favourite poet, to Ms
activities. as a public performer. White performing one of the famous
Homeric scenes involving Achilles and Hector, or Odysseus confront-
ing the suitors, what is Ms state of mind? "When you give a good
performance of epic and stun your audience . . , are you, at that mo-
ment, in control of your senses? Or are you taken out of yourself, and
does your soul, inspired as it is, imagine itself present at the events you
describe?*20 Socrates* question suggests a state in' which the performer
is 'out of his senses* or "out of himself*, being so wrapped up in the
fictional course of events, and imagining them so vividly, that he no
longer thinks of his actual situation as a person on a stage performing
a fictional narrative, and so on. Ion picks up a related feature of this
state; 'When I say something piteous, my eyes fill with tears. When it's
something frightening or terrible, my hair stands on end with fear, and
my heart thumps* (535c5—8). He experiences something like genuine
emotions, with appropriate bodily manifestations, but directed towards
events within the fictional scene. Plato senses that there is something
odd about this, and the present passage is perhaps the very first in
20
Ion 535b2--c2, Saunders has "when you give a performance of epic*, but the Greek
is hotan eu eipeis epe, so I have amended to " . . . a good performance ,,.' which reflects
'eu'.
22 Rhapsody
which the problem of 'fearing fictions' gets an airing, at least en
passant.21 If these emotions are anything like genuine, then must not
the person who feels them be in a particular sort of cognitive state
directed towards the fictional events—perhaps something approaching
but falling short of a belief which is literally true? Conversely, if there
is nothing approaching belief here, then how can there can be genuine
emotion? Plato highlights two peculiarities of Ion's state of mind in
performance which contribute to the puzzlement:
SOCRATES. Well then, Ion, take a man dressed up at a feast or festival in
elaborate clothing and golden crowns. If he has lost none of these things, but
nevertheless breaks out in tears, or if he gets into a panic in spite of standing
among more than twenty thousand friends, when no one is denuding him or
doing him any harm, are we to say he's in his senses at that moment?
ION. No, by Zeas, not at all, Socrates, if the truth be told,
SOCRATES. And do you realize that you people have exactly these effects on
most of your spectators?
ION. Yes, Fin very well aware of it. At each performance, I look down on them
from up there on the platform as they weep and look at me with dire emotion
in their eyes, in amazement at my story. Yon see, I have to pay a lot of
attention to them—since if I make them cry I shall laugh all the way to the
bank, whereas if I provoke their laughter, it's I who'll do the crying, for loss
of my money. (535dl-e6.)
The dramatic performer must be disjointed from his ordinary beliefs
if he is to react with such emotional intensity to the unreal action he
relates—he must be at least to this extent 'out of his mind*. Yet at the
same time he must observe the audience and monitor their reaction,
The joke at the end has its serious point. Only if his performance is a
good one will he be paid: he needs to be cool-headed enough to know
that his performance is a good one. (The curious split in the performer's
state of mind is reflected in some remarks by a present-day actor, who
writes mat "unless it's your own lust, longing, or craving, the audience
will only be intellectually aroused: the thing will have been referred to,

21
Gorgias had already noted fear and pity as characteristic effects of tragedy (Enco-
mium of Helen, f 9, in Sprmgue (ed.), 52—and see the discussion of Gorgias in Ch. 2
below), Aristotle remarks that in a tragedy 'the plot ought to be so constructed that, even
without the aid of the eye, someone hearing the story told will shudder with fear and feel
pity at the events in it* (Poetics 1453b3—6). But is genuine emotion here compatible with
understanding the context as fictional? Plato comes closer than Gorgias or Aristotle to
regarding this as a problem, A well-known recent discussion of the issue (to which I
allude) is by Walton. For a comparison of passages on pity and fear in Plato and Gorgias,
see Flasfaar, 68-72.
 Rhapsody 23
but not experienced*, and. yet at the same time; *No matter how intense
or painful the emotions of a part, the more you enter into them in a
good performance, the less you are affected by them. , , . The emotion
passes through you.'22) It has been suggested that Ion's conscious
attention to the public's reaction is incompatible with 'a real state of
possession',23 He cannot be literally in a trance-like'Bacchic transport,
and his implicit willingness to accept that he is is ironic. But Ms not
being folly in rational control of what he is doing in performance, and
Ms being genuinely moved to emotions disjointed from the reality he
believes to obtain, need not conflict with Ms calculating attitude to-
wards the audience. Plato merely grazes the surface of these problems,
and his view concerning the • mental state of the audience is even less
developed. They simply 'weep' and have 'dire emotion in their eyes'—
no hint of the special problem of emotional distancing that attends
dramatic representation. Still, it is probably part of the truth that the
performer and audience may be 'out of their senses' in being forgetful
of their real-life situation and feeling temporary emotions out of tone
with it
So in the central section of the Ion Plato offers a single explanation
for the ability of poets to write good poetry, of performers to perform
it well, and of an audience to receive it in a way that they value. A good
performance is one in which an audience becomes emotionally en-
gaged, to the exclusion of their more self-possessed ordinary beliefs.
The ability to produce a good performance requires the ability to be-
come emotionally involved in the act of presenting the scene, so as to
bring about the audience's emotional response, and again to the exclu-
sion of some of one's more self-possessed beliefs. The basis of a good
performance is a good poem to interpret, one that attracts the performer
into the right emotional involvement. And a good poem is one written
by someone possessed from outside by a force which they cannot under-
stand, but which enables them to animate the emotions of performer
and audience alike.
K this is how things stand, we can expect poets themselves to
run into problems when posed certain kinds of question—something
n
Callow, 167, 200. An anecdote reveals how actors learn to observe their own genu-
inely emotioaa! behaviour in a detached way. The actor Michefl MacLiammout heard, in
real life, that B friend was dead: 'He burst into tears and ran downstairs to the reception
desk. OB the way down, he passed a mirror and caught sight of himself in it "Oh,H he
thought to himself, "that's what one looks like when the dearest person to one in the
whole world has just died" * (ibid. 174).
B
Tigerstedt (1969), 21.
24 Rhapsody
confirmed elsewhere by Plato. In the Apology of Socrates poets are
among those Socrates says he has examined by cross-questioning and
found to claim knowledge which they do not have. "I decided*, Socrates
says, '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 thek many fine messages without knowing
anything of what they say'.24 A further remark intimates why this dis-
covery should be so important: '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' (Apol, 22c4-
6). While Ion's extravagant professions to knowledge are—as we shall
see—ridiculous, Plato is also concerned that poets themselves claim
wide-ranging knowledge which they do not have. But why do they
have no-knowledge?
I turned to the poets, dramatic, lyric,25 and all the rest... I used to pick up what
I thought were some of their most perfect works and ask them closely what they
were saying ... It is hardly an exaggeration to say that any of the bystanders
could have spoken better about the poetry they had made,26

Poets show themselves ignorant in interpreting their own 'meaning'.

And in the Protagoras Plato thinks that nobody else can really do much
better: 'most often when [poets] are introduced into the discussion some
say the poet's meaning [what the poet means or thinks, noein} is one
thing and some another, for the topic is one on which nobody can
produce a conclusive argument* (Prof. 347e4-7), Poetry appears to
express thoughts, but neither their utterer nor anyone else can give an
authoritative account of what those thoughts are. This acts as further
evidence for the view that poets lack full rational understanding or
control of the making of poetry. If you cannot say what you mean, how
can your fine words have sprung from the application of yoor intelli-
gence? Paul Woodruff attributes to Plato the view that poetry, while it
may express thoughts, even truths, is 'insulated from the belief struc-
ture of its author'.27 If this is right, there is literally nothing that the poet

24
Apol, 22b8—c3. The word rendered 'instinct' is ptatsis, 'nature'—compare the idea
of a 'natural gift*.
25
Literally, 'the poets [makers] of tragedies, of dithyrambs, and, the rest'. Dithyrambs
are discussed briefly in Ch. 2 below.
26
Apol. 22a8-b8. Emphases mine, marking divergences from Tredennick's less literal
translation,
77
Woodruff (1982), 144, Cf, Ferrari's view: 'a poem is not meant to be a set of
opinions ...; it is meant for performanc** (1989, 103).
 Rhapsody 25
means or thinks, which would neatly explain the phenomena Plato
remarks upon.
Here we may recall Socrates' opening remarks: the rhapsode must
interpret not only the poet's words, but his thought (dianoia); one can-
not be a rhapsode properly if one does not understand what the poet is
saying. Ion presumably expounds Homer's pronouncements on many
topics In a highly convincing manner, not just repeating the verse, but
offering helpful elucidations. However, what worries Plato is that while
poetry's words convey thoughts, the process by which these thoughts
come to lodge in the mind of the audience is suspect. Homer, to start
with, was far from being an authority on the truth of the thoughts in his
poetry. He did not arrive at Ms words by rational means, and is no
infallible authority even on which thoughts they convey. Then the in-
spired expositor se to to work, and may discern a great many thoughts
conveyed by the poem, but another enthusiast may disagree—no one
has over-riding authority or responsibility for truth anywhere in the
chain. It can happen that a thought is picked up which announces some-
thing true and important, as Plato says elsewhere.28 But this is only
"hitting on* the truth by an unreliable method, and is not sufficient for
anyone to claim knowledge,
The chief negative point of the Ion is that Ion's ability to speak finely
about Homer arises 'not from techne or knowledge'. Instead it is 'by
divine dispensation (theia moira)' that our rhapsode is enabled to speak
so finely of Homer. That he discerns value in Homer and has the ability
to convey Ms apergus to others stems from Ms being caught up, as a
performer, in the power of a chain of inspiration. One argument was
given earlier for the dialogue's negative claim; following the glimpse
of Ion as performer of Homer, we revert (536d4) to considering him as
the critic or 'eulogist' of Homer, and after one final reinforcing argu-
ment, Socrates offers Ion the choice of being considered the possessor
of a genuine techne—but "unfair* for not revealing it under question-
ing—or 'divine' because his ability stems from a state of possession,
'It's a much finer thing to be thought divine*, says Ion (542bl—2),
though in accepting ignorance and lack of a techne along with 'divine*
status, he receives at best a double-edged compliment. It is in this final
18
Cf. in the late dialogue Laws; Homer wrote some marvellous lines about the found-
ing of Troy 'under some sort of inspiration from God .., And how. true to life they are!
This is because poets as a class are divinely gifted and are inspired when they sing so
that with the help of Graces and Muses they frequently hit on how things really happen*
(Laws 682a2-5).
26 Rhapsody
section that it is hardest to sympathize with Plato's direction of pro-
ceedings; Socrates appears to ask grossly irrelevant questions, to which
Ion responds with sheer stupidity, I shall suggest that the argument
nevertheless establishes something which is true, even if its point is
obscure until more philosophical work is done.
Socrates has 'spoken well' of the divine power that produces good
poetry and rhapsodic performance, but Ion is still sure that he is not
'out of his senses' when he eloquently praises Homer. To convince
him, Socrates fastens attention on the question of subject-matter. Ion's
subject-matter is what Homer says about various things. But which
subject-matter in Homer is it that gives Ion the opportunity to 'speak
well'? 'Every single one of them*, is his claim—there is nothing in
what Homer covers that Ion 'does not know about' (536el-7). What
are we to make of this? In a sense the claim is harmless. As a frequent
reciter of extracts from the poems, Ion is familiar with the entire
Homeric corpus and well aware of its dramatic successes, whatever is
taking place within the narrative. Accordingly, we find that when Soc-
rates mentions a random topic, chariot-racing, Ion replies with Nestor's
speech before the chariot-race in Iliad Book 23. Whatever Homer speaks
about, Ion could find a passage and discourse eloquently on it.
Socrates is concerned with Homer's portrayal of chariot-racing,
medicine, fishing, prophecy, generalship—i.e. the exercise of some techne
by a fictional character, whom the poet either describes as exercising
expertise, or makes speak in a manner betokening it. But Ms key ques-
tion is this: Does speaking well about a poet's depiction of a character
with some techne require possession of that techne by the speaker? The
question is ambiguous. Ion 'speaks well' in the sense that he is eloquent
and convincing in his praise of Homer as a poet Socrates, on the other
hand, allows 'speaking well* to encompass only saying whether a craft
is depicted correctly or not (e.g. "Are we to assert that it is more the
business of a isberman's techne, or that of a rhapsode, to assess what
[Homer] says [about fishing], and whether he says it well or not?'
(538d4-5)). Obviously one does this best if one possesses the craft
oneself. Once things are set up this way, each real-life exponent of a
craft has certain portions of Homer's work on which they are especially
competent to pronounce, and so it makes sense for Socrates to demand:
'Pick oat for me the sort of thing which concerns the rhapsode and the
rhapsode's techne, and which Ae rhapsode properly examines and judges
better than the rest of us.* Ion dare not say 'Nothing*. But on the reason-
able assumption that each craft must have its own circumscribed subject-
matter, he cannot claim to know everything in Homer.
 Rhapsody 27
He must make a positive, but limited claim to knowledge; and his
next suggestion is by no means foolish, A rhapsode in particular would
know:
What may suitably be said by a man . . , and the sort of thing suitably said by
a woman; the sort suitable for a slave to say, and the sort suitable for a freeman;
and the sort of fting suitable 'm the mouth of a ruler, and the sort suitable in
that of a subject. (540b3-5.)

Socrates insists, however, that it is only when such persons are exercis-
ing a specialized role that the question of what is appropriate for them
to say arises (when a slave is a cowherd, a woman a wool-spinner, and
so on). At this, Ion's last refuge is to select some specific craft depicted
by Hornets and claim that it is in this sphere that he is knowledgeable.
There is a peat deal of generalship in the Iliad—so a rhapsode would
certainly know "what is appropriate in the mouth of someone who's a
general, when he is exhorting Ms troops'. But to make Ion sustain this
line, Plato reduces him to the ridiculous expedient of claiming to see
'no difference' between the craft of generalship and that which makes
Mm a good rhapsode, and even to be himself the best general among
the Greeks, (Iris Murdoch finds 'unspeakable charm' here,29 but is the
irony overdone when Ion adds, 'that too I learnt from the works of
Homer*?) It is easy to show that the crafts of general and rhapsode are
distinct, and to point out that Ion's life has shown no evidence of
generalship. He is being 'unfair' if he has genuine military 'techneand
knowledge', and has carefully concealed it (541el-3). Otherwise he
must lack such knowledge; and, if he lacks it, the only explanation is
that his.ability to speak about Homer stems from the inspiration dis-
cussed earlier. He acquiesces in the final statement that, as eulogist of
Homer, he should be accorded the status of being 'divine* rather than
skilled (technikos).
The truth which this final passage establishes is that to speak well,
in the sense that Ion can lay claim to, about Homer's depiction of any
techne, does not require possession, of that techm oneself. Plato does
not make the false claim that a successful eulogist of Homer cannot
have the knowledge of a general or a charioteer. Rather, he makes the
point that such knowledge is not necessary, and would therefore be
incidental to one's success, in the role of eulogist In the Republic he
makes the same point concerning the poets,30 and there is clearly a
s
Murdoch, 8.
* Sep. 598b-60tb, See toe discussion'in Ch. 6 below, and also Janaway (1991),
Urmson (1982, 129—35) expounds the point and related issues with vigour.
28 Rhapsody
connection between the two cases. How could Ion, whose ability is the
derivative one of discoursing about Homer's writing, be required to
have knowledge of generalship, when Homer himself can lack such
knowledge and still write good poetry about its exercise?
A useful picture is that of different levels of techne.31 A general or
a charioteer has a techne which is basic, in that its subject-matter is
simply directing men in warfare or driving a chariot By contrast, the
techne of the poet is at second level: its subject-matter includes the
basic technai, along with their subject-matter. The rhapsode's critical or
eulogistic art is at a third level: when he "speaks well* of Homer, Ms
subject-matter is the poetic fee/we Now note two important points. In
one sense, there is a transparency between these levels: in discoursing
on Homer's exercise of the art of poetry, one obtains generalship and
charioteering as part of one's subject-matter. But knowledge of the
basic subject-matter is not transmitted op the hierarchy of levels. Al-
ready at the poet's level, including a tecknein one's subject-matter, and
having the ability to make fine poetry about it, does not require that one
have knowledge of its subject-matter. How much less then, on the
strength of his abilities, should a mere eulogist of poetry claim know-
ledge of any basic techne. As we shall see, these two theses, the trans-
parency of poetry's subject-matter, and its non-transmission of
knowledge, remain fundamental to Plato's thinking about the arts: the
discussion of mimesis in Republic Book 10 has equivalents of the same
theses at its core.
Earlier we raised the question whether there are rhapsodic and poetic
crafts at all for Plato, The rather rambling final argument tells us noth-
ing more about whether there is a poetic techne. But it makes eight
mentions of 'the rhapsodic techne", all put into the mouth of Socrates,32
as if he affirms its existence. Of course, on one view33 this should again
be read as a temporary assumption of precisely what is to be refuted.
But if we look carefully at the argument's conclusion, we do not find
any statement that there exists no rhapsodic techne. The conclusion is

31
Here I am indebted to Spragne (1976), 6-7.
32
538M, c5, d5, 539e3, 540a2, aS, d.4, 541al-2. Three of these use the expression he
rhapsattiki, omitting the word techne. In these passages Ion admits that the rhapsodic
techne is distinct from those of the charioteer, doctor, and fisherman, is asked whether
be sticks by his doomed claim that the rhapsodic uchni is identical with that of the
general, asked what the special subject-matter of the rhapsodic techne is, and forced to
conclude that tie rhapsodic techne does not know everything,
33
That of Flashar.
 Rhapsody 29
34
that as a eulogist of Homer Ion is not master of any techne, Moreover,
the dialectical context requires only that Ion's own professions of know-
ledge are refuted, and what is contested is not his claim to be an expert
rhapsode, or Ms claim that there is such a thing as expertise in rhap-
sody. The dubious assertions he has made are that he is an expert on
everything that Homer writes about, and that he is an expert in the
techne of generalship. The argument refutes these claims easily, using
as premisses the general proposition:
If technai T, and T2 are distinct, then the practitioner of T, does not
as such have the knowledge enjoyed by the practitioner of T2.35
and the specific assumption about the rhapsodic techne;
The rhapsodic techne is distinct from those of charioteering, medi-
cine, generalship , . . (all the technai Homer portrays).36
Thus if the rhapsode's techne is distinct from any one of the technai
Homer depicts, the rhapsode will not have knowledge of all such forms
of expertise, as Ion initially claims. If it is distinct from every one of
them, then the rhapsodic expert can claim knowledge of none of the
technai portrayed in the Homeric poems. Conclusion: no techne ex-
plains the success of the rhapsode when he acts as judge or eulogist of
his poet's handling of particular subject-matters. But this is not to say
'there is no rhapsodic techne'. It is compatible with the dialogue's
ending that there should be a rhapsodic craft. The point is that, if there
is such a craft, its practitioner speaks finely rather than knowledgeably
when discoursing on Ms favourite poet, and that such fine speaking is
precisely what cannot be explained by mastery of a techne.
This is all well and good, but we may feel that important issues have
been evaded. As Ms Murdoch puts it: "Ion, looking for something to be
expert on, might more fruitfully have answered: a general knowledge
of human life, together of course with a technical knowledge of poetry.
34
In the final sentence he is said to be me tectmikan peri Hameratt epainetem; not a
eulogist about Homer by techne (542b3-4). The conditional choice offered hita prepara-
tory to this conclusion is in precisely the same tarns: either he is able to eulogize Homer
by tecbne. and episteme (541el—2), or he is not technikos, but speaks many fine things
about the poet through, being possessed by diviae power and knowing nothing (542a2-
5). Cf. 532c6~7, 53642-3, 536cl~2.
55
Cf. bila pasan, ion technan, ha lei heterai technei gignaskomen, on gnosometha tei
heterai, 53741-2.
36
538M-5 states this, step explicitly for charioteering. The ensuing argument brings
in parallel technai without stating this step ag for for each—a tactical suppression, which
enables the final skirmish in which Ion denies the distinction between rhapsody and
generalship.
30 Rhapsody
... The humane judgement of the experienced literary man is excluded
from consideration, by Socrates* sharp distinction between technical
knowledge and "divine intuition",'"There are two points here: firstly,
if we are talking about technical knowledge at all, then it is false that
poet and critic lack it, since they have specialized technical knowledge
concerning poetry itself. Secondly, the discussion should not be re-
stricted to technical knowledge, since there is also a 'general know-
ledge of human life'—dare we say "wisdom'?—that informs the best
poetry, and gives authority to criticism. Let us take the two points
separately.
First consider 'general knowledge of human life*. Ion comes closest
to this when he talks of 'what may suitably be said by a man ... and
the sort of thing suitably said by a woman; the sort suitable for a slave
to say*, and so on. It has been suggested that 'with this objection Plato
shows that he is aware of the narrowness of his own handling of the
problem*'.38 However, the issues become anything but clear once this is
mooted. Are we considering the 'general knowledge of human life'
which any ordinary person above a certain age would have acquired?
If so, we still lack any specialist knowledge for the rhapsodic critic per
se. Are we looking for an uncommon range of experience and depth
of insight into human Me? If so, why should that be the prerogative of
the poetry critic? Why, indeed, should such wisdom be Ms at all? Ion
manages to be a great eulogist of Homer without showing exceptional,
wisdom. The only "knowledge of what is suitable for people to say* that
is a plausible candidate as the rhapsodic critic's specialism is know-
ledge of what it is suitable for people to say in an epic poem—in other
words, how characters are appropriately represented by a poet such as
Homer. And why should that require any more than an ordinary know-
ledge of life itself? Julius Moravcsik suggests that 'poets and their
appreciators* are likely to have more sensitivity than the average person
to 'the cruelty and senselessness of war*, for example; this is something
which Homer "knew as much about, if not more, than any general*.39
But again would our best description be that Homer had a special
sensitivity to the cruelty of war, or that he had the sensitivity to imagine
and represent it? If the latter, we are in the province not of knowing
about war, but of the ability to compose fine poetry, which Plato has
already dealt with in this dialogue: it comes not from knowledge, but
from inspiration.

37 s
Murdoch, 9. * Schaper, 33. Moravcsik (1982), 36.
 Rhapsody 31
Murdoch's other point is that Plato ignores the importance of that
technical knowledge of poetry which Ion may have. I take it we mean
such things as rales for writing or reciting in a set metre, what marks
the difference in the epic genre between narration and a speech in
character, perhaps even which modes of diction (vocabulary, syntax)
are appropriate for poetry as opposed to prose. All of this can be learned,
and is appropriately called the craft of poetry. The rhapsode's expertise
in performance may be fed by such knowledge, and may -in addition
have rules of its own that can be learned. If Ion has such technical
knowledge, it is strange that we hear nothing' of its informing Ms dis-
course on Homer's good qualities, especially since the possibility was
canvassed earlier of judging poetry by a genuine form of expertise.
That possibility has receded by the end.* But in the final argument
Plato shows not (hat Ion lacks any technical knowledge—only that the
critic need possess none of the crafts portrayed in the poetry he judges.
He neither affirms nor closes off the possibility of a proper craft of
poetry-criticism. Thus on my reading Plato need not be denying
specialist expertise to the poet and rhapsode. Their having it will
not be very important, though: knowing in detail how to construct and
enunciate hexameters is not evidence- of knowing anything else.
So a poet's ability to compose fine poetry does not stem from 'techne
and knowledge*—-while yet Plato appears to assume that there is a
poietikS techni But this position is intelligible. What is at stake is the
fineness of poetry and performance—and this may not stem from the
correct exercise of the crafts of poetry and rhapsody, even if they exist.
Plato makes clear in the middle section of the Ion that he is concerned
to account for the fineness or beauty of what good poets say:
All good epic poets recite all that splendid [kala] poetry not by virtue of a
techne, bat in a state of inspiration and possession. The same is true of good
lyric poets as well:... it's when they are not in control of their senses that the
lyric poets compose those fine [kala] lyric poems.41

"These fine [kala] poems are not on the- human level nor the work of
humankind, but divine, and the 1 work of gods', says Socrates at the

* LaDriere (31) suggests this is because tfw latter part of the dialogue is 'devoted to
establishing that no such criticism can be found, or is in the nature of things possible'.
41
Ion 533e5~534a2. kalos and cognate terms oecw a fcrther six tinws in Socrates'
long speech up to 535a2. (This is well brought out by Dorter, 75.) Plato's phrasing
emphasizes that it is good poets he is talking about: hoi ton epon paietm hoi agathoi...
kui hoi melopoioi hoi agathoi might be teanslated 'the epic poets — The -good ones , . .
and the makers of lyrics — the good ones'.
32 Rhapsody
culmination of Ms long speech. There are bad poets, of whom Tynnichus
is said to be one, but the gods proved themselves the true origin of ine
poetry, when Tynnichus of all people produced the finest [kaUiston]
lyric (534e2-535al). The rest of Tynniehus' output demands no ex-
planation in terms of divine inspiration. It is the fineness or beauty of
poetry that is inexplicable even to the poet and requires the theory that
he is a mouthpiece for an external agency. Bad or indifferent poets,
who may yet be bona fide poets composing according to the poetic
techne, are bad or indifferent because they are not visited by the right
divine power. This appears to be Plato's view in the later Phaedrus: 'if
a man comes to the door of poetry untouched by the madness of the
Muses, believing that techne alone will make him a good poet, he and
Ms sane compositions never reach perfection, but are utterly eclipsed
by the performances of the inspired madman,'42 The point is: techne is
not sufficient But it is not necessary to tack it in order to be a good
poet or, for that matter, a good eulogist of a good poet
Some have doubted the extent to which Ion is supposed to be genu-
inely inspired.43 But this is not very troubling. His acquisition of the
epithet 'divine' at the end of the dialogue is ironic in tone, but need not
be insincere in substance. Ion is touched, relatively remotely, by the
divine chain of inspiration—he is 'divine* by proxy. What he produces
is genuinely fine and admirable, and it is these qualities in particular
which Plato wishes to explain as having a divine source. But just for
this reason Ion cannot take the credit by attributing the fineness of Ms
performances to Ms own agency. If the gods may choose Tynnichus
as their direct mouthpiece, their power may light—at further remove
—upon a pretentious fool. We do not have to find him particularly
admirable, for the 'divine dispensation' thesis to be literally believed
by Plato.
What then of the inspiration of poets? Although Plato says that his
doctrine of inspiration corresponds with what 'the poets inform us',
scholars have recently suggested that the view of inspiration as an
irrational state in which one is 'out of one's senses' is simply Plato's
own,44 Poets traditionally called on the Muses (the invocations at the
beginning of the Iliad and Odyssey are probably the best known, exam-
ples) for assistance in exercising their craft, in getting their story right,
in having sufficient powers of memory, and in conveying the truth
42
PUr, 245a5—8. slightly adapted from the translation by Hamilton. For more discus-
sion, see below, Cfi. 7.
43
See Piashw, 72-3, 88. * Sec Tigeretedt (1.970); Murray.
 Rhapsody 33
aboat their subject-matter. Skill, craft, knowledge, and moral wisdom
are all assigned to poets with no suggestion that inspiration would rob
them of such qualities. Plato's notion, however, is a new one at odds
with this. For him craft-knowledge and poetic inspiration exclude one
another: the inspired are in a state of mind in which they do not under-
stand what they are doing and are even not full agents, merely mouth-
pieces for higher beings who speak through them. According to W. J.
Verdenias, inspiration takes on a problematic character once this change
to the traditional notion has been made, 'The old collaboration of the
poet and Ms Muse breaks down", he writes,45 'because the poet, in Ms
ecstasy, is no longer himself, . . . The same inspiration which estab-
lishes his contact with the Muse mars his understanding of her inten-
tions.* In Verdenius* view the poet is like an over-excited messenger
who can pass on only a garbled version of an important piece of news.
What rings untrue in Verdenius' reading is the implication that in-
spiration for Plato consists of two separable components: («) receiving
some message from a higher authority, and (b) being in an irrational
frenzy. If only—we are supposed to think—one could receive the
message whilst in a fit fitate of mind to make rational use of it.
But there is no clue from the Ion that this is possible, because Plato
is not looking to the divine source of poetry as an explanation of its
truth or wisdom—rather as an explanation of its fineness as poetry,
which he identifies as a distinct question. There is a tension throughout
the dialogue between two senses of 'speaking finely'.46 Only the fisher-
man can judge if Homer speaks finely—-correctly—of the fisherman's
craft, or whether Ion in his eulogizing lectures 'speaks finely*—
correctly—of these same matters. But in these very lectures Ion is said
to 'speak many fine things* about the poet, and what the poet himself
says in his art is of a dazding beauty. Plato thinks that the ability to
speak correctly, truly, or wisely stems from knowledge or techne, to
possess wMch is to apply rational, principles of which one is folly
conscious. By contrast, to speak finely or beautifully, as poet, per-
former, or eulogist, so as to bring aboat pleasure and emotional in-
volvement in an audience, is not a matter of knowledge or techne, but
of inspiration. The older notion of inspiration has the poet fully in
control of his mind, yet aided by the Muse in delivering truth and
wisdom. In Verdenius* view inspiration is both the Muse's delivery of
truth and wisdom, and the poet's being in a state of unknowing passivity.

43
Verdenius (1983), 44. * As pointed out by Dorter, 75,
34 Rhapsody
But Plato is further away from the older notion than that. There is in
his account no divine 'truth,* to be interpreted rightly or wrongly—only
a power which enables the production of beauty. Through the media-
tion of a human mouthpiece the gods speak beaatifully, as Socrates
says at 534e. The "interpreter of the poet's thought* moves us simply
because he is a channel for the transmission of inspiration.47
So is this twist of the inspiration doctrine designed to belittle poets?
The difficulty of taking the 'passive possession* .view literally may
force us to construe it as remaining at the level of metaphor. Then we
are pushed in one of two directions: either the account is meant not
seriously, but as an ironic demolition of the poets' own pretensions; or
Plato's metaphorical flights offer serious praise of poetry by essentially
poetic means,48 The dialogue as a whole cannot be read as praising
poetry unequivocally; but its obvious irony belittles not so much poetry
as one character's ill-thought-out claim to a kind of knowledge and
expertise he does not have. Good poets produce a species of beauty or
fineness, and it is quite in order to say that we should admire them for
this, while insisting that they do not do so from the rational application
of readily explicable principles, as in a standard techne.49 Read in this
way, the Ion does not devalue poetry itself, but puts forward a theory
of what makes good poetry good. And it makes fun of those who do
not accept that theory and take themselves to have gained an enormous
amount of knowledge from poetry. These are the same epaineteis of
Homer who in the Republic (606el ff.) claim that their poet is the chief
educator of Greece. They rely on the premiss that to make poetry finely
(kalos), the good poet must do so with knowledge, and from this they
conclude that Homer, who makes poetry finely about a panoramic range
of subjects, has knowledge of all the crafts, and of all matters concern-
ing the human and the divine.50 But the premiss is false, and so is the

47
Moravesik states the cancel view succinctly: 'At no point ... is inspiration con-
strued as a special kind of insight; the inspired poet , . . lacks what Plato would regard
as genuine knowledge or understanding' (1982, 35). Ferrari (1989, 99) also sees that
Plato contrasts 'inspiration with understanding and verbal performance with genuine
communication*.
48
Tigerstedt (1969), 26, who cites Goethe and Marsiio Ficino as exemplary authori-
ties for the "ironic* and "praising* readings respectively.
* Thus 'Plato's attitude toward inspiration mixes sweet with sour' (Woodruff (19826),
138), though this need not betoken the incptness implied by Else: 'He sets out to hold
[poetry] up to mockery , . , But somehow in the doing be is carried away and paints so
glowing a picture of the poetic afflatus that we almost believe it is divine' (1986, 8).
x
Rep. S98d8-e5. See below, Ch. 6, and Jaaaway (1991).
 Rhapsody 35
conclusion—as Plato shows (or comes near to showing) when he
approaches the topic in serious mood.
Shelley approaches Plato's view in saying that poetry 'acts in a
divine and unapprehended manner, beyond and above consciousness',51
though really, as we saw in the passage quoted at the outset, he thinks
that the 'power* of the mind in creation 'arises from within', from,
presumably, a portion of our own nature of which we are not conscious.
This too is a mere gesture, as undeveloped, if also as evocative, as
Plato's: it is unclear what such a 'power' is going to be. But there is
a core position common to Shelley and Plato: that when poetry is good,
it does not owe its goodness to any exercise of rational principles by
its author, and that its author can offer no explanation, from within the
conscious apprehension of his or her own psychology, for the fineness
of the product. I have not said that this view of the nature of good
poetry is true. Deciding the extent of its truth is, however, a task which
Plato sets for the philosophy of art, and one which will remain with us
in this book.
51
Shelley, 116.
 2

Aits, Crafts, and the Production of

Pleasure

PLATO alleges that the performing arts of music and tragic drama aim
solely to produce pleasure in their audiences, and that to do so they
employ a sophisticated kind of guesswork. They do not—as he would
prefer—•aim at what is good for the audience, nor do they pursue their
eeds by adhering to general, rational principles. Their practitioners
cannot, then, claim knowledge, aor any genuinely beneficial effect on
the community. In these ways they are unlike medicine and should
instead be classed with public rhetoric, of which Plato cannot approYe,
Rhetoric is massively persuasive, and dangerous because its speaker
(rhetor) seeks merely to gratify the audience, who then cannot distin-
guish gratification from learning and improvement. Knowledge and
genuine excellence are lost, but their loss is masked by the presence of
a beguiling counterfeit which more than satisfies its recipients. We
shall see these allegations made in the Gorgias, where Plato again uses
the concept of techne, though this time in a more strongly theoretical
manner. By the criteria Plato uses here neither rhetoric nor the pleasure-
giving performing arts which he discusses qualify as technai at all.
There is a misapprehension which some historians of aesthetics have
fallen into—that it is safe to treat techne as the cental positive concept in
Plato's philosophy of the arts. The picture is this: first an all-embracing
theory of what techne is, then a division of 'the arts* (technai) into
various classes and subclasses (such as the productive and the 'imita-
tive'), where what appEes to techne as a whole applies to each species,
including poetry and the other 'fine arts* of modem times.11 think this
picture is misguided, IB. bis later works Plato is interested in a system-
atic account of techne by the method of division, and for the purposes

' Examples: Bosanquet, 38: Grey, 303-10; Lodge, 52-63; Hofctadter and Kuhns, 3;
Beardsley, 32-3. Sometimes teclme is rendered 'art', with the acknowledgement that
'an' includes both fine arts and crafts. However, Lodge (62) repeats Collingwood's claim
(discussed below), saying that "poetry is an outstanding example of human craftsman-
ship* for Plato.
 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure 37
of such classifications various art activities will belong under the head-
ing of techne? But in earlier writings the story is quite different. We
have looked at the Ion, where poetry's artistic success (as we would
call it) steins from inspiration, and mentioned the Apology, where
Socrates complains that poets cannot explain what they have written
about. In the Gorgias, as we shall see, tragedy aad some kinds of music
are explicitly denied the status of a techne. The trend culminates in
Republic Book 10, where it is argued that poets lack knowledge, and
where they are contrasted unfavourably with ordinary craftsmen. It would
be fanciful to treat all these passages as aberrations from some precon-
ceived system of classification in which poetry is neatly subordinated
to the concept of techne,
R. G. Collingwood provides an interesting example of the
aesthetieian's mistake about techne. While in his own theory 'art.' and
'craft' are mutually exclusive categories,3 he attributes to Plato the
view that poetry is simply a craft. Craft, he claims, is what in Latin was
called ars, and in Greek techne. He glosses it as 'the power to produce
a preconceived result by means of consciously controlled and directed
action'.4 Collingwood sees that techne cannot properly be translated as
'art* and is somewhat closer to his own conception of 'craft'. Yet he
announces boldly that his own conception was 'expounded once for all'
in the writings of the Greek philosophers, and that Plato and Aristotle
'took it for granted that poetry, the only art which they discussed in
detail, was a kind of craft, and spoke of this craft as poietike techne,
poet-craft'.5 In the Greek conception, he continues, the poet 'is a kind
of skilled producer; he produces for consumers; and the effect of his
skill is to bring about in them certain states of mind, which are con-
ceived in advance as desirable states. The poet, like any other kind of
craftsman, must know what effect he is aiming at, and must learn by
experience and precept... how to produce it.*
We may note two of the characteristics ColMngwood himself assigns to
craft, and which he claims are lacking in the case of art (or 'art proper*).
Firstly, the distinction, between means and end-—a craft always has an
end-product, to which certain actions are means. Characteristic of such

2
See Soph. 219a-d, 233d-236c, 264c-267d; Pol. 284e, 2S8c; Phil. 55d-56c. These
passages are discussed in Ch. ? below,
3
Collingwood recognizes the importance of hard-won technique for artists (1938,26—
9), and allows that a work of art can also be a work of craft. But, for him, something's
being an exercise of craft-technique is never part of what makes it art.
4 5
Ibid. 15. Ibid. 17, 18.
38 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure
actions is that they 'are passed through or traversed in order to reach
the end, and are left behind when the end is reached'. Secondly, the
distinction between planning and execution—

The result to be obtained is preconceived or thought out before being arrived

at The craftsman knows what he wants to make before he makes it. This
foreknowledge is absolutely indispensable to craft: if something, for example
stainless steel, is made without soch foreknowledge, the making of it is not a
case of craft bet an accident, ... If a person sets out to make a table, but
conceives the table only vaguely, as somewhere between two by four feet and
three by six, and between two and three feet high, and so forth, he is no
craftsman.6

Collingwood argues that what is 'properly' called art shares none of the
features of craft. According to Shelley, 'A man cannot say "I will
compose poetry*". Collingwood agrees. In Ms view, all art including
poetry is an act in which the artist expresses Ms or her emotion in a
moment of authentic self-realization. Prior to the completion of a poem,
there can be no accurate specification of the finished product There
may be planning and execution of a kind, but there is no foreknowledge
such as the practitioner of a craft must have. The idea is that if I could
tell you what I wanted to express in a poem prior to its completion, it
would be redundant to complete the poem—or, contrary to hypothesis,
it would already be complete, because I would already have expressed
my emotion in telling you. For the same reason, the means-end distinc-
tion is lacking. The *end' is not specifiable until it is reached, and the
'means' are not discarded as mere instruments once an 'end' is reached—
for, according to Collingwood, the process of expressing one's emotion
really is the work of art itself,
Now Coltiftgwood thinks Plato had the correct conception of craft,
but confusedly made poetry into a species of craft which worked as a
means to the end of arousing emotions. What Plato objects to, on this
story, is poetry's craft-like manipulation of its audience into the frivo-
lous emotional states of "mere entertainment*. It is true that Plato criti-
cizes some of the arts, including some poetry, for aiming at the
production of pleasure. But, contrary to what Collingwood says, this is
part of the argument that such arts are in the strict sense not instances
of techne at all. In fact, Plato's views are closer to Collingwood's own
than he appreciates. It is precisely poetry's unprincipled, un-craft-like
' Ibid. 15-16,
 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure 39
nature which makes it so suspicious to him. In the sense of 'skill' that
matters to Plato, poets are not skilled producers,
We should be wary of making too many assumptions about 'craft* and
'techne'. Although it is common to talk of a Socratic *eraft-analogy*,
it has.been doubted, recently whether "craft* is an appropriate transla-
tion of techne at all. Some technai, such as medicine, are too theoretical
to be called crafts; others, such as arithmetic, lack any separable end-
product.7 'Expert knowledge' or 'expertise* are probably the terms which
best match the range of techne. On the other hand, activities which we
do call crafts are usually included under techne. Thus if poetry turned
out to be a kind of skilled making analogous to building or weaving,
then it would be a techne too,
To what extent should we agree with Collingwood in divorcing art
from crafts such as these? His view that true art must occur wholly
without preconception or the deliberate application of means to an end
is undoubtedly a myth. But there is a less hard-line view which per-
meates a great deal of modem thinking about art. This is the view that
art involves an exercise of craft as a necessary condition, but is not
exhausted by it. Kant provides a clear instance. The production of
works of ine art, Kant claims, requires 'a talent for producing that for
which no definite rule can be given: and not an aptitude in the way of
cleverness for what can be learned according to some rule';8 but
nevertheless 'there is ... no fine art in which something mechanical,
capable of being at once comprehended and followed in obedience to
rules, and consequently something academic does not constitute the
essential condition of the art'.9 Even though without craftsmanship there
would be no art at all, the criterion of 'fineness* in fine art always
exceeds the requirement that a craft has been exercised properly. We
shall see that in some respects Plato's denial of the status of techne to
musical performance and tragedy is parallel, except that, as with the
case of inspiration, his evaluation is reversed; if a performer is not
technikos; that is a pound for disapproval.
Plato deploys the concept of techne in the early dialogues for

7
The translation "craft* may wrongly suggest an activity whose end-product is iden-
tifiable independently of the activity itself, (As Critias asks in the Charmides, "What is
the product [ergon] of the art of arithmetic or geometry, in the way that a house is the
product of building, a cloak of the art of weaving, or many other such products of many
arts which one could point to?' {Char, 165e6-166al, trans. Watt). See Roochnik, who
argues1 against the view of Irwin (1977a); and Nussbaum (1986), 97, 445.
8 f
Kant, §46, 168. Ibid. §47, 171.
40 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure
different purposes to suit different dialectical contexts,10 He often uses
the ordinary, familiar technai as examples when refuting claims to
knowledge, or illustrating the difference between knowledge and mere
opinion. Each such techne must embrace some body of knowledge that
is teachable, it roust have a clearly identifiable subject-matter of its
own, and it must be sufficiently based on generalizable principles that
it can claim knowledge of the whole of its subject-matter,11 The other,
narrower conception is that of the single, higher-level techne, the
'ruling' or 'adequate' techne. None of the ordinary specialized technai
amounts to a totally self-sufficient expertise; each lacks an account of
what, overall, counts as its good exercise. The adequate or ruling techne,
by contrast, would always aim at the good, guided by principles which
enabled it to give an account of what the good is.12
In the early dialogues Plato shows us a Socrates for whom goodness
and knowledge are closely linked. 'Goodness* or 'being good* is the
condition called arete in Greek, the excellence or virtue of something
or somebody. Socrates seeks the arete of a human being as such—what
it is for someone to be excellent, or possess virtue as a human being.
That being good is equivalent to knowing what is good and evil is one
of the main planks of Socratic ethics. It is a strong and paradoxical
claim, embracing both the thought that knowledge of good and evil is
necessary for being good, and the thought that in order for someone to
be good, it is sufficient that they know what is good and what is evil.13
Now possessors of techne are experts in a specified field of knowledge,
whose judgements are superior to the run-of-the-mill judgements of the
many, and who are in a position to transmit knowledge through teach-
ing to others. Success is predictable and objectively ascertainable: "there
is- a right method, and answers do not depend on the prejudices of
particular people.'14 Whether something is a good table or chariot is not

10
I am indebted here to Woodruff (1990), and to Roochnik.
11
Nwsbautn (1986, 94-6, with 442 ff.) gives a succinct account of the features of
techfie in Greek thinking from the fifth century down to Aristotle, drawing particularly
on medical literature. The chief features of techne in her account are: (1) having universal
principles that apply to a group of similar cases and yield predictions about future cases;
(2) being teachable to an individual prior to that individual's direct experience; (3) having
precision—a notion frequently linked with that of a measure or standard; (4) being able
to give an explanation-of why procedures adopted are successful.
12
In spelling out this contrast, Woodruff has written that Socrates 'allows the term
[tecknel for crafts that are plainly subordinate, and withholds it from those that might
masquerade as a Ruling Techne', the latter being the supposedly authoritative activities
of 'poets, politicians and the like* (1990, 69-70).
13
This account is influenced by frwin (1977a), chs. HI and iv.
14
Ibid, 75.
 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure 41
just a matter of opinion, but requires reference to principles stating that
if a chariot has certain specific features it will be a good chariot. In
many of Plato's prime cases the presence of these features will be
objectively measurable.
The production of excellence by a technl is not haphazard, then. It
is regular, reliable, predictable, transmissible, and explicable in terms
of general and impersonal principles possessed by its practitioners. If
one believes that knowledge of good and evil is necessary and suffi-
cient for human excellence, and observes that excellence in many
special fields is brought by techne, then it is tempting to suppose that
possession of a kind of supreme techne will be equivalent to human
excellence. In a much-discussed part of the Protagoras Socrates goes
to the extreme of advocating a moral techne which would accurately
measure all goods and evils on a single scale of value, determining
them as 'more or less, greater or smaller, nearer or more distant' (3S?a5-
b4). This would be achieved if there were a single desirable standard
of measurement, which Socrates here (but nowhere else) suggests is
pleasure. In the Gorgias he holds that any true techne aims always at
the good, which is distinct from pleasure. What persists is the drive to
show that having or transmitting moral excellence consists in possess-
ing genuine expertise of a certain kind,
The dramatic context of the Gorgias h Socrates' conversation with
the great practitioner and teacher of rhetoric, Gorgias, and with Polus,
his younger colleague. Gorgias of Leontini is usually treated as one of
the sophists.IS He travelled widely and displayed his talents for rhetoric,
though it appears that, unlike other sophists, he did not profess to teach
excellence via the medium of persuasive speaking.16 His rhetorical style,
which Plato sometimes parodies, is calculated for impressive effect,
using repetition of sound-patterns and deliberately piling up redundant
parallels or opposites for almost any word or idea It comes across as
ponderous and artificial-—but bears out the fact that Gorgias was also
a theorist about language and its effects. The best, source for Gorgias'
views about the nature of speech is his Encomium of Helen, in which
he exercises his- rhetorical powers in arguing that Helen, who ran off
adulteroBsly with, Paris, should be absolved of blame, \vhatever caused

13
Dodds dissents (1959, ?), but is criticized for taking the term 'sophist* too narrowly
by Kerferf, 45. Kerferd gives a clear account of Gorgias' doctrines (78—82), including
a paraphrase of the most important passages in the Encomium of Helen. See also Gufhrie
(1971), 20, 25, 44-5, 50-1, 168, 180-1, 269-74.
'* Cf. Menu 95b9-c4i Gorgias laughs at the other sophists who claim to teach arete—
his task is to make clever speakers.
42 Arts, Crofts, and Pleasure
her to act as she did. Particularly interesting is the section in which he
argues that if speech (logos) influenced her actions, she is not to be
blamed. Speech is a 'powerful lord' with an overwhelming ability to
persuade." Speech "constrains*,18 and leaves the persuaded one without
responsibility for what she does. In so doing, it operates on the human
capacity for belief or opinion, rather than knowledge of the troth. In-
deed knowledge is impossible.19 All we can have at our disposal are
opinions, together with speech, which is an irresistible tool for persuad-
ing people to adopt opinions, provided we capture our hearers by giv-
ing them pleasure. A speech for Gorgias 'delights and persuades a vast
audience by the skilfatoess of its composition, not by the accuracy of
its statements* (technii grapheis, ouk aletheiai lechtheis)', at work is a
power 'which by its witchery enchants, persuades and changes the souls
of men*,20 Because truth is not its aim, and knowledge supposedly
could not be its outcome, all persuasion by speech is a deception of
opinion, a deception of the soul,21 which Gorgias classes as a form of
witchery (goeteia). Speech works in the same way as a drug works on
the body, except that rather than curing or killing, it affects the soul
with a whole panoply of emotions,
Pot just as different drugs dispel different secretioas from the body, and some
bring an end to disease and others to life, so also in the case of speeches, some
distress, others delight, some cause fear, others make the hearers bold, and
some drag and bewitch the soul with a kind of evil persuasion.**

We know that Gorgias applied his notion of deception in particular

to tragedy:
Tragedy bloomed and was celebrated, a marvellous sound and spectacle for the
men of that time, and one which by means of myth and suffering produced *a
deception [apatiy, as Gorgias says, in which the deceiver is more justly es-
teemed than the non-deceiver and the deceived is wiser than the undeceived,23

As with speech to general, poetry's 'deception' goes along with'its

emotional effect. The Encomium of Helen again:
11
Helen (Diels-Kranz 82 B 11), §8—trans, G. Kennedy in Sprague fed,), unless
otherwise stated.
18
Ibid, § 12, The Greek here isanankazein, which can also mean 'forces' or 'necessitates*.
19
In On What is Not, or On Nature (Dieb-Kranz 82 B 3), and in Defence ofPalamedes
(Mets-Kraaz 82 B lla). See Sprague (ed.), 42-6, 54-63.
20
Helen, §§13, 10—trans. Dodds (1959), 8-9,
21
Helen, }§: ten psuchin apalesas, and §10: doxes apatemata.
n
Helen, §14,
B
Plutarch, de audiendis poetis 15D (Diels-Kranz 82 B 23)—see Sprague (ed.), 65,
 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure 43
I both deem and define all poetry as speech with metre. Fearful shuddering and
tearful pity and grievous loaging come upon its hearers, and at the actions and
physical sufferings of others in good fortunes and ia evil fortunes, through the
agency of words, the soul is wont to experience a suffering of its own/4
In Gorgias* view persuasion induces beliefs and other attitudes
{'speech constrained the soul, persuading that which it persuaded, both
to believe the tfaiags said and to approve the things done*).25 Such per-
suasion occurs because of the emotions speech produces in its hearers
—or it is perhaps the production, of emotions which is the process of
persuasion itself. The 'drugging and bewitching' of the soul is both its
having emotions produced in it by an external agency and its coining
to be persuaded, i.e. to hold beliefs and other attitudes. Clearly there is
deception if the beliefs are false and the other attitudes in some way
wrong. What Gorgias means by the deception of poetry is then the
complex of someone's acquiring beliefs and other attitudes, all of which
are erroneous, by undergoing the emotional effects of hearing, speech
with metre.
We shall have occasion to refer back to Gorgias, not least in discuss-
ing Republic Book 10.26 Here I pose one final speculative question
about the 'deception* doctrine: Was it the view that poetic fiction is the
production of illusions which we take for real things? Jonathan Barnes,
who attributes to Gorgias a rather grandiose 'theory of art' which says
that it 'essentially strives for illusion',27 has constructed for Gorgias the
following argument: 'poetry arouses genuine emotions, genuine emo-
tions require genuine beliefs, therefore poetry arouses genuine beliefs;
however, beliefs in fictional situations are false, so poetry arouses genuine
false beliefs—or, in other words, is deception.'28 We may wonder, how-
ever, whether this ingenious construction is necessary. The fictionalitj
of poetry is not really the issue for Gorgias, because he finds the same
power to deceive in all speech, putting forward poetry's deception as
one instance,2* No doubt Gorgias believes that poetry arouses real
emotions. But someone's thinking this does not, of itself, settle the
question whether they hold that fiction is believed to be reality. There
24 a
Helen, |9, Ibid, §12: ' K See below, Ch. 6,
21 2S
25
Barnes, 464.' Ibid. 465-6 (my paraphrase),
I am not convinced by the suggestion of Pohtenz (470) that 'for the dramatic poet
apate (deception) meant something entirely different from what it meant for the public
speaker... in the case of drama it was, as illusion, the constitutive feature, since it made
what was represented appear as real to the spectator ... and indeed it had the effect of
making him go along with the fictive events as experiences of Ms own, and feel the
sufferings and joys of the people in action as his own* (my translation).
44 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure
is- an intermediate (if perhaps unstable) position, according to which
the emotion is genuine, but does not involve falsely taking a fiction for
a reality. Finally, if poetry is held to deceive us illusionistically into the
opinion that we see Achilles kill Hector, or Helen really commit adul-
tery, why do those who have been deceived count, for Gorgias, as
'wiser than the undeceived'? It does not seem plausible to describe as
'wiser* the (extremely rare) person who has taken the fictional situation
for a reality.
On a different reading the 'deceived' would be those whose minds
had been altered by poetry's enchantment. lost as in public oratory the
crowd that undergoes the emotional effects of hearing speech thereby
acquires new beliefs and attitudes, so poetry, with its powerfully con-
vincing (but not illusionistic) picture of events, may persuade us into
some belief or attitude of our own about adultery, for example, or about
love, responsibility, death, or heroism, about the rights and wrongs of
a particular incident or a general way of behaving. We may speculate
that it is those who come away from a tragedy with such opinions
changed or influenced who count as 'wiser than the undeceived*. Thus
poetry's 'deception' for Gorgias need be only, like that of rhetoric, its
bewitching persuasion of the mind. This kind of deception is at any rate
closer to the heart of Plato's concerns than any preoccupation with
illusion as such. With all this in mind we turn to Plato's Gorgias,
Appropriately enough, the nature of rhetoric is the subject that leads
into the discussion of techne at Gorgias 462b. When Gorgias himself
fails to give an, acceptable definition of rhetoric, Socrates offers one:
rhetoric is 'no techne', he says, bat rather 'the knack of producing a
certain gratification and pleasure' (462b8—c7). Socrates proceeds to
elaborate a distinction between the two mutually exclusive categories,
craft {techne) and knack (etnpeiria), into which various activities fall.
A 'knack' is also referred to as a mere 'procedure* (triK, 463b4)—-an
activity that can be repeated on many occasions, which happens to
work, but for which the agent has no explanation. A knack goes after
pleasure
entirely without a craft, not at all considering the nature or the explanation of
the pleasure, and altogether without reason, making practically no distinctions.
By habit and experience it keeps only memory of what usually happens, by
which it produces its pleasures. (501a4—bl.)

Cookery and cosmetics provide pleasure and gratification to the body

in this way; sophistry and rhetoric do so for the soul. Socrates proposes
 Arts, Crqfts, and Pleasure 45
calling all these activities part of 'something not at all fine'—namely
'flattery', which is best understood as a tendency to ingratiate oneself
with others by pandering indiscriminately to their tastes,30 No part of
'flattery', Socrates argues, is a genuine techne.
Today we make a distinction between 'knowing how* and 'knowing
that'. There seems little reason to deny that a habitually successful
exercise of rhetorical ability is a case of knowing how to do something.
But this is not sufficient to make it a techne for Plato, A true craft must
indeed be a kind of 'knowing how* (someone who knew many propo-
sitions about disease and cure but could never apply them in action
would not have mastered the medical techne), but it must also involve
a particular kind of "knowing that*. In addition, it most have a charac-
teristic end towards which it works. From the discussion in the Gorgias
it is possible to pick out the following essential contrasts between craft
and flattery: (1) A techne aims at the good, or the best; flattery aims at
what is pleasant, 'without the best*, or 'caring not a bit for the best'
(464c4, 465a2, 464dl). (2) A techne knows 'what is good and bad';
flattery succeeds by knack and procedure, hence by guessing rather
than knowing (500b2-5; 463a2-bl). (3) Techne has an account (logos),
by which it operates, so that it can say what is the explanation of each
thing; flattery has no such account (465a2—6). Cookery, for example,
aims not at what is a good for the body, but at pleasure. Any success
its practitioner has in producing pleasure results not from following any
principle, rather from what Plato calls 'guessing'—hitting the right result
without being able to explain why.31 Medicine, by contrast, not only
aims at the good (almost always to the exclusion of pleasure, in the
short term32), but administers to the body what it knows is for its good,
because it can give a principled explanation of why its actions achieve

30
'Hattery*: la>lakeiat a highly disparaging term, as Dodds's memorable gloss tells us:
'The Max is what the eighteenth century called a toad-eater or lickspittle and schoolboy*
call a bum-sucker* (1959, 225),
31
Cf. the famous passages at Memo 97e6-98a8, 99ci-100b4. An inexplicable 'divine
dispensation* (theio. moira, the same expression as was applied to Ion) may enable some-
people, including statesmen, priests, prophets, and poets, to have the right beliefs; but this
is not the same as genuine knowledge, Knowledge is having a belief which is 'tied down*
by a 'working out of the reason*. This working out (logismos) marks the crucial differ-
ence between merely getting things right, and knowing,
32
At Prot. 354a5-7, 'doctors* treatment involving cautery or tie knife [amputation]
or drugs or starvation diet' is an example of something 'good but painful* (though the
argument as a whole pronounces such things 'good' only in that they bring greater long-
term pleasure). At Rep, 357c6 ff,, being treated when ill is something good not for its
own sake, but for its consequences.
46 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure
what they do. In the process medicine introduces order (kosmos) and
structure (taxis) into the body, which makes for its excellence (arete)
(504a2-c9).
The close connection Plato makes between good, knowledge, and an
account can perhaps be elucidated thus. In order to aim at the achieve-
ment of the best state of something of some" kind (K), one must have
a conception of what a good thing of that kind (a good K thing) is. In
a techne this conception must reliably guide action to a successful
outcome. One's conception of a K thing must be correct and one must
not attain the outcome by chance whilst happening to have the right
conception. One must, then, have knowledge or understanding of what
a good K thing is—hence knowledge of the true nature of a K thing—
and be able to give a rational account of the procedures undertaken to
reach one's goal. 'I don't call anything a techne which'is without an
account (alogon)', says Socrates (465a5-6). The person with a true
techne is in possession of the principles which he or she has followed
in order to produce the desired outcome in any particular case. He or
she is able to give a logos—aa account, explanation, reason. Any alogon
pragma (thing without an account) is not a techne.
The activities which Socrates calls 'flattery* aim at pleasure, treating
their direct product—say, a meal, or a speech—as purely instrumental
towards the bringing about of pleasure in a recipient. Provided that the
thing I produce caases pleasure, my end is attained. Any conception of
*the best' product is therefore irrelevant—I need only observe carefully
what has caused pleasure in the past, and repeat that. Success depends
on whether what I produce is to the recipient's liking. Thus, though I
may be able to recognize a good meal or speech when I see it, I lack
any generalizable explanation of how to succeed, or any criteria for the
assessment of meals or speeches in general, which can predict, accord-
ing to the features they possess, whether they will be good or bad,
Plato makes each instance of 'flattery' the false image (eidolon) of an
instance of craft. Cookery is the image of medicine, cosmetics that .of
gymnastics. In each case an apparent good condition mimics a genuine
one: medicine produces the genuine good condition of the body, cook-
ery a merely apparently good condition which mimics it. Likewise
rhetoric, in, producing gratification by the persuasion of public speak-
ing, merely mimics justice; and sophistry is the false image of genuine
law making. Hence activities which are not genuine exercises of techne
can seem to be genuine to those who are not on their guard. 'If a doctor
and a cook had to compete among children, or among men as foolish
 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure 47
as children, to decide which of them understands more about worthy
and base food , . . then the doctor would die of starvation' (464d5—e2).
The rtteta"'& position is the same
about the just and the onjust, the fine and the shameful, and the good and the
bad . , , —be doesn't know the things themselves, what is good or bad, what
is fine or shameful or just or unjust, but has devised persuasion about them so
that though he doesn't know, among those who don't know he appears to
know, rather than the man who knows. (459dl-eL)M
So Plato sets out to show that rhetoric is not an adequate techne. In
ordinary usage it will continue to be classed as a techne, as it is at the
start of the Gorgias. But in Plato's stricter philosophical sense a truly,
adequate techne both aims at the good and is a form of knowledge.
Because good and pleasure can diverge, as is argued later (495e-500a),
a techne is not concerned to produce what pleases. Pleasure may be a
consequence of its application, but it will eschew what pleases if that
is incompatible with the good. It. will not, however, eschew the good
if that is incompatible with what pleases. The practitioners of activities
which aim solely at pleasure, meanwhile, are unable to discriminate
good from bad pleasures—it needs a craftsman (technikos) to do that
(500a4-6).
Now what is the position of the arts going to be? In the opening part
of the dialogue the -arts figure- prominently as examples of eraft or
expertise,34 But this tells us little of substance. At this stage in the
dialectic the argument is governed by the assumption that rhetoric too
is a craft. Painting, sculpture, and music are brought forward.as at least
having a clear subject-matter, in contrast to rhetoric, which has no
clearly definable subject that it is 'about'. This is the first move in the
campaign to oust rhetoric from the strict category of techne. But paint-
ing and sculpture might also fail to qualify once 'aiming at the good
by applying known principles* is made constitutive of techne, Plato
produces no argument to this effect in the Gorgias, But some of the
performing arts decidedly do not qualify.-
In conversation with Callicles Socrates discusses a number of musi-
cal practices which he puts under the heading of 'gratifying souls al in
a crowd at the sane time*:

M
Thl& and the previously cited passage are closely echoed at Rep. 598b8-c4 and
6QOe4~601W, in the discussion of poetry. Poets make eidSla—false images—of excel-
lence, which take in children and fools.
34
See 448W 1-cl, 453c6,449d3-4,450e!0 for mentions of painting, music, sculpture.
48 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure
First of all, let's consider flute-playing. Don't you think it is the kind of practice,
we mentioned, Callicles, pursuing only our pleasure, and concerned with noth-
ing else? .,. And aren't all of this kind similar—such as lyre-playing before
large audiences? , , , And what about the teaching of choruses, and the making
of dithyrambs? Isn't it apparently something of the same kind? Or do you think
Cinesias the son of Meles cares at all about saying the kind of thing to make
the audience better? Or does he care about what win gratify the mob of spec-
tators? , , . But consider: don't you think that all singing to the lyre and com-
position of dithyrambs has been discovered for the sake of pleasure?
(5Qlel~5G2a8,)

The discussion concerns those arts designed, like rhetoric, for public
performance which gives pleasure to a large mass of people. A dithy-
ramb was a poem written to be sung by a chorus at one of the regular
Athenian festivals. As this practice developed, the works apparently
became highly elaborate, the musical element predominating over the
text,35 Cinesias was a dithyrambic poet active during Plato's early life,
a somewhat controversial figure who has been called a leading repre-
sentative of the 'new music* of the day.3* The lyre (in fact, its larger
relative the kithard) figures twice here: in straightforward lyre-playing,
and in singing accompanied by the lyre. Both were practised in public
competitions at Athens. Aristotle agrees that such perfonnances aimed
only at the pleasure of the audience and resulted in a tendency towards
impressive technical 'fireworks'.'7 In 'flute-playing*, the instrument is
the aulos, which was a reed-instrument rather than a flute. By reputa-
tion it was not wholly respectable. It was used as an accompaniment in
the theatre, but was also associated with 'the wilder sort of evening
parties',m and with ecstatic dancing at Dionysiac and other cults. We
may infer that the aulos was also used as a solo instrument in public
performances involving a high degree of exciting virtuoso display. Its
reedy timbre was in itself no doubt a thrilling sound. In some respects,
the nearest twentieth-century equivalent is the saxophone.39

35
"The making (poiesis) of dithyrambs' refers to the composition, of the poem of
which the dithyrarabic performance was a setting, 'the teaching of choruses' obviously
to the element of musical preparation and performance itself—see Dodd& (1959), 323.
K
Ibid. Cf, Aristophanes' caricature of Cinesias in Birds 1373-1404, which ridicules
his 'multiplication of meaningless epithets' (Packard-Cambridge, 60).
37
Politics 134la9, blO, as discussed by Dodds (1959), 323.
38
Dodds (1959), 322, on whose account I rely. Dodds notes that Aristotle calls the
instrument 'not ethikon, but rattier orgiastikon', and that the Pythagoreans condemned it
as vulgar,
39
Urmson writes: "Much about the aulos is uncertain; one of the few certainties is thai
it is not a flute. English musical writers refer always to the aulos; even "shawm" is better
than "flute", and "tenor saxophone", while appalling, is not as bad* (1984, 210).
 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure 49
So Plato is discussing specific practices, not music as a whole. Else-
where he has room for the thought that music does more than aim at
pleasure, as witness the view he gives to Protagoras (Prot. 326a4—b6):
music in education can 'instil self-control and deter the young from
evil-doing*. The young are taught the lyre, and then progress to singing
poetry accompanied by the lyre. By the process of familiarization, with
different forms of rhythm and harmonia, they 'become more civilized,
more balanced, and belter adjusted [euarmostoteroi-—more well-in-tune]
in themselves and so more capable in whatever they say or do*. 'This
is a view of the educational role of music which Plato will himself
endorse in the Republic and later in the Laws.40 But it is not incompat-
ible with what is said in the Gorgias. Some musical performances are
aimed solely at gratification rather than at what is good. But singing
and the playing of instruments are not necessarily to be used in this
way, and can also constitute a valuable part of one's moral education.
Plato does not here give us a theory of music as such, nor does he say
that all music is a bad or a worthless thing—merely that the music of
pleasure-giving public display should be classed as a form of 'flattery',
not as techne.*1 Pandering to their tastes in an ingratiating way, music
thus performed does not do the audience any good, Plato thinks, but
masquerades as something which does.
Now the discussion moves on to another art: 'Then what about this
august and wonderful pursuit, the composition of tragedy, and its con-
cern?' (Garg, 502bl—2). The epithets are clearly ironic,42 but reflect the
importance Plato attaches to classifying tragedy correctly. Socrates argues
that tragedy's concern too is to gratify the mass of spectators at its
performance, and that therefore it is a species of flattery. It is even a
species of rhetoric:
S O C R A T E S . Is its undertaking and concern, in your opinion, just to gratify the
spectators? Or does It struggle, if anything is pleasant and gratifying to them,
tat base, to avoid saying it, and if something is without pleasure tat benefi-
cial, to say and sing this, whether they enjoy it or not? Which way do you
think; the composition-of tragedies is equipped?
C A L L I C L E S . This much is clear, Socrates, that it concentrates oo pleasure and
on gratifying spectators.
SOCRATES. And didn't we say just now that this sort of thing is flattery,
Catiicles?
C A L L I C L E S . Quite.
SOCRATES. Well now, if someone took away from all poetic composition the

* Rep. 398c-401d, discussed in Ch. 4 below; Laws S09a-S13a, discussed in Ch. 7.

41 4J
See Irwin (1979), 211. DocWs (1959), 324.
50 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure
melody, the rhythm, and the metre, doesn't what is left turn out to be speech
[logoff .. . And isn't this speech addressed to a large rnob of the people?
. , . Then poetic composition [paietikej is a kind of public oratory. , , , And
surely public oratory is rhetoric. Or don't yon think the poets practise rheto-
ric in the theatres?
CALLICLES. Yes, I think so.
SOCRATES. And so we've found a kind of rhetoric addressed to the people,
including children and women and men all together, and stares and free. And
we can't altogether admire it; for we say it's tattering, (5Q2b2-d8.)

These few highly disparaging remarks are not Plato's final word on
tragedy, nor do they really say anything about poetry more generally.
(The conclusion that poi&iki is a kind of public oratory need not be
taken to apply across the board.) The discussion is limited by its sub-
ordination to the themes of rhetoric, pleasure, and good. In Gorgias'
own writings tragedy (and indeed all poetry in his case) is made con-
ceptually subordinate to speech in general, the great power to persuade
and deceive human opinion. With Gorgias present, Socrates is thus
bringing out a further consequence of his account of rhetoric for some-
one who thinks as Gorgias does. But is Plato's subsumption of tragedy
under rhetoric at all plausible? Tragedians portray persuasive dialogue
and sometimes "set debates, with formal speeches argning for and against
a thesis'.43 But it would be short-sighted to call tins the essence of
tragedy, forgetting the great lyric choruses, the reflective monologues,
the messengers* speeches reporting the worst, or the lament of the hero
or heroine after the inevitable reversal of fortune. Tragedy as a whole
can count as 'rhetoric' only on the grounds that it employs speech to
gratify a mass of spectators. (Playing the aulos is, it seems, not be
classified as rhetoric. Is this just because tragedy gratifies with speeches,
aal0s-playing with melodies?) That would make the claim 'tragedy is a
species of rhetoric* relatively uninformative—tautologous with 'tragedy
gratifies in the medium of speech*.
However, the core of Plato's claim is that tragedy aims at gratifying
a mass of spectators, not at what is good. The circumstances of the
performance of tragedy in Athens, at the festivals of the Great Dionysia
and others, are well known, and we need have no quarrel with Plato's
description of the audience. We should also remember that tragedies
were written for a single occasion of performance, which was a com-
petition. In the Theaetetus Plato celebrates with relief the contrasting

43
DtxMs (1959), 325.
 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure 51
circumstances of philosophical discussion: 'We have no jury, and
no audience (as the dramatic poets -have), sitting in control over us,
ready to criticize and give orders.* (Tht. 173c4-5,} Tragedians were
perforce concerned to aim at pleasing both masters—nor were the ver-
dicts of the two always independent.44 la this light, the notion of the
tragedian trying to 'persuade' or 'win over' a mass audience—in a way
analogous to the rhetor—is fully intelligible,
In classing tragedy as a form of flattery, aiming at pleasure not the
good, Plato comes down firmly against the tragedian's exercising a
techne in the strict sense. Tragedy will lack any rational principle by
which to explain its activity, and will succeed by something akin to
guesswork. If any artistic practice m aimed at pleasure or gratification
as an end, precisely this distances it from the strict philosophical cate-
gory of techne. Poets, composers, actors, singers, instrumentalists may
produce fine works, but it is not from knowledge that they do so. They
can give no account which explains why the product of their activities
turned out to be a fine one. They can say what they did, and have
enough experience to have picked up the 'knack' of getting things right
nearly all the time (since practice makes perfect). But they cannot point
to general principles which link their actions with the right outcome.
Performance and composition in these arts is an alogon pragma, a thing
without an account, a business without a rational principle. With this
goes the claim that the 'lightness* aimed for in poetry and music, and
the criterion of success, is that of pleasing an audience, whereas with
a true techne the criterion of success is irrespective of pleasurable re-
action (sometimes at odds with it) and consists in the production of an
object or outcome which is measurable against an objective standard of
goodness.
Is not this view a travesty of the arts? That depends on what is true
concerning the arts. There are two main questions: (1) Is poetry, or
music indeed an alogon pragma, or is either after all the domain of a
techmkasl (2) Is the aim of poetic and musical performance, and the
criterion by which they are judged to have succeeded, the giving of
pleasure? It is difficult to answer these questions in isolation from one
another, and without importing many other notions. They eventually
lead deeper into the philosophy of art than present space will accom-
modate. Nevertheless, an argument can be constructed to support answers

** As we may infer from Plato's later insistence that judges really should not take their
lead from the crowd {Laws 659a—b).
52 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure
compatible with Plato's account. In outline it is as follows. For tragedy
not to be an alogon pragma, its author must work according to
generalizable principles which explain a successful dramatic outcome.
But it is arguable that the aim of tragedy, and its criterion of success,
is pleasure—of some sort. And there are no generalizable principles
which reliably specify that pleasure will be felt in an object of a certain
kind. So tragedy, given its characteristic aim and mode of evaluation,
cannot work according to generalizable principles of the right kind. It
is therefore not a techne, but an alogon pragma. To make this argument,
plausible, we need some backing for two claims, namely the claim that
tragedy aims at and is judged by pleasure, and the claim that there are
no generalizable 'principles of pleasure.
Does tragedy aim at pleasure? Is the criterion of its success that of
producing (or being such as to produce) pleasure? At a very broad
level, we must surely answer: Yes. The idea of an excellent drama
which fails to give pleasure at all is an odd one—assuming that it has
not met the fate of being wrongly understood or not properly staged.
Imagine a dramatist, like Collingwood's carpenter, successfully fash-
ioning a piece which corresponds with an intricate set of preconcep-
tions and rules: still, he or she has scarcely 'succeeded* in producing
a good drama, unless it is the case that pleasure would result from a
performance of the piece in appropriate circumstances to people who
understand it. The idea that the bringing about of pleasure might be a
purely incidental aim of the tragedian is one we should also reject.
Even if, contrary to what Plato thinks, tragedians do aim to educate us,
make us wiser or more pious, their way of pursuing these aims is, unlike
the way of many another educator, essentially via a kind of pleasure.
However, before acquiescing in the claim that tragedians aim at pleas-
ure, we should be circumspect. Plato imposes on the performing arts a
dubious polarity, between, on the one hand, an activity's aiming at the
good (or the best) outcome and, on the other, its aiming at pleasure via
a product which is merely instrumental towards producing that pleas-
ure—as if the artist's product is not aimed at on its own account and
is not itself 'good* in any sense. We could read into this the dubious
implication that the tragedian is simply out to please the audience, and
does not care at all what he or she produces, provided it brings about
pleasure. Calling tragedy 'flattering' already carries this implication,
Against this, we may first note an important sense in which embrac-
ing pleasure as an aim does not exclude aiming at the best, or at the
good, in the object that is to bring about pleasure. We may want to say
 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure 53
that the tragedian aims indeed at pleasing the audience, but that he or
she wants to please them by putting before them a good tragedy, and
having them be pleased by apprehending just those features in virtue of
which it is a good tragedy. Pleasures are distinguished by their inten-
tional objects—the objects they are directed towards. So there is such
a thing as pleasure in a good play, which can be distinguished from
other pleasures experienced while present at the performance of a play,
caused by that performance, but not really having the play itself as
intentional object. An example of Aristotle's makes the point. A tragedy,
on his account, should make us feel a pleasure associated with our
response of pity and fear, but
those who employ spectacular means to create a sense not of the terrible bat
only of the monstrous, are strangers to the purpose of tragedy; for we must not
demand of tragedy any and every kind of pleasure, but only that which is
proper to it. And since the pleasure which the poet should afford is that which
comes from pity and fear through mimesis, it is evident that this quality must
be impressed upon the incidents.45
Spectacular stage-machinery and breath-taking turns of events can give
pleasure. So, no doubt, can the sheer diction of a superb actor or the
beauty of a sequence of gestures. It would be possible to enjoy a
tragedy in the way transient Western tourists today might enjoy an
Indonesian epic drama.46 But there is also a pleasure 'proper to tragedy*,
to have which one must apprehend as fearful and pitiful the connected
series of depicted incidents, the plot. Plato's polarity of good and pleas-
ure falsifies, because it disguises the fact that aiming at pleasure does
not exclude aiming at a good product And to experience pleasure in
something does not exclude either its being good or the apprehension
of it as good.
The notion of something's being a good tragedy or a good musical
performance—which Plato appears to ignore in the Gorgias—-remains
totally unexplained here. So does Plato recognize that there are such
things as good poems, good musical compositions, or good perform-
ances? Recalling the Apology and Ion, we can say that he does. In the
former, poets 'say many ine [kola] things' but cannot explain 'their
most perfect works*,47 In the Ion Socrates talks of good epic poets,
45
Poetics 1453bS-14.
* See Scruton (1974), 163-4, for essentially the same example.
47
Apol. 22c2-3, 22b3-4. In the latter passage Socrates talks of the poems ha moi
edokei malista pepragmateusthai autois—perhaps 'which seemed to me their most
accomplished efforts*.
54 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure
good lyric poets, and a bad poet who nevertheless produced the finest
lyric; he talks of works which are kalos—fine, splendid, beautiful—and
questions the rhapsode abort what it is like when he is performing well
in public. Plato omits the notion of a good tragedy or musical perform-
ance in the Gorgias because he is concerned with the good of the souls
that consume them. Cinesias and the tragedians do not intend to make
their audiences better people, but to please them. Yet they may never-
theless care whether their performances are good performances, or their
works good works. A base action may be depicted because, in the
context of the plot, it gives pleasure; but a dramatically inept depiction
will be avoided, even if it would give pleasure of some kind. Take a
modern parallel: a film-maker might debate whether to include an
explicitly sexual scene in a film. Let us take it for granted that this
particular scene would give the majority of viewers pleasure. Despite
this pleasure, the scene might be excluded, either because it was judged
base and corrupting or because the film would be a better film without
it. Plato laments that artists fail to make the former, ethical, type of
decision. But Ms description allows for—without mentioning—'artis-
tic' decisions of the latter type. So we can agree to the broad claim that
tragedy aims at pleasure without having to accept the implication that
tragedians are bent on causing pleasure irrespective of the fineness of
their dramatic productions.
Now we turn to the other claim which needed some support: that
there are no principles of pleasure. For Plato the tragedian's or musi-
cian's aiming at pleasure and being judged on the basis of bringing it
about is linked with the idea that they can give no explanation. They
have the knack of producing pleasure, but can give no explanation 'of
the pleasure', or of 'what they do* (501ai-bl). This may look straight-
forwardly false. We can easily imagine the director of a dithyrambic
chorus explaining to the ensemble why one performance worked better
than another: 'In this performance the lines of the poem were articu-
lated properly because your breathing was better co-ordinated*, or "hav-
ing slowed down the tempo, there is now room for all the ornamentation'.
These are straightforward reasons for the success- of a performance
(even if 'success* equates with giving pleasure to a mass audience).
Aristotle's detailed remarks about what makes a good tragedy good are
still exemplary pieces of the same kind of reason-giving. So this looks
like a clear sense in which these artistic practices are not 'without a
logos'. However, there is a big difference between critical reasons and
principles of taste or composition. What we have described is the reason-
 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure 55
giving of criticism: reasons for artistic success or failure given after
the event. When it is clear whether the performance worked or not, the
experienced critic can often explain why by citing observed features.
Plato, by contrast, emphasizes knowledge which produces, desired out-
comes with a reliability not simply gained by approximation or repeti-
tion of what has worked in the past: he is thinking of the situation of
the composer or performer vis-d-vis the work not yet executed. For
Plato to be wrong, there must be principles of composition or perform-
ance which the tragedian or performer can rationally follow in order to
ensure success. Still agreeing that the relevant 'success' is some suit-
ably qualified pleasure, are there such principles?
To support the claim that there are EO "principles of pleasure*, let us
return somewhat abruptly to Kant A central plank of Kant's argument
concerning judgements of beauty (what he calls 'judgements of taste')
is that they can never be arrived at by use of a rule or principle. 'There
can*, he writes, 'be no rule according to which anyone is to be com-
pelled to recognize anything as beautiful. Whether a dress, a house, or
a flower is beautiful is a matter upon which one declines to allow one's
judgement to be swayed by any ... principles.'48 The compulsion or
swaying he refers to is that of deductive inference. An object's possess-
ing certain features, combined with a general rale or principle that any
object possessing those features is F, allows one to deduce the conclu-
sion that the particular object is F*9 (An example might be the judge-
meet 'This poem is a sonnet'. This could be supported by the observation
that the poem has fourteen lines of a certain metre and a certain rhyme
scheme, together with the principle that anything with those features is
a sonnet.) But, according to Kant, such a model does not apply when
we judge something beautiful, or aesthetically good. No list of an ob-
ject's features can ever be sufficient for us to deduce its beauty by
means' of a principle. A judgement that something is beautiful has as its
basis a feeling of pleasure of a particular kind: a disinterested pleasure
in the object's perceptual form.
• Now Plato never gives an analysis of the kind of judgement which
is at the heart of Kant's problematic.50 However, when Kant comes to

* Kant, |8, 56. .

49
See ibid. §34, 141. My discussion is influenced by Mothersilf, chs. 3-5. Mothersill
argues persuasively that there are no 'principles of taste", and also that no one really
believes there we any. Later (197) she explicitly links rule-govemedness with Plato's
conception of techne,
* On Plato's 'missing concept of [Kantian] taste', cf, Moravscik (1982), 41-2,
56 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure
discuss the production of works of beauty, we discover a point germane
to Plato's notion of the alogon pragma. Kant claims, as we saw, that
the production of fine art requires *a talent for producing that for which
no definite rule can. be given'.51 He is sensible enough to realize that the
execution of the arts involves a basis of craft-like rule-following. But
the fact that rules have been followed is never sufficient for us to be
able to deduce that a beautiful object will ensue.32 Heace there are no
genuine principles for the artist of the form: 'Produce an object with
properties F, G, and If, and you will produce a successful work of art,*
I say 'genuine principles', meaning by that principles which reaEy work.
One might compose poetry always with some rule in mind, and doing
so might, by some means, help one to compose exceptionally good
poetry. But one would be using a genuine rale or principle of taste only
if, prior to the poem's execution, one could deduce that a poem com-
posed in accordance with it would be exceptionally good. One might be
able to guarantee thus that the product would be (in our revealing
phrase) a workmanlike sonnet, or a sonnet that was correct after some
specified style. But, for all that, it might still not be judged beautiful,
or a true success.
The point I wish to make is that if tragedy is not to be an alogon
pragma in Plato's sense, then the Kantian denial of principles of'com-
position must be false. One of the necessary conditions for tragedy to
count as an adequate techne is that there be something like principles
of taste (at least principles of good composition), known to the poet.
Here then is the argument which lends some measure of support to
Plato: the tragedian aims at pleasure, and successful composition is
closely linked to the bringing about of pleasure; but since there are no
generalizable principles of pleasure, there will be no proper principles
of successful composition. The glaring omission, once we juxtapose
Plato with Kant in this way, seems to be any conception of aesthetic
value: Plato forces the tragedian, the a«fos-p!ayer( and the dithyrambic
chorus to compete in the arenas of rational expertise and moral im-
provement, only to mock them for achieving nothing. Why not allow
that there is aesthetically good music, drama, or poetry, and set these
other questions (at least temporarily) aside?
It is artistic practices, not works per se, which Plato is examining for
51
Kant, §46, 168.
52
A rule which enjoined the making of an indistinguishable copy of an object already
judged beautiful might be urged as the trivial exception; but this is a tricky issue. See
Janaway (1993),
 Arts, Crafts, and Pleasure 57
benefit or the lack of it. And he is aware of the common view that
poetry plays a beneficial role in education—witness the speech by
Protagoras considered earlier, in which teachers not only teach music,
bot set 'the works of good poets* before boys, precisely on account of
their improving content (Prot. 325e4-326a4). In the Republic too, as
we shall see, the positive role of poetry in education is debated at
length. Plato knew, therefore, that the question whether the arts are
beneficial to the soul cannot be answered with a straightforward No, He
makes a division between practices of learning to recite and perform,
which can in the right conditions be beneficial to the reciter or per-
former, and the practice of public performance or display, which he
thinks is never genuinely concerned for the good of the audience. The
Iliad when learned by heart by the young, and the Iliad when enacted
to rapturous acclaim by the rhapsode (for Ion would surely come under
the same strictures as tragedy and the cafes-player) need have no com-
mon value. This said, there remains a worry about the work itself,
because Plato seems inclined to call Homer's works fine poems. What
makes them fine?
A number of the claims we have seen so far—that the arts aim at a
pleasure which is divorced from knowledge and ethical benefit, that
they are not crafts, that there are no principles of composition, and that
the fineness of the artist's product is inexplicable except by some power
of 'inspiration' or 'genius'—cohere into an intelligible whole, which is
far from alien to us. The surprise again for the modern reader is that
Plato should be so ready to disparage the arts he discusses for having
these very 'artistic* features. The question now facing us is whether
Plato fails to understand the idea that the fineness of a work or perform-
ance may be aesthetic (concerned with a kind of fulfilling experiential
encounter which cannot be netted in the search for truth, wisdom,
accuracy, or moral effect)—or whether he has recognized the claim
of aesthetic value and is out to reject it
 3

The Fine and the Beautiful

So far we have seen Plato interested in what the arts contribute to

knowledge or goodness. The modern reader, however, will tend to
think that a poem can be fine in another way, irrespective of its bene-
ficial effect on someone or its imparting knowledge, and some would
say that a kind of pleasure is an essential factor in this. Not all pleas-
ures are intrinsically valuable—some are perhaps not valuable at all—
but we may wonder whether Plato acknowledges 'aesthetic pleasure* as
something of value which an alogon pragma such as poetry or music
might afford. There are three questions of interpretation here: (1) Does
Plato recognize (under whatever name) something that we would call
aesthetic pleasure? (2) Is there room for him to think of it as something
valuable? (3) Does he associate aesthetic pleasure or its equivalent
particularly with the arts—as opposed to, say, the human body or the
multifarious forms of nature?
I shall suggest a qualified affirmative answer to all three questions.
But that will still leave philosophical work to do. Even if Plato recog-
nizes the. arts as principal providers of aesthetic pleasure, we do not
know to what extent that will furnish any defence of them as valuable
activities. If 'aesthetic pleasure* in the arts turns out to have a value of
its own, it might nevertheless be like the pleasures of playing back-
gammon or smelling roses. These, I assume, are valuable in themselves,
but are not essential, components of the best kind of life for a human
being. Indeed, a life largely organized around attaining these pleasures.
could seem perversely mis-directed. I shall argue that Plato recognizes
the arts as providing aesthetic pleasure, but does not regard their doing
so as giving them a prominent place in the best of human lives.
'Plato wants to cut art off from beauty, because he regards beauty as
too serious a matter to be commandeered by art.... Kant, on the other
hand, wants to cut beauty off from morals. Kant restricts beauty for the
same reason for which Plato restricts art, to get it cleanly out of the way
of something more important'1 'He [Plato] never denied the beauty of
1
Murdoch, 17-18.
 The Fine and the Beautiful l 59
art. But he asserted that it was less than that of the phenomenal world,
and far inferior to that of the world of the intellect.'2 These statements
reflect the truth that for Plato the arts at best occupy a low rung of
something that is the ultimate object of human aspiration, what he
calls to kalon, or auto to kalon, phrases traditionally rendered as "the
beautiful' or 'beauty*, *1he beautiful itself* or 'beauty itself*. Many
salieat examples of things that are fates are indeed beautiful things,
and the word in ordinary Greek when applied to people and physical
things has a central meaning to do with visual attractiveness.3 Never-
theless kalos is a term with a much wider use as well, and is more like
'noble', 'admirable', or 'fine'.4 It will pay to remember this, otherwise
we run the risk of over-aesthetieizing Plato. Inadvertency must not lead
us to construe Plato's ultimate aspiration as purely aesthetic;5 the high-
est value is located for him in something more all-embracing, which for
now we may call 'fineness itself". The aesthetic quality which we call
'beauty' is one aspect of fineness, although it is not always separately
noticed or valued.
But before we ask whether Plato shares 'our' concept of beauty—
what do we think beauty is? Collingwood is helpful again for his clarity.
He suggests that phrases of the form 'a beautiful X' express 'an attitude
of admiration for a thing well done, irrespective of whether that thing
is an aesthetic activity, an intellectual activity, or a bodily activity*.* If

2
Orube (1927), 287.
3
See the survey of uses by Dover (1974), 69-73. Whether a thing has or lacks fine
appearance is commonly a central question in whether it is kalos. Sexual intercourse and
superficial personal appearance provide different examples in the Hipputs Major, the one
of something that cannot be fine because it is not fine to see, the ofcer of something
which possibly is fine just because it looks fine {HiMa. 299a3~bl and 293e7 ff,). Mothers!!
(263) is perceptive about a pazzle the second passage raises: in effect, What is the
difference between being beautiful and looking beautifal? The ridiculous man may look
beautiful in sufficient garb, though he is not beautiful. Alcibiades is beautiful—but what
is that? He too is beautiful in that he looks, appears, is seen to be beautiful. All beauty
depends on appearance, ('True beauty is what matters, but the appearance of beauty is
not flatly a fraud,1)
4
Paul Woodruff writes: 'Like beauty, to kalon is something splendid and exciting; and
in women or boys it is the loveliness that excites carnal desire. Bat the use of kalos for
that quality is embraced by its use as a quite general term of commendation in Greek.
"Noble," "admirable," and "fine" are better translations, and of these "fine" is best of all
in virtue of its great range' (I982a, 110). See also Moravcsik (1982), 30-2 and 43, for
a helpful discussion of the fine and its relation to beauty.
5
Cf. frwin (1979), 154: 'There is no reason to believe that the use of "kalon" for what
we call moral properties indicates that the Greeks have a particularly "aesthetic" attitude
to morality, as the translation "beautiful" might suggest.'
6
Collingwood (1938), 39.
60 The Fine and the Beautiful
we adopt CoIIingwood's view, then to kalon is very like beauty, and it
makes sense to maintain that 'Plato has a lot to say about beauty, in
which he is only systematizing what we find implied in the ordinary
Greek use of the word':
To call a thing beautiful in Greek . . . is simply to call it admirable or excellent
or desirable. A poem or painting may certainly receive the epithet, but only by
the same kind of right as a boot or any other simple artifact The sandals of
Hermes, for example, are regularly called beautiful by Homer, not because they
are conceived as elegantly designed or decorated, but because they are con-
ceived as jolly good sandals which enable Mm to fly as well as walk,7

This captures some of the truth about calling a thing kalos. But why
follow Collingwood and say that the English 'beautiful* is substautiaEy
the same? We cannot just stipulate out of existence the understanding
of 'beautiful* which gives it a peculiarly aesthetic significance,
It is Kant who has here provided the clearest paradigm for recent
aesthetics. Kantian beauty (das Schone) is something we may predicate
of any kind of object (it is pointedly not restricted to the arts), but in
doing so we always make an evaluation which is expressly neither
moral nor utilitarian. The attribution of Kantian beauty depends on the
occurrence of a distinct kind of pleasure, which for present purposes we
may simply call 'aesthetic pleasure*. In her recent discussion of beauty,
written within this Kantian tradition, Mary Mothersill8 has argued that
the term 'beauty* picks out a concept of aesthetic value of the most
general nature, which is a 'standing concept', or one which we could
not do without. Beauty, according to her, is a kind of good, which may
be found in objects of any sort, and 'is causally linked with pleasure
and inspires love*,9 Plato pervades Mothersill's discussion, for she thinks
that this standing concept of beauty is also Ms; "if Plato characterizes
as kalos such disparate items as youths and maidens, goddesses, horses,
lyres, codes of law, this- suggests that kalos is a good match for the
English "beautiful" which has an analogously wide range.'10 This is not
to agree with Collingwood, whose view is that 'beautiful* has this same
wide range and does not pick out an aesthetic concept, MothersilFs
view is that beauty is rite'aesthetic concept and has a range analogous
to that of kalos.
The view I develop will be at odds with both Collingwood and
Mothersill. I do not accept the bald riding that 'beautiful* has no aesthetic
1 8
Collingwood (1938), 38. Mothetsiii, 247 ff.
* Ibid. 271. '" Ibid. 251.
 The Fine and the Beautiful 61
connotation, and will, for now, retain it as the term picking out a
generic, standing concept of aesthetic value," But if this is what our
'beautiful' means, 1 do not believe that Plato's kalos is its straight
equivalent. Kalos is a ranch wider term. There are things which are
kalos because they give aesthetic pleasure—but that is only one species
of kalos, Mothersill says that poems and sculptures are 'cited as clear
... instances of beauty* by Plato.12 Yes, but poems and sculptures may
only belong to the sub-species of what is feifes-by-giving-aesthetie-
pleasure, Kalos as such, cannot be equated with 'beautiful' in its aes-
thetic sense,13 When in the Symposium Plato talks of to kalon as the
supreme object of love, to which we make a transition from first loving
a particular human body that is kalos, it is then, I adroit, hard to resist
Bsing the word 'beauty*. To say that we first love a particular person's
physical fineness and ascend to loving fineness itself loses the reso-
nance of Plato's language in that extraordinary passage, and also its
sense for us. Yet this does not overturn the view that kalos in general
is a much wider term than 'beautiful* when the latter is taken as the
generic aesthetic predicate.
Returning briefly to the Gorgias, we find that Socrates addresses part
of our first question—is there aesthetic fineness?—-by offering the
following account of what is fine:
All fine things, such as bodies, colours, shapes, sounds, practices—do you not
call them each fine with reference to something? First of all, for instance, don't
you say that fine bodies are fine either because of use, for whatever each of
them is useful for, or because of some pleasure, if they give onlookers enjoy-
ment when they look on? ... And don't you call all the other things fine too
in this way—shapes and colours—either because of. some pleasure or because
of some benefit or because of both? ... And don't you call sounds and every-
thing to do with music fine in the same way? (474d3-e5.)
There is a case for saying that Plato here acknowledges the existence
of aesthetic pleasure in a limited way. The point may be elucidated
thus. Colours, shapes, and sounds seein to have been selected as the
simplest' objects of straightforward sensation or perception, and Plato
appears happy to say that there is pleasure in the mere seeing or hearing
of them. He recognizes that fineness may be a matter of benefit, or a

" I argue elsewhere that Mothersill's account of beauty will not stretch to cover
natural and artistic beauty univocally (see Janaway (1993)).
12
Mothersill, 251.
13
Here I follow Moravcstk (1982), 31: 'what we call beautiful is for the Greeks "fine
in appearance"', a species of what is fine.
62 The Fine and- the Beautiful
matter of both benefit and enjoyment. It may please us to see an object
which also is of some yse or benefit to us—a well-wrought urn could
be fine because of its pleasing contour and also because we usefully
store things in it; or (elaborating Plato's example) think of a man with
a strong physique who is a fine man because he can help us in adver-
sity, and fine because we enjoy seeing him when he is throwing the
discus. (The linkage of 'bodies' with "giving onlookers enjoyment'
suggests an athletic context.) But there is also a pleasure in seeing or
hearing things where we may discount benefit altogether. Such things
have the kind of fineness which Aquinas (defining beauty) calls *id
cujas apprehensio ipsa placet' ('that of which the apprehension in itself
pleases').14 Such things do not just please us when we-apprehend them;
rather it is the very apprehension of them which pleases. It is this
pleasure in seeing or hearing that, in the most minimal sense, we could
call an 'aesthetic* pleasure.
This brief passage arguably shows that Plato recognizes aesthetic
pleasure in. a limited but informative sense. It also suggests answers
to the other questions we have raised,. Firstly, some of the arts are
included among the providers of this kind of pleasure-—explicitly
'everything to do with music' (though note that music's fineness may
also reside in its being beneficial or of use to us). Secondly, Plato is.
prepared to include things which give such pleasure among things that
are ine. The two points combined allow us to construct the thought
that artistic products which give aesthetic pleasure are a species of fine
things. We have discovered that Plato comprehends the idea of a posi-
tive value in some pleasing works of art, independently of any further
use or benefit they may have.
The dialogue of Plato's which takes the fine as its central topic is the
Hippias Major.K5 Socrates is here in conversation with the sophist Hippias
of Elis, who is satirized as superficial, unthinking and self-satisfied.
The description of his multi-talented achievements is peppered with

14
Summa Theologiae la. 2ae, 27,1 (76—7). The- definition is of the beautiful ipulchrum).
Motber&ul (323 ff.) argues that Aquinas' formulation encapsulates a truth which stands up
to philosophical scrutiny.
15
If it is by Plato: the dialogue's authenticity, though broadly accepted, remains a
subject for argument. See Waterfield's discussion in Saunders (ed.). 217-28, for a start
on the debate. Woodruff (1982a) provides an extensive case for authenticity; Kahn a
forthright argument against, but note his comment (269) that 'no serious philosophical
harm will be done to scholars and students who take the work for Platonic, so cleverly
has the author done his job'. I treat the Hippias Major as a work by Plato, written before
the Republic and the Symposium, making no other assumptions.
 The Fine and the Beautiful 63
references to Ms being 'fine*, his doing things 'finely' (kalas), and so
on ('You're putting fine thoughts in fine words, Hippias*, says Socrates
at 282bl). Thus Ms inability to say what fineness is seems all the more
calamitous, though he shares with Ion (who also cuts a fine figure in
public) an unawareness of the direction the Socratic manoeuvres are
taking. Hippias and Ion each make a claim to 'speak finely' about a
compendious list of subject-matters, and both claims are coupled with
astounding ignorance. There is also an underlying continuity with
Gorgias, who is mentioned in Hippias Major as "the well-known soph-
ist' (282b4-5), and seems to have provided Hippias with the model for
Ms pompous rhetorical style.1* With Plato's Gorgias in mind, we can
see that Hippias* early claim to 'know most finely of men how to pass
virtue [aretel on to other people' (284a2-3) is an obvious target for
demolition,17
When aesthetic pleasure emerges at the end of the dialogue, it is only
after many different angles on fineness have been tried, Socrates makes
it crystal-clear to us (if not to Hippias) that he seeks an answer to the
question 'what the fine is itself*,18 and that this is to.be distinguished
from the question 'What is a fine thing?* What Socrates wants is that
which makes all fine things fine, understood in a constitutive rather than
a causal sense: What constitutes the fineness which all fine things have?"
The dialogue puts the same point by asking for 'that because of which
fine things are fine' or 'that by which fine things are fine*. The answers
Hippias first gives confirm the range of the terra kalos: *A fine girl is
a fine thing' (287e4); 'the fine is just gold' (289e3); and 'it is always
finest... to be rich, healthy, and honoured by the Greeks, to arrive at
old age, to make a fine memorial to his parents when they die, and to
have a fine, grand burial from his own children' (291d9-e2), The last
of these is clearly not an aesthetic fineness. The first is probably not,
if *a fine girl' is fine because she is desired (or is human, beauty always
aesthetic?), to the example of gold the claim that 'wherever that is
added, even if it was seen to be fool before, it will be seen to be fine
when it has been adorned with gold' (289e4-6) may more readily
16
See Woodruff (l9S2a), 116-17, 123-35.
" I make no assumptions about the chronological ordering of Gorg. and HiMa, Wood-
ruff regards the issue an 'too close to call* (19820, 102). Dodcfc argues that Gorg, 4?4ti—
475a is probably later than the parallel passage HiMa, 298a~~b (1959, 250),
18
auto to kaJon hoti eai, HiMa. 286d8-el.
" Woodruff refers to the fine as the 'logical cause' of fineness in things (see 1982a,
ISlfi), borrowing the term from Vlastos (1969), 9Iff, The fine is referred to as 'what
makes things fine* at 29M2, 294aL 2§4d6-7, 300a9-10, 302dl-2,
64 The Fine and the Beautiful
suggest that Hippias has an aesthetic value in mind—-though even here
nothing necessitates an. exclusively aesthetic reading.
The, example Socrates throws back at Mm is Pheidias' monumental
statue of Athena inside the Parthenon. If gold is truly that which, by
being 'added', makes all fine things fine, the peat Pheidias must-have
been ignorant of fineness, and hence a 'bad craftsman [d&niourgos]'.
Why? 'The point is ... that Pheidias didn't make Athena's eyes out of
gold, nor the rest of her face, nor her feet, nor her hands—as he would
have done if gold would really have made them be seen to be finest—-
but he made them out of ivory* (290b2-5). Hippias, unruffled, replies
that ivory is- fine too. But if it is gold and ivory that are fine and make
things fine, why did the sculptor construct the middles of Athena's eyes
out of stone? The truth is that properties which make something fine
can equally make something else foul. (The same properties could make
something else simply lack fineness —a distinct way of failing. An
Athena with golden eyes and ivory robes might have been an abomi-
nation, but it might simply have been a flop.) Any of the properties
mentioned makes things fine, then, only when it is appropriate. Another
example of the same kind is the stirring spoon for a bean soup: should
it be made of gold or of igwood? If the figwood spoon is finer, then
once again gold is not what makes all fine things fine. Hippias' surprise
at the demeaning turn the conversation suddenly takes here is a well-
worked piece of.comedy (290d7—el). But the- same transition, may have
its point for us too: splendid aesthetic fineness is not the exclusive topic
of discussion. Fine pots and spoons are fine things, even though among
fine, things they are not especiaDy fine, as Hippias recognizes in an
earlier remark,20
This discussion has come nowhere near defining auto to kalon, Hippias
has merely given examples of things which are fine, and has chosen
things each of which can in some way be seen to lack fineness: a fine
girl is not fine in comparison with a goddess, not an applications of
gold produce fine objects, and the supposedly fine life Hippias de-
scribes, .including burying one's parents, would not be fine for someone
like Achilles whose father was immortal,21 We shall not discover what

20
288e-6—9, A .girl and a horse are finer, than a fine pot. The only other fine thing in
the immediate context is a lyre. None of these need be taken as exhibiting a particularly
'aesthetic* fineness.
21
"The first fails because it is not fine in every comparison; the second because it is
not fine in every use, and the third because it is not fine in every instance* (Woodruff
(1982(1), 48).
 The Fine and the Beautiful 65
the fine itself is until we can locate something strictly or completely
fine, something for which there is no comparison, use, instance—in
short, no way at all—in which it can be seen not to be fine.22 In pursuit
of this, Socrates and Hippias try out other evaluative notions: the ap-
propriate, the useful, and the beneficial—but each fails in turn to pro-
vide a definition of the fine itself, whereupon Socrates proclaims himself
'stuck*, in a state of aporia.
It is now that aesthetic ineaess seems to provide a way out: is the
fine after all 'what is pleasant through sight and hearing*?
If whatever makes us be glao, not with all the pleasures, but just those through
hearing and sight—if we call that fine, how do you suppose we'd do in the
contest?
Men [i.e. people: anthropoid when they're fine anyway—and everything deco-
rative, pictures and sculptures—these all delight us when we see them, if they're
fine. Fine sounds and music altogether, and speeches and storytelling have the
same effect. (297e5-298a5.)

Obviously we are treading the same terrain as in Gorgias 4744, dis-

cussed above. But music is the only art mentioned by name in the
Gorgias passage—now alongside music we find two species of visual
art, and story-telling. This passage in Hippias Major is thus significant
for uniting disparate arts under a single conception of fineness whose
defining feature is pleasure through sight and hearing. Paintings, sculp-
tures, speeches (if that is the correct translation of logo?3), story-telling
(tnuthologiai), and all of that general class of human artefacts which
count as 'decorations'14 are put together with music as fine in the same
way. We may note farther that momike, translated above as 'music*,
often means just music, but in some contexts, such as the extended
discussion of education in Republic Books 2 and 3, it is a seamless
whole which includes music among a larger group of arts that have to
~* See ibid. 153—5 on the conception of what is strictly fine. Symp. 21 la (discussed
below) elaborates on this conception.
33
'0€>dds (1959, 250} places fagoi parallel with the Gorgias' "branches of learning'
(maihemata). But do the latter please 'by sight and 'hearing*? There is surely little to
suggest thai for Plato the pleasures of listening to the spoken word are the same as the
pleasures of learning, it is rhetoric and tragedy that aim at pleasure in the medium of
logoi, ami it would be odd for Plato to call these 'branches of learning*.
24
Poitilmata. Dodds (loc. cit.) treats poiktlmatu as simply 'patterns', no different in
principle from the colours and shapes of the Gorgias passage. But the word connotes
embroidery or omanjentation resulting from human agency, and its association in the text
with painting and sculpting suggests that the patterns are those of artefacts. (When Plato
elsewhere (Rep. S29c7-S) uses the same word to describe the heavenly bodies as 'orna-
ments which brighten the sky ... embroidered in the visible world', it is a metaphor.)
66 The Fine and the Beautiful
do with sound, rhythm, song, and speech. The concatenation of 'fine
sounds and music altogether, and speeches and storytelling* suggests
this sense here. Some of the things listed are not art products ('people*,
recalling the "bodies* in the Gorgias, and 'sounds', which perhaps
embrace more than the artistic mousike). Yet the passage shows that the
products and practices of the arts are things Plato finds it natural to
associate with aesthetic pleasure, and that for this purpose they form a
cohesive group.
Placing the unified branch of 'music altogether* side by side with the
other obvious grouping of all decoration, pointing, and sculpture, we
have arts pleasing to the sense of hearing, and arts pleasing through
sight. But that these two groups of arts are expected to cohere stores up
trouble, and allows the definition of the fine as 'what is pleasant through
hearing and sight* to fail on a technicality. For what, according to this
definition, is the one characteristic which all fine things share in, and
which makes them fine? It is not the sheer characteristic of giving rise
to pleasure, since there are pleasures which the definition excludes;
'what is pleasant to the other senses , . , food and drink, what goes with
making love, and all the rest of that sort of thing' (298d8-e2), These
are undeniably pleasant things, but
anyone in the world would laugh at us if we called it not pleasant to eat but
fine, or if we called a pleasant smell not pleasant \mifine. And as for making
love [to peri ta aphrodisia], everybody would fight us; they'd say it is most
pleasant, but that one should do it, if he does it at all, where no one will see,
because it is Ae foulest thing to be seen. (299al-6.)

Eating and smelling involve lowly pleasures which are just not admir-
able or interesting enough to be judged 'fine'. Things to do with ta aphro-
disia are refused the title because they are foul to be seen, confirming
again that a thing's having an admirable outward appearance will always
be relevant to whether it is kalos.
Not everything pleasant is fine. So, if it is not being pleasant per se
that provides the single definition of the fine, what is it? Here is the
difficulty, What is it that is common between, say, a painting the seeing
of which pleases us, and a melody the hearing of which pleases us? It
is not that both please through sight, nor that both please through hear-
ing (299e2-300a3). Nor is it true of each that it is pleasant through
sight and hearing. Yet what is true of both of two things, Socrates
insists, really must be true of each; if both the painting and the melody
 The Fine and the Beautiful 67
please by being F, then the painting is F and the melody is F. On these
grounds the definition fails, Socrates seems to become more interested
in a tortuous piece of logical theorizing then in pursuing fineness, even
though something akin to Aquinas' definition beckons; the fine is what
pleases in the very apprehension of it—with some suitable qualification
on what counts as 'apprehension', if one can be found.
Stuck with 'pleasure through sight' and 'pleasure through hearing**
Socrates at least asks whether there is any overarching common feature,
and he answers that 'they are the most harmless pleasures and the best'
(303el-5). He then strangely interprets Ms own remark as saying that
'beneficial pleasure' is the fine (303e9), 'Beneficial pleasure* excludes
(contra Gorgias 474d) both the merely pleasing and the merely useful,
leaving only the category of things which are called fine because of
pleasure and benefit. It would rule out the fineness of 'purely aesthetic
pleasure'. However, this interesting final development is curtailed
because of the problems encountered earlier over defining the fine in
terms of the beneficial. The dialogue ends with Hippias re-asserting his
Gorgianic claim that one should stick to 'presenting a speech well and
finely, in court or council or any other authority* (304a7-bl) and walk
off with the rewards. Socrates counters with the traditional Socratic
worry, addressed first and foremost to himself: 'How will you know
whose speech—or any other action—is finely presented or not, when
you are ignorant of the fine? And when you're in a state like that, do
you think it's any better for you to live than die?' (3Q4dS-e3.)
Having acknowledged the existence of aesthetic pleasure, and having
located it substantially within the group of activities which we call 'the
arts', Socrates has at last confronted the question: What is it about just
these pleasures that is peculiarly fine? It is disappointing that he rejects
the only answer he thinks of—but Ms formulation of that answer itself
is perplexing. For it would 'be stretching things to- the point of incredu-
lity if we were expected to equate 'most harmless' (or 'least harmful*)
with 'most beneficial'. My examples of smelling a rose or playing
backgammon show this: they may well provide pleasures which are
among the most harmless, but it is still an. open question whether these
pleasures are among the most beneficial, or are beneficial at all. In the
Gorgias Plato presented the line that public performance of instrumen-
tal music, dithyrambs, and tragedy does the audience no good what-
ever, but merely serves to give them pleasure. Which is. the more
plausible defence against this line: that the pleasure provided by
68 The Fine and the Beautiful
the arts is fine because it is harmless, or that it-is fine because it is
beneficial?25
We have so far met no evidence that Plato considers aesthetic pleas-
ure—to ttie extent that he recognizes it—a harmful thing. Reflect, how-
ever, that a sweet-smelling plant can be poisonous. Its smell would not
be a bad thing, but its being poisonous and sweet-smelling would make
it all the more dangerous. This, I think, is how Plato comes to view
some, of the arts. Good poetry which pleases us when we hear it is eo
ipso a fine thing—no need to deny that. But until we have asked how
it stands with relation to knowledge, learning, and human excellence,
we have not said anything particularly important. In the same vein, it
is doubtful whether a Mend of the arts would wish to take a stand on
the 'pleasure through sight and hearing' which Plato acknowledges, for
it is a pretty flimsy affair. Is the value of attending a recital of Homer
or a Sophocles drama to be found in the pleasure of sight and hearing?
It is still unclear what the question means, but what is good about these
occasions—if anything is—cannot be just that they look and sound
pleasant How could we ignore the thoughts with which the poet en-
gages our imaginations and our emotions, seeming to teach us some-
thing about life and about ourselves? These are surely where a friend
of the arts would begin.26 Thus it becomes plausible that the kind of
'aesthetic pleasure* Plato recognizes is indeed only a small portion of
fineness, which in itself is insufficient to make the arts worthy of our
highest aspirations.
In the much later dialogue Philebus Plato comes close to a positive
notion of aesthetic pleasure, but very little that is 'artistic' appears to
be covered by it. The great distinction which divides the pleasures here
is that of the pure and the mixed. Mixed pleasures contain, or depend
on, soform ofrmpain or distress, while pure pleasures do not. The
pleasures to be taken in some kinds of beauty are * quite unlike those
of scratching*, for instance (Phil. 51dl). Pleasure in scratching depends

25
The claim in Rep. 10 (595b5-6) that mimetic poetry is ruinous to the intellect could
be countered by according it the fineness of harmless pleasure. But this would be playing
into Plato's hands, for by the end of Rep, 10 (607dS-9), he demands a defence of poetry
'as not only pleasant [hedeia}, but also beneictal [aphdime^ to cities and to human life*
(my translation).
26
"The traditional defence of poetry has been founded on the consideration that the
finest works of poetry can help u& to better OBT lives. They provide us with a particularly
important means of enriching our awareness of human experience, and they enable us to
give to our feelings greater precision, purity, strength and depth. Poetry is a means of
increasing our intelligence and strengthening our moral temper' (Budd (1983), 155).
 The Fine and the Beautiful l 69

on the distress of the itch that is relieved. Bat some pleasures in colour,
shape, and sound are not at all of this nature:

By 'beauty of shape* I don't mean what most people would understand by it—
I am not thinking of animals or certain pictures, but, so the thesis goes, a
straight line or a circle and resultant planes and solids produced on a lathe or
with ruler and square.... On my view these things are not, as other things are,
beautiful (kala) in a relatiYe way, but are always beautiful in themselves, and
yield their own special pleasures quite unlike those of scratching. I include
colours, too, that have the same characteristic.... With sounds, it is the smooth
clear ones I am thinking of, ones that produce a single pure tune (melos), and
are beautiful not just in a certain context but in themselves—these and their
attendant pleasures. (5Icl-d9.)

As elsewhere, a particular kind of fineness is to be equated with what

gives pleasure to' sight and hearing.27 But Plato takes a step nearer to
a modem notion of 'aesthetic' pleasure when he rules out any admix-
ture of distress. For this, by implication, rules out any admixture of
desire. A sound might give pleasure if it was the voice of one's beloved
that one had longed to hear, or the tell ringing at the end of a tedious
school day—but such pleasures in sounds are conditional on a prior
lack. If the perception of a sound or shape satisfies a particular desire,
and is pleasurable because of its so doing, Plato will count the pleas-
ure not as 'pure*, but as the replenishment of a'prior deprivation. This
is, I think, the best interpretation of what Plato intends by saying that
shapes and sounds are "beautiful not in a relative way*, 'not just in a
certain context but in themselves*, and that they 'yield their own
special pleasures'.28
27
Pleasures of smell also tend to be 'pure' in that they require no admixture of
distress. But they are 'less divine* (51el) lhan those of shape, colour, and sound—
presumably because delight in the latter is 'the beginning of delight in numbers, whereas
smells, lead nowhere'- (Gosling (1975), 122).
28
Cf. Gosling (1975), 122, I am aware of two other views: Hackforth (1958), 98-9:
'their beauty does not depend on contrast with something less beautiful, or positively
ugly*, as opposed to tilings that are 'relatively beautiful in the sense that (hey come at
some point on a scale of greater and less aesthetic satisfaction'. Hackforth also sees an
affinity here with the way in which the Form auto to kalon is absolutely, and not rela-
tively, kalon. But I agree with Gosling (1975), 121, and Murphy, 244, in finding these
views not clearly supported by the text. Murphy's view is that what, is being ruled out
Is something beautiful only in relation to something else (against a background, for
example), and not in itself—the most natural reading of ouk final pros ti kala . . . all'
aei kala katK hauta (51c6-7)—but he faces the problem that this does not explain either
the examples excluded or those included. However, Murphy's reference (245) to a pleas-
ure in 'beauty alone without any adventitious appeal, to other human interests' seems
right.
70 The Fine and the Beautiful
Plato also rules out of consideration 'what most people would under-
stand* by beauty of shape, namely animals (living things, humans in-
cluded, presumably), and pictures. Why is this? A painting which depicts
something is liable to give pleasure—so why not a 'pure' pleasure?
Schopenhauer complains of over-naturalistic nudes and paintings of
oysters and herrings which engage the appetites, saying that when this
happens "purely aesthetic contemplation is at once abolished'.29 Can
Plato be thinking that all depiction engages desires or emotions con-
cerning the depicted object? The pleasure in the picture would then not
be a pleasure 'all of its own*, and the picture would be a fine one only
relative to our attitudes towards things of the kind depicted. The refer-
ence to the beauty of living things may also trade on the same idea:
living things are like pictures in that they excite desires and emotions,
so that we cannot appreciate their beauty 'pure*, as we can that of a
geometrical construction.30
It is hard to know where Plato thinks of his examples of 'pure*
pleasure in the beautiful occurring. They seem to apply to human ven-
tures that are artistic in the broad sense: his geometrical figures, for
example, are 'produced* (though in fact, as far as the argument goes,
they might just as well be discovered in nature). But a vast volume of
artistic productions will be excluded from this category. No repre-
sentation, will give 'pure* pleasure. Nor, we assume, will "expressive*
modes, rhythms, and texts, which will be beautiful because of the
emotional character which they 'imitate* and which they are liable
eventually to set up in the listener.3' Plato is seeking visible and audible
forms which are objects of pleasure not because they are parts of an
artistic structure, but because of what they are, regardless of context.
Very little of what is fine in the arts, in his. understanding or in ours,
will therefore be included under the heading of pure pleasure.
Plato has already claimed earlier in the Philebus that the pleasure we
take in tragedy and comedy is 'mixed*. It does not, however, have
exactly the same analysis as the pleasure in scratching. There, a state
was pleasurable only because it brought the cessation of a prior dis-
tressing state. In watching a tragedy, it is rather that at the same time

29
Schopenhauer, i, 208.
30
The alternate explanation is that Plato is criticizing mimesis as an 'inferior redu-
plication' of 'commonplace reality' (Hackforth (1958), 99), But that gives no ctoe as to
why the non-representational, non-artistic beauty of living things should also be excluded
from the 'pure* category,
31
Cf. the explanation by Gosling (1975), 122.
 The Fine and the Beautiful 71
we feel distress and pleasure, "The audience at a tragedy actually enjoy
their tears' (48a5-6). Plato continues to assume that distress in the
audience is genuine. Given that premiss, no one would enjoy tragedy
in the same way if the events were depicted so as to avoid distress! The
whole point of a tragedy—and of why we enjoy it—would be lost. Our
liking for portrayals of the painful is puzzling.32 Plato offers a hint of
a general explanation when he says that many emotions which are
forms of distress—anger, fear, yearning, sorrow, love, envy, malice—
turn out to be 'imbued with an unexpected degree of enjoyment* (47e5).
If sorrow and fear in real life can be tinged with pleasure, perhaps
pleasure in a depiction of the fearful and sorrowful is only what psy-
chology would predict, after all. But there is clearly no likelihood of
tragedy's proving an object of 'pure' pleasure in the sense which Plato
goes on to delineate. Pleasure in comedy, too, depends on our having
certain emotions. Plato argues that we must feel malice towards a char-
acter whom we laugh at as an object of ridicule, and (less convincingly)
that malice is in itself a distressing emotion. Therefore, our pleasare in
laughing at a comedy is also mixed with distress (48aS—50a9). Indeed,
wherever emotions are involved, pure pleasure is not to be found, 'In
dirges, tragedies, and comedies, not only on the stage, but in the whole
tragi-comedy of life, distress and pleasure are blended with each an-
other* (50bl—4). We might observe that this idea of a 'pure* pleasure
embodies something of a flight from life itself.
Well, as Socrates might say, all that is fine ... but aren't we forget-
ting something else that someone once said about to katonl At the
climax of his literary masterpiece, me Symposium, Plato has Socrates
relate the wise words which Diotima, a woman of Mantinea, suppos-
edly addressed to biro, revealing an absolute beauty as the supreme
object of love. The whole dialogue is devoted to. love, evoking and
portraying it as well as attempting to define it. What is loved is what
is kolos, and in this context, as I have conceded, we can scarcely help
thinking of beauty. Because love is the topic, we meet no soup-ladles,
pots, or sandals, however fine, Perhaps more surprising is that in
Diotima's account of the lover's ascent to beauty itself, the fine objects
of love encountered, on the way include no paintings, sculptures, music,
story-telling—nothing artistic. Despite Plato's poetic writing in this
work, and the inclusion in the cast-list of a comic and -a tragic poet—
Aristophanes and Agathon, each of whom speaks with eloquence—we
32
The discussion of this familiar point by Sehier (1989) is stimulatiag.
72 The Fine and the Beautiful
learn little concerning the arts from the explicit content of the Sympo-
sium. Rhetoric is given full rein but then put in its place: when Socrates
is called upon to take his turn at speaking about love, he first subjects
the previous speaker, Agathon, to a cross-examination. It is agreed that
Agathon spoke finely, in a spectacular rhetorical style which reminded
Socrates of Gorgias,33' But Socrates draws a sharp contrast between two
activities, namely speakiag finely (katos) and speaking the truth (the
former possible on Gorgias* theory, the latter not). He purportedly re-
futes one of Agathon's statements—so what Agathon said was not the
truth, and he did not know what he was talking about—-'still, you did
speak finely, Agathon' (201 cl). Fineness masks falsity: rhetoric is, once
again, a mere image 'in words,
Once launched into his retelling of Diotima's teachings, Socrates
brings forward the new definition of love as 'desire for the perpetual
possession of the good* (206all—12). The argument requires the re-
placement of 'beautiful' by 'good*, which is simply achieved by
Diotima's saying we may 'change terms and substitute agathos for
fetes* (204el—3). This makes the class of things that are agathos and
the class of things that are katos coincident, the terms being *inter-
changeable ... but not synonymous'.34 Being fine is one tiling, being
good another, but still all and only good things are fine things. So if a
poem or a painting is fine (perhaps by being pleasing to see or hear),
then it cannot help being in the class of good things. But we should not
assume that this settles very much about the value of the arts. Agathon's
speech was fine.-It was beautiful. But for whom and in what way would
Plato regard it as good? It appealed to (persuaded? deceived?) the
gathering, but was based on a falsehood. Agathon's or anyone's trag-
edies, similarly, according to the Gorgias, may be as fine as they like,
but in fact benefit no one in the respects that matter to Plato. Both

3J
Symp. 198cl-5. Dover (1980, 123-4) explains some features of Plato's extended
parody of Gorgias, and shows by metrical analysis bow 'Plato has taken considerable
trouble to gi¥e Agathon's peroration [197dl—e5] a poetic character in addition to cari-
caturing its. "Gorgianic" structure',
M
Price, 16, following Dover (1980), 136: 'Anything which is kalon, I.e. which looks
or sounds good (or is good to contemplate), is also agatkon, i.e. it serves a desirable
purpose or performs a desirable function, and vice versa.' 'Contemplation* has to be
taken pretty widely to make this explanation stick, and we also have to be careful about
desirable functions and purposes. Someone's life could be fine and good without bating
particularly interesting, and without subserving any function or purpose outside itself,
Price's more cautious gloss brings out both points: 'The kalon is what presents itself
appcalingly (though not only to tie senses); the agaliutn is good for someone In some
way (though not only in&truBientally).*
 The Fine and the Beautiful l 73
35
before and after the Symposium Plato thinks that what presents itself
appeattngly may,fail to be good in important ways and may even be
harmful to those whom it charms,
Have we-in Diotima's speech at last, struck an account which will
place artistic products firmly among the good things towards which
human beings should aspire? Diotima assigns a role to poets and poetry
when she talks of the offspring of the sonl rather than the body. The
motivation of all eras is procreative, it desires to generate something
new. This is. woven in with the notion that all humans desire immor-
tality, and the original strand which says that love is love of the beau-
tiful. ('From fairest creatures we desire increase,! That thereby beauty's
Rose might never die.*) The aim of love is 'to procreate and bring forth
in beauty*. Thus the happiness we seek in possessing beauty is the kind
of immortality we think may be provided by producing offspring—'the
nearest thing to perpetuity and immortality that a mortal being can
attain'. It is only 'in* beauty that we wish to procreate.36 While physical
intercourse and procreation provide the context for the ordinary under-
standing of ems, Diotima's account uses the physical as a metaphor for
something more general. The same impulse to generate can show itself
in spiritual form, and is in Plato's eyes clearly superior when it does so.
Without having to have "recourse to women* one can seek out a beau-
tiful companion with a beautiful soul and with him generate "children
of the soul* which really can last forever. What is the offspring of the
soul?
It is wisdom and virtue [arete} in general; of this poets and such craftsmen
[demiourgoi] as have found out some new thing may be said to be begetters;
but far the greatest and fairest branch of wisdom is that which is concerned
with the due ordering of states and families, whose name is moderation and
justice. (209a3-8.)

Poets rank only with inventive producers in general, and can claim to
do nothing so ine as lawgivers—that said, Diotima is prepared to give

35
Tragic poetry is again called katos bat harmful overall in Rep. 10 (595b3—c2, where
the context—conceding admiration to Homer-—makes kales (cl) unlikely to be merely
ironic).
36
206e5—8. The imagery is thoroughly sexual, based on a particular assumption about
why males desire sexual intercourse with beautiful females, and also on the common
ancient assumption that it is the male who 'generates*, with the- female serving as the
place or receptacle where generation occurs. Plato also offers no argument for the ideas
that heterosexual intercourse is essentially motivated by reproductive ends, or that repro-
duction manifests the desire for immortality.
74 The Fine and the Beautiful
poets credit as begetters of wisdom and virtue (or excellence). Homer
and Hesiod feature prominently, alongside the lawgivers of Sparta and
Athens, Lycurgus and Solon, in a resounding defence of the superiority
of non-physical generation, whose children
surpass human children by being immortal as well as more beautiful. Everyone
would prefer children such as these to children after the flesh. Take Homer, for
example, and Hesiod, and the other good poets; who would not envy them the
children that they left behind them, children whose qualities have won immor-
tal fame and glory for (heir parents? ... and so it is in many other places with
other men , . , who by their many fine actions have brought forth good fruit of
all kinds; not a few of them have even won men's worship on account of their
spiritual children, a thing which has never yet happened to anyone by reason
of Ms human progeny. (209c6—e4.)

Something is seriously awry here. The depreciation of children as

merely 'human' is startling. The pretension to know that the Iliad and
Works and Days are finer than any human child is unexplained. If fathers
are not worshipped for producing their offspring, the reason is surely
not that the product is generally shoddy and liable to die. A further
problem is this: How do the poets fit into the rest of Diotima's picture?
'In* what beauty did Homer generate his long-lived children?37 Even if
the aim of Ms making poetry was to seek a tend of immortality, what
was the beautiful object he loved and from which he desired increase?
We are given no clue to this. The speech concurs with the standard
admiration of good poets for their production of works which are fine
and can endure far longer than a human life. (*So long as men can
breathe, or eyes can see.l So long lives this ...*.) Being a poet ranks
higher than having children. But Diotiraa's positive role for poetry does
not attach to it on account of 'aesthetic pleasure'. Poetry is fine here
because it gives rise to wisdom and excellence—a highly conventional
thought which has been challenged by the Socrates of earlier dialogues,
and which the Socrates of the Republic will deny outright. The thought
is not explained or developed further in the Symposium.
Later there is another slight hint of a new view about poetry, but
arguably it turns out to be spurious. After Socrates* speech, and after
the speech of his lover, Alcibiades, comes a brief evocative picture of
the dying hours of the all-night party, with Socrates still trying to

J7
Dover (1980, 151-2) speculates that 'it can only be the virtuous character of the
[society] for which Homer sang", which seems somewhat lame. Plato's text give* no hint
of an answer. Price (27) brings out the unsatisfactory nature of this passage.
 The Fine and the Beautiful 75
persuade Ms poetic co-symposiasts of some point about tragedy, com-
edy, and techne. ('They were giving way to his arguments, which they
didn't follow very well, and nodding. Aristophanes fell asleep first, and
when it was tally light Agathoo followed him' (223d6-8).) Here is
what was going on in the small hours:
The main point was that Socrates was compelling them to admit that the man
who knew how to write a comedy could also write a tragedy, and that someone
who by techne was a tragic writer was capable of being also a comic writer.
(223d2-6.)

Now if there were after all a genuine all-embracing poetic techne, we

could begin to imagine how poetry might be what Diotima said, some-
thing genuinely productive of excellence and wisdom, something more
like medicine or lawgiving. Do¥er remarks: 'the argument, strikingly
unlike what is said by Socrates in Ion 531e-534e, is not developed
elsewhere in Plato, and reconstruction of the form it might take is a
useful exercise for students of ancient philosophy,*38 Well, first we must
think how Socrates would compel someone to admit that a tragedian
must also be able to be a comedian. Surely only by some assumption
about the nature of things done 'by techne', such as the assumption that
a techne must succeed by reliable, generalizable principles. Assuming
that there were a poetic or dramatic techne which enabled both
Aristophanes and Agathon to do well, we must conclude that each
could master both genres. But it is easiest to imagine Socrates arguing
against the assumption of a poetic techne, precisely as a way of ac-
counting for their lack of generality as poets—just the same argument,
in fact, which accounted for Ion's exclusive leaning towards Homeric
poetry.39
In the famous culmination of Socrates' Diotima-speeeh, the account
of the upward progress of the initiate of love, there is no explicit ref-
erence to poetry or any of the arts. Choosing the path on which the
generation of children is not even possible as an incidental distraction,
the ideal lover must start by loving one boy's body for its beauty, then
generalize this love to all beautiful bodies, ascend to love of a single

" Dover (1980), 177.

39
This is the beautifully simple reading offered by Grube (1935), 184 n. 1, and by
Taylor, 234. See also Ftehar, 44; Woodruff (1982fr), 149 n. 11. For a different view of
the passage, inking it to a unity between tragic and comic views of eras presented in the
dialogue, see Nussbaum (1986), 194, and 469 n. 55; a similar suggestion is made by Else
(1986), 11—12, Clay argues for a connection with the figure of Socrates himself, seen as
a fusion of the tragic and the comic.
76 The Fine ami the Beautiful
soul,' then generalize to a love of what is common to all souls. From
then on, in company with a beloved,, he should move on to love prac-
tices, laws, and sciences (epistemai: branches of knowledge), opening
up a 'vast ocean of beauty' which will make it seem narrow-minded
simply to love one person or object. At all stages he will generate fine
discourse, brought to birth by union with beauty. Some of this dis-
course, in the early stages, may be poetry, though Plato does not say so.
But, apart from that, the arts do not figure here—why not? 'Decoration
and music are not mentioned, says Dodds, 'since they are not objects
of eras*.40 In the restricted sense of eras, of course, they are not. But
Plato is labouring mightily to replace that sense with another. If some-
thing called erm is transferable from, human love-objects to branches of
knowledge and the Spartan constitution, why not to music and the
visual arts? And why does the ideal lover not produce such arts in
response to the higher objects of eras? Is Plato studiously silent about
the arts here, or just silent because it does not occur to Mm that they
should play a role? There is another view: 'Strangely enough, Diotima
and Socrates do not assign a role to the arts in this process of reawak-
ening to Beauty, though it takes but a short step to do so, and this
stopping on the verge has not prevented the Symposium from luring
numerous readers ... to to ess on.*41 But the lure is to be resisted. We
have no right to assume that Plato has waiting before Mm a smooth
train of thought leading to a positive, quasi-modern account of the arts.
(Besides, he was 'on the verge* of writing the Republic.)
Diotima's ascent continues, and so it is that
The man who has been guided thus far in the mysteries of love, and who has
directed Ms thoughts towards examples of beauty in due and orderly succes-
sion, will suddenly have revealed to him as he approaches the end of his
initiatioB a beauty whose nature is marvellous indeed, the final goal, Socrates,
of all his previous efforts. This beauty is first of all eternal; it neither conies into
being nor passes away, neither waxes not wanes; next, it is not beautiful ia part
and ogly in, part, nor beautiful at one time and ugly at another, nor beautiful in
this relation and ugly in that, nor beautiful here and ugly there, as varying
according to its beholders; nor again will this beauty appear to him like the
beauty of a face or hands or anything else corporeal, or like the beauty of a
thought or a science, or like beauty which has its seat in something other than
itself, be it a living thing or the earth or the sky or anything else whatever, he

40
Dodds (1959), 250.
41
Bearefsley, 41. Lucas (260) also sees Plato taking *a step along the path* to exalta-
tion of the artist.
 The Fine and the Beautiful 77
will see it as absolute, existing alone with itself, unique, eternal, and all other
beautiful things as partaking of it, yet in. such a manner that, while they come
into being and pass away, it neither undergoes any increase or diminution nor
suffers any change, (210e2-2llb5.)
The lover attains to the Form, auto to kalon: the beautiful, or the fine,
itself, which is set in contrast with the multiplicity of mere beautiful
things. They participate in it, and, as we learn elsewhere, it is this
relation of participation in the. Form of the beautiful that makes any-
thing beautiful,42 Socrates tried to cajole Hippias into seeking that o0e
single characteristic, the presence of which constituted something's being
kalos. Plato now tells us how fineness itself must be conceived. It is
single, eternal and unchanging, dependent on nothing for its existence,
and distinct from any particular thing (or class of things) that is kalos,
This passage has commonly been read as saying that the beautiful itself
simply and strictly is beautiful, in the sense that it itself is a beautiful
thing.43 Plato lists many ways in which an ordinary beautiful thing
could also be the opposite of beautiful, in order to show that, in con-
trast, the beautiful itself suffers none of these admixtures of the ugly or
the foul; this invites the interpretation that the Form itself is kalos.
Furthermore, unless the Form is itself beautiful or fine, Plato's extrava-
gant claims for its effect on the lover's life make no sense. The Form,
once known, must strike the human mind in such an overwhelming way
that it diminishes all other objects of love. It must be completely-and
overwhelmingly beautiful. Then we can explain why Plato eaa speak
with such moment of 'the region where, if anywhere ... a human life
is liveable, contemplating absolute beauty*.44 To fulfil this exalted role,
the beautiful itself (arguably) has to be measured on the same scale as
familiar beautiful things, and be superior to them in value on that scale.

42
43
Phda. I00b3-e3.
The classic statement of this interpretation is in Vlastos (1965). In a recent challenge
to it, Peiiner has argued that 'the aim ia the upward path is not to ascend from less tolly
beautiful to most fully beautiful objects. Rather it's to ascend from interior (nominalist}
candidates for being what beauty is to the best of all candidates' (1987, 139). Penner
argues (see 127ff.) (i) that Plato is not committed to the claim that the Form is itself a.
beautiful thing by his talk of 'the beautiful itself, (si) that he is not so committed by the
contrasts between the Form and other things which ate and are not beautiful, (lii) thai he
is not so committed by the talk of the beautiful itself as a supreme object of erds. One
might agree with (i) and (ti) while finding (iii) unconvincing. Price (43 n. 49) writes; 'if
[Beauty itself} is to gratify the lover in a manner analogous to beautiful sights ... it must
itself, supremely, be beautiful to contemplate. Nowhere else does "self-predication" (or
better,
44
self-participation) have such clear point.'
Symp. 21W1-3: my translation, influenced partly by Nn&sbaum (1986), 467 n. 34.
78 The Fine and the Beautiful
The beauty of former treasures such as boys, clothing, and. gold
becomes, from this vantage point, something to disdain. It is 'beauty
tainted by human flesh and colour and a mass of perishable [mortal]
rubbish'—while the eternal, untainted fineness itself is 'divine*, and the
lover who has intercourse with it will be the most nearly immortal of
humans (21 Ie2-212a7), Plato has not given up Ms sexual imagery, and
he does not forget to mention the offspring generated by the lover who
lays hold of the Form: *he will beget not images of excellence [eidota
aretes}, in that he will not grasp an image, but true excellence, in that
he grasps the truth* (212a3-5). To be capable of bringing genuine
excellence into the world is to know and love the eternal, divine, logi-
cal cause of things' being fine, and nothing short of that. Could the
supreme lover of auto to kalon be a poet? Poets were earlier said to be
among the 'begetters of wisdom and excellence*. But a Homer, in order
to have engendered true excellence, must have grasped the eternal. Form
of the beautiful, not a mere image of if. Could a Homer do that? Per-
haps Diotima's teachings are mysteries too mysterious to contain, a
definite answer. On the other hand, in a more sober passage in the
Republic Plato chooses the sames words to give a resounding No: all
poets, starting with Homer, make only images of excellence; they never
rise to, or know, the real thing, they never grasp the truth.45
It is only when the lover is at the earliest level of loving the beauty
of bodies that poetry is seriously in consideration. The 'beautiful dis-
course' generated at this early stage possibly includes poetry,* though
Plato does not say so explicitly. Perhaps it would have been misleading
to say so. Since tragedy, comedy, and epic are not likely to spring from
such a context, the poetry engendered by the love of a beautiful body
is hardly representative of what Plato usually discusses under that head-
ing. More importantly, such discourse is only a beginning. At higher
levels non-poetic discourse takes over: a moral discourse 'that improves
the youths', and then 'much fine and noble discourse and thoughts
contained in abundant philosophy'. In Diotima's finalvision poets quietly-
slip out of view. Beautiful poems last a long time, but could never be
an exchange for beauty itself.
Surely, however, the aesthetic is lauded as a- self-standing value in
this whole passage? And, since the aesthetic will have something to do
with the arts, surely Plato cannot be seen as excluding them from the
45
Rep, 600e4—6- The same phrase, eidola aretes—"images of excellence'—is used
here and at Symp, 212a,4, Ton alethous ephaptomenoi at 212a5 is also echoed by let de
aletheias ouch haptesthai. in the Sep. passage.
* For this vwj¥ of 210a7-8, see Moravcsik (1971), 292-3, and Price, 41, 47.
 The Fine and the Beautiful l 79
highest human life? Care is respired. It is unclear how much of Diotima's
teachings are really concerned' with an aesthetic fineness, or even an,
aesthetic beauty. At the first stage, again, where the lover loves the
beauty of bodies, Plato talks of to ep' eidei kalon, the fine in appear-
ance or outward form. Do we then have, as has been suggested, 'love
of bodies for the sake of bodily beauty that can be abstracted and
contemplated on a general level*, followed by a 'move from mere sexual
interest to some sort of aspiration, presumably aesthetic*?47 A sharp
distinction cannot always be made between 'erotic* and 'aesthetic* con-
templation of human beauty, and it would be wrong to try to force such
a distinction upon Diotima. However, it is fairly clear that for her the
contemplation of-human bodies is never purely aesthetic. The lover is
not one to whom pleasure occurs merely in the looking (unlike the
'onlookers* of Gorg. 474d8-9), and Ms aspiration, whatever it ends up
generating, is always erotic. And is there a move in the direction of the
aesthetic? Higher up the ladder towards the ideal we find the contem-
plation of laws, sciences, and excellences, and it is not clear that we
should describe these as the objects of an aesthetic aspiration.
Although Plato is talking about value, about fineness, and about beauty,
there is little indication that artistic practices or an exclusively aesthetic
form of value have any special place in the Symposium's, vision of the
best of lives. And yet one reason remains why it is strange to say this.
For Symposium 210a—212a is among the most elevated and beautiful
stretches of writing ever composed. To be moved by it to any degree
is to allow ourselves the thought -of a standpoint from which the fair
products of the arts count for little and the complexion of all human
institutions is dimmed by contrast with the Forms. But what has been
capable of making the aspiration to this 'higher' region live in our
minds is the offspring of Plato the literary artist, who has brought us to
this point scarcely by argument—rather by extended, subtly modulated
rhetoric, layers of fictional narrators, and beguiling persuasion,481 have
argued so far that Plato is not blind to the beauty which poetry has to
offer, but that he does not place any very great value upon it. His own
poetic achievements, I shall eventually suggest, do not conflict with his
opposition to the poetry which he actively rejects. But it is to the
Republic that we must first tarn, to see what the reasons for that rejec-
tion are. -
41
Mtaavcsik (1971), 291, For criticism, see Price, 37-8.
48
Socrates tries to persuade others of what Diotima said to him, having been
persuaded himself (212bl—3). At one point she convinces him "like a perfect sophist*
(208b7-ci). See Nussbaum (1986), 176-7.
 4

The Formation of Character

IN Ms treatment of the arts in Books 2-3 of the Republic Plato's con-

cerns are moral and political. He wants to build, a model of the best-
organized community and of the healthiest type of faumaa being, founded
on a system of education which would enable both to exist. His ques-
tion is always: What do the arts contribute to these endeavours? Now
there is a point of view—I call it aestheticism—for which such an
exercise is simply a mistake. Aestheticism would say that the real value
of art as art is solely aesthetic, concerned, with a Mad of pleasure taken
in aa object 'for its own sake* and independently of any moral or
political considerations. On this view, aesthetic value itself transcends
moral or political value; moreover, any beneficial effect an aesthetic
work has on a community's morality or an individual's education is
extraneous to the question of its 'real* value. Now aestheticism* s claim
may not be obviously false; but it is not obviously true, even if in the
past it has seemed so. Writing in 1944, Jaeger could comment that
Plato's' assumptions were difficult because 'modem "art" has painfully
and victoriously torn itself away from the "moralizing" tendency of the
eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. We feel absolutely certain
that the enjoyment of a work of "art" has nothing to do with morality,*1
Whether or not this certainty (or this 'we") is still there, Plato's opposed
view, that nothing about an artistic product can be discounted as ethic-
ally or politically neutral, succeeds in making aestheticism seem at best
a partial view?
For Plato, pleasure plays a leading role in deciding which poetry is
the most 'poetic', but he pointedly refuses to equate the most 'poetic'
poetry with the most valuable. In fact, he argues that the greater the
pleasure, the greater the danger of corruption. If a poem is morally or
politically dubious in its depiction of events, its detrimental effect will
be all the greater the more 'poetic' it is. There is surely some plausi-
bility in this. I recall a recent newspaper article concerning anti-Semitic
films made under the Third Reich, which addressed the question: Should

1 2
Jaeger, 214. Ct HaUiweU (1991), 335, for this verdict
 The Formation af Character 81
they now be released for general viewing? Most of the films were poor
as films, but one in particular (entitled Jud Suss, and 'highly recom-
mended* by Goebbels) was thought probably worthy of suppression
because of its artistic superiority. This judgement parallels the many
which Plato makes about Homer and bis colleagues. It is essential to
see past our likely disagreement with Plato about what is morally
dubious: we understand in principle an argument that the 'artistic' can
be more worthy of suppression than the crude and inept.3
Having mentioned film, let us note another point which a number of
commentators have made. Plato's censorship of poetry is an attempt to
influence a medium of mass communication, in which, as he sees it,
ethical judgement about what is portrayed has been subordinated to the
end of gratifying the audience. He engages with poetry in the way
recent critics have engaged with television, cinema, and video: 'the
endless proliferation of senseless images', 'ubiquitous and intrusive
purveyors of bad taste, deformed paradigms, and questionable values",
from which children and others nevertheless learn.4 If we think that
such products of our culture should be answerable to obligations of a
moral or political nature, especially when children are at the forefront
of the debate, as they are for Plato, then we should not find Plato's
approach alien.
The Republic begins with scrutiny of the question 'What is justice?*
In a way that is • sometimes overlooked.,5 poetry and myth enter the
discussion near the start of Book 2. Socrates proposes that justice is
something good in itself, irrespective of consequences (though he thinks
it also has beneficial consequences), and that it is better than being
unjust. But Plato is at pains to emphasize how popular thinking is at
odds with the Socratic line, and he has Glaucon and Adeimantus present
a rhetorical defence of the view that people should be just only to the
extent that it brings, greater reward and reputation—being just is as such
a mere chore, and if one could escape detection and punishment, the
unjust life would be much better. In support of this line, Glaucon uses
the traditional tale of Gyges, whose ring made him invisible and so able
to commit injustice on a grand scale. Adeimantus cites Hesiod and

3
Latfy Chatterley's Lover was defended on the grounds that it had literary merit, and
that it was not liable to corrupt. The first defence, would cut no ice with Plato if the
second failed,•
4
Quotes from Murdoch, 65; Nehamas (1982), 51. In more recent articles {1988),
(1991), Nehamas makes an extended parallel between Pbto aad recent critics of television.'
5
Exceptions are Gadamer, 51; Ferrari (1989), tit; Else (1986), 17-18.
82 The Formation of Character
Homer who present lines of thought congenial to the anti-Socratic view
of justice, such as
you can choose to have evil, and heaps of if, too,
for its house lies near and the path to it is smooth.
But the immortab decreed that man must sweat
to attain virtue; the road to it is steep and long
and rough at first,*

A sprinkling of passages is brought forward from which can be gleaned

the following sentiments: justice is a troublesome business, injustice
easy; the good aspect of justice is merely some reward in the future;
those who are unjust can always appease the gods by prayers and
sacrifices.
Adeimantus asks 'When all such sayings about the attitudes of men
and gods towards virtue and vice are so often repeated, what effect.,.
do we think they have upon the minds of our youth?* Imagine someone
'who is naturally talented and able, like a bee flitting from flower to
flower gathering honey, to flit over these sayings and to gather from
them an impression of what kind of man he should be and of how best
to travel along the road of life' (Rep. 365a4-bl; recall the winged, bee-
like poets of Ion 534bl-3). From such reading someone might fashion
a view of Ms own life: that he should act unjustly behind a mere facade
of justice, drawing round himself what Plato calls a painted illusion of
virtue or excellence (skiagraphia aretes). He might express, the moral
choice facing him in terms of a quote from Pindar or compare himself
to the crafty fox in the poetic fable by Archilochus (Rep. 365b2—4, c4—
6). Here is moral thinking soaked in poetry, constructed by something
akin to an inspirational talent, and committed to living out a mere
artificial picture of a just life. Socrates* task is that of setting up an
alternative account of justice. We already glimpse why part of that
account will take on the question of how moral beliefs are acquired by
way of poetry. Nor would a contemporary reader have been surprised:
it has been rightly said that *we cannot understand Plato's criticisms of
poetry unless we remember that the Greeks thought it was the epitome
of all knowledge and culture*.7
Socrates' competing account of justice gets underway with the idea
of approaching the question on the large scale, in a city (368e8-369a3).
Thus begins the parallel investigation of city and soal which dominates
6
Hesiod, Works and Days, 287-91,
' Jaeger, 214. Plato 'follows the traditional affective and emotional training accepted
by Protagoras'—Irwin (1977o, 201), Cf. Prof. 325el-326a4,
 The Formation of Character 83
the Republic, There is room for discussion about how Plato intends the
city—soul analogy. Later Socrates will say that it is not important whether
such a city as he describes could ever come about, and he compares
himself with a painter; *Do you think that someone is a worse painter
if, having painted a model {paradeigma\ of what the finest and most
beautiful human being would be like and having rendered every detail
of his picture adequately, he could not prove that such a man could
come into being?'8 Right at the end of Book 9, using the same word
paradeigma, he speaks of "the city which we were founding and de-
scribed, our city of words' as 'perhaps ... a model, laid up in heaven,
for him who wishes to look upon, and as he looks, set up the govern-
ment of Ms soul* (592alO-b3), We are certainly meant to learn from
the paradigm city how to approximate to an ideal of individual justice
in ourselves. And part of the point of driving the poets from the city in
Book 10 is that each individual should keep poetry beyond the margins
of Ms or her soul.9 But Plato spends so long on the details of his model
city (many of them without analogues in the individual) that he must
regard them as-of independent interest,
Among the roles that Plato initially accepts must be carried out in
any truly human city are those of what he calls mimetai—mimetic
artists—"many of whom are concerned with shapes and colours, many
with music: poets and their auxiliaries, rhapsodes, actors, choral.
dancers.*10 The list of arts here comprises essentially the same as we
saw in the Hippias Major, but what differs is the description of all these
practitioners as mimetai. We may gain some guidance as to how to take
this from the accounts of mimesis given later in Books 3 and 10." But
it is safest to render the term as "mimetic artists'. As an approximation
we may think of this as including people who produce performances,
representations, images, or fictions, in whatever medium.12
The mention of the mimetic artists in the same breath as 'all kinds

* 472d4-7, Reeve's revised version of Gtube.

9
See Rep. 605b2-c4, «J8a6~b2,
m
Rep. 373b5—8. Both Grube's translation and Reeve's revision omit 'rhapsodes'.
" On Book. 10, see Chs. 5—6 below; Book 3 on mimisis is dealt with later in the
present chapter. Having admitted mimetic artists, including actors, it might seem surpris-
ing that Plato should later consider it an open question whether to have tragedy and
comedy in the city (394dl—6). But there is no inconsistency: starttag from the 'luxurious'
city, Socrates can progressively 'purge* it (of, .399e5—6). (See Adam, i. 147.)
12
To translate mimetai as 'imitators* (as do Jowett and Shorey, for example) risks
begging too many questions: we do not yet know in what sense, if any, the arts provide
'imitation', 'Performers' (Annas (1981), 77) excludes painters and sculptors, and does
not obviously include poets, Orube'g alternative 'artiste* is wide enough and less preju-
dicial, but may wrongly implicate Plato in some modern conception of art.
84 TAe Formation of Character
of hunters', and 'the makers of various kinds of equipment, including
those to do with the adornment of women' puts them in no very privi-
leged position in the community. Just before this Socrates has stated
(373a4—8) that the city will have to include not only necessities-
houses, clothes, shoes—but also painting and embroidery, and things
made from gold and ivory. In the same category come "couches, tables,
.., all sorts of delicacies, perfumed oils, incense, prostitutes, and pas-
tries'.13 He is setting up what he calls a luxurious' or 'feverish* city,
which recognizes that once basic needs for food, habitation, and cloth-
ing have been satisfied, human desires for comfort and pleasure will
(unlike those of pigsw) continue to proliferate, Socrates prefers the
minimal city which does not cater for other than necessary desires—it
is lean, and healthy where the luxurious city is swollen (372e6-8,373b2-
4). Nevertheless he concedes that all the characteristic human desires
must be acknowledged, so luxuries and entertainments must be pro-
vided, the various arts among them. Later the city's fever abates to
some degree and the arts are 'purged* extensively—but they are never
completely removed.
Even before admitting luxuries, Plato introduces a principle which he
applies throughout with momentous consequences. This is the so-called
Principle of Specialization,15 most simply stated as the principle that
each citizen shaE have one and only one role or function within the
city. Behind it are essentially three complementary thoughts. Firstly,
each citizen's role must be exercised for the benefit of the community
of citizens. They do not live in parallel, each fending for themselves
and satisfying the whole range of their desires by their individual
labour; rather each depends on the labour of others within the city, and
correspondingly what each does by way of work must be answerable to
the desires of all. The ground for this is that the communal way of
satisfying desires is 'easier* than that involving all individuals acting in
parallel (369e2—370a6). Secondly, Plato makes the assumption that 'each
one of us is born somewhat different from the others, one more apt
for one task, one for another* (370a7-b2). Some diversity of tasks is
thus 'naturally' suited to any collection of human beings. Thirdly., it is
in the nature of a techne that it can be exercised more finely by some-
one who has mastered it alone, rather than many technai (370b4-6).
Two general consequences of the Principle of Specialization are that
13
373a2-4, Reeve's version,
14
See the reference to a 'city of pigs* at Rep, 3?2d4,
15
So called by Annas (1981), 73 and passim.
 The Formation of Character 85
each citizen can be required not to diversify in the roles be or she
carries out, and that any proposed activity must be justified in, terms of
a benefit which it brings to the community,
Plato moves on to discuss the arts in the context of designing a
programme of education for the model city. But the prime recipients of
this education emerge from a specific application of the Principle of
Specialization: the city must have an army, because it must be able to
secure and extend its territory, if it is to support a body of citizens of
sufficient size and diversity. And by an obvious argument it must be a
specialized army of what Plato calls guardians. Fighting a war is a
matter of techne, not an ability casually picked up. It requires know-
ledge and practice. 'Therefore ... as the task of the guardian is most
important, so he should have the most freedom from all other pursuits,
for he requires techne and the greatest diligence* (374dS—e2), Plato
thus secures his specialist class of guardians, who are 'most important'
because on them depends the continued existence of the whole city. His
concern for their education is precisely defined by the need to bring up
people whose character fits them well to the single role of guardians of
the city; a delicate balance must be struck, since this class must be
fierce and high-spirited towards the world outside, but gentle and sup-
portive towards the city itself. Even if there exist people with characters
naturally suited to such a role, they also require an education, which
Plato now seeks in a judicious mix of gymnastics and mausike: the
description of the latter including not only technical matters of rhythm
and mode in music, but also poetry, drama, and fiction or story-telling,
and eventually widening out into a discussion of the arts in general.
Altogether this- discussion of the arts stretches from 376e in Book 2
through to 403c in Book 3—a little less than one tenth of the whole
Republic, Although much of it is the repeated exemplification of points
through quoted passages of poetry, we are clearly dealing with issues
of substantial importance to Plato,'*
In his examination of the content of poetry and myth Plato advocates
state censorship of some of the finest works of his culture with a full-
blooded passion and an attention to detail which are surely hard to
stomach for most readers in the late twentieth century. Lists are drawn
up of scenes which may not be portrayed, and the city will order its poets
and story-tellers to comply. The prohibitions concern the portrayal of

* Discussion of the arts in Books 2, 3, and 10 together takes up roughly one seventh
of Plato's space.
86 The Formation of Character
gods and heroes. No one is to show gods committing crimes, as do
Cronos and Zeus against their fathers in the traditional myths. Other
prohibited themes are battles and quarrels between gods, gods trans-
forming themselves into other shapes, deceiving or lying, the terrors for
human heroes of death and the underworld, lamentation over some-
one's death by a god or a hero, indulgence in violent laughter, undis-
ciplined abuse, gluttony, over-powering sexual desire, greed for money
and possessions, resentment or disobedience towards a god, atrocities
of war. Heroes must be shown as better than ordinary human beings,
and gods must never be shown to be anything but perfect, unchanging,
and the cause of good. Many of the most powerful scenes in Homer
will be proscribed. Plato shrinks from having to say so "out of respect
for Homer* (391a3), but nevertheless spells out the kind of lines which
he will have cut by law from the Iliad and Odyssey. Tragedy too will
be curtailed: god-induced sufferings (such as those of Niobe or the
house of Pelops) contravene the principle that the diviae is cause only
of good, unless it can be shown that the sufferings are deserved as a
punishment which after all 'benefits' its recipient (380a5—b6).n-
We should not lightly assume that all censorship is bad; furthermore,
many different reasons may be urged for it. Plato is concerned initially
with the education of the young, and works under the assumption that
when anything is young and tender 'it takes shape, and any mould one
may want can be impressed upon it' (377bl—3). He thinks that beliefs
may be 'taken into the soul' (377b7-8) at this impressionable stage (as
we still say). So it matters, right from the nursery on, what stories
(nuithot) are told to the young guardians. All tellers of stories, including
nurses and mothers, play an important role in 'fashioning their souls'.
It is in this context that we must consider the worst of the crimes of the
mythical gods, such as Cronos' treatment of his father Ouranos, in
Hesiod's Theogony. Plato is too sensitive to name the crime or quote
the passage, which (as his audience would know) contains these lines;
Great Ouranos came, bringing on night, and upon Gaia
he lay, wanting love and fully extended;
his son, from ambush, reached out with Ms left hand
and with his right hand took the huge sickle,
long with jagged teeth, and quickly severed

" The banned 'sufferings* here are paths. Gould links this term with a traditional
(especially tragic) conception of undeserved catastrophes caused by the gods (see Gould,
pp. xvii—xviii, 21, and passim).
 The Formation of Character 87
his own father's genitals, and threw them to fall
behind."

Later in the story Cronos swallows Ms own children, except Zeus who
defeats him by force. Plato says: 'I do not think this should be told to
foolish and young people ... If there were some necessity to tell it,
only a very few people should hear it, and in secret.*19 Many will surely
sympathize (however significant they may find the poet's imagery).
Plato sees a continuity, however, not only between childhood story-
tellers and all poets who 'put together fictitious stories* (377d4-6), but
also in the audience, for he is prepared to regulate consumption of
poetry by the middle-aged and the old as well.20 This makes for an
obvious difficulty in Ms argument. From the point of view of the child's
acquisition of beliefs, it is plausible to say that the distinction between
a nursery tale and an epic poem is immaterial. (At one point, Plato
considers the objection that the stories of the gods in Homer are
allegorical, but he remarks that the young cannot distinguish what is
allegorical from what is not, and may still acquire deep-seated beliefs
from a literal interpretation of a story (378d6—el}.} But if the argument
for censorship turns on the malleability and lack of sophistication of the
young, we should expect there to be, at least in principle, some point
at which a person's character and beliefs become fixed enough not to
require such care. The idea that no one in a community should witness
what a child should not witness does not immediately recommend it-
self.21 If Plato gives no reason for extending his prohibition to mature
adults, that is a serious weakness in Ms case. Plato has an answer to this
challenge, but it comes later in the Republic after he has argued for the
division of the soul and (in Book 10) explained how there is in all
of us a childish 'part' which is engaged by dramatic representation.
Although we may calmly recognize dramatic action as fictional and
'* Hesiod, Theogony, 176-82, trans. Caldwell.
'* Rep. 378a2-S. to the Euthyphro w« meet a character who prosecutes his own father
for murder, citing as a justification the behaviour of Ecus and Cronos in punishing their
fathers {Euth. 5eS—6a5). This shows us the kind of impression Plato is worried about
making on young souls, (See Adam, t, 112.)
20
Rep. 37§cS~d2, Cf. 387M-5: 'the .less they should be heard by children and by men
. ..' (also 380ci). HalliweU (1991) suggests that the intention throughout is to describe
*a kind of mode! of sn aesthetic environment*. *a complete culture', not limited by a
purely educational context (329-30). S«e Irwia (I977a), 330-1, for a list of passages in
which Plato seems to direct education more widely to everyone in the city—-though, by
twin's own lights, the guardians are singled out in eighteen passages,
21
Annas comments: 'This is ... paternalism, treating adults as though they were
children' (1981, 85).
88 The Formation of Character
explain its significance as allegorical, this is not the whole story, A
'lower' part of everyone's soul craves emotional expression and likes
to indulge its craving in a welter of powerful images without the inter-
vention of thoughts about the worthiness or rationality of doing so. If
we acknowledge such a 'child within' we shall be less likely to find
Plato's extension of censorship to adults lacking in support.22
The guardians are required by the Principle of Specialization to fulfil
one and only one role in the city. If their moral character is faulty, then
the whole city will be endangered. So, if this moral .character is moulded
by beliefs acquired in early education, and if such beliefs can be ac-
quired from fiction, Plato has good reason to hold that the young guard-
ians should not be exposed to everything that fiction is able to offer.
The guardians must be brave, self-controlled, disciplined, not prone to
deception, crime, or sacrilege. Beliefs acquired early about modes of
behaviour among the superhuman gods and heroes could interfere with
their attaining these qualities. More specifically, they must 'fear slavery
more than death* (38?b4-6) if they are to be free, and must believe
'that no citizen has ever hated another and that this is impious" (378c7-
8). Hence the ban. on depicting misery and terror in the afterlife or
conflict among the gods. Plato's attack on the traditional Olympian
theology is noteworthy. He seeks to replace it with a view of 'the god*
or "the gods* as unchanging, in no way deficient in fineness or virtue,
and as the cause only of good (379a-381e). Only conceived thus will
the divine, as an absolute standard, be worthy of belief. If title guardians
are going to have anything like a religion, it had better be one which
sets before them an appropriate moral paradigm?3
1 have used the term 'fiction'. Plato classifies the myths and epic
scenes .he discusses as pseudeis logoi, or fake discourses. The precise
role which this conception plays in the argument is not always easy to
discern. Plato says that the young guardians should be educated first in
the pseudeis logoi, and later in the species of discourse which is true
(376ell-377a2), So 'falsehood' must be merely a way of classifying
discourses, not in itself a reason for objecting to them,24 otherwise all
2
Ferrari (1989, 114) is excellent here. The Book 10 argument is dealt with in ch. 6
below.
23
Commentators often locate Plato in a tradition of philosophical criticism of early
poetic theology goiag back to Xenophanes (Diels-Kranz, 21 Al, Bll, B12). Later poets
such as Pindar and the tragedians shared these criticisms of Homer. (Gadaroer, 43—4;
Jaeger, 213-14; Ferrari (1989), 110.)
24
Outline (1975, 457) agrees that this is a 'neutral' use of pseudos, and suggests that
'fiction*, 'fictitious*, and 'invented' convey the sense.
 The Formation of Character 89
such stories would be banned without the long exercise in selecting
specific themes and passages. Plato does not, however, think of stories
as 'fiction' in any sense which would assign them an autonomous value.25
It soon becomes clear that within the class of stories defined by their
being false some approximate more to truth, and this is the issue that
most concerns Plato. His statement of the point occurs at 377d7—s3:
Which stories do you mean .., and why do you object to them?
— Because of what one should object to first and most, especially if the fictitious
is not well told.
— As for instance?
— Whenever any story gives a bad likeness of the nature of the gods and
heroes, like a painter drawing a bad picture, ualike what he is wanting to
portray.

Whether a likeness has been made badly (kakos) or finely (kalos) is thus
a discriminating factor within the class of pseudeis logoi, or what I
shall call fictions. A discourse which is literally false, in being a fiction,
can nevertheless be a more or less accurate portrayal of something. If
a fiction does not make a good likeness it is a falsification: 'the greatest
pseudos about the most important matters was that of the man who told
a pseudos badly (OK kalos epseusato) when he said that Owanos did
what Hesiod tells us he did.*26 What Plato means here is that a fiction
was not finely told, in that it was a falsification, a bad likeness of the
truth.
Obviously there is a distinction between the question whether a poetic
discourse is fitting or beneficial and the question whether it is true.27
Plato sometimes makes use of the distinction—for example, the tales of
Cronos and Ouranos should not be told to the young, even if they were
true, he says.28 On the other hand later, when discussing falsehoods
which can be useful or beneficial, he says: 'because of our ignorance
of what truly happened of old, we then make the fiction [pseudos] as
like the truth as we cm, and so make it useful' (382dl-3). Here moral
benefit seems to depend on correctness of representation. So bow do

25
On this see Penan (1989), 113.
36
Cf. Halliweli (1992). 58, for a similar explanation of pseudos here.
2!
'A distinction is drawn between mere lies and the lie which is in itself am baton,
unbeautifut and immoral in tendency, e.g. tie story of Uranus and Cronos • . - Such
legends not merely misrepresent the gods, but also corrupt mankind' (Adam, i. 112).
m
Rep. 378al-3. The issues of veracity and moral effect are separated at 381e4-6
(stories slander the gods and at the same time make children more cowardly) and 386btO-
cl (stories are neither true nor beneficial).
90 The Formation of Character
faithful representation and moral appropriateness relate to one another?
The issue is one of substance, for if we understand misrepresentation
and impressing a bad character on the young as two distinct faults, then
we must face Plato with the possibility of a fiction's failing on one
count while succeeding on the other. Would Plato be content with any
fiction—misrepresentation or not—provided it had a beneficial effect
on the character of Ms young guardians? Would he ban the most
accurate fictional representation if it was morally corrupting? Or, for
the sake of the truth, would he allow the guardians to hear1 things that
would jeopardize their character? The dilemma does not become expli-
cit for Plato because he is confident that the most accurate representa-
tion of the gods and heroes will also be the one that is conducive to
moulding souls of the right kind. But consider, for example, the rival
tragic view that the supernatural plays the leading role in ensuring
human suffering: if this could somehow be shown to be nearer the
truth, where would it leave Plato? If the tragic view were less condu-
cive to the production of courageous and obedient citizens, Plato roust
either modify his picture of the character-traits required by his guard-
ians, or accept that a fiction which misrepresents these fundamental
matters m after all a beneficial educational instrument.
If there are no strictly true stories about the divine and the supposed
distant past, what standard of correctness of representation can there
be? Aristotle remarks that poetry tends to express the universal—'how
a person of a certain type will on occasion speak or act, according to
probability or necessity*,29 and for Plato too this is what is required.
The heroes ought to function as true paradigms of human behaviour,
and the gods as a universal supernatural expression of general, truths
about the world and the place of human beings within it Plato thinks
that poets are trying to represent these basic features of humanity, and
that one way they can be criticized, like a painter who tries to paint a
particular subject, is for failure to produce a good likeness. (Internal
plausibility of the story might be another standard of correctness—but
is it more or less plausible in the story that Achilles behaves insultingly
towards his dead opponent rather than honourably, or that he weeps out
of all measure at the death of Ms beloved comrade, rather than bearing
Ms loss moderately?)
A similar interpretation has recently been put forward by Julius
Moravcsik: 'if a poet represents humans or gods, he will have to have

* Poetics 1451b8-9. Adapted from the translation by Butcher.

 The Formation of Character 91
a certain conception of the natures of these entities. This conception,
implicit or explicit, is subject to the same rational criticism as such
conceptions in any other context*; it tells us 'not only what... a human
does, but also what it—under ideal circumstances and conditions—
should do'.30 Thus we can demand of a poet what his or her picture
of the ideal functioning of the human agent is, say, in terms of how
beliefs, desires, and emotions eater into rational decision-making. There
are really two claims about poetry here, One is that poetry can be
required to put forward some discernible paradigm of human (and
divine) agency—that "insight into important aspects of human nature is
essential to any successful literary work of art'.31 The second is that
such paradigms can be judged correct or incorrect from a point of view
external to poetry itself. Neither claim is obviously false. Furthermore,
if one accepts the first, it is hard to resist the second. We evade the idea
that poetry or fiction can be judged correct or incorrect only if we free
it from the restriction of the first claim and allow it to be valuable in
educational terms without putting forward any paradigms of human
agency at all—something Plato does not consider at this point.32
We may disagree with Plato's moral paradigm. Martha Nussbaum33
has criticized Plato here oa the grounds that he 'assumes the standpoint
of perfection* and asks, looking down from there, about the value of
what are peculiarly human emotions. In particular, she claims, Plato
wants to teach that the genuinely good person is self-sufficient (not
feeling grief, passionate love, or fear) and not vulnerable to suffering.
With this paradigm before us, we are to emulate 'beings who are com-
pletely without merely human needs and interests*. Now Plato says the
following about the vulnerability of the "good man*:
[he] does not think cteatt to be a dreadful tiling for another good man, Ms
friend.... And he will not mourn for him as for one who has suffered a terrible
thing ... [he] is most self-sufficient to living the good life and, above all others,
has least need of another person. ... Then it is less dreadful for him than for
anotsher to be deprived of a son or a brother, of possessions and any other such
things, . . . He will therefore give least way to lamentations, and bear it most
quietly'when such a misfortune hits him. (387d5—e7.)

38
Moravcsik (1986), 40-1. See also HaUiwelTs discussion of the paradigmatic force
of mimetic works (1992, 56ff.).
31
Moravcsik (1986), 43.
32
Though implicitly he allows something like this later in discussing "gracefulness*
(4O3e-4G3c).
33
Nussbauin (1986), 157-8.
92 The Formation of Character
Although Plato seems confident that his 'good man* will not mourn in
the circumstances he describes, the passage asserts only a comparative
self-sufficiency, not the absolute 'perfection* Nussbaum discerns.34
Nevertheless, there is a problem: given that we are human, with all our
vulnerabilities, how can a higher standpoint—even one of comparative
self-sufficiency—illuminate what is of value for us? Plato's reply would
surely be thai, as a model to aspire towards in early education, the self-
sufficient, non-lamenting agent is preferable. But the integrity of this
reply depends on his having located the correct moral paradigm. We
may wish to argue for a rival paradigm such as the tragic view of
humanity, or we may wish to argue that there is no single true account
of the Meal human agent. If either line were successful, Plato's position
would be seriously compromised: he is certain that only his choice of
subject-matter will produce expert guardians, but if the truth about
humanity is different, a very different curriculum would be demanded.
And if the model city can achieve its caste of specialized, morally pure
guardians only by feeding them a tailor-made falsification of human
nature, then the model is bankrupt
In Book 3 of the Republic we are not yet in a position to establish
what is and what is not a falsification of human nature. At 392a
Socrates leaves behind the realms of gods, heroes, spirits, and things in
the underworld, and proposes to move on to tales about human beings.35
The suspicion is that the poets and other writers go wrong in saying that
injustice can bring happiness, that justice is a burden, and so on—but
clearly this brings us back to the point at issue in the Republic as a
whole. We started with a collection of such sayings from the poets, and
were promised an account of justice in the individual by analogy with
the model city. We have not completed that account, so the discussion
is here postponed: 'we shall agree what tales must be told about
humans when we have discovered the nature of justice, that it is by
nature beneficial to its possessor* (392cl-3). Plato is right: if poetry is
answerable to moral philosophy, then we need to have done our moral
philosophy properly first.
Plato's discussion now moves on to matters other than poetry's sub-
ject-matter. But let us pause to take stock. There are many points where
we may disagree with Plato about politics, education, or moral psychol-
ogy. To what extent should a state have responsibility for educating its
M
See Irwin (1988), 376 n. 1.
35
Adam's view is that these are the 'tree logo? that were distinguished from the false
at 376e (see Adam, j, 110; Belfiore (1985), 49).
 The Formation of Character 93
citizens? Plato assigns the state total responsibility, but clearly argu-
ments might be advanced in favour of no control by the state, or only
some. To what extent should poetry and story-felling play a role in
education? It is less likely that we shall disagree with Plato here. Like
him we neither countenance an education wholly taken up with poetry
and myth, nor one from which they are wholly absent. Is there a single
correct account of human nature? If so, is Plato's version of it correct?
Here, as I have said, we may reserve the right to disagree. But what has
Plato said about poetry to which we may object? Perhaps it is what he
has not said that will strike the reader. He has not said that the young
should be exposed to 'good poetry*. Nor has he said that hearing all
these tales of the gods and heroes brings us a pleasure or fulfilment of
its own, and is therefore a valuable activity to include in the life of the
young. Rather, he says this:
We shall ask Homer and the other poets not to be angiy if we delete these and
all similar passages [concealing the pitiful souls of the dead]: not because- they
are not poetic [poietikos] and pleasing to the majority of hearers, but the more
poetic they are the less they should be heard by children and by men who must
be free and fear slavery more than death. (387M-6.)

Plato claims that people acquire from poetry beliefs, desires, and emo-
tions which can have a significant effect on the development of their
ethical, character. He thinks that the greater the poetry's pleasure-giving
potential, the more pronounced the effect on one's character is likely to
be. He assumes that poetry is answerable to the question whether what
it portrays gives a true likeness of human life, and that this question
may take precedence over the question whether it gives pleasure. These
four claims offend against the view that art's value in education is its
giving pleasure, irrespective of its relation to life'—but that is merely
a form of the questionable view I have called aestheticisnn. Artists and
critics have frequently sided with Plato. For Ms Murdoch, 'Bad art is
a lie about the world*,3* For Ruskin, good novels well.read (as they
rarely are, he thinks) are ''nothing less than treatises on moral anatomy
and chemistry; studies of human nature in the elements of it'.37 And
Ezra Pound, who also compares artist to scientist, manages to sound
more severe than Plato himself:
If an artist falsifies his report as to the nature of man, as to his own nature, as
to the nature of Ms ideal of the perfect... of god, if god exist, of the life force,

34
Murdoch, 83. " Rnskin, 65-6.
94 The Formation of Character
of the nature or good and evil, if good and evil exist . . . If he lies out of
deliberate will to lie, if he lies out of carelessness, out of laziness, oat of
cowardice, out of any sort of negligence whatsoever, he nevertheless lies
and he should be punished or despised in proportion to the seriousness of Ms
offence.3*

The rest of Plato's discussion of mousike fafls into three parts; the
first deals with poetry's mode of diction or lexis (dealing in particular
with the conception of mimesis) (392e~398b), and the second with lyric
odes and songs (398c—4QOc), while the third is an eloquent description
of the way all the arts impart gracefulness to the soul (400c-403c). The
question of lexis or 'mode of diction* receives an explanation so long-
winded that we may suspect Plato regards the point as a new one,39 But
what is at issue is a straightforward distinction between two forms of
narration: narration which uses dramatic characterization, and narration
which does not, Plato's word for dramatic characterization is mimesis.
His word for narration is diegesis. It has sometimes been thought that
Plato makes a clean dichotomy between narration and characterization,
but in fact he states clearly that the choice is between simple narration
and narration brought about by way of characterization.* In the Iliad
it is narration both when Agamemnon or some other character speaks
and 'between the speeches' (393b7-8). What happens between the
speeches in Homer is that 'the poet himself is speaking and does not
attempt to turn our attention elsewhere as if the speaker were someone
other than himself* (393a6—7). But when the poet has written a speak-
ing character such as Chryses "he speaks as if he were Chryses and tries
as far as possible to make us think that the speaker is not Homer, but
the priest, an old man', in, which case 'he makes Ms language as like
as possible to that of whatever person he has told us is about to speak'
(393a8-b2, cl-3). Later this is described as the poet 'hiding himself*
(393cl 1). Plato makes Ms distinction clear by translating a chunk of the
Iliad into (dull) non-dramatic narration, and by spelling out the genres
in which the different forms of narration are used: narration in the
poet's voice, without mimesis, is found mostly in dithyratnbic poetry;
tragedy and comedy are narration entirely through mimesisi and epic
poetry is an example of narration partly with and partly without mimesis,
38
Poand, 43-4,
39
Ferrari (1989, 1.14-15) thinks the terms may not be 'Platonic neologisms', just ones
with 'a technical air' which the dialogue's characters, especially Adeimantus, would not
be used to,
* Rep. 392(15—6: hapledieifsu, as against diigesu which is dia mimeseos gignomene.
 The Formation of Character 95
Plato also feels the need for a brief argument that 'mim&sis' is the
natural term to apply to those passages where- the poet "makes Ms
speech like that of another'. To 'imitate* (mimeisthai) someone is to
"make oneself like somebody else in voice or form* (393c5-6), Outside
poetry or the arts mimesis often means simply "acting like* someone
else, in the sense of doing as they do—which would include emulating
as well as mimicking someone.4' Plato seems to be arguing that the
activity of writing words spoken by a dramatic character should be
called mimesis because it is an instance of the more general phenom-
enon of 'making oneself like* someone. Within the poetic sphere mimesis
is here applied not just to the activity of the poet. For clearly it is an
actor or rhapsode, rather than Homer, who makes himself like
Agamemnon in voice. Homer writes words which the audience is to
take, within the story, to be the words of the character, Agamemnon;
these words must resemble those the character would use, which, loosely
perhaps, is for Homer to make himself like the character in voice. But
there is not even a loose sense in which Homer makes himself like
Agamemnon inform. Plato rolls into one the poet's writing a dramatic
character and the actor's or rhapsode's acting it out. So three different
things are elided in this discussion of mimesis: the poet's use of
dramatic characterization (narration through mimesis), poetic mimesis
which embraces the activity of both poet and performer, and the still
wider category of "doing as someone does', in or out, of drama. The
gap between merely behaving as someone else does and acting out a
dramatic character might seem small if one thinks of the latter in terms
of resemblance to a kind of person or action, as Plato does.42
After this, the discussion of mimesis becomes harder to follow, at
least on a superficial level. In quick succession, Socrates asks two
questions about the role of mimesis in the model city:
We need to agree whether we will aflow the poets to make narrations to us
using mimesis, or to make some using mimesis and others not, and what kind
of things in each case, or whether they are not to use mimesis.

41
This is suggested by Nehamas (1982, 56—7) as the key sense of mimesis in passages
before Plato—though note that a number of different views have been pot forward (e.g.
Koler; Else (1958); Keuls, ch. 1; Sftrbora). The account by Halliweli (1986), ch. 4, is
illuminating here. On Plato's usage, 1 agree with Halliweli (1992, 60) that Plato wants
features of toe ordinary 'imitation* or 'emulation* to carry over into the sphere of poetic
enactment, in particular its 'character-forming power'.
42
At Rep, 395b6, e.g., mimanata are said to be aphomoiomata (likenesses) of actions.
96 . The Formation of Character
I presame, he said, that you are examining whether we shall accept tragedy
and comedy into ow city, or whether we shall not
Perhaps so, I said, or perhaps even more than that, but we must foEow the
argument wherever, like a wind, it may lead us. ...
Consider this point, Adeimantus, whether our guardians should be mimetic
or not. (394dl~e2.)

More than the acceptance of tragedy and comedy is at stake because

Plato will try to establish some more profound truths about the way in
which enacting a dramatic part moulds the young soul. But why does
he move from the initial question about the poets to the seemingly
distinct question whether the guardians should be mimetic or not? This
reminds us, firstly, that the dominant concern at this point is what the
poets provide for the education of the guardians. But there is also the
assumption that if the young guardians make use of mimetic poetry in
their learning, their learning will itself be mimetic. This is because, as
many writers have pointed out, in Plato's culture contact with poetry
would always be by way of performance, either recitation or singing.
You would take in Homer's depiction of Achilles either by seeing a
rhapsode declaim the part on stage, or by reciting and thereby enacting
the part yourself.43 So the question whether poetic educational material
wiE be mimetic amounts to the question whether the recipients of edu-
cation wifl themselves indulge in mimesis.
Two principles feature as assumptions in the ensuing argument. Firstly,
the Principle of Specialization enunciated earlier; secondly, what I shall
call the Principle of Assimilation, which states that people come to
resemble whatever they enact. This is supposedly an empirical truth:
'Have you not noticed', Socrates asks, 'that imitations [mimSseis], if
they last from youth for some time, become part of one's nature and
settle into habits of gesture, voice and thought?' (395dl—3). This is not
wholly implausible, especially if we think of the way in which these
days various forms of therapy and training (of teachers, doctors, or
army officers) are liable to involve dramatic role-playing. We too seem
to believe that this may enable one to become what one acts out.
The Principle of Specialization states that any role of expertise is
best carried out by someone who has no other role in the city. It is
simply an instance of this that they imitate X best who do not also
imitate Y: undertaking mimesis of more than one thing takes away the
ability to perform a mimesis of any one thing as well as one might

43
See Havefock, esp. chs, 3, 9; Annas (1981), 94-6.
 The Formation of Character 97
(394e8—395b6), There is empirical evidence of this, too. Poets are
either tragedians or comedians, professional performers are either
rhapsodes or actors, actors are either tragic or comic actors, and human
nature is 'fragmented by even smaller differences than this' as regards
mimetic abilities just as much as abilities in 'real life* (recall again how
Ion specializes in Homeric poetry). If this is true, it tells us that, just
as the guardians must not undertake a plurality of real-life activities, so
they must not engage in mimesis of a multiplicity of character-types. At
most they most play one kind of role. According to the Principle of
Assimilation, engaging in mimesis of any character-type that differs
from the ideal guardian will tend to make them less like the Meal
guardian and more like something else. The conclusion Plato reaches
by applying Ms two principles is that the objects of mimesis for the
guardians should be only the kind of people they themselves are or are
being trained to be, namely "brave, self-controlled, pious, and free men
and all their actions' (395c4—5). He says that this is the mimesis they
should indulge in, if they imitate at all.44 Nowhere does he say that they
should wholly abstain from mimesis.45 Thus he does not take the option
left open at 394d of forbidding the poets in the model city to practise
any mimesis.
In the final part of the discussion of mimesis Socrates asks Adeimantus
to choose between three styles of 'poetry for inclusion in the education
of the guardians. Commentators have sometimes expected that this
threefold division will be the same as that made at 394c—i,e. narration
through mimesis, narration without mimesis, and narration through both—
or that the latter division is the former 'modified*.46 But this is not the
case: Plato has substituted another threefold division. He accepts that
the guardians will use some mimesis; therefore, in terms of the earlier
distinction, they will narrate through both mimesis and simple narration,
a point which Plato goes out of his way to emphasize.47 Yet their style
will involve imitation oaly of one kind of person, avoiding other
models, and hence will have to use a large measure of simple narration,

44
eon de mimontai, 395c3.
43
Cross pud Woozley (272) state Plato's position thus; 'they should play no other
role nor should they imitate' (my emphasis)—presumably based on 395c2—3, oudeti di
cleat an atttous atto prattein crude mimeisthai. However, this surely means; 'they should
neither do nor imitate anything else', particularly since the next sentence begins 'And if
they do imitate . , .*
* The view of Tate (1928), 18.
47
At 396c5-7: 'estai, . . he lexis metechousa , , . amphoteron, mimeseds te leal Sis alles
difgeseos'—a lexis sharing in both mimesis and the other kind of narration.
98 The Formation of Character
not adopting any other voice which departs from the one noble manner
of diction that is the guardians' own. Plato is interested in defining
the narrative style of someone kalos kagathos—'fine and good*, the
standard designation for a superior person of noble class. (Grebe's
translation 'the true gentleman' hits the right note in this respect,48)
Such a person is also called *a moderate man'.49 In narrating, this
person will fall quite naturally into mimesis of the actions and language
of a good man, but will draw the line at enacting scenes in which a
good man is less than perfect (when overcome by disease, sexual pas-
sion, or drunkenness, for example). Nor will he wish to 'make himself
like* someone inferior to himself, except if that person happens to be
performing a good deed, or, Plato adds, perhaps for the sake of play
(paidias char in, 396d5-e2). Just for a joke, one might portray a mem-
ber of the lower orders doing something disreputable, presumably out
of a desire to ridicule that person. Then one would not be departing
from one's 'noble* character but in a way reinforcing it.50
Plato's list of 'inferior' subjects which Ms guardians must be ashamed
to enact is class-specific—many lowly occupations are expressly ex-
cluded from their mimetic training, along with the role of slaves, and
what Plato thinks of as slavish behaviour, such as cowardice and other
moral error, ridicule, or bad language. It is also gender-specific. Despite
Plato's later idea (454b—457a) that women should be included in ruling
and military tasks according to their ability, he appears to assume here
that the guardians will be male, and as such will not be allowed 'to
imitate a young or older woman who is railing at a man, or quarrelling
with the gods, or bragging while thinking herself happy, or one in
misfortune and sorrows and lamentations, even less one in illness or in
love or in labour' (395d5~e3). It seems obsessively anti-female to
think of including this last example. It is, however, reminiscent of the
charge made by Aristophanes that Euripides showed the public, among
other things, 'women giving birth in temples'.51 Euripidean heroines
may be a particular target for Plato,52 though clearly they will not be the
only casualties in tragedy and comedy to fall before Plato's restriction
of mimesis to the model of the 'good man'.
All these exclusions fix the first style in the list from which
48
Dover (1974), 41-5, catalogues some uses of the term, which he asserts to be often
descriptive of a social class,
49
Or 'measured*, metrias* Rep. 396c5.
58
For this view ef. Ferrari (1989), 119; Nehamas (1988), 215; Halliwell (1992), 64n. 24.
3i n
Frogs, 1080. As suggested by Adam, i. 150,
 The Formation of Character 99
Adeimantos must choose. It narrates using both simple narration and
mimesis, but keeps mimesis to the minimum because *the good man* is
the only character it enacts dramatically. The second style is said to be
its antithesis, that of someone who thinks nothing unworthy of himself
and will enact or imitate anything 'in earnest [not to make fun of it] and
before a large audience" (397al—4). To show the comprehensive range
of this style Plato mentions a panoply of sound-effects and animal
noises, whose relevance to the argument is puzzling,53 But the essential
point is that all the kinds of person and action prohibited in the first
style will be open to this kind of speaker. With so much to imitate, this
style 'will consist entirely of mimesis in voice and gesture, or at least
have very little straight narration* (397bl-2). It will also need to em-
ploy a great variety of musical modes and rhythms, while the style that
enacts only the words and deeds of the good man will be homogeneous
in these respects as well (397b6-c6), Which do we choose for the
guardians: the first style, which has mimesis at a minimum because only
one kind of character is enacted, the second with its maximum mimesis
of diverse subjects, or a third style resulting from the 'mixture' of these
two? Adeimantus, of course, opts for the 'unmixed imitator [mimetes]
of the good man'. Commentators have found the idea of a third, mixed
style here difficult.54 But Plato is not confused. A mixture between the

53
Adam (i. 151) finds a reference to the use of stage-machinery and musical effects
in drama, although the style is supposed to be totally dim mimeseas phimais te kai schemasin,
which is probably 'by voice and gesture (or posture)*, Adam also mentions the degen-
erate form of dithyramb—but this is not mimetic in the right sense. Else (1986, 36}
suggests that this imitator of dogs, birds, and thunder is a thaumatopoios or magic-show
man, a 'seedy music hat! character' who 'has little or nothing in common with any
serious Greek poet'.
54
Julia Annas writes of this passage; 'there is uncertainty over whether Plato does in
the ead alow there to be any good, imitative poetry in the ideally just state. His muddle
here is irritating, but understandable ... he is very sure what is bad, but less sure about
what is good. He is canght between the idea that imitation is all right as long as only
morally certified models are imitated, and the idea that there is something morally fishy
abosit imitation as such' (1981, 99), Annas says that all is well (without 'muddle'), if one
keeps the twofold division, between the good man's style and its opposite apart from the
earlier threefold division between pure mimisis, simple narration, and narration using
both modes of diction. But the only reason she gives for thinking that Plato fails to keep
the two divisions apart is that 'at 397d, Socrates asks which style we shall have in the
city—one of the pure ones or the mixed one?' It is a common assumption that the
threefold division of 394b—c must play a role in the choice of Adeimantus at 397d, Else
for some reason thinks that a threefold distinction between diegesis, mimesis, and 'their
mixture* would be "more consistent* or "logical* than what Is in the text (1986, 29). That
Plato is not confused is brought out well by Ferrari (1989), 118; Gaudreault, 80-83; and
Grube (1981), 75-6, n. 23,
100 The Formation of Character
good man's and the versatile style is not identical with the lexis which
uses both mimesis and simple narration. It does use both, but, as we saw
earlier, this may be true of the good man's style and the versatile
mimetic style, although the proportions of mimesis to simple narration
are not equal in those two eases.
What differentiates the good man's style from that of someone who
'thinks nothing unworthy of himself* is its governing aim or motiva-
tion. The good, man's style is governed by a normative conception of
how one should behave and speak. The extent to which it uses mimesis
is merely secondary to this consideration. Perhaps someone with this
motivation will use no dramatic enactment and narrate everything in Ms
own voice, but not because mimesis as such is bad: he will use mimesis
if it conforms to his overall aim of assimilating himself to the preferred
way of acting and speaking. On the other hand, the versatile mimetic
style is governed by the aim of indulging in mimesis, and the more of
it the better. Any considerations about how one should look and sound
will be subordinated to the goal of producing dramatic effect.55 Now we
can see what the 'mixture* of these two approaches is: it is a style
governed by both these motivations, in which one seeks to accommo-
date one's poetic narration to a conception of the good person, but also
values dramatic impersonation of many characters simply for the sake
of doing it, Socrates emphasizes that the 'mixed' style brings pleasure,
while 'the opposite to the one you have chosen is by far the most
pleasing to children and their tutors and to the majority of the mob'.56
Children are not yet in a position to be guided by the normative con-
ception of the good man, and "the mob', Plato presumably thinks, never
will be. They seek only the maximum of pleasure. But the mixed style
might be thought a good compromise: why not allow the guardians to
indulge in mimesis for the sake of its own peculiar pleasures, provided
that we also train them, towards the good character demanded by their
role in the city?
In rejecting anything but the style of the good man as 'not fitting in*

55
'Plato forbids not imitation . . , but imitativeaess, the desire and ability to imitate
anything independently of its moral quality and without the proper attitude of paise or
blame toward it* (Nebamas (1988), 215). Belfiore (1984) coins the term 'versatile imi-
tation' for what Plato objects to. Cf. also Ferrari (1989), 117.
56
Rep. 397d6—8, my translation of hedm ge kai ho kekramenos, polu de hidistos ,. ,
ho enantios hou su hairS, which makes a distinction between the mixed style which is
hed f, and the style of the inferior man which is polu hidistos.
 The Formation of Character 101
37
to the model city, Plato shows that the root of his position is a fear
of diversity or plurality within the individual: "with us a man is not
double or multiple*. By the Principle of Assimilation, anyone who
imitates many things becomes like each of them, hence becoming, in a
sense, a multiple person. Someone who sought to emulate the good
man, bat who also enjoyed mimesis for its own sake, would be 'mul-
tiple' to a lesser extent, but would at least be 'double* in being ruled
by two motivations which may conflict. The more models he permitted
himself to imitate, the less single he would be in Ms commitment to
developing the ooe character he regarded as Ms ideal.
We may suggest another sense in which fostering mimesis for its
own sake might breed diversity. In tragedy, or in the Iliad, a number
of different characters are presented to us. In dramatic interchanges
between protagonists, conflicting points of view are given voice, with-
out necessarily any single assessment which we can call the poet's
own; the characters each have an equal claim on our attention and
emotional engagement38 Mimesis as such brings with it a pleasure and
an exciting stirring of the emotions. But to pursue mimesis as an end in
itself, for the sake of this emotional involvement, even 'mixed' with the
pursuit of the good man's style, is to risk assimilating oneself to diverse •
characters with diverse points of view. Plato concludes his discussion
of mim&sis with his first image of banishment, amid ironic praise (re-
calling the Ion) of the virtuoso dramatic artist as 'sweet' and 'holy*:
If a man who in Ms cleverness can become many persons and imitate all
things should arrive in our city and want to give a performance of Ms poems,
we should bow down before him as being holy, wondrous and pleasing, but we
should tell him that there is no such man in our city and that it is not lawful
that there should be. We would pour myrrh on Ms head and crown Mm with
wreaths, and send him away to another city. We ourselves would employ a
more austere and less pleasure-giving poet and storyteller for our own good,
oae who would imitate the speech of a good man.5'

57
Rep. 397d!0-e2, In 'you would say that it does not fit in to our city* (dlO-cl), the
"if seems to refer only to the extreme style of the inferior man, the opposite of the style
chosen by Adeintaotns. But the reason given for rejecting this is surely also a reason for
rejecting the 'mixed* style.
's Ci Annas (1981), 98. Plato makes the point explicitly at Laws 719c5-dl.
59
Rep. 398al—b2. The crowning and anointing may allude to flic practice of adorning
statues of the gods. Another evocative view, reported by Adam (i. 154} sees an allusion
to the anointing of swallows by Greek women.
102 The Formation of Character
If his argument so far is persuasive, Plato is entitled to send away the
mimetic poet who tries to infiteate the education system. Given the
Principle of Specialization, the Principle of Assimilation, the assumed
educational value of poetry, and the interventionist role he conceives
for the state, he has no choice. The pleasure of mimesis weighs little
against the cumulative power of these considerations. And if the soul
remains liable to radical 'moulding* throughout life, or always retains
a childish part, then there are grounds for the complete dismissal of the
poet who is dedicated to mimesis as an end.
The next section of Plato's discussion of mousike concerns music
proper, though still in connection with lyric poetry. We need not specu-
late about the details of the musical modes, which Socrates claims not
to know properly. Let us instead look at the philosophical principles
that underlie his prescriptions. Song has three elements: words, mode,
and rhythm.* As far as the words go, what was said above about the
content of speech without music is sufficient. And mode and rhythm
ought to be appropriate- to the words. Lamenting modes or scales
(harmoniai) and soft, relaxed ones will not be required in the city
because there will be no narrations of events to which they are appro-
priate. Socrates wants to have just two musical modes, one robust and
warlike, the other peaceful but self-controlled and 'willing*—they turn
out to be the established Dorian and Phrygian modes. Note that the
rationale behind this invokes mimesis in a very broad sense; 'Leave me
those two modes,' says Socrates, 'which will best imitate [mimesontai]
the accents of brave and moderate men both in misfortune and in pros-
perity* (399cl—4), dearly mimesis here is not dramatic impersonation.
We might talk of music 'expressing' a mood or character, of its 'being
expressive of courage*, or even 'being courageous*—terms for a pheno-
menon which philosophers to this day have been unable to unravel
with any great conviction.61 Plato calls the phenomenon mimesis, pre-
sumably because he thinks of the music as resembling a character or
mood. If the music I perform is warlike or self-controlled, Plato thinks
that in performing it I 'make myself like' the typical warlike or self-
controlled individual. From the same idea come prescriptions about
which instruments the model city should make and use, the aulos once
again falling foul of Plato's preferences, along with complicated stringed
instruments designed to be versatile in playing an exotic range of modes.

60
. logos, harmonia, rhythmos. Rep. 398dl—2.
61
A point admirably shown by Budet (1985).
 The Formation of Character 103
The 'luxurious* city is gradually being purged of many of its accoutre-
ments. A discussion of rhythm and metre follows (399e8-400c6), in
which the same basic principle applies. Different rhythms are appropri-
ate to, or are 'imitations* (mimemata) of, different ways of living—
though Socrates leaves us to consult Ms contemporary Damon on the
details.
The inal passage of Plato's discussion of mausike broadens into a
positive account of the value of all the arts, briefly achieving an elo-
quence comparable with the Diotima-speech in the Symposium: and
indeed, Plato rounds off by saying that a discussion of mousike ought
to end in the love of the beautiful. Here it seems appropriate to translate
mousike as 'the arts', and the present passage thus differs from the
Diotima-speech in the prominent role it gives to the arts in making the
soul akin to, and a lover of, the beautiful.62 The truly educated person
must be able to recognize self-control and courage occurring in persons
and actions, and see this as of a piece with63 recognizing likenesses
(eikones) of self-control and courage—that is, the likenesses of these
human qualities as they occur in dramatic characters, styles of speech,
musical modes, and an orderly manner of production in all the arts. It
is thus that being a devotee of momike in its widest sense embraces an
acquaintance with the human virtues.64
Why is 'nurture in the arts' (en mousikei trophe) so important for
Plato?—- 'because their rhythm, and harmony permeate the inner part of
the soul, bring gracefulness to it, and make the strongest impression*
(40Id5—8). 'Gracefulness* is euschemosuni, an unusual word meaning
literally 'weU-formedness', which Plato here us to to denote a virtue
that can be shared by the soul and art-products alike. An early educa-
tion in the arts forms the soul, then, in such a way that it spontaneously
welcomes what is fine and good. Before attaining full use of reason, the
young can be prepared by contact with beautiful sights and sounds—
but only if their nourishment is carefully controlled. Not only the poets,
c
It is another question whether it encompasses Plato's full-blown doctrine of foam,
as we-said the Symposium does. Plato says that no oae cm become tally educated in the
arts,' or truly mousikos, until they team to recognize the forms (eidl) of self-control,
courage, and other virtues, and to pereewe them in things they occur in, both the things
themselves and likenesses of them (to' auta kai eikonas auton). Although eide is Plato's
wort for separate Fonns when he is discussing them, the cautious reader should not
import that doctrine into this passage. Cf. Adam, i. 168; CSuthrie (1975), 459-60; Orabe
(1981), 82 n. 29; Annas (1981), 100.
63
Tart of the same craft and training' (402e?-8).
w
There is no doctrine here of art's being able to 'imitate* Forms directly, despite the
views of Grey, 299; Tate (1928), 21-3.
104 The Formation of Character
but all other producers—painters and the like, weavers, embroiderers,
builders—-must be 'forbidden to put the bad character that is unre-
strained, unfree and graceless into their likenesses of Jiving things or
their buildings or any other of their works' (401b4-7). There is a
relation between the character (&hos) of the soul and the speech, rhythm,
harmony, and form which occur in the arts, Plato calls this relation
variously one of likeness, kinship, foEowing or consequence, or mimesis,
Good form or gracefulness issues spontaneously from a well-formed
soul. But stylistic good form in poetry aad the visual arts, which is a
likeness of the soul's good character, can also impress itself on a soul
by- habituation. By exercising gracefulness in the arts, and consuming
well-formed products, one's soul becomes assimilated to them, and
since they are a mimema of the good character, one's soul becomes
more like a good soul.
So Plato has a role for artists which is both positive and profound:
We must seek out such craftsmen [demiourgof\ as ha¥e the talent to pursue the
beautiful and the graceful in their work, in order that our young men shall be
benefited from all sides like those who live in » healthy place, whence some-
thing from these beautiful works will strike their eyes and ears like a breeze
that brings health from salubrious places, and lead them unawares from child-
hood to love of, resemblance to, and harmony with, the beauty of reason.
(401c4-d3.)
The pursuit of beauty through the arts is thus seen as necessary in the
education of the truly excellent human being, though it is not sufficient,
but merely a preparatory stage prior to the Ml acquisition of reason.65
I wonder if we do not believe something approximating to this? We
give the arts a fairly prominent place in the education of the young. It
has at least been part of our tradition to teach them, long before they
reach intellectual and ethical maturity, to dance, to sing in tune, to
follow a rhythm accurately, to paint, to notice form, to build; we select
their fiction and drama, their musical instruments even, believing that
omitting such steps risks impoverishing their overall development. Plato
can be seen as giving elevated expression to a similar way of thinking,
As far as Books 2—3 of the Republic are concerned, therefore, Plato's
critique of the arts is a thorough overhaul, not an outright rejection. But
is that the end of the story? Plato retains the arts and charges them with
the precious task of benefiting the souls of Ms young guardians, but it
is easy to feel that the arts have really been undermined and replaced,
45
As is spell out by 4Giel-402a4. See also Irwin (1977a), 202-3.
 The Formation of Character 105
because Plato's aims are so antithetical to those that we normally
recognize as 'artistic*. Thinking of Plato, E, M. Forster wrote that from
the State's point of view the artist never quite 'fits in*:
The State believes in education. But does art educate? 'Sometimes, but not
always* is the answer; an unsatisfactory one. The State believes in recreation.
But does art amuse? 'Sometimes, but not always* is the answer again. The State
does not believe in experiments, in the development of human sensitiveness in
directions away from the average citizen. The artist does, and consequently he
and the State ... must disagree,*

Plato opposes what we would call 'Art* as a motivating force in the life
of an individual or a community. For he opposes the pursuit of diversity
or novelty for their own sake, the seeking out of pleasurable experi-
ences, the imaginative exploration of the morally reprehensible and
ambiguous sides of human existence, the cultivation of the viewpoints
of women and slaves which challenge the secure habits of the aristo-
cratic kalos kagathos. The arts may be a preferred means of fulfilling
Plato's educational and political ends, but we are bound to feel that he
subordinates them rather violently to those ends, at the expense of their
other potential values,67
To complain that Plato has omitted such characteristically 'artistic'
values is not to revert to the view which I earlier called aestheticism.
We can agree with Plato that form and content in the arts influence
people's characters hi ways that are morally and politically important,
that the arts can be criticized for the inaccuracy of their portrayal of
human life, and that if pursued for the sake of novelty and pleasure
without being answerable to any values outside themselves they may
be corrupting. We may even share Ms demand that some moral and
political benefit from the arts is a condition of acknowledging their
worth. But all this is compatible with valuing as beneficial precisely the
'experiments' and 'development of human sensitiveness* that Forster
speaks of. This suggests that it is not so much what Plato says about the
nature of the arts themselves that is objectionable, but rather his rigid
authoritarianism and the narrowing vision expressed in his Principle of
Specialization.
* Forsttr, 97,
6J
This is no doubt a particularly modern thought. IB Aristophanes* Frogs Aeschylus
and Euripides contend in a comic debate for the titie of best poet, but despite great
differences in style and social attitude they agree that what they ought to be doing is
"making people better in the cities* (Frogs 1009—10).
 5

Mimesis

BOOK 10 of the Republic contains Plato's most sustained and decisive

critique of the arts. First he develops a general conception of mimesis.
Then he argues that poetty which is mimetic and aimed at pleasure
should be banished from the model city (and from the well-governed
soul) until it can demonstrate that it is not merely pleasant, but benefi-
cial to cities and to human life (607bl-608b2). In Chapter 6 I shall
consider the arguments that lead up to this banishment. But in this
chapter I ask: What does the concept of mimesis developed in Book 10
embrace? We cannot hope for a single clear definition of mimesis
covering all uses that Plato ever makes of the term,1 At the most gen-
eral level it ten to to mean something which is like something else in
some way. Often, though not always, this wiE be a copy or likeness
which is less real than an original of which it is the likeness. In Book
10 Plato uses this notion to put forward an intelligible, if rudimentary,
theory of artistic representation.
In the first sentences of Book 10 Socrates expresses satisfaction over
the completed 'city of words* and cites as particularly pleasing 'the fact
that we did not admit such poetry as is mimetic' (595a5). Much has
been made of the disparity between this and the discussion of mimesis
in Book 3.z There, as we saw in the previous chapter, some poetry that
uses mimesis (dramatic characterization) was admitted as positively
beneficial—behaving like the good and noble man in a dramatic con-
text would make one grow more like such a person in one's own
character and impart graceful form to the soul. We seem to face a
choice: either Book 10*s claim that the city excludes mimetic poetry

1
Among namerous discussions of mimesis, two which bring out its wide-ranging
character in Plato are McKeon, and HaUiwell (1986, 116-21). The attempt by Verfenius
(1949, 16-18} to find Plato giving 'art* a worthy place in a 'hierarchical: structure of
reality' relies on uses of mimesis in which cue thing strives to emulate something higher
(e.g. truth or divine harmony), or in which something is a sensible instance of a Form,
Neither relates directly to Plato's conception of mimesis fa the arts,
2
The disparity issue is raised e.g. by Gwene, 50 ff,; Tate (1928), 16; Cross and Woozley,
277-9; Collingwood (1938), 47-8; Mehamas (1982), 48-54,
 Mimesis 107
contradicts Book 3, or Plato is now using 'mimetic* In a radically
different sense.
However, if we concentrate on the kinds of artistic practice rejected
in Book 3, we find that Plato does not go back on what he said there.
The key question (394e) was whether the guardians should be
mimetic—whether mimesis should be an end in itself for them. By giving
a negative answer to that question, Plato in a certain sense did reject
'such poetry as is .mimetic' (mimetike): he rejected poetry whose domi-
nant motivation was the production of pleasurable dramatic impersona-
tion at the expense of any discrimination among role-models. Book 10
does not alter this situation. The fact that some sort of dramatic imper-
sonation was retained as beneficial when it subserved educational and
moral ends is less important.3 Secondly, the focus of the critique of
poetry remains, as we shall see, on tragedy and Homeric poetry. I shall
argue that the two discussions use different senses of mimesis, but that
the reference of the term has a certain stability: instances of poetic
mimesis in the Book 3 sense are also the central topic of Book 10.*
What, then, is mimesis in Book 10? Socrates asks: *Could you tell me
what mimesis as a whole is?'s By 598b8 the answer has been given:
'Mimetic art [he mimetike] is far removed from the truth, and that is
why ... it can make everything, because it touches only a small part
of each thing, and that an image [eidolon].* As a means of reaching this
answer, Plato discusses a painting of an object, such as a bed. So
'mimesis as a whole" embraces painting as well as some forms of

3
Nehamas (1988, 215) and Ferrari (1989, 125} argue for continuity between Books 3
and 10 on similar grounds. Neharnas: 'Plato forbids not imitation, which he considers
essential to education, but imitativeness, the desire and ability 'to imitate anything inde-
pendently of its moral quality and without the proper attitude of praise or blame toward
i t , . . . When Socrates says in Book x that "all mimetic poetry" (paie.ieas hose mimetike)
has been excluded from the city, he does not refer to imitation but o n l y . . . to poetry
which involves and encourages imitativeness: the conflict disappears.' Belflore, in a
detailed study (1984), makes a similar point: Plato opposes in both Books 3 and 10 what
she calls 'versatile imitation' (rnitnitikl).
4
Cf. Halliwell (1988, 5), who speaks of a 'shift in the use of the mimesis word-group
from denoting dramatic enactment through direct speech (3. 39245 ff.) to tneaniEg artistic
representation or depiction in a much broader sense*, ft is fairly traditional to see a shift
in the sense of mimesis—though harder to find agreement on what the different senses
we. (See Havelock, 20-6; Grebe (1935), 185,188; Comfort (1941), 324 n. i; Cross and.
Wooztey, 271-2; Annas (1981), 336; Else (1986), 44.) BeWore's attempt to see the sense
of mimesis as constant between Books 3 and 10 lacks plausibility: the Book 3 definition
is surely not 'making something sirniiar to something else in. sound or shape* (1984,124—
6) but is restricted 10 dramatic enactment or composition.
5
Uimesin holds echais an mat eipein hoti pot' estinl (595c7).
108 Mimesis
poetry. It seems a fair approximation to say that in modern terms Plato
is talking about representation in the arts, or at least one kind of rep-
resentation, in which an artist represents something by making an ap-
pearance of it. Mimesis, in Book 10, is making an appearance which by
intention resembles things of some kind, but is not really one of them,
Plato's account of the human soul will enable him to argue that in
poetry this sort of activity is potentially dangerous (595a5-b7), But the
initial explanation of 'mimesis as a whole' is given, in metaphysical and
epistemological terms: Plato tries to establish what entities are made by
mimesis, and what knowledge its practitioner requires. In all this he
relies on doctrines developed earlier in the Republic, so a brief sketch
of some of these will help us here. Plato's model city, which we left
with its specialized class of military guardians, soon, acquires another
specialized class selected from among their ranks: a class of rulers.
Socrates' account of justice has it that if the city consists of three
classes, rulers (to which he now transfers the name 'guardians'), milit-
ary (now called auxiliaries), and the economic class of producers and
traders, it will be a just city provided that, each of these classes per-
forms its own function properly without usurping the function of the
others. Plato's attention shifts to the role of governing the whole city,
and a new phase of the Republic begins when he suggests (in Book 5}
that 'philosophers {should] rule as kings in the cities, or those whom we
now call kings and rulers [should] genuinely and adequately study
philosophy' (473cl l-d2).
Philosophers are defined by their relation to the Forms, Fine and
Ugly, Just and Unjust, Good and Bad, each of which is itself one, but
which appear in multiple instantiations.6 Contrasted with the philo-
sophers, who look towards the single Form in each ease, are people
whom Plato calls philotheomones and philekooi, lovers of sights and
lovers of sounds. These people 'run around to all'the Dionysian festi-
vals omitting none ... as if their ears were under contract to listen to
every chorus' (4?5d5—8), But they are unable to "look* towards Fine-
ness itself or to enjoy it. They believe only in 'fine things', not in
Fineness itself, and, thinking that the only fineness there is lies in a
multiplicity of colours, shapes, and sounds (476M-c7), they mistake a
mere likeness for the real thing. In a long and difficult argument, Plato
puts forward the view that it is the philosophers who have .knowledge,
while the lovers of sights and sounds have only belief. Knowledge,
6
See Rep. 475e9-476a7, and 476WO-11, for auto to kaion.
 Mimesis 109
then, is tied to Forms: someone who denies the existence of Forms, or
is incapable of apprehending them, can have no knowledge.7
Since the sight-lovers' lack of knowledge is linked to their attitude
towards enjoying the arts, we ought to consider where the deficiency of
these unphilosophlcaJ aesthetes is supposed to Me. They believe, as
surely everybody does, in many things or actions that are fine or beau-
tiful. They seek out such things, to gain from them the pleasures of
sight and hearing. What Plato particularly criticizes them for, however,
is their failing to believe in what is distinct from the many things or
actions: Fineness or Beauty itself. He complains that because they view
reality as not containing Beauty itself, 'the many conventional opinions
of the many, about beautiful and the others [kalou te peri kai ton all on],
are rolling around, as it were, between what is not and what purely is'.8
This strange wording seems to indicate that the sight-lovers go wrong
primarily in the negative view they hold about beauty. Their opinions
are many because they hold that beauty is no one thing at all. They
judge on each occasion 'this is beautiful', 'that is beautiful', but when
asked what makes all of these things beautiful (when asked, if you like,
for their opinion about what 'beautiful* itself is), they do not believe
that there is a single answer. Thus they are in, the position of Hippias,9
when he said that beauty was 'being made of gold' and on other occa-
sions 'being made of ivory': they wiE have as many different opinions
as there are different properties which make particular things beautiful.
This is in line with a recent interpretation, according to which Plato's
'many beautiMs* here are the many sensible properties10 which some-
one might believe beauty to consist in. The things which have one of
these properties are and are not beautiful—meaning that some gold
things are beautiful, some are not, some brightly coloured things are
beautiful, some are not, and so on. We cannot say that any of the many
'beautifuls' *is any more than it is not what anyone might call it*
1
The traditional reading is that knowledge can be only of Forms, beliefs only of their
many sensible instances. This has recently been questioned by Fine (1978 and 1990).
8
479d3—5, translation adapted from Reeve.
* HiMu. 289e2~290d6, discussed above (Ch. 3). Another relevant comparison is Phtlo.
IQOeiO-dS, where Socrates rejecis the 'blooming colour' or 'shape' of a thing as the
reason for its being beautiful, preferring instead the explanation of its participating in the
beautiful itself.
18
See Gosling (I960); Irwin (\977b), 7-9; Fine (1990), 91. Hippias answers that
fineness is a beautiful girl, and that It is -being made of gold*. If he is a prototype of the
sight-lovers, it is probably a mistake to think that they care to distinguish between the
many beautiful things and the many properties that can make things beautiful. Cf. Gos-
ling (1960), 116 n. I.
110 Mimesis
(479b9-40). On this interpretation, to say that opinions about beauty
'roll about between being and not being* means that, among the things
exhibiting those sensible properties which are wrongly held to consti-
tute beauty, some are beautiful and some are not—which in turn means
that the conventional opinions about beauty are and are not true.
In Books 6 and 7 Plato portrays the philosophers' knowledge and
•their more advanced education. At the pinnacle of their achievement is
to be knowledge of the Forms, crowned by knowledge of the Form of
the Good, which, like the sun in the sensible realm, illuminates and
sustains the existence of everything in the realm of Forms. A mefliod
of reasoning, which Plato calls dialectic, will take them to knowledge
of the highest of principles, from which they will be able to deduce
further knowledge. Throughout this part of the book Plato operates in
pictures or likenesses, which are a second-best to genuine knowledge
and possibly deceitful, as Socrates himself warns.1-1 Plato's set of simi-
les relies on permutations of the relation between a thing and its mere
likeness. X and F are related as likeness and original when X resembles
F, but is not as real a thing as F, Shadows and reflections are contrasted
with the solid things of which they are mere likenesses; yet these things
relate to the higher realm of Forms just as their own likenesses relate
to them,12 Forms, in particular the Form of the Good, are the only
elements of reality which cannot be viewed as a likeness of something
else. This is another way of marking them out as 'most real* and as the
proper objects of knowledge,13
In Ms approach to artistic image-making in Book 10 Plato exploits
this background, and sets out to locate the products of mimesis within
a hierarchy of likenesses and originate which still has Forms at its head.
But rather than reproducing the metaphysics of Books 6 and 7 exactly,
he adapts it to a new argumentative task.14 Two features are worth
noting: firstly, in the whole of Book 10 he does not use the usual term

1
' In the Sun simile Socrates disclaims knowledge of the Good, and says only 'what
appears as the offspring of the Good an4 is most like it* {Rep. 506e3—4); he adds: 'be
on your guard, lest I unwittingly deceive you and give you a counterfeit account* (507a4-
5). The account of the Cave is also just a "likeness" (eikon: 5I5a4, 51?a8).
12
See the simile of the Divided Line (Rep. 509el-510b5 and 5tOd5-5ila8). The
ascent in the Cave simile (514a2-5l6b7) uses repeated likeness : original contrasts to
illustrate the transition from ignorance to full knowledge,
13
At Rep. 476c2-7 those who recognize, beautiful things but not the Form are said to
"think that a likeness is not a likeness but the thing itself which it resembles*.
14
A point made by HalHwel (1988), 118.
 Mimesis 111
eikon for an image or likeness, preferring instead terminology to do
with appearance (phainomenon, phantasma) with shades of apparition
and magic attached to it, and the word eidolon which tends to mean a
false image, or a counterfeit,15 (Recall the claim IB the Gorgias that
rhetoric is the mere eidolon of true justice.) And secondly, Plato here
has some curious ideas about Forms which he does not entertain any-
where else.
In some respects, then, we have to regard Socrates* opening invita-
tion, as disingenuous:
Do yon want us to start looking in our usual way? We are accustomed to
assuming one Form in each case for the many particulars to which we give the
same name .., Let us then take any set of particulars you like. For example,
there are many beds and tables . , , But there are only two Forms for these two
articles, one of the bed and one of the table ... We also usually say that the
makers of these articles look to the Form when they make, one the beds, the
other the tables, which we use. And so with other things. The Form itself is not
the work of any craftsman, for how could it be? (596a5-blG.)
Plato thinks of the relation between the ordinary bed which we use and
the Form of 'what a bed really is* as a relation between likeness and
original. The Form is 'what is*, hence the maker of the bed makes "not
what is, but something which is like what is, but is not that* (597a4-
5). It is into this context of likenesses and originals that he introduces
the painter who paints a picture of a bed. What does this painter make?
The answer is now a natural one; the painter makes something which
is not a bed, but which is a likeness of it. The practitioner of mimesis
is thus the maker 'whose product is at two removes from nature*, or
from what truly is. While the bed is not 'what is' (the Form) but merely
something like it, the painting is in turn not a bed but merely something
like it."
As has often been said, the present passage is dubious when

15
See HalliweB (1988), 118-19, on Plato's avoidance of eikon, and {he connotations
of phantasma and eidolon,
" Nehamas writes that Plato never 'accuses art of being an imitation of an imitation
. . . not once in Republic 10 is mimesis used to refer to the relationship between sensible
objects and Forms , . , nothing in the text implies that the relationship between a work
of art and its subject is the same as that between a physical object and its farm or Forms'
(1982, 60), The two relationships are of course not the same: the bed. is not a picture of
the Form, and the painting is not an instance of the ted. Yet Plato does say that the
object: Form relationship is one of being fife—the carpenter makes ti toiouton hoion
to an (597a4-5). (Cf. Belfiore (1984), 125.)
112 Mimesis
considered for the eoatribution it makes to the Theory of Forms.17
Socrates" hesitant speculation about the Form, *we would say, as I
think, [it] is the work of a god* (597b6~7), has him toying with an idea
that Plato never entertains elsewhere: usually, since there never was a
time when Forms were not, Plato does not need to consider who or
what brought them into existence. Secondly, we may doubt whether it
is proceeding in the 'usual way* to assume that any set of many par-
ticulars which we call by the same name has an associated Form. Thirdly,
should we not be surprised that a humble craftsman is now granted a
glimpse of the Form as the guiding principle in the production of beds,
when earlier in the Republic much was made of the fact that only
philosophers have access to Forms? We may even doubt whether
Plato's view of Forms elsewhere would really allow him to think there
are Forms of artefacts. (What do these have in common with the Fine
itself or the Good?) On these issues Book 10 seems to some extent
adrift from the main body of the Republic.
However, these anomalies do not detract from the clarity of Plato's
explanation of mimesis. His dominating concern is with the question
what 'kind of maker' the practitioner of mimesis is (596bl2). This,
together with the desire to place the product of the mimetic artist within
the hierarchy of likenesses and originals, leads him to seek also a
hierarchy of makers or producers. Once started along this path, he is
forced to use an artefact as his example of an object depicted by the
painter, simply because the painter has to be contrasted with a maker
of a 'more real' product18 (Plato does not believe the absurd proposi-
tion that painters paint pictures only of artefacts.) His talk of a god
making the Form can be explained as the completion of a hierarchy of
three producers to match that of the picture, the bed, and the Form.
Finally, an analogy has to be drawn between the intentions of the painter
and the intentions of the carpenter. The painter intends to make some-
thing which is a likeness of a bed without being one, in the same way
as the craftsman intends to make something which is a likeness of
'what a bed truly is' but without being that. This analogy could not
work unless the carpenter's activity was allowed to be guided by some
kind of cognitive access to the Form itself. Plato needs to specify the
kind of artefact made by the practitioner of mimesis', he sets himself the

" Sec e.g. Nehamas (1982), 54-5; Chemiss; Annas (1981), 227-32; Cross and Woozley,
284-6; Griswold (1981), 135-6.
18
'Had he selected e.g. mountains, it would be difficult to specify the middle term'
(Adam, ii. 387).
 Mimesis 113
additional imaginative task of contrasting three kinds of artificer. This
goes some way towards explaining the oddities we have mentioned.'*
What, then, does the practitioner of mimesis make? A telling ex-
change occurs at 596elO—11: *in a way the painter too makes a bed,
does he not?—Yes, he does, but only the appearance of a bed [or "only
an appearing one", phainomenln ge].' The painter does not make noth-
ing, but what he or she does make is only an appearing something. It
is a case of 'making in a way, but in a way not*, as Plato also puts it
(596d3—4). The second peculiarity is that mimesis can make an appear-
ing thing of any kind. There is an easy way in which everyone could
do this;
Carry a mirror with you everywhere; you will then quickly make the sun and
things in the heavens, the earth as quickly, yourself and the other living crea-
tures, manufactured articles, plants, and all that was mentioned just now,20
Yes, he said, I could make them appear, tat I could not make them as they
truly are. [Or: 'I could make appearing ones (phainomena), but not ones that
really are in troth.'] (596d9-e4.)

This extraordinary comprehensiveness is meant to carry over from the

'mirror' example to that of the painter who provides the instance of
mimesis, In apparent denial of this, Plato says that the painter, rather
than making a likeness of the Form, 'tries to mimeisthai,.. the works
of the craftsmen* (598aI-4). But this is simply a comment on the
particular example Plato chooses; it is not an expression of the view
(which is anyway an. absurdity) that painters paint pictures only of
artefacts, as the conclusion of this passage.shows: 'Mimetic art, then,
is far removed from the truth, and that is why it can make everything,
because it touches only a small part of each thing, and that an image'
(598b6-8). The wide range of animals and plants, gods and humans,
heaven and earth, nature as well as artefact—everything—is the true
subject-matter of mimesis.
At the end of the concluding sentence quoted immediately above, the
19
I agree with Halliwell: *We should read the present passage . . . as an ad hoc
adaptation of Plato's theory of Forms. It is enough for his polemical purposes if the
argument communicates the idea that there are criteria of troth which transcend the
material world . . . and if mimetic art is convicted of being limited ... to this lower
world' (1988, 110), For HalBwetl also 'the reference to god cannot be taken entirely
seriously .,. Plato is obviously striving for a symmetrical shape to Ms argument' (114}—
similar to the views of Chemiss, and Havelock (32).
20
'lust now' refers to S96c4-9. Excluded from the new list are 'the gods', and 'all
things in Hades below the earth'—easy to paint, hard to hold a mirror to! (Cf. Haliiwel!
(1988), 112.)
114 Mimesis
account of 'mimesis as a whole* is complete.21 Already it was decided
that the appropriate name for the painter of a bed is mim&tes, the mimStis
being the maker of a product at two removes from nature, that is, from
Forms: 'we are agreed on the mimetes', says Socrates (597elO). The
final points are that this 'maker* attempts to make a mimesis of an
ordinary thing, not of a Form, and that he attempts to make a mimesis
of a thing not as it is, but only as it appears. Though both points may
need a little clarification, the latter is certainly not too difficult. A
painting of a bed must present to the spectator one way in which a bed
might appear, A bed stays the same, as regards what it is, from wher-
ever it is viewed, but it appears in different ways. Painting must present
some way that a bed appears (or might appear) rather than presenting
the way it always is, and hence painting can be called 'a mimesis of an
appearance [phantasmal rather than of the truth* (598bl-5). This is an
intelligible claim. Even if we are tempted to reply that a painting can
'capture the way something really is', we should ask ourselves whether
a painting can ever do this without presenting to us the way something
appears. The answer seems to be that it cannot. For example, if (in any
sense) a portrait may convey to us 'just how a particular person is', or
if a painter can show us the very 'chaimess' of a chair,22 they must
nevertheless do so by showing us one way in which the person or chair
appears, or might appear,25
The other claim Plato makes is that the painter does not attempt to
mimeisthai the Forms, but only things such as a particular bed. He thus
debars the arts, in so far as they are mimetic, from representing eternal
realities. This claim has generated a long history of regrets and denials
since Plato's time,24 but in fact he has no choice in the matter. The only
proper sense in which a painting, or anything, could be an 'imitation*
21
i.e. at 598b8, In Chapter 61 argue that the following sentence begins a distinct phase
of argument, concerning the mimetic poet in particular.
s
Ferrari (1989, 128), thinking of van Gogh.
23
In Xenophon's Memorabilia (3. 10. 1-8) this issue arises in a conversation between
Socrates and the painter Parrhasius, who initially thinks it impossible to represent "the
disposition of the soul" in painting (e.g. friendliness, hostility, nobility). He is convinced
by Socrates that it is possible—but note that the painter represents such moods and
character-twits by representing a friendly, hostile, or noble look. Related points occur in
Plato's Cratylus: music and graphic art make a mimesis of the sound, shape, or colour of
things, not of their essence. Indeed, the kind of mimesis which makes an image (eikon)
of something must reproduce only limited features of its original. An attempted mimesis of
Cratyttts the man which went beyond his colour and shape, and became a complete replica,
would not be an image of Win, but another Cratylus (Crat. 423d4-424a3, 432b2-c5).
M
Two parts of the story often cited are: Plotinus, Enneads, V. viii. 1, and Schopenhauer,
i, Third Book.
 Minte$i$ 115
of one of the Forms is- by being large, or good, or fine, and thus
standing in a certain relation to the Form Largeness, or Goodness, or
Fineness. Here it is all one whether one says the thing is like the Form,
strives to be like it, is a likeness of it, participates in it, or 'imitates* it.2S
It is the ordinary bed that would—in this 'metaphysical* sense—be a
mimesis of the Form of Bed. A painting that 'imitated' the Form of Bed
in this sense would ipso facto be a bed as well!2* Now clearly paintings
are a case of mimesis in the different sense that Plato is labouring to
establish: they make an appearance of a thing of a certain kind, not
something that is of that kind, The question then remains why a paint-
ing could not, without of course being one of the Forms, nevertheless
make the appearance of Forms. Why must it be restricted to making the
appearances of beds and the like? But to this question there is a simple
answer: Forms do not have an appearance. They belong to the realm of
the intellect, not the sensible realm; they can never be perceived with
any of the organs of sense.27 The only 'restriction' placed on painting
is that it most make a mimesis of things that have, or possibly could
have, an appearance. But this already rales out as impossible any paint-
ing of a Form.
A persistent strain of Platonism in the philosophy of art has tended
to assert that the artist's ability is that of intuiting and making manifest
some higher, eternal reality. Both the 'intuiting' and the "making mani-
fest' here are questionable. I have been asking what a painting of
Goodness or Justice would be, and have answered: At most a picture
of an ideally just or good something or other-—that is to say, of the
appearance of something or other—such as the painting of the ideal
human being Plato imagines at 472d. But this may be thought to miss
the point. For such a picture might yet make manifest to us, by way of
the portrayed perceptible thing, what Goodness or Humanity itself is.
However, now the. distinct question of the painter's cognition of Forms
must be raised. The painting of the appearance of a good human being
25
See Halliwell (1986), 117 ff., on this kind afmim&is. For Plato's various terms, see
«ep.597a4-5,47<fc6,510d7,5lOe2~3,ftjnn. 132dl-4,/>W».74d9-e?, lGOe4~6,101c2-
7, Symp. 2llb2, Phdr. 250W-5, Tim. 29b2, 39d?-e2, 48e6-7, 50c4-6. Plato indicates
his uncertainty about what to call the relation between Points and instances at PUo,
KKH5-8,
26
For Plato a bed could not be a painting, and its maker could not be a painter (see
Nehamas (1982), 60}, In a brilliant move, Danto (1.981, 12-13) points to two painters,
Rauschenberg and Oldenburg, who have made works of art which are beds.
27
See especially Phdo. 65d4-e4, Rep. 507b2-10, 508cl-2. Even that 'most evident'
of Forms, beauty, is not itself seen; we see oaly its image {eidolon) in a beautiful person
at Phdr. 250d3-c3.
116 Mimesis
could reliably make manifest what Goodness itself is only if the painter
by some means knows what Goodness is, But why should a painter as
such know tot? One of Plato's best points is that you do not need
knowledge of what Goodness really is in order to make a fine, convinc-
ing appearance of some good person or thing.
There have been commentators who have refused to believe that art
canoot imitate Forms, and who have evaluated Plato's contribution to
the philosophy of art accordingly. If one believes that there can be
artistic mimesis of Forms, then either Plato is to be criticized for over-
looking it, or—perhaps—he deserves credit for thinking that 'true art*
can accomplish it after all.28 A defender of the latter view is J. Tate,
whose view is that Plato means us to distinguish 'good' and 'bad'
mimesis:
The distinction between the good and bad senses of imitation is, broadly speak-
ing, a distinction between two kinds of artist, the ignorant on the one hand and
the enlightened on the other. Here we have the key to understanding Plato's
attitude towards poetry and art in general.2*

It is vital to know whether this view is right or wrong. Let us therefore

understand Tale's argument. The ground for the good/bad distinction
was laid in Book 3, he claims, where mimesis (dramatic impersonation)
was to be judged good or bad only according to the nature of the model
imitated, and where the enacting of good characters behaving well, was
'good mimesis'. Now in Book 10, Tate claims, Plato
leaves it to be understood that the poet who is imitative in the sense in which
the guardians are permitted to be imitative will produce a direct copy of reality;
he will be like the painter who uses the 'divine paradigm* . . . not like the
painter who is content to hold the mirror up to nature.3*

That a painting can be a copy of Forms is, it may be felt, too large
a point for us to be 'left to understand' by Book 10. Tate, however,
draws additional evidence from a passage in Book 6 where Socrates
imagines an outline of the ideal city sketched by 'painters who would
use the divine model' (50€te3—4). These painters would 'keep looking
back and forth, to Justice, Beauty, Moderation, and all such things as
28
Criticism of Plato for overlooking artistic mimesis of Foims conies from Grube
(1935), 202, 206; Adam, ii. 393; Daiches, 20. Credit to PJato for believing in artistic
mimesis of Forms is given by e.g. Tate (1928); Verdenius (1949), 18; Golden, 123-4,
130. The discussion and bibliography of Nebamas (1982), 58-60 and 75-7, is invaluable
here,
29 30
Tate (1928), 21, Ibid. 19-20.
 Mimesis 117
by nature exist, and they would compose human life with reference to
these* (SOlbl—4). It is true that these imagined painters could be guided
by knowledge of Forms. But how are we to imagine their picture of
'human life*? Any such picture must (to reiterate the point) present to
us an appearance of some aspect of human life—how could it be 'a
direct copy of reality', if that means a direet copy of Forms? Another
problem is that Socrates' painters here are purely imaginary: we cannot
take this as evidence for Plato's believing in any real artistic activity
guided by knowledge of the Forms. The passage is an elaborate meta-
phor and is not really about painting at all. It is about philosophers,31
To make more vivid the role he is assigning to philosophers, Plato asks
us temporarily to think of them as if they were designers of some
visible product, who have the philosopher's privilege of knowing the
Forms. A careful look at the passage reveals that the 'fine picture* these
"painters* make is 'human life* itself. Philosophers, knowing Forms,
make human life into a likeness of Justice, Beauty, and Moderation,
that is, make life so that it is just, beautiful, and moderate. When the
metaphor is explained we see that painting is not the issue, A similar
passage is 484c8-dl, where Plato says that the guardians must 'as
painters can, look to that which is most true, always refer to it, contem-
plate it as exactly as possible*. It has been said that 'not too much must
be made of this passage*32—wisely, since again we are dealing with a
simile, which gains its point because painters can make exact copies of
the ordinary things (not Forms) which they observe carefully with their
eyes. (It would/anyway be very lame to say that the guardians must
carefully attend to the Forms, like painters carefully attending to the
Forms!)33
31
As Rep, 500c9, el make clear. See Nehatnas (1982), 59; Keuls, 41, 50,
32
Grube (1935), 188. Also see Keuls, 50-1, for a sensible discussion.
3J
Other passages may appear to support Tate's idea that there can be artistic mimesis
of Forms. One is where Plato says that no one can become truly educated in the arts until
they team to recognize the forms of self-oonttol, courage and other virtues, and to per-
ceive them in things and in likenesses of things (402b9-c8), But, as we said in Ch. 4,
it is not very likely that the "forms* mentioned here are the Forms to be put forward later
in the central part of the Republic. Plato is talking about reeogaizing instances of the
virtues in people and things and in artistic images of people and things. Another passage
is at. 472d4-7, where Plato uses fte simile of the painter who paints the model of the
perfect human being. This shows that Plato could regard a painting as something admir-
able, if it depicted something admirable, and that he' could imagine a painting which was
not merely a slavish copy of what already exists. But what is painted here is not a Form,
but 'an appearing matt', an image of the way an ideal man might look. Tate's remaining
point, that there is 'good* and 'bad' mimesis In Book 3, does not help his position cither,
From the fact that modelling one's dramatic behaviour on one type of person is "good*
118 Mimesis
So what philosophical position, if any, can we attribute to Plato in
Book 10? His view is quite simple; to paint is to make only an appear-
ance, not something real—a painting of an X is an intentionally made
image, something which is a likeness of an X's appearance without
being an X. Tn taking as Ms example a painting of an object, he is
singling out the kind of thing we would call & representation and the
activity we would call representing. But pictorial representation is not
an easy phenomenon to analyse, and our use of expressions such
as 'image*, 'appearance*, 'likeness', 'painting of ..." has left many
issues unclarified. To begin with, Plato assumes that representation is
a matter of resemblance. Recent philosophical writing has put such an
assumption under strong attack.34 If we are tempted to say that the
painter makes something like* a bed, we are most likely to mean that
what is represented in the painting is like a bed: that the bed we see in
the picture is like real beds.35 However, once we make this distinction
between a painting's resembling a bed and the-bed~in-the-painting*s
resembling a bed, we bring into focus a striking feature of Plato's
account: he never says that the painter's product, is a painting, a marked
surface, or a 'real* thing of any kind at all. What resembles a bed for
him is the 'bed' that the painter 'makes'. The painter makes only an
appearance, *an object whose identity is constituted by the thing that it
seems to be, not by any properties that it might have in its own right',36
It is in this sense that the traditional translation of mimesis as 'imita-
tion' is appropriate. The painter makes a bed, a person, or a bowl of
flowers, which is not a real one. What the painter makes is not a real
anything: it is always an imitation something. As Arthur Danto has put
it, a feature of the imitation theory is *the logical invisibility of the
medium'.37 We might naively consider the painting to be an intention-
ally produced set of physical marks in a physical medium on a physical
there is BO jnference to the claim that painting can represent Forms, In Book ID'S sense
the mimesis of any type of person would be the 'making' of an 'appearing person'—and
neither an appearing good person nor an appearing bad person would differ ontologieaUy
from an appearing bed,
34
See e.g. Goodman, cfa. 1, and Schier (1986), 2-9, and for further discussion, Budd
(1991),
35
See Wollheim, 18.
36
Nehamas (1982), 63. Nehamas (ibid. 62} rightly notes a 'vacillation* in Plato's
description of artists, between 'imitator of an appearance' and 'maker of an appearance*
(cf. 598b3-5, 596elO-l 1 on the painter) or between 'imitator of images* and 'maker of
an image* (600e5, 59943 on the poet). What is represented is the appearance of things
in the world, but what is made is also only an appearance.
"fl Danto (1981), 151.
 Mimesis 119
38
surface —-but Plato does not consider that this is anything important,
interesting, or pleasing in its own right. So he cannot think of evaluat-
ing the painter's choice of substances to paint with, or the painting's
success in handling colour or line. The product of the painter's activity,
for Mm, is just something secondary to other objects, a non-real bed or
a non-real person.
It is relevant here to remark on a fact about the phrase 'a painting of
...': it can be, but does not have to be, completed by an expression
referring to some particular subject When it is, we have, for example,
a painting of Socrates, or of the particular bed on which Socrates died.
It is plausible to say that the painting manages to be of these subjects
by standing to them (or standing for them) in some relation parallel
with linguistic reference. On the other hand, there can be a painting
which is 'of a bed* not by being related in any way to any particular
bed, but only in the sense that a bed figures as the 'representational
content' internal to the picture, to understand which is to understand the
picture at the most basic level. Plato is aware of Hie second kind of
representation,39 but he makes no theoretical distinction between these
two ways of understanding 'painting of ...' And this could be seen as
» difficulty, in view of his comparison, between painting and holding up
a mirror to things. For something to be 'a mirror image o f . . .* always
does require some particular original of which it is the image, Plato
concentrates on the fact that in both eases what is made is an appearing
thing, not a real thing, overlooking the difference between the two
cases: that the mirror image is essentially dependent on its more real
original, both for its existence and for what it appears to be, whereas
a painting of a bed, if that phrase is understood in the 'non-referential'
way, does not have to have such a dependence on any other particular
object.40
While Plato makes nothing of this difference, it is nevertheless un-
justified to claim that Plato equates mimesis with 'photographic real-
ism', or even that this is a manner of representation that particularly
concerns him. Commentators sometimes assume that Plato thinks of the
painter as 'a mere mechanical copyist' indulging in 'uncritical copying
** I note in passing that this too has been disputed. For an initial discussion, see
Woflhehn, 11 ff. and 177-84.
3S>
Two examples in the Republic: (A) The painting of the ideally beautiful human
being (472d4-7) is not any kind of copy of a particular person. It is a 'non-relational*
painting. (B) The patater 'of a cobbler, of a carpenter, of other craftsmen' (598b8-cl)
need not copy some actual person. And the painting of the bed is the same.
48
The same point is made by Panto (1981), 69.
120 Mimesis
of an object*, 'exact copying of the way things in the world look*, a
'mindless' or 'slavish reproduction of reality*, and that he "degrades
[painting] to the level of photography'.41 This relies on taking the anal-
ogy with the minor-carrier as a very tight one indeed. la a mirror, the
appearance of some existing particular thing really is reproduced both
exactly and mindlessly. But Plato does act say painting is holding a
mirror to the world (for that matter, he does- not even say that the
mirror-carrier performs mimesis, only that two are the 'same kind of
maker*). Nothing in the discussion requires there to be some particular
bed which is 'copied' by a painting which succeeds in being *of a bed'.
And even a depiction of some actual bed does not have to be 'photo-
graphic* or 'exact* in its style in order to make 'an appearing bed*. It
merely has to bring a bed to mind in some natural way.42 It is thereby
rendered derivative from a kind of real things—no one could recognize
images of beds if they did not recognize beds—but does not have to be
a 'slavish copy' of any particular thing.
What about the idea that Plato positively believes mimesis to be the
production of an illusion? In the clearest and crudest sense, producing
an illusion is bringing about a false belief in the existence of a thing,
where that belief is engendered by the apprehension of what is only an
appearance, image, or imitation.43 If this were.Plato's view, it would be
open to two broad objections; (1) even in the case of painting, with
which Plato chooses to exemplify 'mimesis in general', it is an implau-
sible view of the nature of representation (of a painting's managing to
be 'of a bed'), and (2) it gives a poor account of poetry, which will be
Plato's main concern in the remainder of the discussion. To take the
first objection first, paintings plainly do not very often work, or succeed
in being *of' something, by engendering an illusion. There is a weaker
view which says that, when we see a painting which we understand to
represent (say) grapes, we are under an illusion of seeing grapes at least
some of the time (perhaps momentarily). But that view is no better. We
should bear in mind those many ordinary viewers who are never under
any illusion while looking at a particular painting of grapes, and who
are aware throughout that they see a flat, painted surface. The price
41
Adam, ii. 393; Grebe (1935), 203; Annas (1981), 336; Osborne, 65. Ferrari (1989,
12?) parallels my criticism of these views.
42
Two notions that have had much currency recently are 'seeiag-as* and 'seeing-in'.
See WoHteta, esp. 205-26; and Scruton (1974), eh, 13.
* The well-known theory of Gombrich (I960) does not take illusion to involve false
belief (see Gombrich (1973) for elucidation). But I shall discuss the attribution to Plato
only of the cruder 'illusion' view.
 Mimesis 121
they pay is not that they cannot access the content of what is repres-
ented. So representation, does not entail illusion. If Plato held blankly
that in all paintings mimesis is a matter of inculcating illusions, then he
held a crude and implausible theory.
A second illusionistic interpretation would have it that Plato deliber-
ately limits the discussion to that sub-category of painting manifested
in the tale of the painters, Zeuxis and Parrhasius—one of whom painted
grapes so realistic that the birds pecked at them, only to be trumped by
his rival, who fooled him by painting a curtain seemingly in front of
one of his pictures, but actually part of the picture. Some have main-
tained that Plato is criticizing a change towards illusionistic styles Oc-
curring during his lifetime, in contrast with more conservative modes
of painting of which he approves.*14 But there is no-good evidence for
this view.45 The only relevant technique that Plato shows any interest
in is that of sMagrapMa, literally 'shadow-painting', which used small
areas of contrasting colour, distinctly visible when viewed from close-
up but not when viewed at a distance. Impressionism or PointilMsrn
seem to be £he nearest modern approximations, and by analogy with
these the point of interest for Plato must be that what were 'really*
diverse blobs or strokes could come to 'appear as* a homogeneous
surface or a depicted object if viewed from far enough away.46 He is,
accordingly, suspicious of skiagraphia and prone to use it as a vivid
example—sometimes purely in metaphor—of something which puts up
an appearance that closer consideration reveals to be false.47 It is fair to
say that Plato treats skiagraphia as a genuinely illusionistic or trompe
44
A view put forward by SchuM, and Steven,
45
See Demand, esp. 17 ft; and Keuls. There is no clear indication of what style Plato
would be contrasting 'illusionism' with. Some of the identifiable 'illusionist' techniques
may have been well established by his day, rater than being innovations that could be
contrasted with 'more consecutive* art. And Plato generally seams more interested in
illusionistic painting as an example of illusion rather than as a style of painting. Zeuxis
is one of the few painters Plato refers to by tame—but these references (Gorg, 453c—
d, Prat. 318h—c, the latter calling him Zeuxippos (see Keuls, 90)) merely treat Win as
the standard example of a well-known painter, and criticize neither him nor any style of
painting,
* Two references to skiagraphia outside the Republic indicate this: farm. 165c—d,
and Tht. 2§&: Tin for all the world like a man looking at a shadow-painting; when I'm
close up to it 1 can't take it in in the least, though when J stood well back from it, it
appeared to me to have some meaning.* Later in Book 10 skiagraphia is said to exercise
a kind of 'wizardry* that exploits the mind's propensity to succumb to optical illusions
(602dl-3).
47
Cf. Rep. 523a10-b6 (skiagraphia comes to Glaucoo's mind as an example where
'perception does not achieve a sensible result*); and 365c4, 583b5, 586JJ8, where
skiagraphia is a metaphor for something deceptive. Laws 663c2 is another example.
122 Mimesis
foe/I style of painting. But does he limit mimlsis to this narrow genre?
If so, then the second broad objection to Book 10 comes into play: as
Mia Annas puts it, 'Plato , , . has done nothing to show that (the poetj
imitates in the way that a trompe-l'oeil painter does',48 rendering his
case 'forced and unconvincing', because it is vastly implausible that a
Homer or Aeschylus does something analogous to inducing a false
belief in the existence of concave surfaces or real grapes.
There is no firm evidence for either of these illusionistic interpreta-
tions in the discussion of 'mimesis as a whole\45> Plato does not use the
term skiagrapkia here, only the more general word for a painter,
zographos. When he writes 'carry a mirror with you everywhere; you
will then quickly make the SUE and things in the heavens, [etc.]* (596d9-
e3), the reference to 'making' is ironic: the 'sun* in the mirror is not -
the sun, it merely has the appearance of the sun. Bat something which
has the appearance of the sun does not have to be an illusion of the sun,
The emphasis is not on whether anyone has believed that something is
there which is not, but rather on the question: What kind of thing would
you have 'made', if you held up a mirror to reality? The same point,
I argue, can be extended to the painter. The carpenter makes a bed and
'in a way the painter too makes a bed, does he not?—Yes, he does, but
only an appearing one' (596elO—11). There is simply no reason'to find
a preoccupation with illusion here. Plato might have said: 'the painter
produces not a bed, but something resembling a bed in appearance', or
'... not a bed, but a bed~seen-in~a-picture% and his point would have
been unchanged. If something is a mere appearance and not a reality,
it does not follow that it is an appearance taken for a reality. The
possibility of being deceived will be something to guard against; but,
I suggest, deceit is not built into the examples which explain 'mimesis
as a whole'.
As we saw, Plato sums up with these words: "So mimetic art is far
removed from the truth, and that is why, it seems, it can make every-
thing, because it touches only a small part of each thing, and that an
image' (598b6-8). He emphasized earlier, when discussing the mirror,
that mimesis is a capacity for making everything, in appearance at any
rate. This is an important point, which provides another argument against
48
Annas (1981), 338, 340.
* I.e., on my reading, up to 598b8. Belfiore seems right in saying "There is no ques-
tion of deception in Republic 10 until 598c, where the painter, "if he is a good painter",
is said to be able to deceive "children and fools" by showing his works "from a dis-
tance"'(1984, 128 n. 23).
 Mimesis 123
the illttsionistic reading of these passages. Has anyone ever remarked
on the extreme oddity of thinking that the artist can make an illusion
of everything? Grapes and curtains hanging in front of the picture are
part of a reasonably small repertoire of trompe-l'oeil subjects. No one
seriously thinks there can be successful illusionistic renderings in paint-
ing of the entire range of animals, or of "the earth and the heavens and
the gods, all things in heaven and all things in Hades below the earth'
which Plato says the mirror-carrier 'makes', adding that the painter
belongs in the same class of makers (596e5-6). You can paint pictures
of all these things, but not in an iHusionistie manner. The all-embracing
nature of mimesis is of vital importance to Plato, as we see from his
critique of poetry. There are some people who claim that Homer and
the tragedians 'know all the crafts, all human affairs concerned with
virtue and vice, and all about the gods as well'.* Plato wants to show
that these people are wrong. Mimesis can masquerade as comprehen-
sive knowledge and can lead us to erroneous judgements about what is
good. In that way, in the case of poetry, it can give rise to false be-
liefs—and indeed, for illustrative purposes, Plato will liken such false
beliefs to visual illusions,51 He uses the loaded terminology of phan-
tasms and false images because he wants us to see the potential for
illusion and error lurking in mimesis. But that is a far cry from saying
that a painting's being a mimesis of a bed must consist in its perpetrat-
ing an illusion to which the spectator falls prey.
Plato has yet to convince us that any kind of poetry fits into the
account given of mimesis and has yet to show that, if it does, it will tfuis
be revealed as dangerous. It has been suggested that Plato is inconsist-
ent: the inclusion of poetry in mimesis would support the view that
poetry is a trivial and unimportant thing, yet Plato takes it very seri-
ously as something harmful.52 But even if it is Plato's intention to show
that poetry is 'trivial', there is no real inconsistency here. If people
devote large portions of tiheir lives to the pursuit of something trivial,
in ignorance of its triviality, that they do so is surely an important and
potentially dangerous fact
Is any poetry mimetic in the sense established? From the single
30
598d8-e2. Halliwetl suggests (1988, 111) that Socrates' irony about mimesis as a
making of everything is 4ta part directed against claims for the general wisdom and
knowledge of poets'. 'In part' strikes me as an understatement We readily think of Ion's
claim that reading Homer makes him an expert OB every subject (see Plashar, 42 a, 1).
Plato never writes of such claims in relation to painting.
51
See Rep, 598cl-4, 600e4-6Qlb4, «2c?-605c5, and Ob. 6 below.
52
Annas (1982), 11-12, and (1981), 342.
124 Mimesis
mention of any poet in the discussion of 'mimesis as a whole' (595c7-
598b8) it can look as though Plato'merely assumes without argument
that tragedy is mimetic in the right sense. Here it is:
You would call the maker of a product at two removes from nature a mimStSsI
— Absolutely.
— Hie maker of tragedies will be this too, then, given that he is a mimetes,
someone naturally third from the king and the truth, and so will all the other
mimetai.
— Probably.
— We are agreed on the mimetes. (597e3~10, ray translation.)

However, this may be read in two ways. The clause "given that he is
a mimetes [eiper mimetes erfi]' may mean either 'since the tragic poet
is a practitioner of mimesis' or *if indeed the tragic poet is a practitioner
of mimesis'. On the first reading Plato assumes without further argu-
ment that the tragic poet fits into the same mould as the painter of a
bed. This would be unfortunate, for nothing has been said to establish
that he practises mimesis in the Book 10'sense.53 However, the other
reading-—with *if54—leaves it to be established separately whether the
tragic poet does practise mimesis. This reading not only clears Plato of
an illegitimate move, it also makes much better sense of Socrates*
saying later "Next we have to examine tragedy and its leader, Homer*
(598d7—8), as if up to this point in the discussion the status of tragedy
was an open question.55 So 1 think we should not read Plato as assum-
ing without argument that tragic poetry is an instance of mimesis in the
sense he is seeking to establish in Book 10.
The next question is whether, as some have claimed,5* Plato now
53
The tragic poet is obviously a mimetic poet in the Book 3 sense of using dramatic
characterization, but that is not a matter for argument in Book 10. Plato at times finds
it natural, as at the beginning of Republic Book, 2 (373b5 ff.), to apply the classificatory
term mimetes to poets along with other performers and painters—cf. Haiti well (1988),
116. But again this does not address the issue of mimesis in the Book 10 sense.
54
LMdetl and Scott give the tost meaning of eiper as 'if really, if indeed', the second
as 'if as is the fact* or 'since*. For 'if indeed' see Reeve, in his revision of Grube's
translation. Storey and Jowett also have 'if'. Other translators go for versions of the
'since* reading (e.g. Lee (1955), Grebe (1981), Comfort (1941)). Hatliwett (1988, 116)
has "given that1, but in the commentary assumes the 'since* reading, remarking: "This
direct inference from painting to poetry is ... a weak link in the argument.* On my
reading there is no inference here, only the assertion of a conditional.
55
Also—for what it is worth—the 'if reading gives force to Socrates* sayiHg that the
maker of tragedies will be third from the truth (rather than 'is'), and to the non-committal
answer "probably* (kinduneuei). (Bnt perhaps Socrates and Glaucon are just being hesi-
tant about the 'third from She King' metaphor.)
56
See Annas (1981), 336; Cross and Wooztey, 277-8; itoelock, 24-6; Colliogwood
(1925), 166 (but repudiated by him in (1938), 46 ft),
 Mimesis 125
treats all poetry as a form of mimesis. Since the opening remarks of
Book 10 mention 'such poetry as is mimetic', our answer here should
help us decide whether Plato is going to attack all poefry. If all poetry
is mimetic, all poetry will be objectionable. Before examining that
question, however, let us note that Plato's overwhelming emphasis in
Book 10 is on one specific kind of poetty: that which is dramatic, and
hence mimetic in the restricted sense established in Book 3. Later I
shall split the Book 10 discussion into four main arguments against
mimetic poetry, all of which have as their explicit targets Homer, who
is called 'the teacher and leader of all those fine tragedians' (595cl-2),
and the tragedians themselves.57 Thus in the first argument Plato states
that the maker of tragedies will be removed from truth, and calls for an
examination not of 'all poets', but simply of 'tragedy and its leader,
Homer* (597e6, 598d7-8),S8 In the second he concludes that 'the tragic
poets, whether they write in iambics or in epic verse [the metres of
tragic dialogue and Homer respectively] are mimetic to the greatest
possible extent" (602b8-10); then a third argument is launched with the
statement that mimetic poetry 'imitates people acting voluntarily or
under compulsion . . .* (603c4-5), which suggests that mimetic poetry
is essentially dramatic. And the final 'chief accusation' (605c6ff.)
concerns what happens when we 'hear Homer or some other tragedian
imitating one of the heroes sorrowing ., .*. Each of the four main
arguments, then, is aimed fairly sharply at Homer and tragedy,59
Calling these kinds of poetry mimesis can be seen to have its point,
Drama and the kind of character-writing found in Homer clearly have
something in common with painting a picture, in that the dramatist and
the epic story-teller make things we see and hear "in a way*—namely
persons and actions which are only 'appearing persons* and 'appearing
actions', not real ones. The characters of epic and tragedy exist only in
the medium of words, but their image (voice and shape) literally ap-
pears before us in the person of an actor or rhapsode. So epic and
tragedy, which qualified as poetic mimesis in Book 3, are also instances
of the wider artistic mimesis of Book 10. They are in the intersection
between 'making oneself like another in voice or form* (Book 3 mimesis)
and'artistie 'appearance-making* (Book 10 mimesis) (see Figure 1), In

51
Socrates' comment about his being denounced 'to the tragic poets and all the other
mimetic ones* (595b3—5) is vague: there is no licence to read it as referring to all poets.
58
The oofy other poets eamed in this argument are Bested, who provides a subsidiary
illustration to the points made about Homer's achievements, and Homer's obscure com-
panion Creophylus, who does him no credit as a teacher (600d6, 600b6).
5S
Cf. Grube (1935), 188, 190,
126 Mimesis

FJG, 1. Sense and reference of 'mimesis*

Book 3 Plato's topic was how our actions can be modeled on the
behaviour of different types of person. The guardians' emulation of the
good type of person in real life was one example, dramatic enactment
of a character was another. But we realize in Book 10 that some enact-
ment is also representation, and so- can be classified in a different way,
along with painting a picture. The sense of the term mimesis changes
between Book 3 and Book 10 without losing its reference to the same
kinds of poetry, and it is still these which Plato is most concerned to
criticize, though now predominantly from the point of view of the
audience who apprehend the representation rather than that of the per-
son who performs the enactment.
However, Plato now also speaks as if all poetry can be included in
Book 10's circle of artistic mimesis. He concludes prominently that 'all
of the poets, beginning with Homer, are imitators of images of excel-
lence [mimetas eidolon aretes] and of everything else they write about*
(6Q0e4-6), and he describes 'Homer or any other poet' as merely a
mimetes of doctors* words (599b9-c2). Other passages which seem to
treat all poetry as mimetic are 60la4-6, where 'the poet* does not
understand anything but how to perform mimesis and 603b4—7, where
'poetry* is the name given to the mimetic art (mimetike) which is
 Mimesis 127
60
concerned with hearing rather than sight, Does Plato really mean that
all poets are mimetic? Given the chief target of his arguments, one
coulcl suggest that "all poets* is merely elliptical for 'all tragic and epic
poets* (mimetic poets in the Book 3 sense), and so on with the other
passages mentioned. However, this is not a very convincing suggestion,
given that the final few pages of Book 10*s discussion of poetry are
decidedly more comprehensive in scope. The "ancient quarrel' (607b5)
is between philosophy and poetry— not just something narrower called
mimetic poetry. Plato says now that poetry is to be banished (6Q7bl-
3); and he explicitly objects to 'the Muse of sweet pleasure whether in
lyrics or epic* (607a§-6), So it is hard to discount the view that in the
earlier passages, even, though focusing on. Homer and tragedy, he means
to label as mimetic 'all poets' and "poetry' without exception.
This leaves us with a problem: in virtue of what does all poetry now
qualify as mimesis! Is there something common to all poetry which
makes it analogous to the painting of a bed? Plato is not explicit about
this: his references to any poetry beyond Homer and tragedy are vague,
he does not debate the possibility of some poetry's falling outside the
Book 10 heading of mimesis,61 nor does he tackle questions about the
differences between pictorial and poetic representation. But if the dis-
cussion is to have any cohesion, he must have an. implicit reason for
regarding all poetry as a kind of mimesis: he must believe that poetry,
like painting, can 'make* everything—not really, but in image—and
that its images lay hold only of the way things appear.
Think back to Book 3 and Plato's illustration of the difference
between straight narration and narration using dramatic characters: the
same story can be told either- as a description of what Chryses did or
as a scene in which we imagine Chryses himself speaking (393cll ff.).
Plato's own descriptive re-casting of the tale from the Iliad is unpoetie
(393d8), but we can conceive of it told again using Homer's poetic
resources, though still in purely descriptive narration. Is there not a
sense in which the poet in either case will have 'made' something?
Chryses is still there in both versions, be is the same man, he has the
same daughter, he goes on the same mission with the same outcome.
Characters, things, and events are (as it were) conjured up by the poet,

m
Also 603cl, U tis poilseds mimitild—if it means 'that kind of mimlsis which is
poetiy* rather than 'the kind of poetry which is mimetic*.
61
I have previously suggested that Plato could recognize and approve poetry that was
not mimesis in the Book 10 sense (see Janaway (1991), 4). Anthony Price has convinced
me that thig claim cannot be supported.
128 Mimesis
and the difference between the two forms of narration brought to promi-
nence in Book 3 is now irrelevant So presumably what Plato thinks the
generic poet 'makes'—and here the irony that poietes means 'maker*
cannot but surface—is an imaginary scene containing characters, ac-
tions, and so forth. Poetry makes its own world, presenting before the
receptive imagination Chryses, Agamemnon, the city of Troy, the Greek
ships, the gods, battles, conversations, moral conflicts—ttius the poet
may 'make' any kind of thing without limit, but only in the way in
which a painter makes a bed.
Does the similarity rest there? Plato concludes that 'all of the poets
... are imitators of images of excellence and of everything else they
write about' (6QOe4-6). The argument for this conclusion will be dis-
cussed in Chapter 6 below, but what does the conclusion mean? To be
an 'imitator of ..." embraces being a maker of something and being a
partrayer of something.*2 So the phrase 'imitator of images* may, for
Pkto, mean someone whose product is an image, but it also implies
that the models which the imitator attempts to portray are themselves
only images. Earlier the painter not only made a 'non-real bed', but
took as model the appearance of a bed from a particular angle. If the
poet is analogously to be an 'imitator of images of excellence1, then his
or her product must be modelled, not on excellence itself (the Form),
but on excellence as it can appear in the behaviour or the traits of some
particular person or kind of person. Plato mentions that, for instance,
a poet may be 'an imitator only of doctors* words' (599c2). The poet
cannot be a doctor or do what doctors do, but can make a character who
speaks and acts in the manner of some possible doctor. Such 'convinc-
ing portrayal of character' consists, for Plato, in the poet's approximat-
ing the world within the poem to one of the many ways in which things
might appear to the audience.
So with ethical qualities the poet will know how to assimilate the
content of the poem to possible episodes of observable behaviour which
will seem to the audience those of a courageous or pious or wise person
in particular circumstances. But that, for Plato, is not knowing such
virtues themselves. Like the rhetorical manipulator of the Gorgias, the
poet will not know what excellence is, but will contrive to present
before the many a gratifying appearance of human behaviour, from
which they may falsely take themselves to be learning of excellence (or

62
See above, n. 36; also Adam, ii. 402.
 Mimesis 129
6 5
the lack of it). * He will... make his imitation, without knowledge of
where good, and bad lies in each case. Instead, so it seems, it's what
appears to be good [kalon] to the ignorant masses that he will imi-
tate,*6* The audience's perspective on arete may well agree with that
of Meno, who tells Socrates:
If it is manly virtue [arett] you are after, it is easy to see that the virtue of a
man consists in managing the city's affairs capably, ... Or if you want a
woman's virtue, that is easily described. She must be a good housewife, careful
with her stores and obedient to her husband. Then there is another virtue for a
child, male or female, and another for an old man, free or slave as you like; and
a great many more kinds of virtue, so that no one need be at a loss to say what
it is. For every act and every time' of life, with' reference to each separate
function, there is a virtue for each one of us, and similarly, I should say"; a vice.
(Meno 71e2-72a5.)

Plato has in miod an audience who, like the 'lovers of sights and
sounds', will, not acknowledge even that there is a single Form of
arete—in their view, repeated acquaintance with particular episodes
which manifest this or that courage or lack of it, this or that wisdom or
lack of it, will suffice for 'knowing excellence*. There will be many
excellences and deficiencies (virtues and vices) for this audience, and
the poet will succeed if he or she gives pleasure by making recogniz-
able images of some of them,
It is in this way, I think, that we must construe Plato's implicit reason
for claiming that all poetry is a form of mimesis. Poetry will lead us to
apprehend imaginary versions of every kind of thing including people
and their actions—images whose production is merely the successful
attempt to 'convince' by simulating the myriad appearances of human
life as the mass audience understands it. Knowing excellence, by con-
trast, is a philosophical enterprise which neither turns the gratifying
image into an end in. itself, nor looks for insight from the' way virtues
variously appear in different human circumstances. Arete itself is 'an
eternal and unvarying object of intellection, which poetry and poetry's
audience neither comprehend.nor even try to comprehend. Again Plato
suffers less from a radical misconception about poetry than, from his
severe and outlandish conception of what qualifies as knowledge. One
powerful reply to Plato—outlined in Chapter 8 below—begins with the
63
Compare" Gorg, 464dS-e2, 459dl-el and Rep. S98b8-e4 , 6QOe4-601bl.
64
602b, HaUiwell's translation.
130 Mimesis
thought that there is a knowledge that is best acquired from imaginative
engagement with images of human beings in the particularity of their
actions and feelings.65
Another difficulty in the Book 10 discussion is that despite the ap-
parentty comprehensive critique of poetry, Plato nevertheless keeps some
poetry in the city: 'Homer is most poetic and , . . stands first among the
tragedians, but you must know for sure that hymns to the gods and
eulogies of good men are the only poetry which we can admit' (607a2-
•5). For Plato to be consistent, the hymns and eulogies in his ideal city
must escape his criticisms. Are they mimetic? Are they poetry? If they '
count as poetry and as mimetic, and if all mimetic poetry is to be
banished, Plato's retention of them leaves the whole discussion in a
hopelelsly ragged state. The suggestion has been made that the hymns
and eulogies do not count as poetry for Plato.6* That is one way to make
him consistent. However, the idea that what remains in the model city
could not seriously be termed poetry betrays a highly questionable
assumption that Plato approves only of what is dull. The sacred works
of Palestrina probably contain nothing to which Plato would object, and
the motet Nuper rosarum fiores by Guillaume Dufay—which marked
the consecration of Florence cathedral by the Pope, setting to music
of great beauty and perfect proportions a text that refers to the act of
consecration and its eminent executor—would not be out of place'on a
similar occasion in the model city. There is no correlation between our
regarding something as high art and Plato's not liking it. Nor should we
disregard the simple point that he calls his hymns and eulogies the only
sort of poetry that he will accept in the city (607a4-5). As Collingwood
remarks, when Socrates says this, 'no character is made to protest: "But
was not all poetry to be excluded?"'67—which makes it look as if
banishment for all poetry never was proposed. If this is an anomaly, it
would be tedious to make too much of it: the essential point is to
exclude any poetry subservient to 'the Muse of sweet pleasure' (607a5).
65
I am echoing Nussbaurn's comments: 'Certain truths about human experience can
best be teamed by living them in their particularity,... But we cannot all live ... through
all that we ought to know in order to live well. Here literature, with its stories and images,
enters in as an extension of our experience, encouraging us to develop and understand our
cognitive/emotional responses* (1986, 186).
* Annas remarks 'Plato is enough of a creative artist himself to know that such pro-
ductions are not real poetry* (1981, 344)—(hough it is surely unclear what 'real poetry'
is, especially to Plato.
67
Collingwood (1938), 48.
 Mimesis 131
The hymns and eulogies will not necessarily be judged 'most poetic' by
standards that have prevailed hitherto, because they aim to benefit the
citizens, not simply to please them. But they will still be poetry,
However, difficulties remain. If all mimetic poetry is banished, the
hymns and eulogies cannot be mimetic. Yet if they are not mimetic,
how can all poetry be mimetic? Again, I doubt whether we should press
these questions too hard. The truth is that Plato wanders in Ms descrip-
tions of the poetry he criticizes. Sometimes it is 'all poetry*, sometimes
Homer and the tragedians, sometimes something called 'mimetic poetry*,
sometimes the kind of poetry whose aim, is pleasure. Late in the discus-
sion he rejects 'mimesis' and "poetry that aims at pleasure' all in one
breath: he pros Mdonen poietike kai M mimesis,6® a phrase which may
be read as the single idea 'poetic mimesis designed for pleasure' or as
'all poetry which aims at pleasure, including mimetic poetry*. The lat-
ter reading is possible because poetry's aiming at pleasure (rather than
the good) would be sufficient objection regardless of whether or not it
was a kind of mimesis. But the single idea of 'poetic mimesis designed
for pleasure* takes us closer to the heart of Plato's worries.
For once again Ms greatest concern is with the governing aims of
different kinds of poetry. We saw that the beneficial style of'poetry in
Book 3 could use mimesis, but was not allowed to be 'mimetic* in its
motivation. Now again there is one sense in which Plato's favoured
hymns and eulogies will not be 'mimetic': they will not privilege the
aim of appearance-making, of conjuring up a world of persons and
things for the imagination. If appearance-making in itself is one's aim,
one may endlessly delight the human soul. But this, as ever, cuts across
the Platonic project of improving the soul and attuning it more closely
to the truth. Plato might easily think (though he does not say) that even
his hymns and eulogies, being poefry, would use imaginative appearance-
making. What better way to honour a great, departed citizen in words
and song man to make Ms bearing, Ms speech, and Ms actions as
vividly present as possible? But what matters most is that the poetry
of the city shall never regard imaginative appearance-making and its
pleasures as autonomous ends.
Finally, before we turn to Plato's arguments against mimetic poetry,
let us note that he does not seek to banish painting from the model
68
607c4-5. Halliwell (1988, 69, 155) treats the Greek phrase as a hcndiadys: "poetic
mimesis designed for pleasure*. I agree with Halliwell that the mimesis meant here is not
mimesis in general: 'Plato's earlier interest in visual mimesis has now- been put aside.'
132 Mimesis
9
city.* He has been disparaging about painting, but his aim in discussing
it is to reach an. understanding of 'mimesis as a whole*, as part of the
attempt to show the true nature of mimetic poetry. While he announces
clearly at the beginning that mimetic poetry is Ms target, and ends by
banishing poets—except for the beneficial eulogizers—he says neither
that painting is dangerous nor that he will exclude it from the model
city. And the reason is plain: in Plato's experience of it, painting' nei-
ther masquerades falsely as knowledge, nor corrupts our moral judge-
ments by the appeal it makes to the emotions.70 Poetry does both—or
so the arguments of the sequel will attempt to show,
* This view is supported by e.g. Mehamas (1982), 47-8; Keuls, eh. 2; Urmson (1982),
136; Belftbre (1983), 49, Even so, Plato's hostility to painting may be variously assessed.
We need not treat everything said of Sic painter as merely illustrative of points about
poetry, as implied by e.g. Havelock. 32, Demand finds an 'attack against the painter in
full swing' (8). And, ob¥iou,sly, if there is a critique of 'representational (mimetic) art as
a whole* (HaUiwell (1988), 6), it will be a critique of painting too.
'° Ferrari seems in line with Plato's view: 'A poetic performance ... engages its
participants ... in the whole "feel" of the human action it portrays ... a caavas on a wall
tends to invite sustained and relatively detached meditation rather than sympathetic par-
ticipation in the portrayed scene* (1989, 109).
 6

Against Mimetic Poetry

H E A R E R S of mimetic poetry will- suffer damage 'to their intellects,

Socrates claims, unless armed with the drag that will counteract it The
drug is knowledge of the nature of mimetic poetry (595bS~7), and the
point, is even clearer, he says, 'now that the parts of the soul have each
been separately described* (595a7-bl), as they were earlier in the
Republic. In fact the arguments against mimetic poetry come in two
pairs: two arguments dealing with the parts of the soul appealed to and
fostered by mimetic poetry come after a pair of epistemoIogicaJ
arguments, concerning the poet's lack of knowledge.
The first of these epistemological arguments (598b8-601b8) purports'
to establish the conclusion that poetry is mimesis and raises the con-
comitant objection that poets lack knowledge, I shall call it the 'painter
of craftsmen' argument, after the unusual analogy which frames it:
As, for example, a painter, we say, will paint ns a cobbler, a carpenter, and
other craftsmen, though he himself has no understanding of any of their crafts;
but nevertheless hs might deceive children and foolish people, if he were a
good painter, by painting a carpenter and exhibiting Mm at a distance; so that
they thought it was truly a carpenter,'

Here, I claim, Plato leaves Ms discussion of 'mimesis as a whole' and

moves on to new business. What work does this passage do? It presents
us with an example of what went before—an image of a thing of a
certain kind, an, "appearing thing* and not a real thing, and hence a case
of mimesis. But it is, apparently, the oddest example to choose. Firstly,
such a succession of craftsmen hardly provides painting with its most
characteristic subject-matter. Since in the previous sentence 'everything*
is what mimesis can render, why pick on paintings of carpenters-and
cobblers? And secondly, of what interest can it be that children and
fools might be taken in by certain images? Why build such atypical
reactions into the 'example*? Thirdly, why include the detail that the
painter does not understand the crafts belonging to those he makes

1
Rep. 598b8-c4. My translation, partly based on that of Shorey.
134 Against Mimetic Poetry
images of? The earlier 'painter of a bed* did not (or need not) under-
stand the craft of carpentry, because he was making an image of a bed
and not a real bed. That is fully intelligible. But the 'painter of crafts-
men' is making an image of a craftsman—why then is Ms lack of
ability to make beds, or shoes, at all to the point?
1 believe there is a satisfactory answer to these questions, Plato is not
now explaining the nature of mimesis in general. We do not have to
regard all the features of this 'example' as intended to .be typical, of
painterly activity, or as defining features of mimesis. At this point Plato
enters the second stage of his argument, in which poetry specifically is
to be scrutinized. That may seem to stretch incredulity even further,
since Plato does not mention poetry or poets at all in the passage
quoted. But the same example returns later, with a reference back to its
first occurrence, and this time Plato leaves us in no doubt as to its point:
Shall we then lay it down that all of the poets, beginning with Homer, are
mimetai of images of excellence and of the other things about which they make
poetry, and that they do not lay hold on truth, but as we were just now saying,
the painter will make what looks like a cobbler, even though he understands
nothing of the cobbler's craft and nor does his audience, whose perception
depends only on the shapes and colours? ... In this way, I think, we will say
that the poet, understanding nothing but how to mimeisthai, lays on with words
and phrases the colours of the several crafts so that other such people whose
perception depends, on his words think—whether someone speaks in rhythm,
metre, or harmony about cobbling or generalship or anything whatever—that
he speaks extremely well.2

Plato introduces the 'painter of craftsmen' stealthily, without explain-

ing Ms function; tat he then immediately embarks on an elaborate
argument concerning poets, whose culmination is the passage just quoted.
The 'painter of craftsmen' thus provides an analogy for the poet, and
in particular for the tragic or Homeric poet,3
Mimetic poetry portrays characters in action; 'human beings acting
voluntarily or under compulsion, and believing that as a result of these
actions they have fared well or ill, also suffering and rejoicing in
all this* (603c4-7). Sometimes these characters are generals, rulers,

2
600e4—601bl. This translation is also partly based on Shorey, but owes a lot to
Haffiwelt (1988).
3
HalliwelTs view (1988, 120) seems just right: 'Plato is using the extreme case of
visual illusion as a blatantly rhetorical means of preparing the ground for his main
argument—-that poetry is falsely credited with a standing {that of ethical wisdom etc.)
which it has no claim to,*
 Against Mimetic Poetry 135
prophets, charioteers, doctors—exponents of a techne. So when Plato
talks of the poet 'laying on with words and phrases the colours of the
several technai' this is part of what he means: using language, the poet
can create a character which me audience accepts as possessing any of
the many brands of human expertise. But, as Plato suggests, in addition
the poet's characters may have, acquire, or be seeking understanding of
the goods and evils of human life and of the ways of the gods: they are
locatable somewhere on the spectrum of ethical knowledge. Enmeshed
with the analogy between the poet and the "painter of craftsmen*, a
more familiar analogy is also at work: having ethical knowledge is
analogous with possessing a techne, and so making poetic characters
who appear to possess ethical knowledge is analogous with making
characters who appear to be exponents of a techne. The painted images
of cobbler, carpenter 'and the other craftsmen* are included, I suggest,
wholly for the sake of analogy and correspond in this way to the char-
acters who appear in poetry, displaying to us what we take for virtues
(or the lack of them).
What then of the other questions we posed about the "painter of
craftsmen' analogy? What is the interest of the mistakes of fools and
children? And of what import is the painter's ignorance of the crafts of
those 'he portrays? The point is that poets who write of generals and
rulers and charioteers do so in ignorance of any of these areas of human'
expertise; and in like manner (as Plato sees it) poets who write of
human goods and evils do so while lacking ethical knowledge. To
make a successful poetic character, Plato is saying, it no more takes
knowledge of the truths about value in human life, than it takes exper-
tise in shoemaking to make
make a convincing visual image of a cobbler.
This is Ms fundamental point. The fools and children are analogous to
those people who do not realize this—those who believe, falsely, that
poets themselves have knowledge of every conceivable kind.4 The
analogy is thus slightly off-centre. Fools and children mistake a painted
image at a distance for a real thing. Those who ascribe knowledge to
poets do not mistake Homer's characters for real persons; what they do
is mistake the poet for a really knowledgeable person. Plato's rhetorical
point is that this mistake puts those who perpetrate it on a par with the
children and fools of the analogy.
Eead this way, the analogy embodies a mismatch between (in the
case of the 'painter of craftsmen') mistaking an image of a person for

* Again I am in agreement with Hailiwell here (see 1988, 121).

136 Against Mimetic Poetry
a real person with expertise, and (in the case of poetty) mistaking the
maker of an image of a person for a-person with expertise. But is that
an objection? We most make sense of the mistake perpetrated about the
products of the "painter of craftsmen*: there must be some analogous
mistake with regard to the poet's product. The suggestion might be that
people are deceived into thinking they are seeing real kings speaking
and real deaths,occurring, when they are experiencing poetic represen-
tations. But two points weigh strongly against that. It would have been
laughable to suggest to the Athenians, with their vast collective experi-
ence of dramatic art, Aat an audience is commonly duped in this manner.
And'Secondly Plato never elsewhere says anything to this effect: he
never maintains that an audience are under any childish illusion of
seeing real characters. (That the Athenians believed most of the pro-
tagonists of their poetty to be historical figures should not distract us.
Some they knew to be real people, such as Xerxes, who appears in
Aeschylus* Persians: my point is that even then the Athenians who saw
this play did not think they were seeing Xerxes—and that Plato did not
think they did.) What Plato does say in the passage we are about to
examine is that people make foolish claims concerning the abilities of
the poet For his comparison with the 'painter of craftsmen' to be
effective, Plato must reveal some mistake which it is clearly foolish or
childish to make. He seems to have one vivid idea in mind throughout:
that of people falsely believing in the existence of some-real, know-
ledgeable person. On my reading there is an illusion of such a person
both in the specially concocted example of the 'painter of craftsmen'
and in the real case of the poet, so that the analogy is not hopelessly
flawed.5
Now to the argument with which Plato supports his analogy of the
poet with the 'painter of craftsmen*, I offer a schematic summary:
1, If someone S claims to have met a person who has knowledge of
all the crafts (demiourgiai), and who knows everything each other

s
An alternative reading of the analogy has been offered by Elizabeth Belflore (1983).
Belflore agrees that the mistake Plato alleges about poetic mimesis is not that of falling
under the illusion of taking mere images for real things. But she also argues that in the
illustrative half of the analogy, the 'painter of craftsmen* image, the mistake of the fools
and children *is not about ontology, but about a craft, carpentry* (44-5), and that the
mistake made is, ia both halves, 'veridical'—wrongly taking the content of painting
(carpenfty) and poetry (arete) for true. This reading makes the analogy sttucturally more
perfect than the one I propose. However, for some critical comments see Janaway (1991),
6-7.
 Against Mimetic Poetry 137
person knows, only more accurately, then it is likely that $ is
simple-minded, and has been deceived by a magician and mimetes,
because of an inability to distinguish knowledge, ignorance, and
mimesis (598c7—d5).
Plato continues with the remark, 'Next we roust examine tragedy and
its leader, Homer'.6 The point is that there are people who stand in just
this relation to these poets:
2, We hear from some people that Homer and the tragedians know
all the technai, and all things, human and diYine, pertaining to
excellence and evil (598dS~e2),
Plato would expect us to infer:
3, It is likely that the people making the claim of knowledge for
these poets are simple-minded, and have been deceived by a
magician and mimetes, because of their own inability to distin-
guish knowledge, ignorance, and mimesis,
The final conclusion Plato is aiming for is that Homer and -the tra-
gedians are nothing but mimetai, that they make only an image of the
appearance of certain things, and hence are 'removed from truth*. But
first he has to deal with the, argument used by the friends of the poets,
which is as follows:
4, (i) Homer and the tragedians are good poets (make poetry finely).
(ii) A necessary condition for the ability to make (good) poetry
about a subject-matter X is knowledge of X.
(iii) Therefore, for any subject which Homer and the tragedians
make poetry about, they must have knowledge of that subject
(598e3-5).
Sometimes the views expressed in this little argument 4 (i)-(iii) are
attributed to Plato himself,7 despite the fact that he attacked an almost
identical position in the Ion, and despite the fact that the overall argu-
ment works only if this is the reasoning of Plato's opponents. (He asks

6
S98d?~S: This is the first explicit proposal, since the topic of "mimesis as a whole'
was broached (595c7), to examine poetry specifically; and note that not all poetry is
included at this point,
7
e.g. Nussbauai (1982), 84; Collingwood (1938), 49, Attain (it 396-7) is clear, on the
other hand, that this is a view Plato is attacking, as are Hall well (1988), 45, 121, and
Osborne, 59-60. For Grebe (1935, 190 a. 3), Plato agrees with 'the ordinary Greek view*
that good poets have full knowledge, but 'does not agree that the so-called "good poets"
like Homer have any such knowledge". But Plato does not regard Homer as merely a 'so-
called' good poet, nor does he share the 'ordinary* view he goes on to argue against!
138 Against Mimetic Poetry
shortly 'whether there is something in what they say, and in truth good
poets do have knowledge*—only to deny that there is anything in what
they say.) Furthermore, if 4 (i)-(iii) constituted Plato's own view, he
would have to say that Homer is not a good poet. But he nowhere
disputes Homer's claim to be a good poet, recognizes him as 'most
poetic' {poietikotatos, 607a2), and expresses reluctance to criticize him
(S9Sb9~c3). (This also parallels a feature of the 'painter of craftsmen'
analogy: it is if the painter 'is a good painter* that some people may be
misled on seeing Ms work.)
So far, then, we have two views about the status of the poets, and
Plato now offers to decide between them. He states the issue with
complete precision. It is: whether the friends of the poets
have met with mimetai and been deceived, and on seeing their works do not
perceive them to be twice removed from what is and easy to make for someone
who does not know the truth—-for it is appearances not real things that Aey
make—or whether there is something in what they say, and in truth good poets
do have knowledge of the things about which they seem to speak weB to the
many. (598e5-599a4.)

Plato does not deny 4 (i). Instead, he attacks 4 (ii) and (iii) with two
counter-arguments. The first is as follows:
5. (i) If anyone was able to produce both some real product X and
images of X, then they would prefer to produce X.
(ii) If Homer and the tragedians had knowledge enabling them to
produce what they make images about, then they would not
have chosen to make images about it,
(iii) But Homer and the tragedians chose to make images or
appearances, not real things.
(iv) Therefore, Homer and the tragedians have no knowledge of
the kind of real things they make poetry about (599a6—b8).
5 (iii) is Plato's own premiss.8 It can safely be taken for granted that,
qua poet, Homer makes appearances or images of things. The question
is: what kind of ability does making them require? The argument 5 (i)—
(iv) is valid. But, if 5 (iii) is uncontentious, 5 (i)—also Plato's own
premiss—is not. Plato has no right to the assumption that poetry is an
activity of such obviously low value. The upshot of his whole argument
might be that poetry is worthless, but he should not assume that en

8
Cf. the parenthetical remark "for it is appearances not real things that they make' at
599a2-3.
 Against Mimetic Poetry 139
route. So the first counter-argument against, the friends of the poets is
not convincing.
The second counter-argument to show that good poets do not require
knowledge is a brief survey of the empirical evidence concerning the
achievements of poets, mainly those of Homer,
6. (i) There is no evidence of Homer (or any poet) exercising abil-
ities in medicine, generalship, government or education.
(ii) Anyone who had such abilities to offer would not have been
allowed by their communities to "go about rhapsodizing* like
Homer and Hesiod. (In other words, there would have been
evidence of their exercising these abilities, if they had had
them.)
(iii) Therefore, the poets all lack knowledge and are mere mimetai
(599b9-600e3).
This argument is no stronger. The supposed survey of evidence is based
on (to put it mildly) too small a sample, and one could no doubt easily
supply counter-instances where a poet has had some of the abilities
mentioned. The second premiss is again dubious because it begs the
question, attributing Plato's own low evaluation of poetry to the com-
munities in which poets have lived.
However (especially for readers of the Ion and the Gorgias), it is act
difficult to see that good poetry does not require knowledge, and all
Plato needs, to show this, is one clear example where a good poet's
work springs from no first-order knowledge of his subject-matter. If
Homer is a good poet and lacked the knowledge in question, then such
knowledge cannot be a necessary condition of successful poetic image-
making. Plato appears at times to think he has shown that poets cannot
have knowledge of what they make poetry about. What is more con-
vincing is that they do not need such knowledge as a condition of
making good poetry, that any knowledge a good poet were to have
about X would be coincidental, and would not account for the goodness
of Ms or her poetry about X—the reason being that good poetry is
a form of good image-making, in Plato's sense, and nothing more,
The poet's words conjure up an image of a sorrowing or jealous or
cowardly person, of a person deciding what it is right, to do or bowing
before what honour dictates, and so on. Success ia this enterprise can
be no more—Plato alleges—than satisfying the audience, who lack
knowledge of good and evil (vouchsafed, remember, only to philoso-
phers who can grasp Forms), with a sfretch of fictional behaviour they
140 Against Mimetic Poetry
can accept as a credible portrayal. Success in the poet's enterprise does
not, then, require the poet to have knowledge of good and evil either.
Plato brings home Ms conclusion in the way we discussed earlier:
the good poet is analogous to the ignorant 'painter of craftsmen*, who
is nevertheless a good painter. Even if poets are not necessarily igno-
rant, the analogy holds. The convincing appearances of persons know-
ledgeable in various ways—the characters poets make—are liable to
give rise to false beliefs about the poets' own capabilities. The beliefs
that the poets* knowledge is compendioas, and. that knowledge of X is
a necessary condition for making good "poetry about X, can be shown
to be false. Given the fact that these false beliefs are held, together with
Plato's premiss I concerning the likely cause of such beliefs, there is
a coherent case for concluding that Homer and the tragedians are
mimetai. Their ability, in other words, is just an ability to make images
of the way things of certain kinds appear, and is not essentially fed by
knowledge. Homer and the tragedians (and all poets, Plato says) are in
this sense 'removed from truth*.
Plato rubs salt in the wound by saying that because the poets know
nothing except how to make appearances, but are thought to speak well
about many topics, their activity must be one of 'enchantment* (kelisis,
601bl). It is the metre, rhythm, and harmony, or what Plato now refers
to as poetry's 'musical colours' (601b2), which spellbind the audience,
blinding them to the ignorance from which the poetry really steins.
Strip these colours away from poems, and 'you know what they look
like*, says Socrates. (I think of Tolstoy's hilarious 'stripped-down'
narration of Wagner's Ring; "Three Noms plait a golden rope and talk
about the future. They go away. Siegfried and Brlinahilda appear.
Siegfried takes leave of her, gives her the ring, and goes away [etc.].*)*
What is. left of poetry without its superficial means of 'enchantment* is
bald and banal, like the plain faces, of those who have lost their youth
and with it their only attraction (601b6-7).
The second epistemological argument against mimetic poetry (601b9—
602bll) is what we may call the 'user/maker* argument. This is distinct
from what went before, and alleges that the mimetes of any thing has
neither knowledge nor true belief about it. Plato returns to a general
point about mimesis, illustrated by reference to another painter, who
this time paints a horse's reins and bit. In contrast with the saddler and
bronzesmith who would make the real reins and bit, the painter—of
9
Tolstoy, 2J2,
 Against Mimetic Poetry 141
course—does not understand how the reins and bit should be. But then
Socrates suggests that "not even the maker of them, the broBzesmith
and saddler, understand that, but only the person who knows how to
use these things, the rider.'10 It is like this with everything, he contin-
ues: there are three technai, one which uses the thing, one which makes
it, and one which imitates it. And only the user of something has
knowledge of how it should be, that is, of the thing's 'excellence and
fineness and Tightness', also of its 'deficiency*,11 The maker is com-
pelled to consult the user, and thereby acquires a correct belief about
the excellences and deficiencies of reins and bits, or flutes, or anything.
The point is supposed to stretch to 'every artefact, creature, and activ-
ity*: for everything, the criterion of its being fine, excellent, or right is
what use it has (6Gld4-6), aad only the thing's user will know what
it takes to have an excellent thing of a particular kind. As a general
principle this seems unlikely. Even allowing that everything has a 'use',
many things do not have the kind of expert users who have superior
understanding of excellences and deficiencies. The beds and tables from
the earlier discussion are a case in'point.12 One even suspects that the
majority of things we use have excellences and deficiencies which it
takes a designer or producer to point out I may understand why a thing
is excellent for my purposes without knowing much about it at all.
(Think of computers.) Another possible worry is that in the previous
argument the maker of a bed could 'look to* the Form. If that entails
knowing what makes some particular bed a good one (which is not
clear), then it is odd that now the maker has only true belief.
However, the passage at least asserts a more refined charge against
mimetic poetry. We might have swallowed the previous argument that
Homer lacks knowledge of the various technai and of human excel-
lence, but still think him and Ms colleagues useful for getting tihings
right in a way which fell, short of knowledge—mimetic poets may have
and communicate true beliefs, for all that Plato has said. His real inter-
est now is in the claim that mimetic artists have neither knowledge
nor true belief about the excellences and deficiencies of what they
represent." Painting reveals that making the appearance of musical
instruments, riding tackle, and so on, demands neither knowledge nor

16
60lcll-13, translation by Halliwell (1988),'
11
arete, katlos, orthotis (601d4), poneria (6Q2a9).
" Halliwelt's point (1988, 129). For other difficulties, see ibid. 129-31, and Annas
(1981), 337.
13
See 602a§-9 for exactly this claim.
142 Against Mimetic Poetry
true belief about the excellences and deficiencies of such objects. That
is surely true. So will it not also be true that the mimetic poet, who
makes only images of persons and actions, requires neither knowledge
nor tree belief about the genuine nature of excellence and deficiency?
If so, Plato continues, the mimetic poet will be altogether lacking in
wisdom (sophia, 602all—13) concerning the things he writes about, but
will not let that prevent him composing, for what he represents will be
guided instead—reiterating a point from the previous- argument—by
'what appears fine to the multitude who themselves know nothing'
(602bl-4—cf. 601a4-9).
At the end of the 'user/maker' argument Plato's epistemological
charges against mimetic poetry are complete:
We have a reasonable agreement that the mimetic practitioner knows nothing
significant on the subjects of Ms imitation, but that mimesis is a game and not
a serious matter; and that those who put their hand to tragic poetry, whether in
iambics or in hexameters, are all mimetic practitioners par excellence.u

The claim that Plato has made, then, is that the tragedians and Homer
are practitioners of mimesis, making only images of the way things
appear, and that as such they lack both knowledge and true belief
concerning anything they write about. They are good poets only be-
cause their use of metre, rhythm, and harmony succeeds,in enchanting
their audience. If their poetry has any value, it is only that of a pleasing
game. Poetry itself does not have any serious ethical or educational,
weight. A prevailing theory that would counter this says that the ability
to make good poetry must stem from knowledge of its chosen subject-
matter. But this theory is false, and to accept it is to have been duped
by a kind of 'magic*—the pleasure which Ine poetry is capable of
inducing. Plato's position is not substantially different here from what
it was in the Ion and the Gorgias. The difference is that he can now
claim to have developed, in the main body of the Republic, a positive
account of what it is to achieve knowledge, and of the pursuits which
do have ethical and educational weight.
The theme of 'enchantment' runs throughout the Book 10 discussion
of poetry. Scholars have pointed out a number of allusions here to
Gorgias* doctrine of the power of language.15 For example, when Plato
writes that the defenders of Homer have probably 'been deceived by
I4
.602b6-10 (HalliwelTs translation).
15
See Pohlenz, 463 ff,; Flashar, 68-72, H I ; Be-More (1983), 59 n. 32; Verdenius
(1983), 30; HaliiweU (1938),-128.
 Against Mimetic Poetry 143
some magician and imitator they have met, into the opinion that he
is all-wise','* the sentence is packed with Gorgianie words: goites,
exapatan, doxa—magician, deceive, opinion. It may not be too fanciful
to see a link with Gorgias in Socrates' opening announcement that he
will provide an antidote to mimetic poetry. The antidote is apharmakon,
the word Gorgias uses when he compares the action of a speech to that
of a drug.17 Socrates' pharmakon is then a drug against a drug. Later
he says in the same vein that we should repeat the troth about poetry
to,ourselves as a constant charm to ward off its spell (608a3-5). Plato
apparently agrees with Gorgias that speech, when used by mimetic
poetry, drags and bewitches the soul. But whereas for Gorgias this was
the only option—charming the soul and bending opinion was all that
any speech could do—Plato contrasts this effect of speech with differ-
ent practices (reasoning and discovering truth) that involve another part
of the soul. Hence the other opening remark that the dangerous nature
of mimetic poetry can be more clearly revealed 'now that the parts of
the soul have each been separately described*.
There follow two psychological arguments against mimetic poetry,
which I shall call the "conflicting attitudes' argument (602cl-605c5)
and the 'greatest charge* argument (605e6~606d7). They capitalize on
earlier passages in the Republic, where Plato argued that each human
soul has an internal structure and is not a unity. Conflicting attitudes
such as desires can be explained, he claimed, as originating in distinct
"parts' or aspects of the self.18 There is the reasoning part, with which
we desire to think rationally and gain knowledge, there is the part
which has appetites for things such as food and drink and sex, and there
is the 'spirited' or emotional part 'with which we become angry', and
which seeks honour and victory. The Republic's most important single
idea is that justice comes about, in the individual as much as in the city,
when each of the parts which constitute the whole performs its own
function, not seeking to usurp the functions of the others. In a healthy
soul, the reasoning part rules, taking thought for the overall good of the
individual and setting criteria for which of the appetitive desires is
followed; the spirited, irascible part allies itself with the reasoning part.

" My translation of 598d2-3, entuchSn goSti linifewmimitii exipatlthi, hSste edoxeit

autm passyphos anas.
17
Helen, §14 (Dieb-Kranz 82 B 11),
18
The parts ate introduced m Book 4 (434d-444e). Plato does not refer always to
'parts*—Ms terminology is vague and variable. Moliae argues convincingly against equat-
ing the 'parts* with "capacities' in modern psychology.
144 Against Mimetic Poetry
When the rule of the reasoning part is challenged or overthrown there
occur various kinds of disorder or imbalance in the soul which lead to
a more unjust and, Plato argues, an unhappier individual. Worst of all
is to be governed by that part of us which has unruly and unnecessary
desires—the kind which erupt in sleep, when one reeks gratification in
gluttony, murder, and unchecked sexual intercourse, even with one's
mother."
It is notorious that Plato does not stick with these three parts of the
soul in Book 10, but relies mainly on the thought that the soul has parts
(or rather a part) other than the reasoning or learning part which is
'highest* and 'best' and itted by nature to rule in us. However, there
are points of continuity with the earlier discussions of the soul, which
help us to understand the psychological critique of mimetic poetry. The
first point is that in Plato's picture of the soul each of the 'parts' is
regarded as a quasi-autonomous centre of attitudes.20 Each 'part* is a
centre of desires, beliefs, or belief-like ways of apprehending the world,
and also has particular pleasures associated with it21 Plato can say that,
when we are confronted with some state of affairs, each part of us will
apprehend it and react to it independently. Part of us will desire and
enjoy things which another part of us shuns and finds distressing. The
second point of continuity is closely related: Plato relies on a principle
enunciated in Book 4, according to which 'one thing cannot act in
opposite ways or be in opposite states at the same tune and in the same
part of itself in relation to the same other thing*. *If we find this hap-
pening', says Socrates, 'we shall know that we are not dealing with one
thing but with several* (436b8-cl). I may, for example, desire some-
thing merely to satisfy an appetite, but also not desire it because I have
learned it not to be good, or because I would be angry at the loss of

19
571M—d4 (Book. 9). The allusion to Oedipus seems to prepare the way for the
critique of tragedy in Book 10. Gould makes much of this connection, and thinks that
Plato's remark about 'not refraining from any kind of food' may allude to the tragic
figure Thyesfcs, who eats his own children at a banquet (see p. xviii, 30).
20
Moline, esp. 6-14, brings out this point. See also Annas (1981), 131, 142-6.
21
Bumyeat's succinct remark is helpful: *it is as mistaken to suppose the lower two
parts of the soul incapable of thought or judgement as it is to deny desires and pleasures
to the top part' (1976, 35 n. 22). See 580d3-581c6. (each part has its kind of pleasure and
desire; each is predominantly a lover of something); 5?lc3-d4 (in sleep the 'animal' part
of us autonomously exercises desires and experiences pleasure); 574d5-5?5a6 (ethical
beliefs are overwhelmed in the individual by the beliefs of his lustful part); 442clO-dl
(an individual has sopkrosune (self-control) when "all the parts hold a common opinion
that reason should rote*). See also Irwin (1977a), 191-2, 195; Lovibond, 36 ff.; Penaer
(1971), 100-3; Moline, 10-12.
 Against Mimetic Poetry 145
esteem which having it would bring. If I seek out and take pleasure in
something and at the same time wish to avoid it, then I am not, for
explanatory purposes, merely one thing,22
So the question is: What in a human being does mimesis relate to
when it exercises its power? (6G2e4-5). Mimesis is 'at third remove
from the trath*,23 so it can hardly be the wisdom-loving logistikon, the
part "by which we learn', that mimesis engages. To illustrate a split in
the soul here, Plato reverts'to painting, and explicitly discusses visual
illusions:
The same magnitude does not appear to our sight to be the same size when we
look at it from nearby or from a distance.,. And the same things seem crooked
when we sec them in water and straight when we see them out of it; the same
things appear concave or convex because our eyes are confused by colours, and
every confusion of this kind clearly exists in our soul. Skiagmphia relies upon
this weakness in our nature and is nothing short of bewitchment {gaeteia}; so
does conjuring and other such trickery, (602c7-d4.)

That we succumb to optical illusions does not itself illustrate that the
soul is split into parts. But now follows the crucial point: at the same
time we are able to use measuring, counting, and weighing, which work
against the tendency to believe that we see a genuinely bent stick, 01
a genuinely concave surface among the painted scenery, and so on.
These activities are the function of the logistikon, the calculating or
rational part of the soul (6Q2d6-e2). The basic argument here is as
follows:
1, It is impossible for the same thing to hold opposed beliefs about
the same object at the same time.
2, We believe at the same time (e.g.) that we see a. flat surface and
that we see objects with depth.
3, Therefore, two distinct parts of us must hold these two beliefs,
Brushing aside the most obvious philosophical worry—whether this
type of illusion, involves false belief24—we can understand how Plato,
arriving at the view that there is complexity within the soul, must
22
Plato's example of Leontius being angry with himself for wanting to look at dead
bodies (Rep. 439e7—440a6) raises an interesting question; are we considering conflicting
attitudes directed towards a single object, or a conflict between, say, a desire and an
aversion to that desire? (See Irwin (1977a), 191—2.) This distinction lurks under the
surface of Book 10's discussion of attitudes to grief.
23
The point reiterated at 602cl-2, just before the question of parts of the soul is
addressed.
24
Raised by Haffiweil (1988), 134,
146 Against Mimetic Poetry
locate the propensity to error ia 'one of the inferior elements, in us'
(603a7-8). Being duped could hardly be. the function of a better part of
us. The most obvious way to take the division in the soul here is. as a
split between the logistikon and part of the soul distinct from the
logistikon,15 Then the argument continues more or less as follows:
4. It is the function of the logistikon to correct our beliefs by apply-
ing the standards of measurement and calculation.
5. Therefore, it is the function of something other than the logistikon
to believe that depth is perceived, even when the conrect belief
(that we see a. flat surface) has been arrived at by measurement
and calculation.
Having reached the idea tiiat some "inferior part of us' is in play,
Socrates makes one of his rudest pronouncements about the arts,
saying:
Painting, and mimetic art [he mimitike] as a whole, produces a work that is far
from, the truth; it consorts with a part of ourselves that is far from intelligence
and is its companion and friend for no healthy or (rue purpose.... Mimetic art,
being an inferior thing and having intercourse with something inferior, pro-
duces inferior offspring.1*

The metaphor is deliberately insulting: mimetic art is nothing but a

cheap prostitute with which a cheap part of the mind can have a good
time. In substance these remarks are hard to reconcile with the *non-
illusionistic' interpretation I have given of mimesis. The problem is
this: How can Plato be in a position to conclude that all mimesis ap-
peals to an inferior part of the soul? He claims that ilhisionistic painting
appeals to an inferior part of the soul on the grounds that it induces
conflicting beliefs: optical illusions are explained in terms of two dif-
ferently functioning parts of the soul, and skiagrapMa exploits the mind's
propensity to optical illusions. But this tells us nothing about mimesis
as a whole, unless mimesis as a whole is conceived as illusionistic.
Unless the earlier talk about 'an appearing bed* is taken after all to refer
to an illusion, Plato's argument here cannot work. Either he has no

25
The view of e.g. Adam, ii. 408, 466-7; Crombie, i. 146, and probably the majority
view (although among those who hold it there is no consensus about whether it makes
for coherence or not—foe contrasting assessments, see Annas (1981), 338—9, and Belflore
(1983), 50-6). A minority view is that the logistikon itself has two contrary attitudes and
is split into two parts (sec Nehamas (1982), 64-4, and Murphy, 239-41, criticized by
HaUiwdl (1988), 134).
m
603al0~b4. My translation, adapted from Grebe's.
 Against Mimetic Poetry 147
right to Ms conclusion that all mimesis appeals to an inferior part of
us, or his overall theory of mimesis is the implausible illusion view.
It may be that Plato makes no distinction between 'appearance of X*
and 'illusion of X*. This would not be surprising since Ms terminology
for both is the same. (What we earlier translated as 'the appearance of
a bed' was phainomene Mine, literally *an appearing bed'. When he
talks of illusions it is to phainomenon meizon e elatton, literally 'the
appearing larger or smaller*, or 'what appears larger and smaller*.) If
mimesis always makes only 'appearances', and if there is an inferior
part of the soul which is prone to believe in 'appearances' that are at
variance with measurement, it may look as if we need no farther argu-
ment for the conclusion that mimesis always appeals to the inferior part
of the soul. But take images of people in mimetic drama or in an
ordinary non-illusionistic painting: if we are able to gaze on these without
the kind of conflict of beliefs that Plato explains by invoking the soul's
different parts, then there is no direct argument yet for the conclusion
that these works as such—mainstream examples of mimesis—appeal to
an inferior part of the soul,
We discover, however, that the attack on mimetic poetory is not really
furthered by Socrates* general disparagement of mimesis. For he says
immediately that we must not trust the comparison with painting, but
must give a separate account of mimetic poetry. The ensuing argument
against mimetic poetry does not rely on the analogy with visual illu-
sions:27 It has nothing to do with illusions as such, and everything to do
with conflicts of attitudes of a different kind. The vicissitudes of life
give plenty of opportunity for 'internal dissension* within the soul
(603d2—3). One's child dies-—Plato's example. One feels intense grief
and has the desire to lament endlessly, to abandon oneself to sorrow.
But one also has the desire to act rationally, to do what is for the best.
This can be-used to show another split in the soul. Simple, unreflective
expression of grief is one attitude towards a death. But one may take
a different attitude to it, reflecting that the value of such events is never
clear-cut, and mat the importance of anything human is not very great
(604blO-cl). Moreover, one may challenge one's own desire to in-
dulge in ^ieving, and, while still having that deske, seek also, at least
in public, to moderate one's grieving, subordinating it to other concerns
rather than submitting to it One has two conflicting attitudes, then,
27
As emphasized by Adam, ii. 408-9, and Hailiwell (1988), 136—the latter against
Annas' claim (1981, 339} that toe present analogy with painting is by itself supposed to
'prove" something about poetry.
148 Against Mimetic Poetry
towards one's own propensity for violent and prolonged expression of
grief, pulled one way by rational desires for the good, another way by
the grief itself.2* By analogous reasoning to that used before, there must
here be two parts of the soul, there is a part of us which calculates,
deliberates,2* and (metaphorically now) measures our behaviour.30 An-
other part, which Plato calls 'irritable' and 'variegated*,31 behaves like
a child crying and hugging its own wound (6Q4e8-9) and gives in
uncritically to emotion. The part which seeks to moderate grief and act
always in a consistent manner, calmly seeking the best according to
'reason,* and "custom*, is the familiar Iffgistikxm, the superior rational
part which governs in. a healthy soul. However we read the analogy
with visual illusions, the two cases of conflict have a common feature:
the desito to indulge the disorderly, childish part of IK persists despite
rational judgement to the contrary, just as we continue to fall prey to
optical illusions however well-established our correcting beliefs may
be.32 It is this pertinent observation about two cases of conflicting
attitudes which gives a solid core to the otherwise rather troubled
analogy,
But now the most important question is: How can the conflict of
attitudes towards grief and its manifestations be used against mimetic
poetry? Plato first lights upon grief and other emotions within the rep-
resented story. The objects of poetic mimesis are 'people acting volun-
tarily or under compulsion, and believing that as a result of these actions
they have fared well or ill, also suffering and rejoicing in all this*,33 and
21
Cf. auto to pathos, 604bl. Pathos 'covers ... both the objective suffering and the
corresponding emotion* (Halliwell (1988), 138); Gould, 32 n» 3, takes the pathos to be
'the pitiable event', in this following Adam, ii 410.
s
The best part of us engages in calculation (logismos, 6Q4d5) about how to beha¥e
so as to secure Ihe best long-term outcome. One sfaoald deliberate (bouleuesthai, 604c5)
about how to arrange one's affairs as reason (logos) chooses.
* Plato's way of speakiag of "moderation* keeps the link with 'measuring* alive:
meeriasei .,. pros lupen, 'he will be measared with regard to his sorrow* (603e8).
^•aganaklitikos, poikilos (604eI-2, 605a5), The former epithet reminds us of the
'spirited* part of the soul from Book 4, the latter of the appetitive part (Nehamas (1982),
67), (See also Adam, ii. 406.)
32
See Penner (1971), 100-2; Nehatnas (1982), 65-6; White, 253,
33
603c4-7. There is probably another reference to Gorgias here—he said of poetry 'at
the actions and physical sufferings of others in good fortunes and in evil fortunes, through
the agency of words, the soul is wont to experience a suffering of its own* (Helen, §9).
Plato later echoes this when he says: 'Only a few will reflect that the enjoyment will be
transferred from the spectacle of another's sufferings to one's own*. 604e5—6, allotriou
... pathoiis he mimesis autois gignetai also puns on the same passage of Gorgias. See
Bellore (1983), 59 n. 32.
 Against Mimetic Poetry 149
this kind of subject-matter- tends to be full of people indulging their
emotions, governed by a part of themselves other than the logistikon,
The calm, rational, good-seeking reaction to events does not lend itself
to depiction and would not mate for & drama pleasing to the mass
audience (604e3—605a6). Guided by the aim of producing pleasure
rather than that of making Ihe spectators better, poets depict multifari-
ous behaviour which lacks the measure and composure associated with
the best part of the soul. This, Plato then suggests, strengthens and
nourishes that inferior part of the soul in the spectator, setting up a civil
war within us, whose end result is the destruction of the logistikon
(605M-5), So mimetic poetry encourages us to acquire attitudes to-
wards our emotions, and propensities to behave in certain ways,- all
learned through the gratification of a pleasing image, rather than by
applying thought to which way of feeling and acting is best.
Though its conclusions, are broadly parallel to what we have seen
elsewhere, this argument is -ambitious and full, of slippery assumptions.
Plato assumes that dramatic portrayals of characters guided by emotion
and/or appetite will be enjoyed only by a corresponding 'inferior' part
of the spectator—presumably because he thinks that what we enjoy
about these portrayals is feeling (or imagining that we feel) what the
characters feel, and hence engaging the same part of the psyche as we
see expressed by them. He also assumes that this enjoyment will change
us by progressively strengthening the part that does the enjoying, and
that someone who enjoys seeing a dramatic representation of some way
of behaving will come to behave in that way in life outside the drama.
Perhaps Plato's position is not altogether unfamiliar: many people today
believe that the depiction of violence feeds an aggressive part of us that
may vent itself in real actions or in a more tolerant attitude towards real
violence which • we witness. But Plato's assumptions may still be ques-
tioned. He regards drama as a whoEy. permeable medium, as if oar
response could not be to the dramatic representation as such and did not
essentially discriminate between a real course of events and a fictional
one.34 This assumption seems naive. However, the issue is addressed
more subtly in the second psychological argument against mimetic
poetry.
This second. psychological argument presents Socrates' 'greatest
34
See Nehamas (1988) on this (esp. 258-19), and on the modern parallel; 'the greatest
part of contemporary criticisms of television depends on a mora! disapproval which is
identical to Plato's attack on epic and tragic poetry* (222).
150 Against Mimetic Poetry
35
charge* against it —that it is powerful enough to 'corrupt' or 'impair*
even good men, with very few exceptions, and so is dangerous. As
basis for this charge, we must confront another psychological fact:
When even the best of us hear Homer or some other tragedian making a mimesis
of one. of the heroes sorrowing and stretching out a long speech of lamentation
or a chorus beating their breasts you know that we enjoy it, surrender ourselves,
share their feelings and earnestly praise as a good poet the one who affects us
most in this way, (605cI0~d5.)
However reflective we are, however governed by reason, however
desirous of the good, we still cannot resist feeling a pleasure in tragic
drama, which arises out of an identification with the characters' emo-
tional situation. Danger lurks in the poet's uncanny ability to draw us
into the feelings of the drama and provide a pleasure which will over-
ride whatever reflective capacities we may have. In these circumstances,
regarding ourselves as safe because of the remoteness of the fictional
sufferings, we are prone to indulge the very part of ourselves which, in
the previous argument, we saw to be at variance with the logistikon;
The part which is forcibly controEed in our private misfortunes and has been
pining to weep and adequately lament, as it is by'nature desirous of this, is the
very part which receives satisfaction from the poets in the theatre and enjoys
it. That part, of ourselves which is the best by nature [the logistikon}.., relaxes
its watch over the wailing part because it is watching another's suffering and
there is no shame involved for itself in praising and pitying another man who,
in spite of Ms claim to goodness, grieves excessively. Moreover, there is, he
thinks, a definite gain, namely pleasure, and he would not welcome being
deprived of it by despising the whole drama. Only a few will reflect that the
enjoyment will be transferred from the spectacle of another's sufferings to
one's own, and that one who has nurtured and strengthened the part of him that
feels pity at those spectacles will not find it easy to hold it in check at the time
of Ms own misfortunes, (606a3—b8.)3<*
In feeling pity, we indulge the 'lower', 'wailing' part of ourselves
because of the sheer fact that it brings pleasure to do so,- and this
35
Socrates says *we have not yet made the greatest charge against it* {ou ... to ge
megiston kategorekamen autes, 605c6). What is the 'it'?—poetry, mimesis, or mimetic
poetry? The pronoun cmtex seems to refer back, but there is no clear noun (such as
poiem, mimesis, mimetike) for it to refer to. However, 'the mimetic poet* (605b7) was
the subject of the previous paragraph, and Homer and the tragic poets are the principal
target of the "greatest charge*.
36
The translation 'the wailing part* (for tau thrlnodous toittou) I owe to Belfiore
(1983), 57.
 Against Mimetic Poetry 151
indulgence spills over into our real-life attitudes. However, the most
serious charge has several further sophistications. Firstly, we do not
merely experience pleasure in 'sharing* the character's emotions, but
we consciously assign a positive value to the having of this pleasure.
And secondly, the circumstances in which we can gain this pleasure,
sunk in concentration on a theatrical performance, rob us of the ability
to consider whether what we are experiencing will smuggle itself into
our attitudes towards our own lives, and remove our capacity to take' a
view about whether this' is beneficial. The pleasure of mimetic poetry
is so strong that it takes away the power to decide rationally whether
submitting oneself to this pleasure is beneficial or not. But thirdly, Plato
charges, what we grow accustomed to feeling and approving in a drama
will shape our responses in ordinary life, whether we realize it or not.
The same point, covers comedy as well: we take a pleasure in seeing the
ridiculous enacted, but run the risk, while off our guard, of becoming
"comedians in our own life*, of taking indulgent pleasure in things
which our better judgement would bid us take seriously as objects to be
hated.37 Along with the dispositions to pity, grief, and ridicule, mimetic
poetry also 'nourishes and waters' many others which 'ought to wither'
and should not gain the upper hand in the polity of the soul: many
"appetites, pleasures, and pains', including those concerned with sex
and anger/8
Thus the greatest charge against mimetic poetry is that, willy-nilly,
we receive from it a training in many real-life feelings and ethical
attitudes, which works by by-passing rationality, giving pleasure to a
'lower*, indulgent part of the soul, and thereby disabling the power to
reflect on the question of its own influence and value.39 The charge that
Plato is naive about mimesis may be softened to some extent by this
argument. He does not overlook enjoyment of the dramatic representa-
tion per se, nor the rational defences which can in principle prevent
reactions to fiction from spilling over into real life. Instead he makes
the positive claim that drama, with its apparent 'zone of pleasure
divorced . , . from ethical consequences*,40 encourages an emotional
involvement that disarms those defences even when they are strong and
confuses us as to whether we' approve of the representation per se or

" See 60&2-9.

38
See 606dl-7. The list includes both 'appetitive* and 'spirited' elements.
35
Plato's psychology here has been found both 'crude' (Crombie, i. 150) aid 'of
considerable interest and importance* (Belflore (1983), 61).
* Ferrari's phrase (1989, 138), '
152 Against Mimetic Poetry
the type of person and action depicted. As Giovanni Ferrari puts it, 'so
far from ignoring the phenomenon we know as aesthetic distance, Plato
is in fact directing his attack upon it*41
Aesthetic distance, then, feels like a safe distance, but it is not. In-
deed, it is not even a trae distance, because, while on. the rational level
we know the fiction, for what it is and deliberately reckon on benefiting
from harmless pleasure taken in it, on a less discriminating level we
feel in an involved way emotions concerning the fictional situation.
Because the psyche is split, we can, be 'in* the drama, even while we
claim to be appreciating it from 'outside'. The effect of this circum-
stance, Plato alleges, is that enjoyment is 'transferred from the specta-
cle of another's suffering to one's own'. It is not just that I become
more prone to indulge my pitying and fearful part in real life—itself a
bad effect, according to Plato. I also learn the habit of enjoying sufferings
and later cannot resist aestheticizing my own life. So "aesthetic dis-
tance' is doubly dangerous, for Plate, It not only lulls us into an un-
healthy state of complicity with the worthless parts of our psyche, but
also breaks out of its proper artistic sphere and eats into life itself. The
calculating logistikon cannot resist because, by the time it realizes the
danger, it no longer rules the soul.
The well-known 'banishment* follows. Against the claims of those
who say that he educated Greece in human affairs and still can teach
us how to organize our lives, and in the face of his being 'most poetic",
Homer is not to be received into the model city. Why not?
Hymns to the gods and eulogies of good men are the only poetry which we can
admit into our city. If you admit the Muse of sweet pleasure, whether in lyrics
or epic, pleasure and pain will rale as monarehs in your city, instead of the law
and that rational principle [togos] which is always and by all thought to be the
best (607a3-8.)

The power and comprehensiveness of his poetry make Homer seem

to be an educator, but his real success is only in engendering pleasure
of a certain kind. Plato is not exactly opposed to pleasure, but rather
to pleasure and pain ruling in the place of rational truth-seeking. His
reasons for excluding poetry are now complete, he says,42
Plato seeks in these final paragraphs to locate his attitude to poetry
in a traditional 'ancient quarrel' between philosophy and poetry, and

41
Ferrari (1989, 138). *2 'Poetry', without qualification: 607bl-3.
 Against Mimetic Poetry 153
is at pains to spell out Ms motivation. It is not from 'harshness and
boorishness' that he attacks poetry (though poetry has often descended
to mere abuse of philosophy*"), but, on the contrary, as a lover who has
been convinced that his attachment must cease because it will bring
Mm no good, and forces himself to stay away (607e4—608a5). He even
wishes that poetry could put forward an argument for its own value,
because it is hard to cast off something one has been brought up to
cherish, and because if poetry really does have a positive value, we
shall benefit greatly. We should listen, to a defence of poetry, from any
source, in a friendly spirit. But the task of any defender will be a stiff
one: to show that poetry is 'not merely pleasure-giving, but beneficial
to cities and to human life* (6Q7d8-9),
Plato banishes mimetic and pleasure-giving poetry from the 'city of
words', but envisages that in the real world it will continue to be there.
'We shall listen to it', he says44—but the important question is; With
what attitude? Plato's answer is that we should sacrifice an almost
irresistible pleasure for the sake of a higher principle: the truth about
what is good or bad.
As long as it is not able to put ap such a defence, we shall listen to it but repeat
to ourselves like an incantation the argument'we now put forward and be
careful not to fall again into that childish and popular love. We shall go on
repeating that such poetry must not be taken, seriously as if it had any contact
with truth and were a serious matter, but that the man who is anxious about the
government of his soul must be careful when he hears it, and that what we have
said about poetry must be believed....
The struggle to become good or bad is important, my dear Glaucon, I said,
much more important than people think, so that it is not worth being led on by
honours, wealth or any office, nor indeed by poetry, to neglect justice and the
rest of virtue.45
We must certainly consider how we might make the defence of poetry
which Plato invites—a task of some difficulty which I reserve until ray
final chapter. But how good is the prosecution case in the first place?

43
607b6-c2 quote a few instances of such abuse, whose sources ate, unfortunately,
unknown,
"** Gould (221) takes the view that this "probably means, not "as we enjoy poetry", but
"as we listen to poetry's defence of itself"'—but (whether or not the text supports
Gould's idea) would aot poetry's defence of itself also be poetry? Plato pointedly con-
trasts poetry's self-defence with a defence in prose by non-poets (607d6-9).
43
608a2-b8 (Grebe's translation, slightly adapted).
154 Against Mimetic Poetry
46
Many writers have been convinced that there is no case to answer—
on the grounds that Plato's arguments are bad, unclear, or insincere—-
or else that Plato can be brought to drop the charges: we secure an
admission that in other places he explicitly or implicitly defends poetry
(or some restricted class of 'real' or 'good' poetry). Either way, Repub-
lic Book 10 can be made to emerge as something that a philosopher of
art does not have to worry too much about. Whether Plato's views
elsewhere mitigate the attack on poetry can be answered only when all
the evidence is in, and we still have,to examine a number of works
written later than the Republic. But what of the idea that Book 10 itself
does not present a case worth worrying about?
One problem here is the temptation to detach the discussion of
mimetic poetry from the central themes of the Republic. Few would
wish to concede to Plato outright Ms views of knowledge and truth,
pleasure, desire, and the best constitution for the human soul, let alone
Ms doctrine about the manner in which philosophy can lead us to knowl-
edge in the ethical sphere. But for all that, and for all its own doctrinal
quirks, Book 10 is the final chapter of a systematic ethics and episte-
mology, and if we treat it as a self-contained treatise on the arts, many
of its assumptions will seem gratuitous and baffling. We ought to be
asking whether the account given of the arts would be persuasive to
someone who accepted the Republic's account of the soul and, how it
acquires justice. If you believe that the logistikon should govern in a
healthy individual, and that nothing should be allowed to hamper it in
its quest for the eternal truth about what Good is, and that fostering
pleasures associated with the appetites and emotions will set up the rule
of something other than the logistikon—then when you find intelligent
people sitting in enjoyment of a representation of Medea planning the
murder of her children, should it be beyond contention that this is a
perfectly fine thing for them to do? Should it be obvious to Plato why
this kind of activity has a positive value? The first prerequisite for
* They protest too much: Plato is assailed with 'gross illogicality and unfairness*,
'passionate, hopelessly bad arguments", 'trivial or sophistic arguments which he can not
himself have regarded as conclusive', and a position which is 'quite unacceptable* (how
dare he!)—bat then again it is said that he is only 'enjoying himself by over-stating his
case', that a 'comparison with other dialogues makes it quite clew that [these sections of
the Republic} do not contain his considered opinion', and that we should 'construct a
nobler and more generous theory of Aesthetic Art* on his behalf. Perhaps there is a
hidden 'commendation of good art* even within Book 10 itself, or is Plato 'struggling
after a theory of aesthetics which does not find full expression before Hegel'? (Sources:
Warty, 55, 65; Annas (1981), 344; Greene, 54-5; Cross and Wooztey, 281; Crotnbie, i,
147; Adam, II 393; Grube (1935), 192; Grey, 298.)
 Against Mimetic Poetry 155
allowing the case against mimetic poetry to come to court is to realize
that its issues are ones which Plato cannot avoid raising if Ms work is
to have integrity.
The second prerequisite is to examine our own prejudices. In particu-
lar, that anachronistic and loaded concept, 'Art*, should not be de-
ployed until we have understood what Plato achieves without using it.
We may be tempted to imagine teaching Plato this concept of ours, and
patiently leading him out of error: 'You see, these things that you are
attacking are Art. If something is Art it invariably has the foEowing
value ... and does not really need any further justification,' ("Thank
you for clearing that up', he might reply—though this strategy would
rebound on the champion of Art, if the concept is, as I argue later, an
almost vacuous one for the purpose.) Bot we should'first establish what,
if anything, is wrong with his position as it stands. Otherwise there is
little chance of a fair hearing, since 'attacking Art' appears to count as
either blasphemy or blatant stupidity.
Plato's epistemological arguments, as I have interpreted them, fail to
convince in points of detail: recall the implausibility of the user/maker
dichotomy, the sweeping empirical claims about poets' lack of practical
expertise, and the question-begging assumption that no one would want
to Make a mimesis of something if they could make a real filing of the
same kind. The psychological arguments, for their part, rely heavily on
the principle that conflicting attitudes cannot stem from a unitary entity,
and on a puritanical prescription4' about which psychological reactions
and modes of behaviour one should approve in oneself. Overall Plato
proceeds on a nai've notion of artistic representation, as the production
of 'appearing things' whose status is wholly derivative from the kind
of thing they appear to be. He is sometimes under suspicion of making
no distinction between appearance and illusion. He uses illustrative
analogies—the painter of craftsmen and the 'bent-stick' visual, illusion
cases—which are over-stretched and potentially misleading, and he is,
perhaps, vague as to whether his points apply to all poetry and which
poetry really counts as mimetic.
Yet, despite these flaws, there is a coherent and interesting case to be
heard Firstly, what do mimetic poets characteristically do? They rep-
resent persons acting, suffering, and exhibiting varied psychological
reactions to events in their lives. Their best subject-matter is provided

47
'Extreme emotional puritanism* (Halliwell (1988), 151). But if 'puritaaism' means
a blanket hostility to all pleasure, Plato is not guilty of it (Ferrari (1987), 99).
156 Against Mimetic Poetry
by characters in situations which call for a wide range of elaborately
expressed emotions. If mimesis is understood as the intentional produc-
tion of an appearance of a thing of some kind, then clearly these poets
perform mimesis, and may be classed with the most usual kind of visual
artist. However, in dramatic poetry, mimesis has an especially potent.
effect on the human mind. It produces images of persons and their
actions so successfully that the spectator is drawn to feel emotionally
involved in the drama. Poetry uses a number of 'musical' means—
rhythm, metre, and harmony—without which the narration would not
be captivating to the same degree. To feel emotions along with char-
acters who are portrayed by such poetic means affords an intense pleas-
ure. When poetry enchants us so much that we identify with the
characters and feel its powerful effect on us, we praise its producer as
'a good poet*.
It would surely be hard to deny any of this. The next part of the case
asks: What value do these activities of producing and hearing mimetic
poetry have? Essentially, two prevailing views are canvassed and re-
jected. The first says that the mimetic poet is an educator, whose ability
to write finely stems from knowledge, or at least from true beliefs about
human affairs in all their many aspects-—the value of mimetic poetry is
that we learn from it, often about weighty matters. Plato dismisses this
view, and- in. so doing makes a good point: the theory of poetry which
explains its success in terms of a compendious knowledge on the part
of the poet is a foolish mistake. We must realize the difference between
the ability to make a fine, pleasurable, enchanting, and (as we say)
convincing artistic representation, and the ability to know or even be
right about the highest truths of human existence. It is implausible to
say that the two could not even coincide. But where Plato is surely right
is in saying that they are distinct and may float free of each other, and
that those who think otherwise are sunk in a deep error which not only
renders their philosophy of poetry childish but makes any proper
ethical thinking impossible.
The second view which Plato opposes locates the value of mimetic
poetry in the pleasure it gives. We count this pleasure itself as a benefit
But pleasure ought not to be self-guaranteeing: we must ask why, if at
all, the pleasure characteristic of mimetic poetry is good for us to have,
and in order to do so we must analyse its nature. Plato suggests, with
great plausibility, that we are not beings in full rational control of our
reactions, and that mimetic poetry appeals to the psyche by engaging
a more primitive 'wailing' part of us. While our rational defences are
 Against Mimetic Poetry 157
relaxed, because we are aware that the situation is remote, poetry, with
its ability to create a convincing world in appearance sad its splendid,
involving 'musical colours', makes us feel emotions which in other
circumstances we might choose to check as unworthy or dangerous.
Once one has surrendered oneself, the emotions are hard to resist and
the pleasure in feeling them is intense. To keep oneself away from such
experiences is akin to separating from someone with whom one is in
love. Who would maintain, after this analysis, that Plato lacks insight
into the nature of mimetic poetry or understanding of why people think
it is a good thing? He understands these matters well, but thinks we
must tear ourselves away from pleasures if by rational argument we can
recognize them as undesirable.
In broad terms what Plato has said about the nature of mimetic
poetry—what it is aod does—is persuasive. That, together with its roots
in his ethics and epistemology, makes his prosecution worth hearing.
There are some obvious points for the defence to fasten upon. Some-
thing is still missing from Plato's account of what it is to take pleasure
in a representation, and we are likely to wonder whether our reactions
to tragedy really spill over into our lives in such a wholesale and
pernicious way. We may claim that even repeated exposure to drama
does not change the whole balance of the soul, or that it does, but in
a beneficial way. Or we might 'suppose its effect harmless enough that
the value of mimetic poetry is found, after all, in, a perfectly innocent
pleasure. But Plato's monolithic standards for what constitutes a healthy
individual and what it is to understand good and evil also stand out as
targets, Plato may have some misconceptions about the arts, but let us
not forget that he also pits them against a vision of attaining excellence
and truth to which nothing human could ever be equal.
 7

Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play

AFTER writing the Republic, Plato entered a period of development,

self-criticism, and innovation,1 What change, if any, did his views about
the arts undergo? The later works have been enlisted in various ways
as positive visions of the arts. For example, Iris Murdoch has said of
the Timaeus; 'This splendidly complex mythical image of the creative
process suggests and indeed demands interesting analogies with art of
the mortal variety',2 a view W. J. Verdenius appears to endorse: 'The
world is called a divine work of art*.3 But this is not really true. In the
Timaeus the cosmos is created by the activity of a divine being; it is
something fine—indeed, the finest (kallistos, 29a5, 92c8) of all things
that have come into being. It exhibits an orderliness that can be re-
garded as aesthetic. But there is little justification for comparing the
cosmos with art,4 Plato's god is a Demiourgos, a craftsman or maker,
not an 'artist*. He is said to make an image or visible likeness of the
Forms, but, as we have seen, such terms are prevalent in Plato's meta-
physics for any relation between an original and its less real deriva-
tives. Plato has a beautiful idea about music's place in the world-order:
All audible musical sound is given us for the sake of harmony, which has
motions akin to the orbits of our soul, and which, as anyone who makes intel-
ligent use of the arts knows, is not to be used, as is commonly thonght, to give
irrational pleasure, but as a heaven-sent ally in reducing to order and harmony
-any disharmony in the revolutions within us. Rhythm, again, was given us from
the same heavenly source to help us in the same way; for most, of us lack
measure and grace. (Tim. 47c?—«2.)

Why deny that toe interest here is partly 'aesthetic*? But the chief
ideas—tfaat orderliness must win out over pleasure, that pace should be

1
These traits are apparent in Theaetetus and Parmenides, though I do not discuss
these dialogues here. The only assumption about chronology required by this chapter is
that Phaednts, Timaeus, Sophist, Politicus, Philebus, and Laws are all later than the
Republic. la practice 1 treat the Laws as Plato's last work.
2
Murdoch, 56.
:i
Verdenius (1949), 13. Else (1986, 60-1) has essentially the same thought,
"" Cf. Bosanquet, 29, for the idea that beauty and not art is at stake here.
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 159
impressed on the soul—conie straight out of the Republic; there is no
evidence that Plato's position has changed.
Some may find a softening towards the 'artistic* in the fact that the
Timaeus presents itself as a mythical image—a 'likely story (muthosY
(29d2). But again, it is unclear how much can be made of this. Firstly,
it is nothing new: the Gorgias, the Phaeda, and the Republic all end
with myths composed by Plato. Secondly, how much of Plato's moti-
vation in asing a myth is what we would call 'artistic' and how much,
for example, does he regard it as a probable 'scientific*- hypothesis?5
The general question of the status of Plato's myths has been much
debated. What we should ask here is whether Ms writing them conflicts
with the treatments of poetry and the other arts we have examined so
far. The strongest possible affirmative is that the myths constitute
Plato's own 'defence of poetry',6 or at least are of value to Plato and
his reader in just the way that poetry would be.7 However, even if there
are consciously poetic elements in the myths, Plato has not necessarily,
in writing them, undermined or modified his own critique of poetry.
That would be true only if he had previously condemned all poetic
writing absolutely. But we should remember that he positively wanted
poets to produce myths for Ms young guardians, • the complaint being
simply that existing poets told unsuitable myths which were a bad
likeness of the truth,8 The myths he himself invents might be regarded
as the kind of composition that would be allowed in the model city.
In the Phaedo Socrates expresses a decided attitude to Ms myth
about the soul in the afterlife: it would be a mistake to insist on its
truth, but 'that either this or something like it is true ... is fitting and
worth risking, for one who believes that it is so—for a noble risk it is—
so one should repeat such things to oneself as a spell'.* Socrates has
just produced a series of muscular arguments for immortality, and
searches for a noble enough myth to match his belief. Notice that the
myth's role is presented in the same terms as that of the argument
(logos) against mimetic poetry in the Republic—a charm which pre-
serves us against corruption or error.1* Myth may serve as 'a prolongation

5
'A mythos is a tale. Not al tale* are fictions' (Vlastos (1939), 382).
6
The claim made by Elias, 36: 'The myths are Plato's poetry, designed ... in the
manner of their telling to supply the defence he has called for.*
1
The essential charm of these Myths is that of Poetry generally' (Stewart, 46). (This
chann is said to lie in 'its power of inducing, satisfying, and regulating what may be
called Transcendental Feeling*.)
s
See Belfiore (1985). ' Phdo. U4d2-7, translation by Gallop.
10
Here the dangers are- of lacking confidence in the soul and neglecting it in favour
of the pleasures of the body (fhdo, I I4d8-e3).
160 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play
.into the unknown of the lines established by philosophical argument*,11
but it is also a tool interchangeable with argument in that it shares the
same goal: to attach us more securely to what we ought to believe in.
Why myth as well as argument? One answer lies in the Republic's
division of the soul.12 Because each of us is a plurality, to address the
logistikan alone would fail to persuade us. If each element within us
has its own pleasures, desires, and modes of understanding, more than
one treatment (charm, spell, pharmakon) will be required to draw the
soul towards justice or make it embrace a doctrine such as that of
immortality. Myth can present an attractive and worthy picture which
satisfies us in ways that argument cannot If we think of it as working
on the soul in parallel with the poetry, music, story-telling, and
encomium-singing which Plato wanted to retain in his ideal city, we see
that Platonic myth is not at odds with his critical views about poetry.
It may use poetic means, but does so in order to counteract or replace
mimetic, emotion-stirring art-forms. It does not proceed in total igno-
rance or disregard of truth, but seeks an image complementary to the
truth which has been, or might be established by argument. It does not
masquerade as all-embracing expertise, or feed the childish part of us
at the expense of order in the soul, or disable our moral thinking, or
luxuriate in spurious paradigms of behaviour. It does not challenge
philosophy, but is a part of philosophy, which will assist in guiding the
whole person towards a love of truth and goodness.
Nevertheless it could be maintained that Plato is a poet, and that his
doctrinal opposition to poetry is undermined by his own practice as a
writer. Apart from his use of poetic images and diction, there is the fact
that he constructs his works using dramatic mimesis. Socrates is a
character, painted in words. Plato 'hides himself' much more thoroughly
than Homer,13 and even plays self-consciously with the character who
is usually Ms mouthpiece, making Mm hide among parodies, rhetorical
exercises, and layers of fictional narrators. While the words of Plato's
texts may proclaim that mimetic art is to be kept at bay, Ms methods,
it might be argued, show him doing just what he attacks. This way of
thinking can be challenged, however, in two principal ways. Firstly,
although Plato is a poetic writer, and although he enjoys himself in
a thoroughly 'literary' fashion, this need not undermine Ms serious

a
" Dodds (1959), 376, Here I follow the insight of Moline (esp, 16-19).
13
This fact, at once, obvious and neglected, is brought into relief by Kostnan, esp.
73-8.
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 161
statements of philosophical doctrine. Secondly, it is a mistake to think
that what he practises is the same as what he preaches against. His
whole manner of writing is, possibly, calculated to woo away the 'friends
of the arts' to philosophy,14 But his ends are the discovery of troth and
an insight into how to live a good life. He does not object to pursuing
these goals using mimesis and poetic diction, but rather to those who
either neglect these goals in favour of 'artistic' aims, or mistakenly
think that to produce fine poetry is already to have reached them,'3
One dialogue which is peculiarly ali¥e to poetry's possibilities and
engages most self-consciously with issues surrounding myth, argument,
and rhetoric, is the Phaedrus, Socrates (inspired, as he suggests, by
whatever deities inhabit the banks of the Hissus, and by the cicadas who
sing overhead) composes a 'mythic hymn* to love, beauty, and the
philosophical life, juxtaposing it with a more careful philosophical argu-
ment about the nature of rhetoric. The dialogue, artistic throughout in
its portrayal of scene and characters, and offering great potential for
self-reflexive comment on its own methods of discourse, seems to be
telling us that if rhetoric needs philosophical dialectic, the reverse is
also true.16 How differently this all strikes us from the stern voice of
Republic Book 10—no wonder that writers are prone to announce the
Phaedrus in particular as Plato's recantation, his true defence of what
he had previously attacked.17 Yet nothing here is simple.
Let us begin with the much-quoted passage where Socrates praises
the 'greatest of goods* (244a6-7) that stern from different forms of
'madness*, among which a

14
The idea that Plato Is consciously trying to supplant an old art-form with a new is
present in Nietzsche: see The Birth of Tragedy, sect. 14 (90). And see Nussbauni (1986),
122-35, for the idea of Plato's works as 'a theater constructed to supplant tragedy as the
paradigm of ethical teaching* (129).
15
Ferrari (1989, 145} is sensible on the differences between Piatonic dialogue and
conventional drama. See also Gould, 12.
16
See Ferrari (1987), esp. '34, 38. •
17
Martha Nussbauni writes as follows (with ray interpolated lettering): *[«] 'poetry
inspired by "madness" is defended as a gift of the gods, and an invaluable educational
resource. [t>] Socrates presents his deepest philosophical insights in poetic language, in
the form of a "likeness" , . . [c] philosophy itself is said to be a form of mania.—of
"possessed", not purely rational activity , . , [d] the Phaedrus is . , , more hospitable to
poetry and the poet than the Republic, and less certain about the distinction between
poetry and philosophy' (1982, 80-1). I agree with \b] and partially with (<fl, but argue
against [a], which is clearly a separate point. I have not space to discuss properly [c]=s
claim that philosophy is held to be 'not purely rational', or the wider implications of the
Phaedrus* moral psychology. But I find Prfce's comment apt "Plato, the arch-rationalist,
is at last doing justice to unreason; but we shall not find him changing sides* (67).
162 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play
kind of possession and madness [mania] comes from the Muses: taking a ten-
der, virgin soul, and arousing it to a Bacchic frenzy of expression in lyric and
other forms of poetry it educates succeeding generations by glonfymg myriad
deeds of those of the past; while the man who arrives at the doors of poetry
without madness from the Muses, persuaded that expertise [techne] alone will
make him a good poet, both he and his poetry, the poetry of tbe sane, are
eclipsed by that of the mad, imperfect and unfulfilled,18

What conflicts with the Republic! Not the familiar idea that techne is
insufficient for good poetry and that good poets require divine interven-
tion: although the Republic does not mention, inspiration, this idea is
consonant with that dialogue's chief complaint that poetry is far re-
moved from knowledge. Certainly nothing in the Republic requires
Plato to believe that those traditionally recognized as good poets are not
inspired. So we may assume that the belief in poetic inspiration found
in the earlier dialogues has persisted, and surfaces again in the Phaedrus,
However, two ideas do appear to clash with the Republic: the idea that
good poetry is straightforwardly a fine thing for humanity, and the idea
that it educates us through its glorification of ancient times. In the
Republic Homer's being 'most poetic' was no indication of his true
worth-—virtually the opposite was the case (Rep. 607al—5; cf. 387bl-
6). And the elaborate set of arguments in Republic Book 10 is precisely
aimed to repudiate those who say that Homer educated Greece. The
conflict cannot be explained away by saying that Plato here means to
confine admiration to the less pleasure-giving portion of poetry which
is admitted in the Republic}9 For how could the reader be expected to
guess that poetry 'inspired by the Muses* was now meant to exclude
not only Homer (about whose divine inspiration so much is made in the
Ion) but all the pleasure-giving works traditionally considered 'most
poetic* and rejected in the Republicl"20
In the Phaedrus it is now said that good, inspired poetry is a fine
thing and that Homer (no mere technician) really educates us. But is it
credible that Plato should thus assert, in a rather showy rhetorical manner,
the negation of a conclusion for which he had laboured through so
many pages of the Republic! As it is the character Socrates who is
made to utter both that argument and this simple statement, do we not
need some hint of a reason why he has changed his mind? Perhaps we
18
Phdr, 245al~§. Rowe's translation, with my addition of 'alone' (the Greek is ek
technes hikanos poietes esomenos).
" The suggestion of Haclforth (1952), 62, with reference to Rep. 607a.
20
See Tigerstedt (1969), 55.
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 163
may begin to reconcile the two passages by reflecting on their different
contexts of utterance, A serious argument was called for to complete
the picture of the model city. By contrast, Socrates has here arrived at
a crux in a game with the speech-loving Phaedrus: having tried to beat
the speech-maker Lysias in praising the cynical non-lover, he is ashamed
of Ms dishonesty, and wishes now to praise love, but still in mythical,
poetic manner. His speech praising love precisely as a form of madness
can, be made more palatable by a rhetorical preamble cataloguing dif-
ferent forms of beneficial madness. It is in place to say something
celebratory, and indeed quite conventional, invoking the Muses and the
'myriad deeds* of the ancient past.21 If its rhetorical function can be
understood in this way, the passage by itself will not require Plato to
have recanted anything from the argument of the Republic}0 He is not
necessarily using this passage to enunciate any serious doctrine of Ms
own, or of Socrates', about the nature or value of poetry.
Elsewhere in Ihs "Phaedrus poetry is not especially praised. In the
main body of the mythical speech on love, when Socrates places his
reincarnated souls in order of importance, he assigns the soul of a poet
sixth place out of nine, below gymnasts and seers, and above only
craftsmen, farmers, sophists, demagogues, and tyrants. Those inclined
to think that 'Plato's true voice* must be showing through in the open-
ing praise of poetry. find this low ranking rather a shock. But is it not
just as likely, given what we heard in the Republic, the Ion, the Gorgias,
even the Symposium, that we are nearer to the true voice here in the list
of souls? What Socrates actually says is 'for the sixth place, the fitting
life will be that of a poet or some other life from among those con-
cerned with mimesis' (248el—2). Haekforth writes with supreme assur-
ance that 'Plato must be thinking of that sort of poetical mimesis which
is condemned in the Republic', it need not, and indeed cannot, imply
that every sort of poietikos bios [poetic life] is so low in the scale of
values', and that 'Plato cannot have in mind the inspired poetry of
245a*.23 But why not? The mimesis attacked in the Republic includes
that of the greatest poets, and they are precisely the ones whose success

" Plato includes the opposition between mania and techni which is his own doctrine
elsewhere; but it is possible to use, for rhetorical ends, expressions of what one genuinely
believes. Ferrari (1987, 113—19) treats the opening praise of poetic inspiration as aimed
non-ironically at the historical past, but in pointed contrast to contemporary poets.
22
The wholly 'ironic' reading is supported by WoodtufF(1982fc), 150 rt. 17; 'Plato never
has Socrates speak sincerely of poette inspiration*. See also Tigerstedt (1969). 50—3.
23
Haekforth (1952), 84. (Haekforth accepts Tate's account of good versos bad mimesis
(Tate (1928)), which I criticized to Ch. 5 above.)
164 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play
Plato elsewhere puts down to inspiration. Besides, if Plato had wanted
to assign his sixth-ranking life to a "bad" or 'uninspired' poet (or any
other specific kind), he could easily have added a few words to accom-
plish that.24
We have to accept that this passage ranks the poetic life without
qualification, and implicitly that of other artists, comparatively low in
the scale of things. If we can regard the praise of poetry in the intro-
duction to the speech as something of a preparatory rhetorical flourish,
not a statement of doctrine, there is no serious inconsistency. If, on the
other hand, Plato means us to take both passages in earnest, there is a
jar in tone,25 and possibly a direct contradiction—it would at least
be odd to maintain that five other kinds of life surpass a life devoted
to one of the "greatest goods* (244a6—7). However, we have seen Plato
elsewhere recognize the fineness of a poet's output while refusing any
great value to the poet's own capacities.26 In the Ion Homer's fine
works are among the blessings of madness, but presumably Homer's
life, being low on the scale of knowledge, was less of a life than some
others. If we seek "Plato's voice' (a perilous exercise in this dialogue
especially), it is easiest to hear it in the low ranking of the poet, and
in the distancing of fine poetry from techne.21 We have much less
reason to ascribe to him a serious belief that inspired poetry is truly
educational,
The highest form of life put forward fa Socrates' myth provides
another opportunity for those who hope that Plato is embarked on a
rehabilitation of the arts. The highest life belongs to *a man who will
become a lover of wisdom or of beauty, or devoted to the Muses
[mousikos] and to love' (248d2-4). What to make of the contrast be-
tween this life and that of the sixth-ranking poet or mimetic practi-
tioner? Some abandon caution at this point: 'No other meaning than

24
Nussbauiu (1982, 89} points out that the sixth-ranking poet 'is not said to be Muse-
inspired*. True, but nor is he said to be the 'ordinary* poet who trusts in techne alone.
See Verdenius (1962), 133; Ferrari (1987), 118 and 25? n, II; Tigerstedt (1969), 55;
Price, 65 n. 9; Burnyeat (unpublished).
25
Ferrari (1987, 119} sees this as a calculated effect.
26
Burnyeat (unpublished): 'He thinks, as he always thought, that the marvellous and
useful pronouncements tiey make are no credit to them, but to the god who speaks
through them," (Cf. Rowe, 169.)
J<
Collingwood seems right that even in the fhaedrus 'poetry is enthusiasm or inspi-
ration , , , but ...on this account the poet comes low in the scale of souls* (1925, 167,
my emphasis).
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 165
28
creative artist* can be given to these words, But there is no good
reason for this anachronistic suggestion, and Neharoas* deflating com-
ments seem especially apt;
Taking 'mnsical* to refer to some sort of artist, commentators have seen Plato
here distinguishing between a true artist and a mere imitator. But the Phaedrus
tas been discussing the soul and the proper relations between its parts. The best
lives are lived by the most harmonious souls.... The 'musical*, in this as well
as in other contexts, is not the artist but the gentleman who patronizes the
artists and knows what to take from them.29

In other words, the so-called "creative artist* is, for Socrates, if any-
where, in the sixth-ranking position, and distinguished from the cul-
tured philosopher/lover at the top. Poetry and mimetic art are distanced
from the best life of the philosopher. The distancing is carried out in a
very different mood from the banishment in the Republic, using a dif-
ferent image, but there is no fundamental reversal in Plato's position.
This may seem an insensitive way of reading the Phaedrus. Firstly,
it may be thought, the power of Socrates' mythic hymn on the value of
love is so great that Plato must have meant to embrace poetic madness
implicitly in the same account. This is not a very convincing thought
on its own. Bat there are signs scattered around that Socrates regards
himself, in speaking the myth, as rising to poetic heights in a state of
inspiration. Assuming that Plato is firmly behind what the myth says
about the lover and Ms soul, how could he not regard with reverence
the very poetic inspiration which he says produces the myth? Here, I
believe, the Phaedrus is far from offering any simple answer. The
purpose of Socrates' bouts of 'inspiration' in the dialogue has been
much debated. In rather over-larded fashion he professes that his first
speech is inspired by something 'divine* outside of himself (235c5—dl,
237a7-lQ, 238c5-d3, 241el-5). But this is the very speech where he
speaks falsely and is shamefully dishonest. If we take seriously the idea
that Socrates is inspired, Plato is reinforcing the old message that in-
spiration is no guide to truth. On the other hand, there are reasons to
regard the talk of inspiration as on the playful side—a way for Socrates

M
Gates, 59, Similarly incautious claims about the Phaednts are found in Bearrfsley,
44: "the artist may have his own insight into the nature of ideal beauty"; and Partee
(1971), 87, for whom the poet is 'only slightly inferior to the philosopher in Ms access
to absolute knowledge*. It is hard to see bow these claims could be supported,
2
* Nehamas (1982), 60, (Tate (1929, 22) is once again the opponent cited.)
166 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play
to expose the poetic diction30 which Phaedras is compelling him to use,
and to excuse Socrates' words as not really his own. The second speech,
the one which presents the wonderfiil myth of the philosophical lover's
soul, is also expressed in 'somewhat poetic language', ostensibly again
to please Phaedras (257a3—6). But Socrates at one point describes it as
the best paliaode which lies within his power, suggesting that he is
either not inspired, or inspired in some way 'from within*. It is unsafe
simply to put Socrates on a par with a poet inspired to madness by the
Muses.31
Looking back on his mythic speech in a more sombre mood,
Socrates cites its poetic qualities as grounds for its being only an 'amuse-
ment* or 'play*. But these remarks are especially hard for the interpreter
to treat straightforwardly. What degree of evasion should we read into
this description of the mythic speech: 'by expressing the experience of
love through some kind of simile, which allowed us perhaps to grasp
some truth, though maybe also it took us in a wrong direction, and
mixing together a not wholly implausible speech, we sang a playful
hymn in the form of a story* (265b6-el)? ("And it gave me great
pleasure to hear if responds Phaedras, as if that were all that mattered.)
What do we make of Socrates' view that, although some rather dry
principles of philosophical method came to light,12 *to me it seems that
the rest really was playfully done, by way of amusement (paidiai
pepaisthai)' (265c8—9)? Is the mythic speech being dismissed as not
serious at all?33 The only trouble is that we do not know how playful
Socrates is being when he says that the earlier speech was merely
playful. The philosophical headway made in the myth suggests that
its playful invention cannot be dismissed with total seriousness.34 So is
the mytih itself "seriously meant', and, if it is, can the idea of its being
composed in mad, spontaneous inspiration be anything other than
a 'playful* touch? Such questions are left hanging because the very

30
'Almost dithyrambic* and even epic diction (238d2~3, 241el-2.}.
31
My reading here is strongly influenced by Burnyeat (unpublished) and Woodruff
(l9S2h), 150 n. 17. However, Price (66-7) argues that 257a3-4, 'the best palinode of
which I am capable', is compatible with Socrates* being inspired, and points out that
Socrates appears to invoke external inspiration later in a more general way (262d3-6,
263d5-6).
32
265c9 ff. The reference is to the method of collection and division, which we shall
shortly
B
see exemplified in Soph-, Pol., and PhiL
34
Implied by Woodruff (19826), 150 a. 17,
For other passages where Socrates calls his own discourse playful, see 262d2,2?8b7.
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 167
distinction between 'serious* and 'playful' is one which the dialogue
keeps undermining,35
In the last part of the Phaedrus Plato reasserts the primacy of philo-
sophical knowledge over both ifaetoric and any form of writing that can
be called poetic. Rhetoric could be scientific-—it could be the genuine
tec fine which it was not in the Gorgias36—if only it were preceded by
dialectic, the philosophical method which establishes the truth about
the just aad the good, and about the nature of the human soul on which
persuasion is exercised,37 The truly knowledgeable rhetorician, who did
not just tack together any old methods picked op empirically, would be
a philosopher. (On the other hand, of course, dialectic would be incom-
plete without rhetoric: the mythic speech gave the only account of the
soul which was humanly possible, in terms of a simile (246a4—6},}
Plato's complaint that anything set down in writing is mute and
powerless has had peat influence on recent deconstractionist writings.38
But we must remember that he uses the point to discriminate the philo-
sopher from the mere writer, or me poet. His point is that unless one
already has knowledge prior to encountering the written marks, they
will remain a mere amusement, a play of signs. A person who writes
without knowledge will be rightly called a poet or author of speeches,
and is comparable to a rhapsode- (278d8-e2, 277e5-9). These people
are nothing but writers: in a wonderfully telling phrase, Plato speaks of
someone who 'does not possess things of more value than the things
he composed or wrote* (27§d8^9). In stark contrast stands the philo-
sopher, who
has composed these things knowing how the troth is, able to help his compo-
sition when he is challenged on its subjects, and with the capacity, when speak-
ing in Ms own person, to show that what he has written is of little worth.
(278c4-7.)

If Homer's words had been like that, a temporary aid or reminder

which he could reject or revise as it suited him, if he had knowledge
of the nature of justice and goodness and had mastered the craft of
dialectic—-then he would be a philosopher (278c2-d6). Philosophy is
thinking, probing, questioning, with a Inn scientific method, and for it
35
As many authors attest; Tigerstedt (1969), 57-9; Hackforth (1952), 14; Price, 72
n. 24; Ferrari (1987), 269 n. 48; Burnyeat (unpublished).
* That dialogue's contrast between a techme and a mere knack (tribe, empeiria) is
repeated in the same terms (Phdr. 260e4-5, 2?ObS~6),
31
See, 260e5-261a5, 262cI-3, 27Qe2-S, 272eJ4-7, 276el-27?a4.
38
In the wake of Etenrida's essay.
168 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play
fine words are never enough. A poet or writer of speeches is someone
who is stuck at the level of words, and will not let them go, because
beyond them there is no knowledge and no method that will ever attain
it. Such is the reappraisal of the relationship between philosophy and
poetic writing on which Plato draws the Pkaedrm to a close. Hardly a
reprieve for Homer.
The Phaedrus may be said to enlarge the Republic^ conception of
philosophy. Philosophy now is compatible with rhetorical persuasion
and poetic diction. It can reach up to the border-line between playful
and serious, between self-possessed and inspired. It most persuade with
myths as well as analyse, it must be alive to visible beauty and the
madness of love. But two words of restraint are required. The philo-
sopher's activity must always be governed ultimately by a search for
truth and excellence; the philosopher's soul must still be ruled by its
best, that is to say its rational part, and this is not undone by the idea
that love and inspiration are a fundamental part of the philosophical
life.39 Secondly, there is merely less of a difference between poetry and
philosophy than was alleged in the Republic. Though philosophy legit-
imately embraces poetic methods, it can never abandon itself to them.
Nor is there any advocacy here of a life devoted to poetry or uncritically
taken up with endeavours that are primarily mimetic or pleasure-giving.
A philosopher can, and must use poetic means, but out-and-out poets of
the kind dismissed from the Republic should not think themselves
recalled from exile,40
In many of the later dialogues we find Plato still concerned with Ms
conception of techne. The most likely inference from Phaedrus 245a is
that he thinks there is a poetic techne. Why else would he trouble to
note the opinion of some poets that techne is sufficient for writing
well?41 Later there is not only a techne of rhetoric, but a techne pos-
sessed by the tragedian and the musician (268c5—269a3), who would
scorn those who try to write in an amateurish, haphazard way. Techne
is not sufficient, but it is necessary, When in other dialogues Plato

•" Plato does not, in this sense, depart from Ms 'rationalism*. See Price, 67; Irwin
(1988), 380; Dodds (1951), 64, 218-19.
* As recent commentators have put it, philosophers are allowed to use 'poetic images
as structures that point away from themselves* (Moravcsik (1982,44)) towards things of
true value, and to make *a poetic and philosophic call to the philosophic life* (Ferrari
(1989, 148)}.
41
Woodruff (19826. 149 n. II) believes the remark about the insufficiency of techne
'consistent with the idea that poets have no skills*. But surely Plato is less likely to say
that poets believe techne sufficient, if he thinks there is no such teehni.
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 169
exercises his new method of division (or definition by progressive clas-
sification), mimetic art is classified as a form, of techne, as are painting,
sculpture, and music. Some earlier commentators were drawn to these
systematic passages in the hope of finding Plato's 'definition of art',42
But as I said in Chapter 2, I think that this idea should be resisted.
Firstly, these passages were written late in Plato's career, using a method
which he did not possess in the early and middle dialogues, so it would
be dangerous to assume that his way of systematizing here will provide
any definite structure for passages up to and including the Republic,
Secondly, we must keep alive a sense of the strident oppositions be-
tween poetry and genuine techne in the Ion, Gorgias, and Republic 10.
Thirdly, as we shall see, no single systematic account emerges in any
case: the late passages classify the arts by dividing techne in a number
of different ways, and rather than constituting a single theory of art,
they are continuations of a number of earlier ideas, particularly from
the Republic and Gorgias.
None of the arts emerges with much greater credit than it enjoyed
in those dialogues. This pass from rom the Politicus (or Statesman) is
especially trenchant:
Might we agree to name a fifth class [of techne} including all things concerned
in decoration and painting, and everything which produces representations
whether using these or using music and poetry? They are produced simply to
give us pleasures, and all may justly be included under one description . . . We
use the expression 'diversion* [paignion] ,., this is the name we can apply to
all of these things. For none of them has a serious purpose; all are performed
for pure amusement [paidia].4*

Plato could scarcely ha¥e grouped 'the arts' together more succinctly
or dashed more decisively any hope that his earlier views would be
recanted. 'Amusement' is here a pejorative term—even with the playful
Phaedrus fresh in our minds, it is hard to find this classification ironic.
The same notion of mimetic art as paidia, amusement or play, appears
in the Sophist: 'Could you think of a more expert or delightful form of
amusement than the mimetic [to rnimetikonjT (Soph, 234bl—2). In this
passage the sophist is being nailed as a mere producer of images, and
to this end Plato rehearses some key thoughts of Republic 10.—
What would you think if you met someone who understood how to
produce everything from a single tecknel That would be a fine kind of
42
See above, Ch. 2, n. 1,
43
Pol 288cl-10. Translation by Sketnp, slightly adapted.
170 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play
amusement. The sophist, if he does this, would be in the mimetic cate-
gory, which means he would be a kind of wizard or wonder-worker.
The art of painting, after all, if it displays its products at a distance, can
deceive the foolish among children into thinking that the artist has
wide-ranging capacities, and the sophist seems to pull off a comparable
trick with words,44—Plato holds fixed his earlier view of mimesis and
repeats parts of it (sometimes word for word) to create a vivid compari-
son with Ms present quarry, the sophist.45
The Sophist does offer something new, however. The method of
division leads Plato to seek greater precision about the class of 'image-
raaking* crafts. Having divided off the productive from the acquisitive
crafts, he makes a distinction between the making of images
(eidolopoiike) and the making of originals or real things, and then sets
to work making further divisions. The making of images is itself of two
kinds: the making of likenesses (eikastike) and the making of phan-
tasms or semblances (phantastike), A genuine likeness is one which
conforms to the original in all three dimensions and whose every part
has the same colour as the original (Soph. 235d?~e2). To make a like-
ness (eikon) on this definition is to make a perfect replica. 'Is not that
what all mimetic artists try to do?' asks Theaetetus naively (235e3—4),
It is not Very often artists depart from the true proportions of the
object they are depicting. Colossal sculptures and paintings, which, must
be seen from a limited viewpoint, are not made in true proportion, since
otherwise their upper parts would look too small and their lower parts
too large. So artists 'leave the truth to take care of itself and concen-
trate instead on what will appear fine. They do not really make like-
nesses then, but something that only seems like the original—a seeming
or phantasma. This phantasm-making variety 'is a very extensive class,
in painting and in imitative art (mimetike) as a whole* (236b9-cl).
Having made a distinction which allows mimesis to be genuine likeness-
making, and which would provide an opportunity to show greater
leniency towards mimetic painting or poetry, Plato shows no inclination
to place any of the arts he previously attacked into this new class.*
44
See-ths passage 233d9-235b6. On the rehearsal of ideas from Rep, here, cf. Cornford
(1935), 198.
45
The mirror-carrying wonder-worker in the Republic was already referred to as 'an
amazing sophist* (Rep. 596dl).
* Hhe point is more letting if we look more closely. Ostensibly the wider class to be
divided into two is called eidelopoiike—-ihe making of images. But Plato uses mimetike
as a direct synonym for this (235c2, dl, 236W; see also 235e2, mimema, and 235e3,
mimoumenoi). Thus, while all of mimetike is still the making of images, as it was i«
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 111
Later in the Sapkist Plato makes further subordinate divisions within
image-making. The results of the whole discussion are best conveyed
in diagrammatic form—see Figure 2.47 The final set of divisions which
eventually pens the sophist in Ms correct box is notable for its complex-
ity. The term mimesis is now reserved especially (malista, 267a8) for
the making of visual or auditory semblances with,-one's own body
or voice, moving back closer to the sense of mimesis developed in
Republic Book 3. (A painter, using implements and materials, could not
in this sense be practising mimesis.) On the other hand the wider notion
of mimetiM is treated as synonymous with image-making in general,48
and retains more or less the sense established in Republic Book 10. The
divisions lower down appear to offer some hope that Plato will be more
discriminating in, Ms view of the arts. The sophist falls into the category
of doxomanetike: he produces his semblances only on the basis of
opinion (doxa) and has no knowledge. On the other hand, an artist
might produce a semblance of someone which was born out of genuine
knowledge of them. Plato hints that a successful mimesis of Theaetetus
must spring from knowledge of Mm (267bll-12). Just after this he
switches to the obvious point that some people, without having know-
ledge of justice or excellence, can make themselves seem to embody
it. We are left wondering whether a category of artists has not. been
glossed over. We know that Homer and his tribe make only .images of
excellence—even 'semblances' rather than fully faithful replicas. But,

Republic 10, not all of It is the making of mere phantasms, or something far from the
truth (as at Rep. 598b3-8>. Yet Plato does not note any consequences for the mimetic arts
which he discussed before, Tate (1932, 163-4) adduces the discussions of image-making
in Soph, as support for his reading of the Rep. as involving 'good* and 'bad' artistic
mimesis. But if the evidence for that distinction in Rep. is wanting (see Ch. 5 above), it
is better to say that Plato has moved oil to a new distinction, Tate also seems to make
an error whea he says that the eikastike/phantastikie distinction is 'virtually the same* as
the distinction lower down (see Fig, 2) between mimesis with knowledge and mimesis
without (= doxomim&iK). This can scarcely have been Plato's view of the matter.
47
A further complication, omitted from Figure 2, is Plato's division of both auiopoietikl
aad eidOIopoiiki into human and divine making, Sophist 265b-266d, which can be seen
as another modification of the analysis in the Republic. Here the idea of divine production
of » Form is replaced by divine production of ordinary things in nature such as ourselves,
animals, and plants, This is divine original-making (autopoietiki)—-a doctrine which
Plato remarks as somewhat, controversial (see 265c5—c6). Since images also occur natu-
rally in the form of dreams, shadows, and so on, the category of divine image-soaking
{eidolopffiiU) e needs to be added. But these changes do not affect Plato's account of
human making, where the division between e.g. an original house made by the craft of
building (autopoietike) and a corresponding house-picture made by painting (eiddlopoSK)
—'like a human dream for those awake* (266c9)—is standard and familiar.
41
See above, n. 46.
 craft (technS)
acquiring making (poi&ikH)
(ktetike)
original- image-making (eidolopoiike)
making
(auto- likeness- semblance-making (phantaslike)
poietike) making
(eikastikS) , , , with . . . with own voice and person (mimesis)
instruments
(di'organdri) scientific opinion-based (doxomimetike)
(historike)
simple ironic (eironikos)
(haplous)
mimetes public: private:
the dem- the
agogue sophist

WIG, 2. Division o/tectae, Sophist 2}9a~c, 235b-236c, 264c-26Sh, 266d-268d

 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 173
according to the new conceptual scheme, a mimetic poet may make
semblances of human beings and their virtues and vices, knowing all
the while about such matters. For there is the category which Plato calls
*a sort of scientific (historike) mimesis' (267e2)—there is mimesis with
knowledge.
Now Plato does not step aside from Ms pursuit of the sophist to make
any pronouncements about poetry. He does not even give us any exam-
ple of this possible mimesis with knowledge. Yet surely if he had had
the Sophist's divisions before him when he wrote the Republic, he
would have found it difficult to move from classifying Homer as a
mimetic artist to condemning him for lacking knowledge. The whole
rhetoric of the poet's being only a maker of eidola, only a mimetes—
would have been seen as corrupt if a practitioner of mimesis can per-
fectly well have knowledge. Indeed, if we were to folow the hint that
a mimesis of Theaetetus requires knowledge of Theaetetus, Plato would
lose even his firm point that fine semblances can sometimes proceed
from ignorance. A similar reflection may attach to the last division
which Plato makeswithin opinion-based mimesis. Those who practise
mimesis without knowledge may, he says, be either sincere or insincere
—'simple' or 'ironic'. While the sophist and his public counterpart,
the demagogue, are manipulators fully aware of their ignorance, an-
other kind of mimetic artist is conceivable, who in all good faith takes
his mere opinions for knowledge. .Such a 'simple mimetes' would not
be deceitful, merely in error. Even if Homer were not granted know-
ledge of human life, one might hold out at least for his sincerity.49
Again, though, the text does not enlighten us as to who the sincere if
mistaken mimetes might be. If one is optimistic,50 there is a basis here
for a retraction of some of the criticisms of mimesis in the Republic,
There is also, of course, the basis for a more fine-grained attack on
Homer and the tragic poets. But Plato favours us with neither.
A third division of the crafts in the late dialogues occurs towards the
end of the Philebus, where they are- classified according to their preci-
sion or imprecision. The ambitious topic under discussion is what should
be the proper ingredients of the best human life. Mousike is chief
among the imprecise branches of knowledge, and Philebus, the cham-
pion of pleasure, wants to include it 'if our life is ever to be any life
4S
Tale (1932, 164) suggests plausibly that Plato would probably have placed Homer
in the unconsciously ignorant section of doxomimetike.
50
Vcrdenius exemplifies the over-optimistic, when he uses Soph. 233e-236e as the
basis for a Platonic claim about 'good art* and 'true artistic representation' (1949, 21).
174 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play
at all' (Phil. 62c3-4). Socrates allows it in, but wrinkles his nose at
the liberality of including all forms of knowledge, including even an
inferior form such as music, which has been shown to be 'full of guess-
work and mimesis',51 We saw (in Chapter 2) how Plato distanced music
and tragedy from the category of techne on the grounds that they were
unprincipled and imprecise activities. In the Philebus a similar point is
made by distinguishing superior from inferior kinds of techne:
Suppose . . , that one abstracted arithmetic, measurement, and weighing from
all technai. The remnant in each case would be pretty meagre. . . . After that
one would tie left with guessing, by constant use and experience52 training
one's senses and then using one's capacities for estimating, which many people
call technai—capacities that develop their power with laborious practice. . . ,
Music is Ml of (his, in so far as it determines which notes are concordant on
estimates bom of practice rather than by measurement. Of music all flute-
playing falls into this category and lyre-playing, for it involves searching by
guess for the proper point on each string as it sounds.53 Consecpently there is a
considerable admixture of imprecision, and little to rely on. (Phil. 55el-56a7.)

Building and arithmetic are, by contrast, precise, and 'purified'; build-

ing is 'more of a techne' than other branches of knowledge (cf. tech-
nikoteran, 56b6), Plato treats music as the paradigm of the imprecise
class (56c4-6), It is unclear how widely we are to take mousike here,
but Ms point extends to poetry, if there are (as we suggested earlier) no
principles of poetic composition. So Plato is as prone as ever to demean
the arts as not hospitable to logismos?4 And if we add to this the
Philebus' special treatment of 'pure' pleasures (discussed in Chapter
3), recalling that they expressly exclude the pleasures taken in tragedy,
comedy, and representational painting, then this dialogue's view of the
arts seems once more in line with that of the Republic,
Having examined the different forms of knowledge and the 'pure*
and 'impure' pleasures, Socrates and Philebus are ready to assemble the
components of the best of lives. Including all knowledge and technai,
even the sloppy ones- like music which are not of supreme importance,

" The reference to mimesis here is unmotivated by the discussion "m Phil, itself
(cf. Gosling (19-75), 133-4).
52
empeiriai kai tini tribei—-the same terminology as at Gorg. 462c4—7.463b4,501 a7.
a
The translation departs from the Oxford Classical Text here, adding the reference
to lyre-playing on the excellent grounds that 'few flutes have strings* (Gosling (1975),
126), and reading phthengomenes for pheromenis in 56a6.
54
Already in the Republic Plato had stated that every true form of techne or know-
ledge necessarily partakes of number and calculation {iagismos) (Rep, 522ci-8). See also
Pol. 283e3-284d8.
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 175
Socrates nevertheless sees no place at all for any pleasures except those
that are pure. The rest, he argues, are not true pleasures, and are not
even truly pleasures at all. The tiniest patch of pure white is more truly
white than oceans of off-white. By analogy, the pure enjoyment got
from a fleeting glimpse of a perfect geometrical figure would more
truly be pleasure than the most intense delights of a protracted love-
affair, or of years spent unravelling Sophocles' character-portrayals.
Never mind which feels mom pleasing—Plato does not flinch: *any
pleasure however slight and inconsiderable it may be, so long as it is
purified of aE distress, is pleasanter, truer and finer than any other
whatever its size or quantity' (53blO-c2). The best of lives will not be
devoted to pleasure, bat nor will it be devoid of it. Pleasures there will
be, but only those that are conducive to intelligent thought and the
pursuit of the truth. In a speech put into the mouths of Intelligence and
Thought, who welcome the true, purified pleasures along with those
that accompany virtue, health and self-control (63d2-64a3), we hear a
tone reminiscent of the Republic's concern to protect the intellect from
destruction. Intense and violent pleasures are rejected as a form of
disruptive mania (63d6}, wreaking havoc in the psyche. Eveo if we
tried to 'square* the Philebus with the Phaedrus—probably we should
not55—much of what passes for 'madness* is still, to Plato, dross to be
left behind. His prime concern is that life should he ordered, controlled,
not exceeding the due measure (66a6-7), and have its parts in a
state of overall harmony; 'proportioned and beautiful ... perfect and
satisfying*.56
We can "construct a limited aesthetic* out of the materials in the
Philebus.57 It is not sought among the wondrous high-art products of
Plato's culture, but derived from still higher considerations concerning
the orderliness and excellence of life as a whole.-Existing art forms
such as tragedy, comedy, and the representational visual arts would be
excluded from the best life in the Philebus, as would the emotional kind
of pleasure Plato thinks people generally take in music. The shapes,
colours and sounds that are conducive to pare pleasure are austere- in
the extreme. "The paintings of (for instance) -Mondrian and Ben.
55
As Hacfcforth sensibly urges {1958, 99).
56
66bl-2, in HacMorth's translation (1.958). His comment on the distinction between
metron {measure) and summetron (proportion): 'in the formula of the first we are looking
at each part or factor of the good life by itself... In the formula of the second we look.
at the good life as a whole, or (which is the same thing) we apprehend the relations of
its parts' (138).
17
Murdoch, 9.
176 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play
Nicholson", writes Iris Murdoch 'might be thought of as meeting his
requirements, [but] would I think be regarded by Plato as histrionic and
dangerously sophisticated*.58 There remains modest ornamentation of
buildings and utensils, and the direct simplicity of folk art.
Plato is much concerned with pleasure also in the Laws. We have
asked whether Plato shows any fundamentally changed attitude towards
the arts in works after the Republic. So far the answer weighs towards
the negative, bat our clues have been picked up as Plato addresses the
topics of love, rhetoric, sophistry, pleasure, and craft. In the Laws we
hit on a substantial body of evidence: an extended- re-examination of
the arts and their role in a human community, in which Plato no longer
aspires to delineate a model 'laid up in heaven*, bat turns to the formu-
lation of a social structure which he thinks will actually work. Conse-
quently, we hear far more detail than we did in the Republic about the
cultural practices of which he approves.'9 The city of the Laws will
make careful provision for recreation or play for all its citizens, of
whatever age. There will be religious festivals at which poetic compo-
sitions are performed, choruses in which song and dance are enjoyed,
competitions for solo rhapsodes, lyre-players, and awlos-players, train-
ing for all in lyre-playing and the reading of poetry and prose.60
Paidia, amusement or play, assumes an important social role. The
whole of life should be spent 'at play—sacrificing, singing, dancing*
(803el~2). Play is defined as an activity giving harmless pleasure
(667e5-8), but Plato is adamant that such pleasure cannot be left to
develop of its own accord. Play must be regulated. Children must
always play the same games, under the same rules, otherwise the city
becomes unsettled. For if the young are allowed to innovate, they will
become different from their parents and seek a different life (797a9-M,
798b6—dl). In general, Plato asserts, 'change, except in something evil,
is extremely dangerous' (797d9—10)—-a statement which puts at its
bluntest the deep cultural conservatism that repeats itself throughout
this long work. Plato admires the Egyptians whose laws decree that the
samerules as the paintings of ten
paintings of the present follow the same
thousand years ago (656dl—657a2), If there are decidedly better and
worse ways of painting, composing, and dancing, and these can be
discovered, then it is legitimate, Plato believes, to ensure by persuasion,
si
Murdoch, 16.
59
This, I think, is the main reason why Plato appears to 'take poetry more seriously'
in the Laws. Cf, Ferrari (1989), 107.
60
See 653c7ff,, 764d5-e3, 809a6-8l3a3, 814d8-817e3, 828b7ff.
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 111
compulsion, and the penally of law, that the better are adhered to.
Compulsion reigns everywhere in the interstices of the system; per-
formers, critics, and teachers of the arts are under the eye of cultural
directors who themselves are compelled by the state to implement fixed
standards,61 The gloom descends as we learn that the legislator must
'think up every possible device to ensure that as far as possible the
entire community preserves in its songs and stories and doctrines an
absolute and lifelong unanimity' (664a4-7). The arts must not be- per-
sonal to any one: they axe decidedly 'of the state*.
Plato insists that the right standards of evaluation for the arts are
those of morality. This is partly because he sees the arts as more per-
vasive in life and learning than we do. No one will count as educated
unless he or she is continually an active participant in a chorus, know-
ing how to sing and move with a sense of the order and disorder present
in rhythm and harmonia. The educated person must be able to sing and
dance well or finely (kalas). But what does it mean to perform these
activities well? (654b6—9), Instead of developing any aesthetic crite-
rion, Plato sticks to the idea that 'all movements and tunes associated
with spiritual or bodily excellence ... are good (kalaY (655b3—5). So
to sing well is to sing a song that is good (654bl 1—cl), and a good song
is one which has the effect of making you good, or (which in the end
will amount to the same thing) presents you with an accurate likeness
of goodness,62 Pleasurable recreation is thus required as a part of edu-
cation which tunes the individual's sense of pleasure and displeasure
(653bl—c4, 659dl—e2). It is not enough to know what good and evil
are; the truly educated, those truly possessed of arete, will also feel
attachment or affection for the good, and distress towards its opposite.
The more specific prescriptions in the Laws implement these general
principles about moral standards, correct models, and enforced uni-
formity. Thus poets must be constrained to portray brave and self-
controlled men, dances must be a mimesis of selected warlike and
peaceful character-traits, hymns must honour gods, heroes, and departed
citizens who have served the community, the rhythms and modes
employed in song must match up with the words so that'll is crystal-
clear what they imitate, purely instrumental music should, not exist,
orderliness should be impressed on artistic products even at the-expense
61
A catalogue of compulsions and penalties Is easily built up: e.g., 656c3-657b3,
660a3-8, 660e2-5, 661c5-8, 670c9-dl, 799b4-8, 800a4-bl, 801cS-d6, 804d3-6
80Ste7 ff.
62
See e.g. 655d5-656b7.
178 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play
of pleasure, new styles which people happen to enjoy should be sup-
pressed, showmanship, buffoonery, and malicious ridicule should be
curtailed, each separate genre should stick to its own without any mix-
ture, performances which arouse strong emotions should be frowned
upon, tragedy 'should not be allowed to propose its view of life as an
alternative to that enshrined in the state's practices, no poet should say
that the just and good are anything but fortunate and blessed, and so on
through many autumnal variations on themes first heard in the Republic.63
Plato argues that the standard for judging mimesis in particular should
not be pleasure.64 When we attach value to anything, it can be because
of three factors: attractiveness, correctness, or benefit,65 If either benefit
or correctness can legitimately be invoked, then pleasure cannot be the
proper criterion of value. In the case of the arts of image-making, they
have an attractiveness, because we take pleasure in representation; but
the function of these arts is to produce likenesses, and here correctness
comes into play (Laws 667c9-d7). 'What is equal is equal and what is
proportional is proportional, and this does not depend on anyone's
opinion that it is so, nor does it cease to be true if someone is dis-
pleased at the fact. Accuracy, and nothing else whatever, is the only
permissible criterion' (668al—4). To judge the fineness of visual
images requires knowledge of what is being represented and how a thing
of that Mad ought to be (668dS~669a4), The same applies to mousike,
the whole of which he now declares to be mimetic and eikastic (668a6-
7). His conclusion could fairly be said to apply across all the arts:
Anyone who is going to be a sensible judge of any likeness (eikori)—in paint-
ing aid music and every other field—should be able to assess three points: he
must know first of what this or that likeness has been effected, second how
correctly, and third how well.66

Hence mimesis must carry with it a standard of correctness that tests

value in a way that attractiveness cannot override, 'No mimSsis at all
should be judged ... by the criterion of the pleasure it gives' (667el0-
668al).
People usually think that 'the power of music to give pleasure to the
soul is the standard by which it should be judged', but that doctrine is,
63
See 660a3-8, 660e2~5, 669d5-670a3, 700a7-701b3, 797b4-e6, 80CW1-6, 801el-
10, 802c4-6, 802e2-5, 812d4-eS, 814e6-815al, 816e2-817d8.
64
Mimesis is again used in a pretty wide sense here. AM of mousiki is image-making
and representation (eikastiki te ... kai mimitite, 668a6—7), which includes the way in
which rhythms and modes correspond to character-traits (see e,g, 655d5, 798d8-9).
45
chads, orthotes, aphelia (667b5-7).
* 669a7—b2—strongly adapted from Saunders's translation.
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 179
we are told, intolerable and blasphemous (655c8-d3, cf, 657el-3). It
leads to an appalling relativism in which any idea of 'correctness' in
music is lost and only what in fact pleases—and pleases the great mass
of onlookers—can count as 'good'.67 Against this 'theatrocracy' Plato
plausibly holds that something can be liked by the majority of a com-
munity and still not be good. To maintain standards he wishes to aban-
don the practice of majority voting in artistic contests, and institute as
judge a single person of strong character and insight who is qualified
to pronounce on the value of the performances and ignore the whims
of the masses. It is this judge who must like the performance: so in this
sense 'pleasure is indeed a proper criterion in the arts, but not the
pleasure experienced by anybody and everybody* (658e6—8). Plato is
in favour of pleasure as long as it is regulated.
Plato's anti-relativism here stems from a concern with ethical stand-
ards. Although he condemns the view that one can be a sufficient judge
of an art-form without specialist knowledge of it (670b8-c2) and wishes
his cultural leaders, the chorus of elders, to have such expertise, he then
says something curious about the author of the city's choral songs and
dances: 'The author [poietes} is more or less obliged to have a know-
ledge of rhythm and harmony, but there is no necessity for Mm to be
able to assess ... whether the imitation is a fine [kalon] one or not'
(670e4-6). It is the elders, with their knowledge of what is good, who
will guide the population towards artistic behaviour which is right from
an ethical point of view. Hence the author is not looked to as the final
arbiter of value: 'While we shall enlist poets and musical men, exploit-
ing their capacity for poetry, we shan't—with rare exceptions—put our
trust in their pleasures and desires.'68 Plato wisely sees that the choice
is not a straightforward one between pleasure and lack of pleasure.
Someone brought up on disciplined art will not be able to take pleasure
in a free-for-all, and vice versa, but it is no less pleasure that one feels
in either case (802c6—d5'|: What must prevail is not the question whether
pleasure is felt, but which practice makes better or worse people (802dS~
6). That means taking the policy-making power away from, artists them-
selves and putting it in the hands of a stolid censor of at least fifty years
of age.** Pleasure wiE then be takea in something properly ordered,

67
See 700el-4. 'Theatrocracy' is in the same passage, 701a3.
** 802t>6-c2, heavily adapted from Saundets's translation.
69
S02bl-3, Plato stipulates a minimum age for the controllers or authors of artistic
prodycts also at 7<S5al-2, 829c7. The interlocutors of the Laws keep emphasizing that
they are advanced in age. and that they are trying to construct tjje state from an old man's
point of view.
180 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play
which is not only aesthetically correct, bat imitative of, and productive
of, the good,
Plato imagines the poets of Ms state looking for guidance from its
legislators. They can claim to be inspired, but are aware that this is not
enough:

There is an ancient story, legislator, which we poets never tire of telling and
which all laymen confinn, to the effect that when a poet takes his seat on the
tripod of the Muse, he cannot control his thoughts. He's like a fountain where
the water is allowed to gush forth unchecked. His technem that of mimesis, and
so he is obliged, when he represents people with contrasting characters, to
contradict himself, and he doesn't know which of the opposing speeches con-
tains the truth. But for the legislator, this is impossible: he must not let Ms laws
say two different things on the same subject; his rale has to be 'one topic, one
doctrine'. (719cl-d3.)

With this passage we come full circle. As in the Ion, inspiration is a

condition in which one does not properly possess one's own faculties
and has no hope of knowing the truth. For the first and last time Plato
discusses inspiration and mimesis in a single passage.70 But he makes
no new points. Because the poet's techne is only that of image-making
(res technls ouses mimeseos ..., 719c5) he or she is necessarily distant
from the troth of the matters depicted—this differs little in essence
from the claim of the Ion or from the Republic's idea that "understand-
ing nothing but how to imitate, the poet gives colour to certain crafts
with words and phrases* {Rep. 601a4—6). Plato's fear of the ambiguity
and diversity of viewpoint inherent in mimesis is also as strong as it
ever was.
There are traces of a more conventional, less hostile attitude to in-
spiration in the Laws. 'Poets as a class are divinely gifted and are
inspired when they sing so that with the help of Graces and Muses they
frequently bit on how things really happen' (Laws 682a2—5). Similarly,
the old men of Plato's state may hope to have the help of a 'divine'
voice in telling suitably improving stories (66W3-4). The tone is re-
miniscent of the claim made for poetic inspiration in the Phaedrus.
But again Plato does not rehabilitate mimetic poetry on the grounds of
its inspirational origins. The tragedians who plead to enter the city are
described as 'divine men' (817a7-bl), bat they are still not permitted
to put on their performances, except in the unlikely event that what they
* As pointed out in Else (1986), 63.
 Myth, Madness, Pleasure, and Play 181
say is the same as, or better than, the doctrines on which the city itself
is founded {817d4-g),
And here Plato's citizens make a startling announcement to their
artistic visitors:
Most honoured guests, we are tragedians ourselves, and our tragedy is the finest
and best we can create. At any rate, our entire state has beeo constructed so as
to be a mimesis of the finest and noblest life—the very thing we maintain is
most genuinely a tragedy. So we are poets like yourselves, composing in the same
genre, and your competitors as artists and actors in the inest drama, which true
law alone has the natural power to 'produce' to perfection, (817bl-8.)

Plato steals the epithets 'tragedian* and "poet' and the language of
dramatic production, but this should not lead us to think that a kind of
poetry or a kind of art is here given approval. What is proposed is a
displacement of tragedy. Plato truly 'sets up the philosophical life . . ,
as an alternative to the life of the tragic hero, and ... makes the writing
of philosophy an alternative to the writing of tragic drama'.11 Since the
city of the Laws is, like its predecessor in the Republic, a city of words,
there is little difference between recommending the city's way of living
as an image of the best and finest life, and recommending in the same
terms the discourse which describes it, a fact on which Plato plays
when he recommends the Laws, the very text that he is writing, as the
best model to give to educators in the state. Plato's Athenian, stranger
says that all the words he has uttered in the dialogue 'as it seems to me,
not without a certain inspiration from the gods' (811c8—9) are the best
possible model of what is suitable in the curriculum, and show a sim-
ilarity with 'a sort of poetry' (811c9—10). This is Plato's provocative
way of saying that his own most sober thoughts must replace poetry as
an educational means. Philosophy is the greatest mousike12 only in the
sense that everything cultural or artistic must be shaped by, and subor-
dinated to, the disciplined life of rational enquiry into truth and the
good.
11
Halliwell (1984), 58, '* Phdo. 6la3-4.
 8

Plato and the Philosophy of Art

WITH Plato's critique before us, it is time to consider what a 'defence

of art* against it may amount to. How should we rise to the challenge
of Republic 10, and show that poetry and ail the arts are positively
important, that a life without them would be not just less diverse, but
genuinely diminished? In one sense to convince Plato of this is a redun-
dant exercise. Education for Mm will already involve impressing grace-
ful form and orderliness upon the soul, training us to feel pleasure
through the apprehension of sights and sounds, including some fictional
representations, but with a strong emphasis on good proportion, rhythm,
and harmony. The community will consolidate its values in works of
celebration and solemnity governed by the same considerations. So a
complete life for Plato will contain music, dance, poetry, and the visual
arts—perhaps more centrally than the lives of many people today—and
will have its foundations in cultivating a love of things with fine form
and appearance. Plato does not attack everything we call art, and would
be able to find great value in many works which we prize for their
formal beauty and spiritual profundity.
We cannot rest with this, however, if we recall the main lines of
Plato's hostility to certain existing art forms. He is against turning
dramatic enactment and fictional representation into ends pursued in
their own right, and against the kind of life that is motivated by these
ends. The first plank of his argument is that we acquire beliefs and
other important habits of attitude-taking from mimesis. Behaviour which
we enact impresses itself on us: we become like the fictional characters
we. impersonate, acquiring tendencies not merely towards their kinds of
action, but towards their gestures, inflections, moods—a whole insidi-
ous rhythm and harmony (or disharmony) that pervades our lives. Like-
wise, behaviour which is enacted for us in a drama influences our
beliefs, desires, tolerances, and the attitudes we adopt towards our own
ways of behaving. But dramatic representation activates our emotions
at a level beneath our conscious control. We are sophisticated enough
to make light of it, to rationalize the fiction as distant, unreal, and only
for enjoyment; but in all of us there is also something unsophisticated,
 Plato and the Philosophy of Art 183
the childish, wailing part, the part for which images are enough, which
loves to be carried along by the portrayed emotions and to indulge in
them without discrimination, Plato's allegation is that devoting oneself
to mimesis in an unregulated way endangers two essential distinctions;
between what is tree and what is a plausible appearance; and between
what is for the best and what is merely pleasing. The person who
pursues mimesis as an end.in itself becomes like the 'lower' part of
everyone's psyche, in not making these distinctions where it counts-
Plato holds that mimesis can be allied to a concern for truth, and that
it can be ethically and politically correct, that is, controlled by exter-
nally established standards to ensure that only appropriate paradigms
are pat forward. Then it is a powerful force for the good. But (contrary
to what many of us believe) the pursuit of the good and the unregulated
pursuit of mimesis cannot be yoked together into a stable or satisfactory
team. The pleasures of participating in mimesis are so great and so
deeply-rooted in the psyche that they will always be a potential danger.
If mimesis remains, only its subordination to the rational, ordered pur-
suit of truth and the good can make it acceptable. Plato's own portrayal
of philosophical dialogue and his mythical word-paintings exemplify
the right kind of subordination, and so do not fall foul of Ms critique,
Even where art is not mimetic in either of Plato's specialized senses
(dramatic or representational) he argues that the same subordination is
necessary. If not conscripted into the rational search for genuine moral
excellence, the arts will tend to aim at pleasure. They provide shapes,
sounds, colours (even 'musical colours') which gratify immensely in
their own right, seemingly without engaging the issue of harm or bene-
fit. Yet, for Plato, all such forms impress themselves deeply on the soul,
contributing to its balance, or grace, or subtlety, and ultimately to the
capacity to team in ordered fashion about matters of the greatest im-
port. Thus to leave pleasure unregulated and functioning as the single
arbiter over the arts initiates a gnawing away at all the institutions by
which we determine objective values. To be governed by pleasures,
even the 'harmless* ones, is to lose the power to evaluate one's own
preferences by any true measure, like the abhorrent 'democratic person*
of the Republic, who deliberately allows an equal weight to any and
every desire that occurs in the soul (see Rep. 559d-561e).
Thus, although Plato gives the arts a worthy place for reasons that
are not entirely alien to us, his arguments bite hard into many traditions
and assumptions of our own culture. Think of Shakespearean drama—
an artistic paradigm—where we appear to have a whole world before
184 Plato and the Philosophy of Art
us in image, and see deep into the heart of characters whose beliefs and
attachments are irreconcilable. This is unlikely to survive Plato's test.
The same will apply to a Thomas Hardy novel, a Puccini opera, or a,
narrative film such as Citizen Kane or The Godfather, mimetic, full of
fine images and thoughts, meticulously beautiful, presenting characters,
involving the emotions—but have those who enjoy these works sub-
jected them to an inquiry about moral truth or the author's right to
claim knowledge? Think also of non-mimetic, pleasure-giving displays:
what is the good in a Raehmaninov concerto, why value a -modern-day
0M/c«-player such as Charlie Parker? Many of our artistic practices look
vulnerable under Plato's interrogation. So, if- we imagine ourselves in
debate with him, something must be said,
Other elements in Plato's position may save us from having to pro-
vide a highly elaborate theory of art. We shall almost certainly wish to
reject his Principle of Specialization and the wider abhorrence of diver-
sity and experiment which it manifests. Nor are we likely to believe in
the theory of Forms, the conception of ethics as a sphere of 'higher'
knowledge of an1 eternal Good, the suppression of the emotions under
the rale of the rational logistikon, the idea that understanding must
satisfy the rigid requirements of a tecfme, or the proposition that pleas-
ures (unless 'pure* or 'correct') are likely to distract us from what is
rational and good. Take away these doctrines, and there remains an
open door through which the arts may walk and take up their place in
a worthwhile life. Enjoy sights and sounds for their own sake, experi-
ment and diversify, weep over fictions, let pictures hold you captive-
why not? We have no reason to think that this will prevent you from
learning about moral values or make you a deluded or deficient human
being. So perhaps the argument can. end there: we accept that these art
forms are long-standing (if frequently changing) conventions, and de-
fend tfiem simply as part of our way of life, as' 'what we do'. As
Aristophanes said:
The graceful thing
is not to sit
by Socrates and talk
and cast aside the Muse
and all the great matter
of the tragic art.1

1
Frog* 1491-5. Translation by Levi, 179.
 Plato and the Philosophy of Art 185
The arts are there, as independent cultural traditions; some may think
the wisest option is simply to embrace them for what they are, and not
impose an alien critique upon them. Philosophy of art can seem at best
irrelevant, at worst destructive of something precious. Since in practice
even aesfbeticians tend to to ep quiet and enjoy the performance, the
sarne stance may seem attractive as a lifelong policy. To open oneself
to the power of even a few significant artworks—^probably a different
set in each person's case—may be more effective than any general
theory of art a philosopher can devise,
It seems excessively evasive, however, to resort so soon to this re-
treat from philosophy—Plato shows-us, if nothing else, that what we
hold dear must not be exempt from all questioning. What we may
usefully point out, none the less, is that Plato demands an evaluation of
the arts from outside; instead of adopting the perspective of someone
who lives and breathes in an artistic culture, he aspires to stand some-
where else and ask 'What is the point of that?* No doubt many aspects
of human life can be made to appear strange if we pretend to abandon
all participation in them. Almost anything we habitually do and which
imbues our lives with sijpuficance can seem to- have that significance
removed if it is interrogated in a harsh enough light This will espe-
cially be the case with something so subtly ingrained in the psyche and
so definitive of culture as the arts appear to be. Bat we can refuse such
an inquisition; the over-examined life does not reveal why it is worth
living for a human being.
Is that sufficient, though? Surely there is a more positive account of
the arts to be given? Some thinkable strategies are unattractive here
because they are forms of capitulation to Plato. Firstly, there is the
thought that art is a gratuitous but harmless enjoyment of leisure time,
like breeding tropical fish: people like doing it and find it thoroughly
absorbing and it gives them plenty to talk about We. can imagine
someone urging that the value of art is of this kind. But to adopt this
line would not be- a 'reply to Plato', but an acquiescence, taking a single
Platonic notion—the arts as paidia, a pleasing pastime, not to be taken
seriously—and exaggerating it further. Secondly, in a similar category,
there is art as sheer instrumentality. Art, we might say, has its place
because it is socially useful, politically powerful, it trains us as-' good
citizens or as correctly class-conscious opponents of the society we
inhabit. Of course art has always had such uses, but if its very value is
going to be of this order, then we flow once again into a Platonic
stream. Nobody much likes Plato's political ends, but if we say that
186 Plato and the Philosophy of Art
art's value is as a political or social means, we shall not be disagreeing
with him fundamentally about art.
My third unattractive strategy is one which has often seemed the
most promising: the view of art as the supreme route to a knowledge
Plato thought reserved for philosophy—art as uncoveier of eternal Ideas,
or some similar 'higher* reality. This view has a long history, starting
with Plotinus and moving through Renaissance and Romantic guises,
among others. At the beginning of this century a historian of literary
criticism could write that 'some form of the Ideal Theory is indeed
necessary to the critic; the beauty of literature is hardly accessible,
except to one who is more or less a Platonist',2 while a Plato scholar
was firmly convinced that 'the famous lines of Wordsworth on King's
College Chapel "They dreamt not of a perishable home,! Who thus
could build," are more truly and characteristically Platonic than Plato's
attack upon poetry and painting*,3 Thinking in this way, commentators
tried to save Plato from disgrace by discerning their own view of art in
the Platonic writings themselves. I have argued repeatedly that such a
reading is erroneous. I suspect that anyone who is not already "more or
less a Platonist' about literature will find no hints that Plato is one
either. However, even-if Plato did not think so, it is still at the back of
our minds that the artist is concerned with uncovering truth and may
have special cognitive access to something eternal and universal. So
why is the Platonist reply not the most effective reply te Plato?
There are two reasons. Firstly, it requires us to believe that a realm
of Forms or some 'higher reality' exists, and that the mind has some
peculiar cognitive access to it. Accepting a metaphysics as extravagant
as Plato's, and an epistemology as mysterious, is too high a price to pay
for the benefit of correcting his view of art. Indeed, our account will be
all the worse if it is required to postulate knowledge of eternal Forms
solely in order to give a value to art, when so many other areas of
human endeavour, from science to public administration, give us little
or no call to. believe in such entities. That is making art too special for
its own good. Secondly, as a positive strategy it would be unappealing,
since it would in effect collude in a Platonic subordination of the arts
to philosophy, making them worthy only by borrowing the latter's quest
for knowledge of the absolute.4 The two reasons combine: since not
even philosophy understands itself any longer as a quest for eternal

2
Saintstary, 18, * Adam, ii. 393.
4
Cf. Danto's view (1986,16) that Hegel's defence of art has the'effect of patronizing
it as 'philosophy in one of its. self-alienated forms'.
 Plato and the Philosophy of Art 187
Forms, we should not force the same implausible task on the arts in-
stead. This leaves it open that art is in some way concerned with truth.,
but there is no call to construe truth on the Platonic model.
Can we defend what Plato attacks by relying on the concept of art?
The modem reader may look at Homer, tragedy, mimetic painting,
florid dithyramhic performances, and the more adventurous musical
modes, and think 'If only Plato had conceived of all these practices as
art, he would not have objected to them!' Unfortunately, this line of
thinking leads us in no clear direction, Plato lacks (as I pot it) the
concept of Art with a capital A, but he knows quite well what he is
talking about; we, with the concept, do not. We do not know what art
is, or at any rate what value we are attributing to something by calling
it art. Consider first what a farrago the concept is. Even from the outset,
when eighteenth-century Europeans began to place the diverse activ-
ities of poetry, painting, music, sculpture, and architecture firmly to-
gether under the common heading 'the fine arts', distinguishing them
thereby both from crafts and sciences, the principle of unity was al-
ready in doubt: either they all 'imitated beautiful nature', or they aimed
at pleasurable entertainment and could be dubbed the 'polite* or 'ele-
gant arts*,5 The latter idea was surely the more fruitful: it led to the
modern elaboration of 'the aesthetic' as an identifiable area of value.
Art could then be understood in terms of the aesthetic. But there have
been numerous subsequent attempts to provide a definition of what
makes such things art and other things not. To use the concept 'art'
nowadays is to inherit salient chunks of this history, but not necessarily
to possess a concept with a philosophical edge clear enough for a
response to Plato.
For example, do we concentrate on the eighteenth-century ideas that
art has pleasure as its object and requires a cultivated taste to appreci-
ate? Or do we, in a more Romantic vein, locate the key element in the
mental powers of the artist from which the work of art issues, dignified
perhaps by the title "genius'? Some have seen art as essentially a type
of activity, in which a person crystallizes Ms or her emotions,6 whereas
others have seen it more as a privileged set of objects whose form
moves the receptive perceiver to a certain kind of response.7 Both of

s
See Kristeller (1952). Kristelier (1951) is also required for the full narrative,
6
I think here especially of ColBngwood (1938).
1
Merely two examples: "There must be some one quality without which a work of art
cannot exist . , , Only one answer seems possible—significant form, ... I mean a com-
bination of lines and colours ... that moves me aesthetically' (Bell, 87—9). "Art is most
simply and most usually defined as an attempt to e*eate pleasing forms" (Read, 16).
188 Plato and the Philosophy of Art
these views set themselves in opposition to the "imitation of nature*
view (traditionally regarded as the oldest definition of art, and of course
claiming Plato himself as ancestor), so that in the earlier part of this
century it was customary to decry representation as inessential, in
favour of expression or form.8 Another familiar variable in theories of
art is whether art is or should be morally significant. That pair of
extremist contemporaries, Tolstoy and Oscar Wilde, tend to be invoked
to point up this debate, saying on the one hand that true art must
transmit sound moral feelings from person to person or be worthless,
and on the other that art is 'immoral' and aims at 'emotion for the sake
of emotion*, having nothing to do with anything else in life.9 Probably
few agree with either extreme—but they illustrate the great diversity
with which the essential point of art has been conceived. Revisionists,
in the hope of making the concept begin to be clear, have been over-
rathless in ruling certain generally accepted forms •as not art 'proper*.
If art is 'significant form*, many representational paintings need not
count among the definienda. If art is 'expression of emotion*, works
which are calculated merely to arouse emotions such as amusement or
patriotic feeling or religious awe, need not be art 'properly speaking'.
If art is 'transmission of moral and religious feeling", the opposite
applies. Fundamental antagonists seem curiously agreed about the gen-
eral kinds of thing which fall within the range of the term 'art', which
are more or less the beaux arts of the eighteenth century. But their
stories are unhelpfully diverse.
Recognizing at last that the various things called art in modem times
share no single obvious set of properties, philosophical aesthetics has
moved into a new era. Writers in aesthetics fight shy of the question
what gives art its value, because they no longer seriously believe that
there is an elusive essence—the 'one common quality', the nature of
'art proper*-—to dispute about With such a view, no unanimous decla-
ration about the value of art can be expected. A still stronger line,
impressed by successive waves of me avant-garde in this century, says
that the whole point about the concept of art is that it is thoroughly
revisable, open-ended, allowing for radical change in practice. The
activities of Duchamp and Ms successors down to today's conceptual,
performance, and installation artists have widened the understanding of
what can be art, and posed fundamental questions about how it comes

8
See. Cotlingwtwd (1938), 42-6; Bell, 91 ff.
9
Tolstoy, esp. 49-54; Wilde, 380.
 Plato and the Philosophy of Art 189
to be so. Some writers have resorted to institutional and historical
definitions10 where art is simply a classificatory term; that which bears
a certain relation to the actual institutions of making, performing, con-
suming, and learning about paintings, plays, musical pieces, literature,
is art; or art is simply that which intentionally bears some specifiable
relation to what in the past was accepted as art. Such theories claim that
the only fact about art as such is that it has been classified as art—and
they do not pretend to tel us what is of value in having things so
classified. Nothing prevents as asking what is important aboat the in-
stitutions we have, but again we may expect only a shifting answer, an
answer responsive to historical change and unable to deal in essences,
What institutional theories do not tell us is whether institutions which
are called 'art' arise or persist because things of genuine value are
produced or discovered within them,"
We can proceed, then, only if we resist- our own Socratic inclination
to demand a single, common characteristic in answer to the question
'What is .. ,?* The concept 'art* will yield us no straightforward reply
of the form "Art is .,.' or "The value of art is ., .*, It is a concept which
can seem to stand for the perpetual possibility of change—the last
thing to fit into the cities of the Republic or the Laws—or merely a
permissive empty space travelling through history, to be filled variously
according to circumstance: now ethical, now beautiful, now soothing,
now harrowing, now truthful, now superficial, now deliberately
ambivalent. Art is what Plato would call pantodapos: it is manifold,
capable of being anything' and everything. He would regard this as an
admission of .defeat, an acknowledgement of the very disunity he puts
his finger on: people say that the arts are fine because they give pleas-
ure, but they also say that Horner gives a profound and comprehensive
education. (They also, remember, have the quite unfounded thought
that to make fine poems which give pleasure qualifies you as an ethical
teacher.) Now art itself proves to be fickle. Question it on its 'moral
seriousness and it becomes, full of superficial beauty; praise its charms
and it pretends to be deep. Is its point to be a likeness of reality, or a
study in balance and form, harmony, line, and colour? Should it please,
challenge, or change us? Art begins to look worse than the person in
Republic 3 who becomes 'double' through following two masters. Never-
theless, whatever defence we give must acknowledge the abundant

10
Two much-discussed attempts are Dickie, and Levinson,
11
Cf. Wollheim, 160 ff.
190 Plato and the Philosophy of Art
diversity of the arts, and so must reject any insistence on a monolithic
answer,
Thus far our strategy is one of resistance; evasion of over-intense
inquiry from outside our own way of life, and refusal of the assumption
that a plurality of answers is a defeat. Resistance can be undertaken in
a more radical spirit, however, resulting in what may be called an 'anti-
philosophy* strategy. There is truth in the idea that Plato had to attack
mimetic poetry in order to found his philosophy at all: he had to make
room for the distinctions between truth and appearance, goodness and
pleasure, or goodness and mere opinions of goodness. The dialectical
method and what it valued could not be assimilated into a theatroeraey,
so a radical break was required. Once philosophy has established an
absolute dominance, it is easy for it to regard the arts as alien or
puzzling. Plato is too early in the process to be. other than hostile; later
(the narrative is that of Danto12) philosophy becomes confident enough
to welcome the arts as something of a domestic pet. A defender of
the arts might seek to exploit this story and reverse the direction of
dominance. Philosophy—at least in Plato's conception of it—may itself
seem the questionable act of violence against which one roust rebel in
order to restore art to its proper value.
This is one aspect of the influential, diagnosis given by Nietzsche in
The Birth of Tragedy, Socrates, the archetypal, philosopher, whose 'logi-
cal urge* was 'absolutely prevented from turning against itself',13 looks
at tragedy with his 'one peat Cyclops eye', and of course finds 'Some-
thing rather unreasonable ... so motley and manifold that it could not
but be repugnant to a sober mind, and a daDgerous tinder for sensitive
and susceptible souls.'14 The-Platonic dialogue, Nietzsche writes, 'was, as
it were, the barge on which the shipwrecked ancient poetry saved herself
with all her children: crowded into a narrow space and timidly submit-
ting to the single pilot, Socrates, they now sailed into a new world.*15
If the archetypal philosopher, as he stands scrutinizing tragedy for its
rational justification, is the very rock on which it is wrecked, we may
conclude that the antagonism between tragedy and philosophy is genu-
ine, and that attempts to neutralize the "ancient quarrel* are misguided.16
12
Danto (1986), 1-21, '3 Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy, sect. 13 (88).
14 I5
Ibid., sect. 14 (89), Ibid 90-1.
16
Cf.: 'art, in which precisely the lie is sanctified, and the wilt to deception has a good
conscience, is much more fundamentally opposed to the ascetic ideal than is science: this
was instinctively sensed by Plato, the greatest enemy of art Europe has yet produced.
Plato versus Homer; that is the ccanplete, the genuine antagonism* (Genealogy afMarah,
iii, sect. 25 (589-90)).
 Plato and the Philosophy of Art 191
In Nietzsche's story, the Socratic'cultural force measures tragedy against
the standard of intelligibility17 and thereby kills it, because tragedy's
excellence lies not in its appealing to the rational mind, but in a fusion
of the Apollonian and the Dionysian, the radiant image and the terri-
fying enactment of the individual's destruction. The Apollonian image
of the hero is a dream, an appearance, whose function is to amaze, and
to transmute into something bearable the Dionysian glimpse into the
abyss which the drama as a whole presents. Plato's suspicions are
accurate, on this view; tragedy is wizardry, it trades in Traum and
Rausch—dream and intoxication. The later Nietzsche builds on this
opposition between philosophy and art. Art, for him, is a set of fabri-
cations—'we possess art lest we perish of the truth'1*—and Plato must
be hostile to it because of his all-governing aspiration towards troth.
Now Nietzsche urges us to to ist that aspiration, which for him manifests
the 'ascetic ideal5, a longing 'to get away from all appearance, change,
becoming, death';** if we become suspicious of that allegedly life-
denying ideal, then we must be suspicious about oar own "will to truth*:
'the value of truth most ... be experimentally catted into question',20
It is salutary to reflect mat the status and origin of the Platonic
philosophical enterprise is not above suspicion. Plato's own use of
mimesis, myth, and poetic language suggests an awareness of the dif-
ficulty of self-justification:21 the life devoted to rational enquiry into the
truth is not defended simply by engaging in rational enquiry, but has to
be pictured, acted out, and metaphorically conveyed. However, to adopt
a radically anti-philosophical stance—trying to undermine Plato by
posing the question "Why is truth so important to you?*-—generates at
best an uneasy pluralism: we dare not regard either philosophy or the
arts as a secure enough platform from which to assess the value of the
other. Our questions about the arts themselves are, meanwhile, left
hanging. So instead of merely refusing complicity with the Platonic
mode of inquiry, we must attempt a more positive account of the arts.
The emissaries charged with defending mimetic and pleasure-giving
poetry arrive in the model city-—what do they say? "Philosophy as Plato
conceives it is naturally antithetical to the arts, their nature and value
is diverse and difficult to capture, and one should look at them only

17 l?
Birth of Tragedy, sect. 12 (82-4). The Will to Power, aphorism 822.
M
" Genealogy, iii, sect. 28 (598-9). Ibid, sect 24 (589).
21
Cf. Gri&wold (1988), who understands the 'ancient quarrel' as concerning the
fundamental viability of philosophy itself, and fads that some of Plato's modern
critics, including Nietzsche, lead us to an 'irreducible pluralism' (see esp. 152 ff.).
192 Plato and the Philosophy of Art
from within the-cultural life in which they play a significant role.'—A
preamble, but surely there is more? I shall propose two lines of thought,
which I call the aesthetic defence and the cognitive/ethical defence.
First let us try to develop the aesthetic defence in outline. Plato's
very complaints that the arts are concerned with pleasure, appearance,
and play rather than fostering moral goodness or extending our know-
ledge, allow room for the thought that their point is, as we would say,
aesthetic, and so not reducible to anything whose point is moral or
cognitive. Although Plato talks of fine things which give pleasure with-
out any other benefit, he does not envisage a proper defence of the arts
emerging from this notion. To move to a convincing theory of the
aesthetic, we must try to specify a .kind of response, be it pleasure or
satisfaction or liking, which is sui generis, irreducible to other forms
of response, and possessing a unique value for the person who has it.
Following Kant, we might suggest that this is a response to the ex-
perienced perceptual form of an object, and one which is not grounded
on any desires we may have towards the object. The Kantian notion is
disinterested pleasure, and although both 'disinterested' and 'pleasure'
are terms liable to be disputed, we can take this as a model for the kind
of response on which the aesthetic defence is to build. This aesthetic
way of responding enables us to make a distinctive kind of judgement,
which cannot be reduced to any other kind. Aesthetic judgements do
not assert that an object is morally good, or that it fulfils a purpose, nor
do they state a knowledge-claim about it. They are not based on the
kind of expert-principle which Plato sought in the ideal techne. Never-
theless they have standards of correctness of their own. They do not
merely assert a subjective like or dislike, but are judgements which
claim validity for the whole community. The reasons 1 have for my
judgement are also reasons for others. There can thus be standards of
aesthetic value to which a whole community in principle assents.
This framework will allow us to reply to Plato on two specific points.
He alleges that artists, if allowed their freedom, will attempt to instil
pleasure in an audience in a wholly indiscriminate manner, pandering
to whatever preferences they may have. And, secondly, he claims that
the arts lack any proper autonomous measure of success or failure; they
can be measured by external standards for truth or moral value, but to
rely on the pleasure they give is to have no real standard of judge-
ment—the poet must look for this to the lawgiver or philosopher. With
some conception of a specifically aesthetic response we can reply to the
first point by saying that the artist need not be out to cause pleasure in
 Plato and the Philosophy of Art 193
an. unqualified manner. Not all pleasures are aesthetic pleasures. Enjoy-
ing something which one finds aesthetically good can (in principle)
be distinguished from enjoying something for sentimental reasons, or
because it arouses acquisiti¥eness or sexual feeling or plays on one's
prejudices. Because of this differentiation of the aesthetic response, it
becomes possible to distinguish propagandistie, pornographic, or merely
entertaining works from those whose point is aesthetic. On the second
point we can say this: It is true that success and failure in the arts
cannot be measured by the kind of objective standard required by a
techne. An aesthetic judgement is based not on generalizable principles
of correctness, but on the particular response which an observer has,
But there are, nevertheless, genuine aesthetic standards. AH aesthetic
judgement claims that the work is a good or bad one, going beyond a
mere report that some subjective response has occurred. The judgement
is shareable. A community can come to agree that a work is aesthetic-
ally fine or aesthetically poor, by agreeing in their aesthetic response to
it, and by discourse which fixes the reasons for that response. So al-
though the aesthetic domain is in a senseunprincipled (alogon pragma),-
it is not without standards. Ait can have genuine standards which need
not be moral or cognitive.
There is no doubt that the aesthetic defence fills a lacuna in the
Platonic picture. Not to acknowledge that there are aesthetic responses
(however they are to be theoretically described), that some things are
valued because we can respond aesthetically to them, and that some
judgements about the arts are judgements of aesthetic value which purport
to be communal rather than merely subjective, is to miss a great deal.
To give but one example, the elaborate world of musical performance,
reception, criticism, and education would be unintelligible to someone
who did not believe in the existence of aesthetic responses, judgements,
and values.
Any renewed Platonic challenge must now be cast thus: if aesthetic
value is irreducible to moral or cognitive value, and if the point of the
arts is their providing aesthetic value—what 'is then so good about
having the arts in our lives? Or, to pot it bluntly, what is the value of
having works with aesthetic value? This is a strange question, But it is
important to see why. For the proponent of the aesthetic defence may
be tempted by the following analysis: 'Plato, in demanding that the arts
always contribute towards making his citizens healthier and wiser and
Ms community more cohesive, was guilty of instrunnentalism—of seek-
ing a value for works of art only in some further end to which they
194 Plato and the Philosophy of Art
could serve as a means. Adopting the aesthetic defence against Plato
means demarcating a unique and irreducible species of value. If we
then go on to ask for the value of haviag works with aesthetic value,
we lapse back into instromentalism and fail to give an account in which
aesthetic value is autonomous,*
However, the opposition between autonomous and instrumental
value here is too simple. A distinction can be drawn between evaluations
of works of art and apologies for them,22 The former are answers to the
question 'What makes this, a good painting or tragedy?* and the latter
to the question 'What makes art a good thing to have in one's life?* If
we assume that answers to the first kind of question will be evaluations
in aesthetic terms, then since presumably nobody wants an apology for
bad art, the second question will indeed amount to the following: 'What
makes art which is aesthetically good a good thing to have in one's
life?' The question is strange not because it misconceives aesthetic
value as a form of instrumental good, but because it strays again into
scrutinizing aesthetic practices from an external, alienated standpoint.
By contest, fully to imagine the absence of the aesthetic from some-
one's life would give sufficient insight into that life's impoverishment,
and render the question practically unaskable. A total non-aesthete,
who never listens with pleasure to any music, never reads a poem or
novel, never visits an art gallery, never produces anything 'artistic*, and
takes no interest whatever in the pleasing appearance, order, or struc-
ture of any part of the world he or she experiences, would arguably be
deficient in one of the characteristic aspects of human life. It only
remains to point out that the most frequent and fruitful exposure to the
aesthetic is gained by participating in the many traditions of poetry,
drama, music, and painting which already exist. They are one obvious
way to remain in touch with one of the characteristic aspects of one's
own humanity.
The proponent of the aesthetic defence is thus drawn into the vertigi-
nous feat of arguing that art, as the prime arena of communally aesthetic
value, is an absolute good in itself. Kant's thinking here is suggestive
but difficult: making judgements of beauty supposedly exemplifies a
supersensible harmony between our fundamental cognitive abilities and
nature, and, by manifesting our freedom in the phenomenal realm enables
us to reconcile our own place in nature with our status as rational
n
The point and the terminology are taken from Diffey, 165 ff.
 Plato and the Philosophy of Art 195
23
moral agents. This has first to be shown to apply to art in particular,
and thea to be rendered intelligible. The same applies to Hegel's view
that the value of art is explained by a fundamental human need for self-
realization ('man's rational impulse to exalt the inner and outer world
into a spiritual consciousness for himself, as an object in which he,
recognizes his own self*24). Is this difficult notion a tree reflection of
reality, and to what extent is the general need for self-realization one
whose fulfilment requires art as such? We may look to the idea that art
presents in sensuous terms the reconciled opposition of particular and
universal,25 or to Schiller's notion of the aesthetic as the site of freedom
or play which unifies the sensuous and the intellectual and realizes the
human potential to the fullest.2* On the way to making such thoughts
perspicuous, we shall have discovered that the task before us is not dial
of clearing up some quirky blind spot of Plato's, local to what we call
aesthetics. Only by confronting Plato's notion of human excellence on
the pandest scale can the aesthetic defence hope to succeed.
The aesthetic defence, again calling on Kant and Schiller,27 also has
on its side the argument that a culture depends on the aesthetic, and that
our being fully human depends, on our belonging to a culture: only if
we can aim to converge in judgements that' are made in a realm of
freedom are we fully human. If this is true, then even though particular
individuals.may turn their backs on the aesthetic to a greater or lesser
extent, their other ethical, social or cognitive ends depend on their
Eving in a culture in which artworks are produced and evaluated aes-
thetically. It will, again, be quite difficult to determine whether this
elevated claim is one we should believe. If it is, the aspirations embod-
ied in Plato's own thinking may be owed to his belonging to the culture
of tragedians, rhapsodes, and the lovers of sights and sounds—and that
would be an impressive point to be able to make in the debate we are
imagining,
Suppose that we have a convincing story about the fundamental
importance of the aesthetic value of art, what would it have achieved
against Plato? He might (let us imagine) concede that aesthetic evaluation
is autonomous, and agree that engaging in some activities of aesthetic
value is a species of absolute good for any human being, and that only
in an aesthetically enriched culture can other human endeavours be
23 n
Cf. -Savile, 103. Hegel, 36.
25
Ibid 59-61. * Schiller, esp. 94-109.
27
Here I am assisted espeeialy by Hampshire (1960) and (1989).
196 Plato and the Philosophy of Art
realized. He would not need to change his views radically: recall the
love of beauty, order, and harmony which he would inculcate into Ms
citizens in Republic 3 and Lows.28 But his critique is not necessarily
silenced. His line will still be that the aesthetic cannot be allowed to
dominate in a healthy life, whether individual or communal. The aes-
thetic, he will say, cannot be that around which our lives are structured,
and it cannot alone set the standard for art. Troth and the good, once
our culture can grasp them as distinct ends, are more important. So
although we will now have reason to recognize the aesthetic as a self-
contained value, and reason not to expunge it from our ideal commun-
ity (as Plato never really wished to do anyway), we will still have reason
to regulate its particular instances in the light of our other values. And
particular instances were always the point: if tragic poetry or some
other form of mimesis-—irrespective of its being a fine instance of
aesthetic value—is, by its nature and by its characteristic psychological
effects, detrimental to the search for truth and the good, then we should
still be concerned not to let it rule in our souls, but ward off its
powerful spell with argumentative remedies. Plato's arguments for
this appraisal of tragedy still stand awaiting a reply.
'The total non-aesthete might be ethically and cognitively impover-
shed. Lacking all propensity to respond disinterestedly to pattern or
order, he or she would arguably have a diminished capacity to under-
stand his or her fellow humans, or indeed the world: he or she might
be less able to reason, to do science, history, mathematics, or philoso-
phy, Plato could concur: he never advocated or even conceived of a
total non-aesthete. But how clear is it that these other endeavours would
be hampered by one's failing to confront beautiful works of artl The
claim that someone involved with aesthetically valuable art would be
morally better than someone not so involved is questionable. It could
turn out to be an empirical truth that those with their aesthetic sensibili-
ties directed specifically towards the arts tend to have a better ail-round
responsiveness in human or ethical terms. (It could turn out not to be
the case.) But if so, we should not know how to explain the correlation,
since it is possible that having some generalized human responsiveness
disposes one well towards the arts, and not the other way round.29
Concern with the aesthetic in art might be a symptom of being morally
sensitive; Kant thought something parallel when he wrote that an interest
a
Halliwei (1991, 330} suggests that in Rep, 3 (400c-402a, 403c) Plato has in effect
accepted something congenial to Schiller's notion of an aesthetic culture.
29
Also a point rnatte by Diffcy, 1,14,
 Plato and the Philosophy of Art 197
in contemplating natural beauty 'is at least indicative of a temper of
mind favourable to the moral feeling* and. requires that someone• 'has
previously set his interest deep in the foundations of the morally good*.30
(Note, incidentally, that here interest in art is excluded from such a
connection with moral goodness.) We might suggest that the art-free
life must lack something in understanding of human psychology, and
that art is of value in helping us to know the nature of courage and
justice, or in understanding the intricacies of the ways people think and
feel. But would art make this contribution in virtue of having aesthetic
value? We have explained the aesthetic in a more or less Kantian way,
in terms of non-moral, non-cognitive judgements that are founded on
disinterested responses to objects perceived. Aesthetic value is -some-
thing like beauty, on this account. But, although the two may often be
found together, it is not clear that a concern for beauty in art improves
one's understanding of human behaviour.
Thus we are led to the second- line of defence, which I have called
the cognitive/ethical defence. It will not be concerned to dispute whether
the value of tragedy and its kindred arts is aesthetic. It need make no
use of that concept at all, as (on a plausible reading31) Aristotle does not
in his reply to Plato. Instead, it undertakes to show by a direct route that
tragedy and other fictional representations of human behaviour make a
fundamental contribution to our ethical life and to our knowledge. What
kind of knowledge, though? It seems unlikely that there is class of true
propositions which only artworks can put us in touch with—artworks
could be at best the most effective means of coming to know them. But
there is a further difficulty here: if we ask which prepositional truths a
particular drama or novel teaches us, answers tend to be either banal or
implausible.32 Even supposing that we manage to cull some useful piece
of wisdom (such as, perhaps: "When retiring as head of a family or
government, it is unwise to yield your authority too early to whoever
puts up the best show of affection*)—we ought to woader whether the
dramatist could not have conveyed that proposition in less labour-
intensive fashion. The conclusion should be, not that there is nothing
30
Kant, §42, 157, 160 (my emphasis}..
" Well presented by Halliwell (1991), 339-42.
12
As Stolnitz illustrates, by considering Pride and Prejudice, (with its 'psychological
troth": "Stubborn pride and ignorant prejudice keep attractive people apart*) and Crime
and Punishment {'Punishment for a crime frightens a criminal less lhan we think because
the criminal himself demands it'). These are probably truths, in that what they describe
happens, but the value of the respective works does not He in their putting us in mind
of these propositions.
198 Plato and the Philosophy of Art
to learn from drama, but that not all learning is the mastery of true
propositions.
The 'knowledge' that we may more plausibly claim for tragedy is an
understanding of human behaviour through imagining possible human
behaviour.and being impressed by its emotional significance. This is a
kind of understanding whose attainment is an ethical gain, and part of
what being a good person is. So the point is not that tragedy has two
valoes, one cognitive and one ethical: rather that it enables us to attain
a kind of .knowledge in a way which is ethically valuable,33 We are
required to disagree with Plato over the nature of ethical understanding,
affirming that we learn best when allowed to explore ideas of jealousy,
lust, stupidity, confusion, and despair as they affect passages of
people's lives, not when kept on a restricted diet of artificially rational
paradigms. Secondly, we must disagree with Plato over the nature of
mimesis. In a nutshell, the claim will be that fictional representation
involves the creative use of the imagination, that the imagination, by
showing us how it would feel to be a person in multifarious circum-
stances which we will never in fact occupy, helps us eventually learn
how to feel,34 and that learning to feel in just this way is an irreplace-
ably valuable part of ethical development.
For all Ms imaginative writing, Plato does not do justice to imagina-
tion's role in the human make-up,35 Yet how basic it is to entertain a
thought about how the world is not but could be—to compose an in-
telligible picture or story about intelligible people who do not exist. Not
to imagine would be exceedingly strange for a member of the human,
species. Aristotle corrects Plato in devastating manner with the simple
utterance that 'man differs from the other animals in being most
mimetic*; imaginative production is something kataphusin—in accord-
ance with our nature.56 That we are all natural and skilful imaginers is,
however, something Plato appears, or affects, to overlook. Again and
again we have seen him not grasping the point of representation in the
arts; a painter makes a bed which strangely happens not to be a real one,

33
I have found Nussbaum (1990) suggestive here (see esp. 23-9).
34
I am tntoeneed here by Scroton (unpublished): 'We learn by example what to feel,
and what not to feel. Involved in this process incidentally, is another kind of knowledge:
knowing what it's like. Shakespeare's King Lear teaches us what it's like to undergo the
extremes of ingratitude, by enabling us to imagine what it's like. What we acquire is not
propositions! knowledge of some "subjective" fact, but familiarity with a state of mind."
55
His critique of drama seems indeed to be 'rooted ultimately in a fear of imagiaa-
tion"— Halliwell (1992), 69.
y
> Poetics 1448b4-20.
 Plato and the Philosophy of Art 199
Homer mysteriously tries to 'persuade us* that he is someone else,
audiences and actors weep and shudder at distressing events which they
perversely enjoy. Why not say that they are using their imaginations
and making or enjoying a representation? As Aristotle's other well-
known dictum has it, 'objects which in themselves we view with pain,
we delight to contemplate when reproduced in a likeness with minute
fidelity*.37 Plato recognizes that people tend to think pleasure in mimesis
is a good thing for its own sake. But he denies the possibility that we
both benefit from experiencing the contents of our imaginings and at
the same time happily recognize them as only imaginings.
Plato thinks that taking pleasure in representations of actions is never
clearly distinguished front approving actions of the same kind in real
life. So poets who aim to benefit their audience ought not to write about
baseness, excessive grief, or unpunished injustice, because these will
simply escape beyond the conines of the image. What we enact and see
enacted we will become ourselves; whether the enactment is in or out
of a story makes, for him, no difference. It is as if drama has no
containing skin around it, so that despicable things leak out and are
soaked up by the defenceless psyche,38 The traih, however, is that
imaginings interact in a much more subtle way with other thoughts and
emotions. We exercise our full understanding on Thebes, Oedipus, and
Jocasta. Although they are only an image, our (funking about them is
no less systematic or fruitful than our thought about the real world. In
this way imagination is not a wholly separate capacity from those of
ordinary belief-formation and reasoning, which is why there is no bar-
rier to our learning about real actions, motivations, and conflicts through
watching a drama. But on the other hand, we are not always at the mercy
of whatever appears before us. We can—effortlessly, kata phusin—-
approve the representation without simply approving or copying what
is represented. That is the first massive achievement of Aristotle's theory
as a reply to Plato.
The second is the hint that tragedy's engagement with our emotions
is both an essential and a beneficial feature of it. It is difficult to know
exactly what to say here. Somehow our feelings for the situation of

37
Ibid. 1448blO-ll,
31
Dante (1987, 4) uses the same metaphor for the opposite view from Plato's: "The
concept of art interposes between life and literature a very tough membrane, which
insures the incapacity of the artist to inflict moral harm so long as it is recognized that
what he is doing is art.* I owe this quote to Nehaaias (1991), 350. See also Nehamas
(1988) on the 'transparency' of representation in Plato.
200 Plato and the Philosophy of Art
Oedipus are not cordoned off from the rest of OUT feelings; they are
not-mere pretence, for 'fearing* and 'pitying* here really can—as Plato
over-insists—affect our attitudes in ordinary life. And yet these are not
straightforwardly real emotions, since they cannot' initiate action towards
Oedipus, and are not unbearably painful to experience. We are on the
edge between safety and vulnerability here: safe because we handle
mimesis with ease, vulnerable because an understanding of the scene's
bearing on our own emotional life is forced upon us. Plato would see
this doubleness as bearing out his worst fears about tragedy, but the
cognitive/ethical defence seeks to transform this very feature into a
positive one.
On this account artistic mimesis is continuous both with the life in
which we act and suffer, and with the educative aims of other forms
of discourse—the sermon, the philosophical treatise. It presents us with
an opportunity to learn how to live, what to seek, what comforts not
to expect. It differs, however, both from ordinary life and from these
other forms of discourse. As against life, it.offers both objectivity, and
intimacy without predicament, Flint Schier is helpful here;
In real life close knowledge entails intimacy, but intimacy entails predicament;
to be inward with someone's feelings usually entails that we begin to care
about those feelings ... but then when we care about them, we naturally want
to do- something. ... In the theatre, we can achieve an intimate knowledge of
characters without really finding ourselves sharing their predicament, ... But
there is a second advantage for art over reality which I think is even more
important than the disinterest of the spectator: that is the disinterest or objec-
tivity of the artist. Obviously, if someone is in the throes of agony they will not
so conduct themselves that we will be provided with a maximally acute sense
of their distress. Real distress is often much less powerfully expressed than
theatrical distress—partly because people rarely want to stare (heir own situ-
ation in the face. ... The great artist can escape this restriction; and therefore
his characters will speak and act in a much more revealing way than would an
actual victim of disaster.3*

We may add that actual victims tend either to perish or to carry away
with them some kind of impairment. To survive as an enriched spec-
tator in a real version of Lear's Britain would be inhuman.
As against life, then, tragic mimesis offers us clear vision and free-
dom to think. As against the sermon or philosophical treatise, it offers
us not generalities but the image of humanity in the particularity of

K
Schier (1989), 24.
 Plato and the Philosophy of Art 201
action. And Plato was right: part of us must submit to the image with
a trusting, uncritical sensitivity to the feelings it portrays—this submis-
sion helps us begin to learn what it feels like to suffer at the very limits
of endurance, to inflict suffering, or to allow it to happen. In that worn-
out metaphor, drama 'brings home* the truth. It feeds into our under-
standing of our own lives at a level which mere argument and exhortation
cannot penetrate. This, in outline, is the cognitive/ethical defence. Its
strength is that it combines an end—learning how to live a better life—<-
that Plato could not fault, with an account of why mimesis is a uniquely
valuable means to it Neither philosophy nor the events of life itself
could replace the satisfying and natural combination of emotional in-
volvement and dispassionate contemplation that mimesis of human action
has to offer.
We have now prepared two different replies for our defenders of the
arts. Art has aesthetic value, which is an important human achievement
irreducible to other values. Art presents to us images from which we
learn in a unique way about ethical matters. Both seem true. Aesthetic
value and cognitive/ethical value are compatible—many artworks ob-
viously score on both counts. Nor can these two kinds of value always
be isolated from one another: we know that relations between form
and content, for example, are various and complicated. But can either
defence be collapsed whoEy within the other? I would argue not. One
reason for pressing the two accounts together would be the thought that
the pleasure in representations and the pleasure in beauty are of a kind,
or, as Roger Scrtton puts it, 'interest in representation is a special case
of aesthetic interest*.40 The ease with which Aristotle has so often been
co-opted into- the aesthetic defence suggests that such a view is wide-
spread. But although the cognitive/ethical defence claims that fictional
representation has the advantage of 'distancing* us from real-life pre-
dicament (Schier talks of the 'disinterestedness* of artist and spectator
as a cognitive/ethical benefit), it makes DO mention of aesthetic judge-
ment or beauty. We attend for the sake of learning and expanding our
ethical awareness, and 'to learn, gives the greatest pleasure*.41 Attending
for the sake of learning may marry 'happily with taking: an aesthetic
interest in the drama, even to the extent that in experience we cannot
clearly discriminate the two as separate attitudes. Nevertheless they are
separate, and in practice we retain ttie right to shift from one to the
other. Opera is full of examples. Someone may find the mental lives of

48 4I
Scroton (1974), 167, Poetics 144SM3.
202 Plato and the Philosophy of Art
Tristan and Isolde incoherent and unedifying or the moral sentiments of
The Magic Flute reprehensibly paternalistic, and yet see this as detract-
ing hardly at all from the greatness of the respective works, fa the face
of supreme aesthetic exceEence, it is boring and over-earnest to press
the eognitiYe/ethical line too hard. Yet if we decide that the point of
some artwork has been to justify racial hatred, say, we may suddenly
change tack and regard with great suspicion the person who claims to
embrace it wholeheartedly on its 'purely aesthetic* merits.
This chapter has been a series of sketches, and no doubt there-are
other strategies for arguing against Plato in the philosophy of art. But
we already have enough to be able to conclude. We may claim to have
shown that countering Plato's critique of the arts is an ambitious philo-
sophical undertaking. We must pay attention to questions about the
nature of philosophical enquiry itself and its relations to artistic prac-
tices from which it claims to distinguish itself. We must question
Plato's notion of human excellence and Ms conception of knowledge,
build up our own conception of the aesthetic, decide how it relates to
other values he recognizes, and fashion some alternative to his account
of the healthy working of the psyche, showing the importance of im-
agination and the capacity for aesthetic response, and facing up to the
idea that what is not rationally explicable to us can have a proper place
in our psychological well-being. This is vindication enough of the idea
that Plato's philosophy of art is a monumental contribution to the sub-
ject. For if he is wrong, it is scarcely about anything small or easy.
The most satisfying reply will have a number of components. We
must explain that no single defence can be demanded of the arts, and
insist that our natural involvement with them from within be allowed
to inform our account. Let us then assert that there is aesthetic value,
that artistic products often provide it, and that the best of (hem, in so
doing, address something of irreducible importance to us. Let us agree
that the imaginative portrayal of human action, thought, and feeling is
a unique contribution to our natural moral growth and self-understand-
ing. Let us also admit that die arts have a separate origin from philo-
sophy, and that they do not have to harmonize with any given set of
philosophical preconditions on pain of being valueless. But finally, let
us wonder whether the whole point of the arts is not deeply anti-
Platonic in another way. We have asserted that a plurality of values
may be found in the arts. It is not just that some works have one kind
of value, others another—though that is true. Rather, even the single
works that seem most to merit the title of art have a fullness and
 Plata and the Philosophy of Art 203
richness which resists our puny attempts to compartmentalize them.
When we embark on artistic ventures, we take the risk of being seduced
by pleasing images, and the opposite risk of confronting a horribly
truthful likeness. It would be a security to know that what happened in
art did not matter to anything outside it, and equally a security to know
that it mattered a great, deal. Bat, it seems, we mast always engage with
art in insecurity over these questions, Plato's face would be a mask of
incomprehension, but let us put it to him that the final secret of art's
value lies in our being able to embrace it whole witfiout knowing ex-
actly what its value is, its contribution to the good life residing in a
unique openness to possibilities and a freedom from having to be merely
one definite thing.
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 Glossary of Greek Terms

The main text of the book does not assume that the reader knows Greek: when
Greek words are introduced they are always explained. However,' some Greek
terete are used without a translation on every occurrence. The following is a list
of such terms, with preferred English equivalents.
agttthos good
alogon without a rational account (logos)
alogon pragma a thing without a rational account
aporia perplexity
areti excellence, virtue
aulos 'flute*—in fact a reed instrument
demiourgos, (pi, demiourgoi) craftsman, maker
diegesis narration
eidolon (pi. eidala) image
eikon (pi. eikones) likeness
epainetes (pi epaineteis) eulogist
episteme (pi. epistemai) knowledge, branch of knowledge
ems love
euschemasune grace, well-formedness
harmonia (pi. harmaniaf) musical mode, tuning, harmony
kalos line, beautiful (masculine)
kalon (pi, kala) fine, beautiful (neuter)
to kalon; auto to kalon fineness, beauty; fineness itself, beauty itself
kattistos finest, most beautiful (masculine)
kattiston finest, most beautiful (neuter)
kalos finely
kalos kagathos "fine and good', noble
lexis mode of discourse
logismos reasoning, calculation
logistikon the rational part (of the soul)
logos (pi. logoi) word, account, argument
mania madness
mimesis (pi. mim&seis) representation, artistic image-making,
dramatic enactment, imitation
mimeisthai to represent, imitate
mimetike, to mimetikon the mimetic arts
mimema (pi. mimemata) representation, copy, imitation
mimetes (pi. mimetai) mimetic artist, practitioner of mimesis
rnousike music, the arts, culture
mousikos cultured, educated
 Glossary of Greek Terms 213
muthos (pi. muthoi) story, myth
paidia amusement, play
phantasma (pi. phantasmata) semblance
pharmakon drag, spell, remedy
poietes poet, maker
poietibos poetic
poietikotatos most poetic
poietike techne poetic craft or expertise
polls city, state
pseudeis logoi false stories, accounts
pseudos falsehood
rhetor public speaker, rhetorician
skiagraphia 'shadow-painting', illusionistic painting
technique
techne (pi. technaf) craft, expertise, expert knowledge
technikos possessing craft, expertise
theios divine
theia moira divine dispensation
This page intentionally left blank
 General Index

actors 21-3, 83, 95, 97, 125-6 Bacchus 19

Adam, JT. 83 n,, 87 n., 89 n., 92 n., 98 n,, Bacchic possession 19—20, 23
99n.» 10! n,, 103 n., 112 a, 116 n,, Barnes, J, 43
120 n., 128 n., 137 n., 146 n,, 1,47 n., Beardsley, M, C, 36 n., 76 n.. 165 n.
148 n., 154 n,, 186 beauty 58-79, 103-4, 109-10, 161,
Aeschylus 105 a., 122, 136 168, 194-7
aesthetic distance 152, 201 hwnan beauty 63, 75-6, 79
aesthetic judgement 55, 192-7 and inspiration 31—2, 34
aesthetic value 6-7, 55-6, 57, 60-71, Kant on 55-6, 58, 60, 194, 196-7
78-9, 187, 192-7 see also aesthetic value; auto to kalon;
aestheticism 4-5, 80, 93, 105 fineness; kalos
Agathon 7, 71-2, 75 Belfiore, E. 92 n., 100 n,, 107 n,, 11 In.,
Alcibiades 74 122 n., 132 n., 136 n,, 142 a, 146 n,,
alogon pragma (thing without rational 148 n,, 150 n., 151 a,, 159 n.
account) 46, 51, 56, 58, 193 Bell, C. 187 n., 188 n.
Annas, J. 15 n,, 83 n., 84 n., 87 n., 96 n,, Bosanquet, B, 36 n., 158 n.
99 n., 101 n,, 103 n,, 52, 107 n,, Budd, M, 68 B,, 102n., 118 n., 144 n.,
112 n., 120 n., 122,124 n,, 130 n., 164 n., 166 n., 167 n.
141 n., 146 n., 147 n., 154 n. Butcher, S, H. 90 n,
Apollonian (in Nietzsche) 191
appetites 143-4, 149, 151 Caldwell, R, S. 87 n.
Aquinas, St. Thomas 62, 67 Callow, S. 23 n,
AreMloclMS 82 censorship 81, 85-90
Aristophanes 7, 48 a,, 71-2, 75, 98, Cberniss, H, 112 n,, 113 n.
105 n,, 184 children 73, 75. 81, 86-8, 100, 133, 176
Frogs 98, 105 n,, 184 choruses 48, 83, 176, 177
Aristotle 40 n., 48, 54, 197, 198-200, Cinesias 48, 54
201 Citizen Kane 184
Poetics 22 n., 53, 90, 198-9, 201 city 82-5, 88, 92, 95-6, 103, 108, 159,
art: 160
aesthetic defence of 192-7, 201 banishment of poets from 100-2,
cognitive/ethical defence of 197-201, 106-7, 130-2, 152-3
202 in Laws 176-81
and craft 37-9, 57 Clay, D. 75 a.
fine art 36, 39, 187 CoIIingwood, R. G. 36 n., 106 n., 124 n.,
for art's sake 4-5, 188 130, 137 n., 164 n,, 187 n,, 188 n.
modem conceptions of 5-6, 12, 57, on beauty 59-60
80,93,105, 130, 155, 182-90 on craft 37-9, 52
value of 182-203 colour 61, 69, 83, 108, 119
Assimilation, Principle of 96-7, 101, comedy 70-1, 75, 94, 96, 97, 98, 151,
102 174, 175
Athena, statue of 64 composition, principles of 56, 57
attitudes, conflict of 147-9 see also taste, principles of
aulos {'flute*} 18, 48, 50, 56, 102, 176 cookery 44-5, 46-7
auto to kalon (the fine itself) 63, 64, 59, Comford, R M. 107 n., 124 n., 170 n,
69 a., 77-9 Corybants 19
216 General Index
cosmetics 44, 46, 84 enchantment 140, 142-3
craft 37-9, 57, 133 epic 18, 19, 21, 31, 78, 87, 152
craft-analogy 39 style of narration 94, 125-8
see also techne, see aba Homer; Iliad; Odyssey
Creopfaylus 125 n. eulogies 130-1, 152
Crime and Punishment 19? n, Euripides 98, 105 n,
critics 14-19, 25-3! excellence (virtue, arete) 40—1, 46, 63,
Crombie, L M, 146 n., 151 n., 154 n. 73-4, 82, 103, 128-9, 142, 177
Cronos 86-7, 89 images of 11, 78, 126, 128, 134, 171
Cross, R. C, 97 n., 106 n., 107 n., 112n.,
124 n., 154n. Ferrari, O. 8- F, 18 n., 24 n., 34 n.,
culture, artistic 185, 195-6 81 n., 88 n,, 89 n., 94 a.. 98 n.,
Cybete 19 n, 99 n,, 100 a, 107 n., 114, 120 n.,
132 n., 151 n,, 152, 155 n,, 161 n.,
Daiches, 0, 116n. 163 a., 164 n,, 167 n., 168 n., 176 n.
Damon 103 Ficino 34 n.
Dante, A. C. 2-3, 115 n., 118, 119 n.. fiction 43-4,888-90
186 n., 190, 199 n. and emotion 21-2, 149-52, 199-201
dcconstruction 167 see also dSrama; imagination;
Demand, N. 121 n., 132 n. representation; mimesis
Derrida, J. 167n. films 80-1, 184
Dickie, G, 189 n, Fine, G. 109 n.
Diffey, T. 1. 194a., 196n.. fineness 59—79
Dionysus 19n. as aesthetic 59-61, 65
colts 48 see also auto to kalon; beauty; kalos
Dionysian festivals 108 Flashar, H. 16 n., 18 n,, 22 a, 28 n.,
Great Diocysia 50 75 n., 123 n,, 142 n. '
Dionysian (in Nietzsche) 191 flattery {kolakei»\ 45-6, 49-51, 52
Diotima 71-9, 103 food and drink 66, 84, 143
dithyramb 48, 54, 56, 67, 94, 187 Forms (Ideas) 76-9, 103 n,, 108-13,
divine dispensation (theia maim) 25, 128-9, 139, 141, .158, 184, 186-7
45 n. art seen as imitation of 114-17
Dodds, E, R, 15 n., 41 a., 42 n., 45 a., Form of the Good 10, 110, 115-16,
48 B., 49 a,, 63 n., 65 n.. 76, 160 a, 154, 184
168 n. see also auto to kalon
Dorter, K, 31 n., 33 n, Forster, E, M. 105
Dover, K. J. 59 n., 72 n., 74 n., 75, 98 ft,
drama, see actors; comedy; mimesis; Gadamer, H.-G. 81 n,, 88 n,
tragedy Gallop, D. 159 n,
drags 42, 133, 143 Gandreault, A, 99 n,
Dochamp, Marcel 188 genius 57, 187
Dufay, Gulllaunie 130 geometrical figures 70, 175
gods 85-91, 112-3, 158
education 49, 57, 65, 85-105, 176-7 Goebbels, Josef 81
Egyptians 176 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang 34 n.
Bias, J. A. 159 n. gold 63-4, 78, 84, 109
Else, G. F, 34 n,, 75 n,, 81 n., 95 n., Golden, L. 116n.
99 n,, 107 n., 158 n., 180 n, Gombrich, E. H. 120 n.
emotions 21-3, 70-1, 88, 91-2, 101, good, goodness 12, 40-1, 45-51, 72-3,
147-52, 156-7, 182-3, 198-200 115-16, 123, 153, 177, 179, 196
Aristotle on 40 n., 53, 198-200 Form of the Good 10, 110. 115-16,
art as expression of 38, 187, 188 154, 184
Gorgiag on 42-4 good man, style of 98-101
see also grief; love see also excellence
 General Index 217
Goodman, N. 118n. in Republic (Book 10) 107. 123,
Gorgias 7, 22 n., 41-4, 50, 63, 67, 72, 125-7, 130, 134-5, 137-42, 150,
142-3 152, 162
Defence afPalamedes 42 n. Nietzsche on 190 a.
Encomium of Helen 22 n,, 41—3, 143, see also Iliad; Odyssey
148 n, humanity, paradigms of 90—2
On Nature (On What is Mot) 42 n. hymns 130-1, 152
Gosling, J. C. B, 69 n,, 70 n., 109 n,,
174 n, Iliad 5,1.8, 26,27, 32,57,74, 86, 94, 101
Gould, T, 86 n., 144 n,, 148 B,, 153 n,, Achilles in 21, 44, 90
161 n, Chryses in 94, 127-8
gracefulness (euxketnasune) 94, 103—4 Nestor fa 26
Greene, W, C, 106 n,, 154 n, illusion 43-4, 120-3, 136, 145-8
Grey, 0, R. 36 n,, 103 n., 154 n, images 46, 110-11, 113-14, 118-23,
grief 147-8, 150 125-6, 133-40
Griswold, C. L, 112 n,, 191 n. image-making (eidtHopoiike) 170-3
Grebe, G. M. A. 3s,, 58-9, 75 n,, 83 a. see also excellence, images of;
98, 99 n., 103 n., 107 n., 116 n., illusion; mimesis; representation,
117 n,, 120 n., 124 n,, 125 B., 137n., pictorial
146 n,,, 153n., 154 n. imagination 198—9
guardians 85-8, 90, 92, 97-100, 107, Impressionism 121
117, 108, 159 inspiration:
Outhric, W. K. C. 15 n,, 41 n,, 88 n,, In Jon 14, 17, 19-25, 27, 31-5, 57,
103 n. 162, 164, 180
Gyges* ring 81 in Laws 25 n., 180, 181
gymnastics 46, 85 in Phaedrwt 32, 161-6, 168
Irwin, T. H. 39 n,, 40 n., 49 a., 59 n.,
Haefcforth, R, 69n., 70n., 162n,,'163, 82 n., 87 n., 92 n., 104 n., 109 n.,
167 n,, 175 n, 144a,, 145 a.. 168 n.
Halliwell, S. 2 n,, 3 n., 5 n., SB., 80n.,
87 n,, 89 n., 91 n,, 95 n., 98 n., Jaeger, W. 80, 82, 88 m.
106 n,, 107 n.. 110n., llln., 113 n., Jocasta 199
115 n., 123 n., 124 n., 129 n., 131 n., Jowett, B, 83 a, 124 n.
132 a, 134 n., 135 n,, 137 a, 141n,, Jud Suss 81
142 n., 145 n., 146 n., 147 n., 148 n., justice- 81-2, 92, 108, 115, 143
155 n., 181 n., 196 n,, 197 n,, 198 n.
Hamilton, W, 32 n. Kaha, C, 62 a,
Hampshire, S, 195 n. Mas 10, 31-2, 54, 59-61, 71, 72, 77
Hardy, Thomas 184 see also beauty; Sneness
Havelock, E, A. 96 n.. 107 n,, 113n., kalos kagathox 98, 105
124 n., 132 n, Kant, I, 20, 58, 60, 192, 194-5, 196-7
Hegel, G. W. F, 3, 186 n,, 195 on fine art' and craft 39
heroes 85-6, 88, 90 on principles of taste 55-6, 1.92-3
Hesiod 17,74,81-2,86-7,89,125 n,, 139 Kennedy. G. 42 n,
Tkeogtmy 86—7 Kerferd, G, B. 41 n.
Works ami. Days 74, 82 Keuls, E. C. 95 n,, 117 n., 121 n,, 132 n.
Hippias 7, 62-7, 77, 109 knack (empeiria) 44-5, 51, 54, 174
Hofstadter, A, 36 n, knowledge 15, 39-41, 42, 45-7,
Homer 1, 6, 8, 57, 68, 74, 78, 160. 164. 108-110, 123, 154, 197-201
167-8, 171, 173, 187, 189, 199 and tree belief 140-2
in Ion 7, 14-18, 21, 25-31, 33, 34, whether possessed by poets 14—35,
97, 123 n., 164 51, 68, 78, 128-30, 133-42, 167-8,
in Republic (Books 2-3) 73 n., 81, 173
82, 86, 87, &8 n., 93, 94-6 see also Forms; teekne
218 General Index
Roller, H. 95 0, 59 n., 61 a, 78 n,, 79 n,, 90-1,
Kosmau, L. A, 160n. 168 n,
Kristelter, P. O, 18? n, MotbersiU, M, 2n., 55 n,, 59 n,, 60-1,
Kuhas, R. 36 n, 62n.
mousike 5, 65, 85, 94, 102-4, 173-4,
LaDriere, C. 31 n, 178, 181
iarfy Chatterley's Lover 81 n, see also music
lawgivers 73-4, 180, 192 Murdoch, I. 27, 29-30, 31, 58, 81, 93,
Lee, H. D. P. 124 n. 158, 175-6
Leontius 145 n. Murphy, N, R, 69 n,, 146 n.
Levi, P. 184 n. Murray, P, 32 n.
Levinsoo, G. IS9n. Muses 19-20, 25 n., 32-3, 127, 130,
tews 94, 100 162-6, 180, 184
,?*« <afao narration, kinds of music 18, 36, 56-7, 83, 99, 102-3, 140,
Lodge, R, C, 36 n, 158-9, 174-6, 184, 193
logistikon 145-6, 148-52, 154, 184 musical instruments 48, 102, 104, 176
love 71-9, 103, 161, 163, 168 and pleasure 47-9, 54, 61-2, 65-7,
lovers of sights and sounds 108-9, 129, 169, 178-9
195 myth 81, 85-6, 88, 158-60, 164,
Lovibond, S, 144. n, 165-6, 168
Lucas, D, W. 76 n,
Lycnrgus 74 narration, kinds of 94-102, 127-8
Lyons, J, 15n, Nehamas, A. 81, 95 n,, 98 n,, 100 n,,
lyre 18, 48, 49, 176 106n., 107a,, 111 n,, 112n., 115n.,
lyric poetry 18, 19-20, 94, 102, 127, 116 n., 117 a, 118n., 132 n,, 146 n,,
152 148 n,, 149 n., 165, 199 n,
Lysias 163 Nicholson, Ben 175-6
Nietzsche, R 161 n., 190-1
Mcjteon, R. 106 n. On the Genealogy of Morals 190 n., 191
MaeLiammdir, M. 23 a. The Birtk of Tragedy 161 n,, 190-1
madness 19-23, 31-2, 161-6, 168, 175 The Will to Power 191
magic (witchery, goeteia) 42, 143, 145 Niobe 86
Medea 154 non-aesthete 194, 196
medicine 40 n., 45-7 Nussbaum, M, C. 15 n,, 39 n,, 40 n.,
mimesis 5, 28, 70 n,, 83, 114-n., 125-6, 75 n,, 7? n., 79 n., 91-2, 130 n.,
163, 174, 196, 198-201 137n., 161n., 164 n,, 198n.
between thing and Form 106 n..
114-15 Gates, W. I. 165 n,
as dramatic characterization (Republic Odyssey 5, 18, 21, 32, 86
Book 3) 94-103, 125-6, 127-8 Oedipus 144 n,, 199, 200
in Laws 17S, 180, 182-3 Oldenburg, Claes 115n.
mimetic poetry, poets 80, 94-102, opera 5, 140, 184, 201-2
106-7, 123-32, 133-57, 171-3, Osborne, C. 120 n,, 137 n.
198-201 Ouranos 86-7, 89
as representation (Republic Book
10) 106-8. 110-32, 133-42, painters, painting 18, 47, 83, 84, 104,
145-52, 156 131-2, 140-2, 170, 174, 175-6
in. Sophist 170, 171-3 and aesthetic pleasure 65-7, 70
use of by Plato 160-1, 191 as example of mimesis 107, 111—23,
mirror 113, 119-20, 122 125-8
Mofine, J. 143 n., 144 n., 160 n. and Forms 111-1.2, 114-17
Mondrian, Piet 175 good and bad likenesses in 89, 90,
Moravcstk, I. M. E. 30, 34 n., 55 n,, 170, 178
 General Index 219
and illusion 120-3, 145-7 no principles of 52, 54—6
'painter of craftsmen* 133—6, 138, pure and mixed 68—71, 174—5
140 through sight and hearing 61-2, 65-7,
photographic realism 119-20 68, 69, 109
Palestrina, Giovanni Pierluigi da 130 and tragedy 49-56, 70-1, 149, 150-3
Parker, Charlie 184 Plotinus 114n., 186
Parrhasitts 114n., 121 Plutarch 42 n.
Partee, M. H. 165 n. poetry:
Parthenon 64 and beauty 33-4, 73-4, 78-9
Pelops 86 in education 57, 86-105, 152, 162
Penner, T. 77 n., 144 n,, 148 n. and knowledge 14-35, 51, 78,
PbekUas 64 128-30, 133-42, 167-8, 173,
philosophers, Plato's conception of 197-200
108-10, 112, 117, 139, 167-8, 190 mimetic 80, 94-102, 106-7, 123-32,
philosophy and poetry, quanel 127, 133-57, 171-3, 198-201
152-3, 190-1 and moral value 47-51, 80-2, 85-94,
PickartJ-Cambridge, A. W. 48 n, 100, 103-4, 128-30, 177, 197-201
Pindar 20 n., 82, 88m. performance of 14-15, 21-3, 48-57,
Plato as literary artist 20-1, 79, 159-61, 95-6, 125-6
183, 191 and pleasure 47-57, 65-6, 68, 70-1,
Plato, works: 100, 130-1, 149-53, 156-7, 169
Apology 24, 37, 53 psychological effects of 21—3,
Gorgias 9, 36, 38, 41-57, 61-2, 63, '148-52, 155-7, 198-201
6S-6, 67, 111. 128-9, 139, 142, see also comedy, dithyramb; epic;
159, 163, 167, 169 Homer, lyric poetry; poets; tragedy
Hippias Major 9, 62-8, 83 poete:
Ion 9, 14-35, 37, 45 n., 53, 97, 101, banishment of 83, 101-2, 106, 130-2,
123 a, 137, 139, 142, 16.2. 163, 152-3
164, 169, 180 immortal offspring of 73—4
Laws 12, 158 n., 176-81, 189, 196 inspired 14, 19-21, 22-5, 30-5,
Phaedrus 1, 12, 32, 158 n,, 161-8, 161-4, 180
169, 175, 180 Pohlenz, M. 43 n., 142 n.
PhUebus 12,68-71, 158 n,, 166 n., Pointillism 121
173-6 Polygnotns 18
Politicus (Statesman) 12, 158 n., Pound, E. 93-4
166 n,, 169 Price, A, W, 72 n,, 74 n., 77 n., 78 n,,
Protagoras 41, 57, 82 n. 79 n,, 127 n., 161 n., 164 n., 166 n,,
Republic 7, 9, 10-11, 12, 28, 38, 167 n., 168 n.
62 n,, 65, 68 n., 78, 80-105, Pride and Prejudice 197 n.
106-32, 133-57, 158, 159, 160, procreation 73—4
161-3, 165, 168, 169-70, 173, 174, Protagoras 7, 15 n,, 49, 57, 82 n,
175, 176, 178, 180, 181, 182, 183, Puccini, Oiaoomo 184
189, 196 Pythagoreans 48 n.
Sophist 12, 158n., 166n., 169-73
Symposium 9, 62 n., 71-9, 103, 163 Rachmaninov, Sergei 184
Timaeus 158-9 Rausehenberg, Robert 115 n,
see also Index of Passages in Plato Read, H. 187 n.
Platoniwn 115, 186-7 Reeve, C, D. C. 83 n,, 84 n., 109 n,,
play (amusement, recreation) 105, 142, 124 n.
166-7, 169, 176-7, 185, 195 relativism 179
pleasure 44-57, 58, 93, 100, 101, 127, Renaissance 186
130-1, 156-7, 173-80, 187 representation, pictorial 70, 107-8,
aesthetic 58, 60-71, 74, 80, 192-4 111-23, 127, 170, 175, 178
220 General Index
representation (cont.) Steinitz, J. 197 n.
imitation theory of 118-19 stories, story-telling 65, 86-92
see also mimesis ; painters, painting
rhapsodes 14-35, 54, 57, 83, 95, 96, 97, taste, principles of 55-6, 192-3
125. 176. 195 Tate, J. 97 n., 103 n,, 106 n., 116-17,
rhe40rie 36, 41-7, 48, 49-51, 63, 72, 117-18 n., 163 n., 165 n., 171 n,,
128, 161, 167-8 173 n,
Romanticism 14, 186, 187 Taylor, A, E. 75 n,
Roochirik, D. L, 15 n,, 39 n., 40 n. techme 9, 36-41, 51-2, 56, 75, 84-5,
Rowe, C, J. 162 n,, 164 n. 184, 192-3
Ruskin, J, 93 adequate 40, 47 .
divisions of 36—7, 169—74
Sainlsbary, G. 186 in Gorgim 44—7, 49, 51
Sounders, T. J. 19 n,, 21 n,, 62 n., in Jon 15-20, 25, 29-35
178 a. 179 n. in Phaedras 162, 164, 168
Savile, A. 195 n. poetic 16, 28, 31-2, 37, 168, 180
Schaper, E. 2 n., 14 n,, 30 in Republic 84-5, 135, 137, 141
ScMer, F. 71 n., HSn., 200, 201 rhapsodic 16, 26-9
Schiller, F. 195, 196 a, television 81
Schopenhauer, A. 70, 114 n. The Godfather 184
Schuhi, P.-M. 121 n. The Magic Flute 202
Scruton, R. 53 n., 120 n., 198 n,, 201 theatrocraey 179, 190
sculpture 18,. 47, 64, 65, 170 Thebes 199
sexual intercourse 66, 73, 143, 151 Third Reich 80-!
Shakespeare 183, 198 n. ' Thyestes 144 n,
King Lear 198 n.. 200 Tigerstedt, E. N, 20 n., 23 n., 32 n,,
shape 61, 69, 83, 108 34 n,, 162 n., 163 n., 164 n.,
see also geometrical figures 167 n.
Shelley, P. B. 14, 20, 35, 38 Tolstoy, L. 140, 188
Shocey, P. 83 a., 124 n., 133 n., 134 n. tragedy 36, 67, 72, 90, 168, 175,
Sfcemp, J. B. 169n. 180-!, 195
skiagraphia (illusionistic painting emotions aroused by 22 n., 70-1,
technique) 82, 121-2, 145, 146 148-52, 155-7
sla¥es 98, 105 linked with comedy 74-5
smells 69 n., 58, 66, 67 Nietzsche on 190-1
Solon 74 and pleasure 49-55, 56, 70-1,
sophists, sophistry 15 n., 41, 44, 46, 148-52, 154, 155-7, 174
62-3, 169-70, 171-3 in Republic (Books 2-3) 86, 94-96,
Sophocles 68, 175 97,98
Sorbom, O, 95 B. in Republic (Book 10) 107, 123,
soul 82, 86, 102, 103-4, 106, 108, 131, 124-7, 130-1, 134-8, 140, 142
183 and rhetoric 49-51
childish part of 87, 102, 183 style of narration 94-6
parts of 87, 133, 143-52, 156-7, 160, vatae of 197-201
168 Tredennick, H. 24 n.
souls, reincarnated 163—5 truth 12, 25, 42, 72, 78, 131, 159-61,
sound 61, 69, 108 167-8, 170, 181, 196
Sparta 74, 76 and fiction 89-90, 197-8
Specialization, Principle of 84-5, 88, 96, mimesis removed from 107, 113, 122,
102, 105, 184 124, 137, 140, 145
Sprague, R, K. 16 n,, 17, 22 n,, 28 n., see also knowledge, Forms
42 a, Tynnichus 20, 32
Steven, R. G, 121 n,
Stewart, J. A, 159 n. Urmsoij, J. O. 48 n., 132n,
 General Index 221
van Gogh, Vincent 114n. women 98, 105
Verdenius, W, J. 33-, 106 n., 116 n., Woodruff, P, 15 n,, 16 n,. 24, 34 n,,
142 n., 158, 164 a., 173 n. 40 »., 59 n,, 62 n,, 63 n,, 64 n.,
violence, depiction of 149 75 n., 163 o,, 166 a,, 168 n.
Vlastos, G. 63 n,, 77 n., 159 n, Wooztey, A, D, 97 n., 106 n., 107 n.,
112 n., 124 n,, 154 n,
Wagner, Richard 140 Wordsworth, William 186
Gesamthmstwerk 5 writing 167
Tristan and Isolde 202
Walton, K, 22 n,
Xenophanes 88 a,
Warry, I. O. 154 a,
WaterfleW, R, 62 n. Xenophon 114 n.
Watt, D. 39 n. Xerxes 136
White, R P. 148 n.
Wilde, O, 188 Zeus 86, 87
Wolheim, R, 118 n,, 119 n., 120 n,, 189 n. Zeoris 121, 121 n.
This page intentionally left blank
 Index of Passages in Plato

Apjtigjg 502M-2 49 533c9-536d3 17

22a8-b8 24 502b2-d8 49-50 533e3-534b7 20
22b3-4 53 504a2-c9 46 533e5-534a2 31
22b8-c3 24 534W-3 82
22c2-3 53 ugjWasMaJOT 534c4-5 20
22c4-6 24 282bl 63 534e 34
3Sa5-6 1 282b4-5 63 534e2-535al 32
284a2-3 63 535a2 31 n.
Channidtejj 286d8-el 63 S35a4-7 21
165e6~166al 39 n. 287e4 63 535b2~c2 21
288e6-9 64 S3Sc5-8 21
Ctatyto 289e2-290d6 109 535dl-e6 22
423d4-424a3 114 n. 289 63 536cl-2 29 n.
432b2-c5 114 n. 2S9e4-6 63 53M2-3 29 n.
290b2-5 64 536d4 25
Etttbyphm 290d2 63 n. S36d4-524b4 17
Se5-6a5 87 n. 29W7-el 64 536el-7 26
291d9-e2 63 537dl-2 29 m.
Ogjgias 293e7ff, 59 n. 538b4 28 n.
448bll-cl 47 n. 294al 63 n. 538b4-5 29 n.
449d3-4 47 n. 294d6-7 63 n. 538c5 28 n.
45€telQ 47 a. 297e5-298a5 65 538d4-5 26
453c-d 121 n. 298a-b 63 n. 538d5 28 n.
453c6 47 n. 298d8-e2 66 539e3 28 n.
459dl-el 47, 129 n. 299al»6 66 540a2 28 n.
462b 44 299a3-bl 59 n. 540aS 28 n.
462b8-c7 44 299e2-300a3 66 540b3-5 27
462c4-7 174 n. 300a9~10 63 n. 540d4 28 n.
463i2-bl 45 302dl-2 63 n. 541al-2 28 n.
463b4 44, 174n. 303el-5 67 54U1-2 29 n.
464c4 45 303e9 67 541el-3 27
464dl 45 304a7-bl 67 542a2-5 29 n.
464d5-e2 47, 129 n. 304d8-«3 67 542bl-2 25
465a2 45 542b3-4 29 n.
46Sa2-6 45 Ion
465a5-6 46 S30sl-533cg 17 Laws
474d 65. 67 530b6-c5 15 653bl-c4 177
474d-475a 63 n. 531a3-4 18 653c7 ff. 176n.
474d3-e5 61 531a8-bl 17 654b6-9 177
474d8~9 79 S31c4-dl 17 654bll-cl 177
495e-5QQa 47 531e-534e 75 655b3~5 177
S00a4~6 47 532b9^-c2 17 655c8-d3 179
5«)b2-5 45 532c5-8 17 655dS 178 n.
SOIal-bl 54 532c6-7 29 n. 655d5-656W 177 n.
501a4-bl 44 532c8-d3 18 656c3-657b3 177 n.
501a7 174 n. 532e7-533al. 18 657el-3 179
501el-502a8 4S 533c6-7 15 658e6-8 179
224 Index of Passages in Plato
659a-b SI n. 817bl-8 181 270bS-6 167 n,
6S9d.J~«2 177 817d4-8 181 270e2-5 167n,
66Ga3~8 177 n., 828b7iff, 176 n, 272<J4~? 167n,
178 n. 829c7 179n. 276el-277a4 167 n,
660e2-5 177 n., 277e5-9 167
178 n. Meno 278b7 166 n.
661c5~8 177 n. 71e2-72a5 129 278c2-d6 167
663c2 121 a. 95b9-c4 41 n. 278c4-7 167
664a4-7 17? 97e6-98a8 45 n. 278d8-9 167
664d3~4 180 99c!-100b4 45 n. 278d8-e2 167
66?bS~7 178
667c9-d7 178 Pftnucniocs CMMIaHIJl
667eI0-668al 178 132dl-4 115 n. 47e5 71
«8al-4 178 165c-d 121 n. 48a5-6 71
66Sa6-7 178, 178 n. 48a8-50a9 71
668d5-669a4 178 Pfaaedo 50bI-4 71
669a7~b2 178 61a3-4 181 5Icl-d9 69
669d5~670a3 178 n. 65d4-e4 115 n. 51c6-7 69 n.
67Qb8-e2 179 74d9-e7 115n. 51dl 68
670c9-dl 177 n. 100b3-e3 77 51el 69 n.
670e4~6 179 100c4-6 115n. 53blO-c2 175
682a2~5 25 n., 180 100clO-(J8 109 n. 55d^56c 37 n.
?Q0a7-7@lb3 178 n. 100d5-8 115n. 55el-56a? 174
700eI-4 179 n. 101e2-7 1 15 n. 56a6 174 n.
701a3- 179 n. 114d2-7 159 56b6 174 '
719cl-d3 180 114d8-e3 159 a 56c4-6 174
719c5 180 62c3-4 174
719c5-dl 101 n. Phaedgis 63d2-64a3 175
764d5~e3 176 n, 235c5-dl 165 63d6 175
765al-2 179 n. 237a7-10 165 66a6-7 175
797b4~c6 178 n. 238c5-d3 165 66bl-2 175
798d8-9 178 n, 238d2-3 166 n.
799M-8 177 n. 241el-2 166 n. Politjgus
800a4-bl 177 n. 24tel-5 165 283e3-284d8 174
800dl-6 178 n, 244a6-7 161, 164 284e 37 n.
SQlcS~d6 177 a, 245a 163, 168 288c 37 n.
801el-10 178 n. 245al-S 162 288cl-10 169
802bl-3 179 245a5-8 32
802b6-c2 179 246a4-6 167 ftotagoras
802e4~6 I78n. 248d2-4 164 318b~e 121 n.
802c6~dS 179 248el-2 163 320c ft 15 n.
802d5-6 179 250bl-5 115 n. 325el~326a4 82 n.
802e2-5 178 n. 250d3-e3 115n, 325e4-326a4 57
8Q4d3-6 177 n. 257a3~6 166 326a4-b6 49
8G9a-813a 49 26Qe4-5 167 n. 347e4-7 24
8Q9a6-8l3a3 176 n. 26Qe5-261a5 167 n. 354a5-7 45 a.
809e7 ff, 177 n, 262cl-3 167 n. 357a5-b4 .41
Sllcg-9 181 262d2 166 n.
811c9-10 181 262J3-6 166 n. Republic
8I2d4-e$ 178 n. 263d5-6 166 n. 357c6 ff, 45 n.
81«8-8I7e3 176 n, 265M-C1 166 365a4-bl 82
814e6-815al 178 n. 265c8-9 166 365b2™4 82
816c2-817d8 178 n. 265e9ff, 166 n. 365c4 121-n.
81?a?~bl ISO 268c5-269a3 168 365c4~6 82
 Index of Passages in Plato 225
3«e8-369a3 82 394e8-395b6 96-7 507a4-5 HOn.
369e2-370a6 84 395b6 95 n. 507b2-10 115n.
370a7-b2 84 395c2-3 97 n, 508cl-2 115n.
370b4-6 84 395c3 97 509cl-510b5 llOn.
37244 84 n. 395c4-5 97 510d5-511a8 110 n.
372e6-8 84 395dl-3 96 5MM7 115n.
373a2~4 84 395d5-e3 98 510e2~3 115 n.
373a4-8 84 396c5 98 n, 514a2-516b7 110 n.
373b2-4 84 396d5-e2 98 515a4 ilOn,
373b5 If, 124 n. 396e5-7 97 517a8 110n,
373b5~8 83 397al-4 99 523alO-b6 121 n.
374dS-e2 85 397W-2 99 529c7-8 65 n.
376c 92 n. 397b6-c6 99 559d-561e 183
376e 85 3»7d 99 n. 57Ib4-d4 144
3?6ell~377a2 88 397d6-8 100 571c3-d4 144 n.
377bl-3 86 397dlO-el 101 n. 574d5-575a6 144 n.
377b7-8 86 397dlO-e2 100-1 580d3-581c6 144 n.
377d4-6 87 398al-b2 101 583b5 121 n.
377d7-e3 89 398c-400c 94 586b8 121 n.
378al-3 89 398c-401d 49 5928lO-b3 83
378a2-5 87 398dl-2 102 595a5 106
378c7-8 88 399cl-4 102 S95s5-b? 108
378c8-d2 87 n. 399e5-6 83 n. 595a7-bl 135
378d6-el 87 399e8-400c6 103 595b3-S 125 n.
379a-381e 88 400c-402a 196 n, 595b3-c2 73 n.
380a5-b6 86 4Q€te-403c 91 n,, 94 595b5-6 68 n.
380cl 87 n. 401b4-7 104 595b5-7 133
381e4-6 89 n, 401c4~d3 104 595b9-«3 138
382dl-3 89 40W5-8 103 59Scl-2 125
386blO-cl 89 n, 401el-402a4 104 n, 595c7 107, 137n,
387bl-6 93, 162 402b9-c8 U7n. 595c7-598b8 124
387M-5 87 n, 402c7-8 103 596aS-bt0 111
387b4-6 88 403c 85, 196 n. 596bl2 112
387d5-e7 91 4344_444e 143 n, 596c4-9 113 n.
391a3 86 439c7-440a6 145 596d1 170 n.
392a 92 442clO-dl 144 n, 596d3-4 113
392c-398b 94 454b-457a 98 596d9-e3 122
392cl-3 92 472d 115 596d9-e5 113
392d5 ff, 107 n. 472d4-7 83, 117 n., 596e5-6 123
392d5-6 94 119 n, 596elO-ll 113,
393a6-7 94 4?3clt-d2 108 118 n,, 122
393a8-b2 94 475d5~8 108 597a4-5 111, 111 a,,
393b7-8 94 475e9-476a7 108 n. HSn.
393cl-3 94 476b4-c7 108 597b6-7 112
393c5-6 95 4?6blO-» 108 n. 597e3-10 124
393cll 94 476c2-7 llOn. 597e6 1X5
393cll ff. 127 476c6 115 n. 597elO 114
393d8 127 479d3-5 109 598al-4 113
394b-c 99 n. 484cS-di 117 598b-«lb 27
394c 97 500c9 117n. 598bl-5 114
394d 97 SOOel 117 n. 598b3-5 118n.
39441-6 83 n, 500e3-4 116 598b3~8 171 n,
394dl-e2 95-6 501bl-4 117 598M-8 113
394e 107 506e3-4 HOB. 598b6-8 122
226 Index of Passages in Plato
598b8 107, 113-14, 603cl 127 n, 23541 170 n,
122 n, 603c4~5 125 235d7-e2 170
598W-el I19 n, 603c4-7 134, 148 235e2 170 n.
5.98W-C4 47 n., 603d2-3 147 235e3 170 n.
129 n., 133 603e8 148 n. 235e3~4 170
598b8-601b8 133 604W 148 n. 236W 170 n.
598c 122 n, 604btO-cl 147 236b9-cl 170
598el-4 123 n. 604c5 148 n. 264c-2<$5b 172
5»c7-d5 137 604c8-9 148 264c-267d 37 n.
598d2~3 143 604d5 148 n. 265b-266d 171 n,
598d?~S 124, 125, 604el-2 148 265c5~e6 171 n.
137 604e3-605a6 149 266c9 171 n,
598d8-e2 123, 137 604e5~6 148 n. 266d-268d 172
598d8-e5 34 605a5 148 267a8 171
598e3-5 137 605b2-c4 83 n. 267W1-12 171
598e5-599a4 138 605M-.5 149 267e2 173
S99a2~3 138 n. 05b7 150 n.
599a6~b8 138 «5c6 150n. Sympasiii.Bi
599W-C2 126 605c6 ff. 125 198cl-5 72
599b9~600e3 139 605c6~606d7 143 197dl-e5 72 n.
599c2 128 «)5ciO-d5 150 201cl 72
599d3 I18n, 6Q6»3~b8 150 204el-3 72
600b6 125 n, 606c2-9 151 n. 206all-12 72
600d6 125 n, 60641-7 151 n. 206e5-8 73
6Q0e4-6 78, 126, 128 606el ff. 34 208b7-el 79 n.
600e4-601bl 47 n, 607a 162 n, 209a3-8 73
60fe4-60Ibl 129 n. 607al~5 162 2Q9c6-e4 74
600e4-601M 134 607a2 138 210a-212a 79
600e4-601b4 123 n. 607a2~5 130 210a7-8 78
600c5 118 n. 607a3-8 152 21(te2-211b5 76-7
601a4-6 126, 180 607a4-5 130 2lla 65 n.
601a4-9 142 607a5 130 211b2 115 n.
601bl 140 607a5-6 127 21W1-3 77
601b2 140 607bl-3 127, 152 n. 211e3-2!2a7 78
6Qlb6-7 140 607bl-608b2 106 212a3-5 78
601b9-602bl1 140 6G7b5 127 212a4 78 n,
Wlcl 1-13 141 607b6-c2 153 212a5 78 n,
601d4-6 141 607c4~5 131 212M-3 79 n.
602a8-9 141 n. 607c4-el 3 n. 223d2-6 75
602a9 141 607d6-9 153 n. 223*-8 75
602all-13 142 607d8~9 68 n,, 153
602b 129 607e4-608a5 153
Theaetetus
602M-4 142 608a2-b8 153
602b6-10 142 608a3-5 143 173c4-5 51
6(Hb8~10 125 «8a6-b2 83 n. 208e 121 n.
602cl-2 145 n.
602cl-605c5 143 Sophist Timaeus
602c4-5 145 219a-c 172 29a5 158
602e7~d4 J45 219a-d 37 n. 29b2 115 n.
602c?~6JJ5cS 123 n, 233d»236c 37 a, 29d2 159
602dl-3 121 a. 233d9-235b6 170 n, 39d7-e2 115 n.
602d6-e2 145 233e-236e 173n. 47c7-e2 158
«Ba?~8 146 234bl~2 169. 48e6-7 115 is,
603alO~b4 146 235b-236c 172 50c4-6 115 n.
603M-7 126 235c2 170n. 92c8 158