Through this introduction to the life of Socrates through the shorter Platonic dialogues, I begin to get the feeling that Plato is guiding us from a love of what we think we know (authoritative opinion) to a love of the truth. Whatever else may be said for Bruell's take, I have to admit it's rather wonderful. The medievals held that the short dialogues are the best gateways into Platonic philosophy (though what that itself is is a matter of some dispute, and I claim provisional ignorance), and the Straussians tend to agree. I at least am finding the order of dialogues he recommends perfect: dialogues 'on' gain, law, and justice (among other things). Most incredible is the way Plato effortlessly illustrates thoughtful popular opinion on these things, and how similar a man in 21st century America might have the same opinions on gain, law, and justice as a 4th century BC Athenian.
Never have I read a dialogue where I was more invested in the outcome than in the Minos. Socrates asks a nameless companion, "What is law, for us?" Socrates immediately presses the issue towards defining law as something not entirely up to us ("a discover of what is), but he is initially unsuccessful. His companion's final definition of the law is as following: Law is the official opinion of the city; that is, political opinion. Opinion, and not knowledge. Here begins my difficulty: this is precisely my definition of law: customarily accepted political opinion. But if it is mere opinion, not knowledge, why ought it to be respected and heeded? Why should the philosopher, who has knowledge, not be above the law? I react with some horror at the implication of my own view, for widespread disrespect for the law would be devastating to the city. Plato, it seems to me, is trying to raise the reader up from such a vulgar view of law, and so I was hoping very much to find a persuasive argument that was not intended to be ironical.
Unfortunately, I did not find it. Socrates links justice and law very closely when he gets his companion to agree that the lawful are just and the lawless unjust. But is this true? That there could be unjust law I have no doubt: laws which defraud the poor and vulnerable, laws which treat political equals unequally, or worse offenses. If the law may be unjust, then are not the unlawful just and the lawful unjust? Yet this returns to disrepecting the law, for if the view that in some cases the unlawful is just is promulgated, one will simply call all laws which moderate one's vulgar desires unjust and himself just when he is unlawful - surely a great disgrace.
Through linking the law with justice, Socrates persuade his companion that "Law is true opinion", and therefore that "Law wishes to be the discovery of what is", like the other arts: medicine, agriculture, gardening, cooking, etc. The companion raises a difficulty: if this is so, why do cities everywhere not use the same laws, as they all use the same medicines, etc? (a similar impasse might be raised against the proposition that certain things are true) And Socrates' response is most unconvincing: professing ignorance that this is indeed the case. And after the companion enlightens him with a description of contrary laws and customs (like Herodotus, a bit), Socrates avoids his clear, eloquent speech and instead moves into being a sophist to produce agreement. His response is quite puzzling. After the companion pleads that he wishes to be convinced (as did I - I longed, positively longed to be convinced), but that "when I consider that we never stop changing the laws, I can't be persuaded", Socrates says, "Perhaps you do not perceive that these things, being moved like droughts pieces, remain the same" - which I don't understand at all.
Further, the argument progresses on the assumption that law is some sort of techne: as the heavy is heavy in Athens and Sparta alike, and the healthy is as well, etc. law will be the same everywhere. He uses four examples: medicine, agriculture, gardening, and cooking. How do these illustrate the nature of law? Medicine seems accurate enough: the causes of health in a man can be approximately codified, and doctors, whether in Athens or Lycaea, will use similar means to induce health. Agriculture is similar, but seldom relies on written "laws" - most often tradition and experience (though I suppose these are similar in practice to the 'laws' of medicine) to produce bountiful crops. But gardening? What is the aim of gardening? And cooking? These seem far more dependent upon private whim and fancy than they do with a written law, intending to be the discovery of what is (also, in the Gorgias, Socrates uses cooking as a negative example to illustrate rhetoric). Perhaps Plato did not intend to undermine Socrates' argument that law is the discovery of what is, or that I'm missing something crucially important, but Socrates did not convince me that the lawful are always just, and that therefore law is the discovery of what is; if Plato did not intend that, he sure came close.
I have seldom been in a position of wishing to be convinced, and yet being unconvinced. It is rather unpleasant. Is law nothing more than authoritative political opinion, whose justice is entirely accidental? Are justice and law completely separate things? I don't want to hold either of those opinions, but till I work something out (perhaps Aquinas' Treatise on Law, which I have completely forgotten, would help), that is unfortunately where I linger: in the shadow of vulgar opinion.
"What else would law be, Socrates, except those things that are lawfully accepted?"
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Plato, Hipparchus
I am under no illusions about the depth of these brief notes on the Dialogues. I have read the Hipparchus carefully only a few times. Doubtless indeed I should see more of it if I read it carefully twenty times, but I must move on; and even in this brief introduction I have learned much about the Socratic life and how philosophy constitutes itself in the face of the authoritative public opinion against which it must inevitably conflict.
It helps, truly, to have a good guide. I am reasonably intelligent, but I am young and have read little. Christopher Bruell is very learned, utterly brilliant, and has been reading Plato carefully for at least fifty years. His book, On the Socratic Education is an exquisite thing, written late in life, and ironically entitled "An Introduction", which it most certainly is not. The writing is far denser than it needed to be, with seemingly endless subordinate clauses everywhere you look till you have almost forgotten what the subject was; but this is no criticism, for Mr. Bruell is a smart enough man to write intentionally. The difficult, dense writing employed by him, Leo Strauss, and those like him, is truly a barrier set up against the average reader, but the barrier is there on purpose. Not everyone is meant to embark upon philosophy; not everyone should begin to question their authoritative, traditional opinions. Such men might be made worse by philosophy, like Meno; better for them to remain simple, moral people. Though we today would call sentiment 'elitist', 'snobbish', or 'aristocratic', I believe Strauss and his students thought it was the truth, and inculcated it in themselves and employed it in their writings. But they learned it first from their masters, particularly Plato. But enough of Bruell - I shall turn to what little I have gleaned from the Hipparchus.
The Hipparchus is first in the path of sixteen Bruell lays out, indicating that he intends the Hipparchus to be the introduction to Socrates and his education, if not the introduction to philosophy. In it, Socrates approaches a young man and asks, "What is the love of gain, and who are the lovers of gain?"; or the dialogue begins in the midst of on ongoing conversation. His young companion immediately launches an impassioned, indignant assault upon the lovers of gain as sellers of the worthless, cheaters, frauds, evil men, etc. He neglects to seek out what gain could be. What is it? We think first of increase of wealth or money, but also increase of good things, since gain in the first sense is held to be good. The companion seems ignorant of this double meaning, and Socrates exploits the ambiguity rather mercilessly. Through his questioning, he shows his companion that he believes gain is always good, and thus it is unreasonable to expect anyone, even the decent or just man, from seeking it; even more, that those who love gain what is good; thus, cheaters and frauds turn out to be lovers of the good. This shocking conclusion is rendered unconvincing to the reader (and Plato intended it to be so), since Socrates banishes justice from the dialogue quite early on, locking out his companion's complaint against the lovers of gain, and refusing to acknowledge the opposing view, that gain could be criticized. And by subtly switching the terms of the argument, and proceeding on a false assumptions (when the companion defines the lover of gain in terms of the worthless, Socrates acts as if he meant "worthless for producing gain" - obviously not what his interlocutor intended), he is easily able to reduce the counter-arguments to nonsense, 'proving' his argument true.
The companion thinks of gain as a good, but wishes to restrain the love of gain in the name of decency or justice. He further argues that the lover of gain is "he who thinks it worthwhile to make a gain from that which the decent wouldn't dare to gain from", and what he has in mind is most likely the unjust increase of money through deception, bribery, etc. But in calling them gains, he implicitly recognizes them as good, since he resolutely adheres to the proposition that gain is good. Further, he asserts those who pursue such gains are harmed by them, which means he is forced to argue that the good harms. He is confused about the nature of gain, and Socrates is so willfully obtuse that the nature of gain is never clearly spelled out in the dialogue.
Why does Socrates hold this conversation? Why is he so brutal to his interlocutor? In what way is the Hipparchus meant to be a defense or propaedeutic to philosophy? This is difficult for me to say, probably because I have read insufficiently. But perhaps Socrates sees a danger in the companion's criticism of the lovers of gain, for since he does not recognize the ambiguity inherent in the word, the philosopher might well be included in his condemnation. As to what this different love of gain might be, I am rather unsure; but the interlude on Hipparchus hints that it may have something to do with wisdom.
"This is a memorial of Hipparchus: Do not deceive a friend."
It helps, truly, to have a good guide. I am reasonably intelligent, but I am young and have read little. Christopher Bruell is very learned, utterly brilliant, and has been reading Plato carefully for at least fifty years. His book, On the Socratic Education is an exquisite thing, written late in life, and ironically entitled "An Introduction", which it most certainly is not. The writing is far denser than it needed to be, with seemingly endless subordinate clauses everywhere you look till you have almost forgotten what the subject was; but this is no criticism, for Mr. Bruell is a smart enough man to write intentionally. The difficult, dense writing employed by him, Leo Strauss, and those like him, is truly a barrier set up against the average reader, but the barrier is there on purpose. Not everyone is meant to embark upon philosophy; not everyone should begin to question their authoritative, traditional opinions. Such men might be made worse by philosophy, like Meno; better for them to remain simple, moral people. Though we today would call sentiment 'elitist', 'snobbish', or 'aristocratic', I believe Strauss and his students thought it was the truth, and inculcated it in themselves and employed it in their writings. But they learned it first from their masters, particularly Plato. But enough of Bruell - I shall turn to what little I have gleaned from the Hipparchus.
The Hipparchus is first in the path of sixteen Bruell lays out, indicating that he intends the Hipparchus to be the introduction to Socrates and his education, if not the introduction to philosophy. In it, Socrates approaches a young man and asks, "What is the love of gain, and who are the lovers of gain?"; or the dialogue begins in the midst of on ongoing conversation. His young companion immediately launches an impassioned, indignant assault upon the lovers of gain as sellers of the worthless, cheaters, frauds, evil men, etc. He neglects to seek out what gain could be. What is it? We think first of increase of wealth or money, but also increase of good things, since gain in the first sense is held to be good. The companion seems ignorant of this double meaning, and Socrates exploits the ambiguity rather mercilessly. Through his questioning, he shows his companion that he believes gain is always good, and thus it is unreasonable to expect anyone, even the decent or just man, from seeking it; even more, that those who love gain what is good; thus, cheaters and frauds turn out to be lovers of the good. This shocking conclusion is rendered unconvincing to the reader (and Plato intended it to be so), since Socrates banishes justice from the dialogue quite early on, locking out his companion's complaint against the lovers of gain, and refusing to acknowledge the opposing view, that gain could be criticized. And by subtly switching the terms of the argument, and proceeding on a false assumptions (when the companion defines the lover of gain in terms of the worthless, Socrates acts as if he meant "worthless for producing gain" - obviously not what his interlocutor intended), he is easily able to reduce the counter-arguments to nonsense, 'proving' his argument true.
The companion thinks of gain as a good, but wishes to restrain the love of gain in the name of decency or justice. He further argues that the lover of gain is "he who thinks it worthwhile to make a gain from that which the decent wouldn't dare to gain from", and what he has in mind is most likely the unjust increase of money through deception, bribery, etc. But in calling them gains, he implicitly recognizes them as good, since he resolutely adheres to the proposition that gain is good. Further, he asserts those who pursue such gains are harmed by them, which means he is forced to argue that the good harms. He is confused about the nature of gain, and Socrates is so willfully obtuse that the nature of gain is never clearly spelled out in the dialogue.
Why does Socrates hold this conversation? Why is he so brutal to his interlocutor? In what way is the Hipparchus meant to be a defense or propaedeutic to philosophy? This is difficult for me to say, probably because I have read insufficiently. But perhaps Socrates sees a danger in the companion's criticism of the lovers of gain, for since he does not recognize the ambiguity inherent in the word, the philosopher might well be included in his condemnation. As to what this different love of gain might be, I am rather unsure; but the interlude on Hipparchus hints that it may have something to do with wisdom.
"This is a memorial of Hipparchus: Do not deceive a friend."
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
On Reading Plato: Hermeneutical Tools
Collecting organized thoughts on writings as complicated as Plato's dialogues is more difficult than I thought; when I said 'tomorrow', I probably meant 'sometime next week'. And here is next week (or the week after) and instead of a brief essay articulating questions which go right to the heart of the dialogue - so I flatter myself - I thought I should lay down for myself how to approach my most beloved philosopher. So here are some general guidelines for those who are not natural geniuses:
- Plato was quite possibly wiser than you and wrote on purpose; every word in the dialogue is present with design and purpose. Nothing of importance is left to chance or happenstance. [N.B. this probably applies to all wise men]
- Read slowly and repeatedly. When dissatisfied at the end of a dialogue (a first reading of the Hipparchus, for instance), start again, for you have only scratched the surface.
- Become personally committed in seeking out the question at hand. If you do not care about what law is, how can you read the Minos profitably?
- Where are oddities, contradictions, and sophistries present? Who is responsible for them? How do they come about, and why?
- Examine your primal reactions and associations at every turn. When answering a question to yourself, or probing a difficulty, strain your mind to search out alternatives, and ask always, "Why do I think this answer is true or sufficient?"
- What are the important terms of the dialogue (e.g. gain, good, etc. in the Hipparchus)? Do their meanings shift as the dialogue progresses? If so, how? Do the interlocutors understand the terms differently? If so, how?
- Be honest in your difficulties and courageous in your perseverance.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Quodlebital Questions, Further Ambitions
It has been quite some time indeed since last I wrote here. I have read rather a lot since then (though always, less than I should have liked), and I have learnt much, thought much, and undergone some rather transformational experiences. All of which is to say: I am renewing my studies with greater commitment and greater zeal than ever, but that my continuing education has left me with more questions than answers, much like Book B of the Metaphysics.
I still am planning to work through all of Plato carefully. I purchased Bruell's book, which on the basis of his Hipparchus commentary alone was worth buying. I highly suspect spending a year with that book and its companion dialogues will do much to teach me what it means to live like Socrates. Preliminary expectorations on The Hipparchus to follow tomorrow or the day after, but I thought I would proffer a short list (you know how I love those) of the serious questions which linger in my soul. Since my memory is poor, I cannot even remember them all at present; I shall have to re-edit this post when I remember more of them. But here they are in their naked honesty, and in no discernible order:
I still am planning to work through all of Plato carefully. I purchased Bruell's book, which on the basis of his Hipparchus commentary alone was worth buying. I highly suspect spending a year with that book and its companion dialogues will do much to teach me what it means to live like Socrates. Preliminary expectorations on The Hipparchus to follow tomorrow or the day after, but I thought I would proffer a short list (you know how I love those) of the serious questions which linger in my soul. Since my memory is poor, I cannot even remember them all at present; I shall have to re-edit this post when I remember more of them. But here they are in their naked honesty, and in no discernible order:
- What is Plato's understanding of metaphysics? What exactly are the ideas, the forms, the looks, etc.? Are they separate substances?
- Why is Book Λ of the Metaphysics so strange? Why does it seem sometimes as if Aristotle is quietly undermining his 'teaching' on the Prime Mover?
- Why, if the κόσμος is eternal, is the Prime Mover (and/or the Christian God) necessary? The former simply, and the latter for creation? Especially if the eternal production of offspring according to nature is not a per se cause and effect, but only an accidental one?
- Is matter the origin of mind?
- Is Nietzsche right that the essence of democracy, in all its irresistible diminution to nihilistic mediocrity, is present in the Faith by its very nature?
- Does Nietzsche think differently about the saint than about the simple believer? Can the saint as he understand it be noble?
- Is there a difference between love and the will to power?
- Is injustice mightier and more advantageous to body and soul than justice?
- Is revenge satisfying? How different from justice is it truly?
- How opposed are reason and revelation? Is their quarrel only a challenge raised by revelation against philosophy, and not the reverse? Does philosophy offer a challenge to revelation? Can it?
- How can we reconcile or unify two bodies of thought, both of which seem right considered alone, but when joined seem to contradict one another?
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Interlude: Finding Out of Print Series
I came across Henri Daniel-Rops' thirteen volume history of the Church sophomore year in Annapolis and ever since I have been trying to locate a copy. It has been a most frustrating task; the books are almost all out of print, and the copies I can find are prohibitively expensive. Still, I shall continue in my efforts, and perhaps good things will yet come of it.
The series is entitled The History of the Church of Christ, and its volumes (ten in its English translation) are:
The series is entitled The History of the Church of Christ, and its volumes (ten in its English translation) are:
- The Church of Apostles and Martyrs
- The Church in the Dark Ages
- Cathedrals and Crusade
- The Protestant Reformation
- The Catholic Reformation
- The Church in the Seventeenth Century
- The Church in the Eighteenth Century
- The Church in an Age of Revolution
- A Fight for God
- Our Brothers in Christ
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Homer, The Iliad
It is both a pleasure and a shock to return to Greece by means of Homer. From the opening lines celebrating and mourning Achilles' wrath, to the closing lament over the Breaker of Horses, I was fully spellbound. Homer's depiction of heroic virtue is unforgettable, and Achilles, Hector, Diomedes, Agamemnon (specifically not Odysseus) and Aias are the standards against which subsequent heroes shall be judged. There is beauty, courage, grace, and honor amongst them which is alien, yet not unattractive (though I remember how much The Iliad shocked me as a freshman) to a modern. Like my experience with the Waldstein Sonata, I grew to love The Iliad and to revel with the heroes in the pride of their strength.
The problem of honor and glory is what concerns me most in the poem, and how they unfold the magnificent tragedy. Honor and glory seem to be related to one's own and the other; honor is given a man by other men, and it can be easily stripped away, as Agamemnon effortlessly shames Achilles; but once taken, it is unclear whether or not it may be returned, though the offender may wish it so. On the other hand, glory, or fame, κλέος - literally, a report - though it requires the efforts of others and possibly would be unsatisfying without it, does not admit of this weakness, far more dependent on the feats of the individual. Thus the wrath of Achilles is spread about the four winds and all men sing his songs, and none can strip him of his great deeds. In this light Nestor refutes Diomedes, who claims he will lose glory by fleeing Hector. Even more, it seems Achilles might make a transition from honor-loving to glory-seeking midway through the Iliad when Agamemnon's envoy comes upon him singing and delighting his heart with the songs of the great men from the past. Since it is possible to be dishonored by a lesser man (though I hardly dare to assert even this; for, losses of faith notwithstanding, Agamemnon's conduct in battle is irreproachable, and Homer's depiction of the troubled shepherd of the people is among the most moving of passages), what is a hero to do? How to hold honor, based on the words or praises of men (which are but wind, right?) and glory, based on deeds? Do the two come together as one more than I am allowing here?
Since all the heroes fight for honor and glory (Hector is emphatically not an exception, read carefully Andromache's plea and his response and you might be convinced it does not properly address her request), there are no villains, strictly speaking, though I vastly prefer the Achaian heroes, and Diomedes in particular (what a lion!), to anything Ilion has to offer. Further, though frequent mention is made of fate, it seems Zeus is not subject to fate at all, but that fate is merely Zeus' will, for Hera all but says that in book sixteen, and among the first lines of the Iliad is "the will of Zeus was accomplished", and when Zeus bows his head in assent to a thing, nothing may gainsay it. Unrelated and probably trivial, but interesting, is the discovery that Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades are all equals, give or take, though the Furies tend to side with Zeus, for he is the eldest.
There is much to say about the poem, and these scattered reflections hardly do it justice. Buried beneath the beauty, honor, and glory of noble battle is harsh, unromantic bloodshed and a deep sadness about the nature of things. I am not sure how friendship figures in The Iliad, nor to what extent the vivid pictures of death and violence change the beautiful picture of heroic virtue, though I am not inclined to say Homer is attacking that virtue in every line. Plenty of open questions for next time.
"Of the creatures that crawl the earth, man is the most miserable of all."
The problem of honor and glory is what concerns me most in the poem, and how they unfold the magnificent tragedy. Honor and glory seem to be related to one's own and the other; honor is given a man by other men, and it can be easily stripped away, as Agamemnon effortlessly shames Achilles; but once taken, it is unclear whether or not it may be returned, though the offender may wish it so. On the other hand, glory, or fame, κλέος - literally, a report - though it requires the efforts of others and possibly would be unsatisfying without it, does not admit of this weakness, far more dependent on the feats of the individual. Thus the wrath of Achilles is spread about the four winds and all men sing his songs, and none can strip him of his great deeds. In this light Nestor refutes Diomedes, who claims he will lose glory by fleeing Hector. Even more, it seems Achilles might make a transition from honor-loving to glory-seeking midway through the Iliad when Agamemnon's envoy comes upon him singing and delighting his heart with the songs of the great men from the past. Since it is possible to be dishonored by a lesser man (though I hardly dare to assert even this; for, losses of faith notwithstanding, Agamemnon's conduct in battle is irreproachable, and Homer's depiction of the troubled shepherd of the people is among the most moving of passages), what is a hero to do? How to hold honor, based on the words or praises of men (which are but wind, right?) and glory, based on deeds? Do the two come together as one more than I am allowing here?
Since all the heroes fight for honor and glory (Hector is emphatically not an exception, read carefully Andromache's plea and his response and you might be convinced it does not properly address her request), there are no villains, strictly speaking, though I vastly prefer the Achaian heroes, and Diomedes in particular (what a lion!), to anything Ilion has to offer. Further, though frequent mention is made of fate, it seems Zeus is not subject to fate at all, but that fate is merely Zeus' will, for Hera all but says that in book sixteen, and among the first lines of the Iliad is "the will of Zeus was accomplished", and when Zeus bows his head in assent to a thing, nothing may gainsay it. Unrelated and probably trivial, but interesting, is the discovery that Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades are all equals, give or take, though the Furies tend to side with Zeus, for he is the eldest.
There is much to say about the poem, and these scattered reflections hardly do it justice. Buried beneath the beauty, honor, and glory of noble battle is harsh, unromantic bloodshed and a deep sadness about the nature of things. I am not sure how friendship figures in The Iliad, nor to what extent the vivid pictures of death and violence change the beautiful picture of heroic virtue, though I am not inclined to say Homer is attacking that virtue in every line. Plenty of open questions for next time.
"Of the creatures that crawl the earth, man is the most miserable of all."
Monday, August 1, 2011
Plato, Ion
What a pleasure it is to return to inexhaustible literature! This short gem of a dialogue is the beginning of my return to Ancient Greece; on deck now is the Iliad and a modern doorstopper, Tragedy and Hope, recommended to me by David Fabe via Josh Barr.
The Ion appears to be part of a critique of poetry and the poets. Through inquiring if Ion is clever about all poets, not just Homer, Socrates is able to show Ion that the rhapsode's ability is not an art or craft, that it possesses no knowledge, and that in general, the poet does not know what he is talking about. But when one reexamines the argument, specifically with the question how Socrates gets Ion to admit all this, it becomes ever clearer that Socrates uses poorly constructed arguments for his assertions - switching subjects unbeknownst to Ion, ignoring implications, etc. Further, the examples he uses make the question of what τέχνη and ἐπιστήμη are completely unclear, inviting us to consider the possibility that the argument is not intended to be taken seriously, culminating in a twin example of generalship: Ion claims he knows what a general should say to exhort his troops before battle, and this he learned from Homer. Socrates changes the subject again ("So the rhapsode is a general? Seriously?"), mocks him, and ends the discussion, but it is unclear just how a general should learn to exhort his troops, and perhaps Ion's claim is not quite so ridiculous. Through an examination of the general, it seems that far from banishing the poets from the city, they are necessary to form its soul, and provide a vision of the whole for its citizens.
There is more. Homer occupies a special place in Athens; he is an artist who truly formed the soul of man; his depiction of heroic virtue was the standard until Alexander the Great, and his work was about as authoritative to the Greeks as the Bible was to the Medievals. As such, Homer is the commonly received opinion or tradition of the Greeks (Athens' cave, perhaps - what a great cave!), and by focusing solely on him, Ion is the most conventional, unreflective of men. He does not inquire or even seek to inquire whether there might be alternatives to Homer, using him to bolster his own achievements and reputation. Socrates, in investigating the link between art, poetry, and "speaking well or badly" (is this related to knowledge? the word "knowledge" occurs very seldom in the dialogue, hardly an accident), is investigating the very foundation of the city's most dearly held beliefs, what reason there is to hold those beliefs, and whether there might be alternatives: a dangerous business, for it is simple to see such a man as subversive.
I am sure that hardly covers the entire Ion. I have only read it five or ten times, and will probably see more as the count approaches fifty. But it is a good beginning. Reading Plato is like reading nothing else; it is exhilarating, shocking, infuriating, and provoking towards education of the highest sort; a great adventure. This is the first of the Dialogues I have read carefully; one down, thirty four more (plus the Letters) to go.
"As for me, I speak nothing but the truth, as is fitting for a private human being".
The Ion appears to be part of a critique of poetry and the poets. Through inquiring if Ion is clever about all poets, not just Homer, Socrates is able to show Ion that the rhapsode's ability is not an art or craft, that it possesses no knowledge, and that in general, the poet does not know what he is talking about. But when one reexamines the argument, specifically with the question how Socrates gets Ion to admit all this, it becomes ever clearer that Socrates uses poorly constructed arguments for his assertions - switching subjects unbeknownst to Ion, ignoring implications, etc. Further, the examples he uses make the question of what τέχνη and ἐπιστήμη are completely unclear, inviting us to consider the possibility that the argument is not intended to be taken seriously, culminating in a twin example of generalship: Ion claims he knows what a general should say to exhort his troops before battle, and this he learned from Homer. Socrates changes the subject again ("So the rhapsode is a general? Seriously?"), mocks him, and ends the discussion, but it is unclear just how a general should learn to exhort his troops, and perhaps Ion's claim is not quite so ridiculous. Through an examination of the general, it seems that far from banishing the poets from the city, they are necessary to form its soul, and provide a vision of the whole for its citizens.
There is more. Homer occupies a special place in Athens; he is an artist who truly formed the soul of man; his depiction of heroic virtue was the standard until Alexander the Great, and his work was about as authoritative to the Greeks as the Bible was to the Medievals. As such, Homer is the commonly received opinion or tradition of the Greeks (Athens' cave, perhaps - what a great cave!), and by focusing solely on him, Ion is the most conventional, unreflective of men. He does not inquire or even seek to inquire whether there might be alternatives to Homer, using him to bolster his own achievements and reputation. Socrates, in investigating the link between art, poetry, and "speaking well or badly" (is this related to knowledge? the word "knowledge" occurs very seldom in the dialogue, hardly an accident), is investigating the very foundation of the city's most dearly held beliefs, what reason there is to hold those beliefs, and whether there might be alternatives: a dangerous business, for it is simple to see such a man as subversive.
I am sure that hardly covers the entire Ion. I have only read it five or ten times, and will probably see more as the count approaches fifty. But it is a good beginning. Reading Plato is like reading nothing else; it is exhilarating, shocking, infuriating, and provoking towards education of the highest sort; a great adventure. This is the first of the Dialogues I have read carefully; one down, thirty four more (plus the Letters) to go.
"As for me, I speak nothing but the truth, as is fitting for a private human being".
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