Chapter 1. Homer and Plato at the Panathenaia [1]

By studying both direct and indirect references to the Panathenaia in the works of Plato, supplemented by occasional references in various other literary sources and in the attested epigraphical and iconographical evidence, we find opportunities for reconstructing what might be described as synchronic cross-sections or even “snapshots” of seasonally recurring occasions for the performing of Homeric poetry at the festival of the Panathenaia at Athens, dating back to at least as early as the sixth century BCE. A most useful starting-point is the Hipparkhos of “pseudo-Plato.” [2] We are about to see a story that purports to explain an Athenian law requiring that the Iliad and Odyssey be performed in sequence by the rhapsōidoi ‘rhapsodes’ at the Panathenaia:

I draw special attention to two words with rhapsodic implications: ephexēs ‘in sequence’ and hupolēpsis, which I translate as ‘relay’. In dramatized dialogue, the corresponding verb of hupolēpsis, hupolambanein, marks the response of one speaker to the previous speaker: ephē hupolabōn ‘he said in response’ (for example, Plato Republic I 331d, etc.; see also Herodotus 1.11.5, 1.27.4, etc.). In Aristotle Politics V 1310a10, hupolambanein is correlated with hupokrinesthai ‘reply, make answer’. [4] As for ephexēs auta diienai ‘go through them [= the epē ‘poetic utterances’ of Homer] in sequence’, we may compare the contexts of Plato Timaeus 23d3–4 / 24a1–2: panta … hexēs dielthein / ephexēs diienai ‘go through everything in sequence’ / ‘go through in sequence’. [5]

If we supplement this passage from the Hipparkhos with a passage taken from a speech delivered by the Athenian statesman Lycurgus (330 BCE), we may infer that the Homeric epē ‘poetic utterances’ performed at the Panathenaia were the Iliad and Odyssey: {10|11}

According to the story in “Plato” Hipparkhos, as quoted earlier, we see that there existed in Athens a custom of maintaining a fixed narrative sequence of Homeric performance at the Panathenaia, with each performing rhapsode taking up the narration where the previous rhapsode left off. Classicists conventionally refer to this custom as the “Panathenaic Rule.” [13] The author of the Hipparkhos says that this custom was initiated by Hipparkhos, son of Peisistratos, in the era of the tyrants. There are those who view this story as the reflex of a historical event, estimating the date at around 530 BCE. [14] {12|13}

My own analysis does not rule out the possibility that such a reported event was a historical fact—to the extent that an important political figure like Hipparkhos may well have reformed the custom of epic performances at the Panathenaia. [15] But I insist that there are two far more basic historical facts to be inferred from the story: (1) the author of the Hipparkhos says that this custom of relay performances of Homer by rhapsodes at the Panathenaia was still in effect during his own lifetime and (2) the custom is described in terms of a customary law, instituted by Hipparkhos in the role of a “lawgiver.” [16]

It is also a historical fact, I argue, that the Peisistratidai in general, most notably the father of Hipparkhos, Peisistratos himself, appropriated to themselves the role of “lawgiver,” and that stories of the so-called “Peisistratean Recension” fit a larger pattern of myths about lawgivers as culture heroes who institutionalized Homeric poetry in their own respective city-states. [17] This is not the place to survey the stories about the “Peisistratean Recension” in terms of an evolutionary model for the making of Homeric poetry—a task that I have undertaken elsewhere. [18] Here I seek only to situate the story about the Panathenaic Rule, as quoted above from “Plato” Hipparkhos 228b–c, within the larger context of other such stories—and within a broader historical perspective that views the applications and reapplications of myths about lawgivers as an ever-evolving political process.

In another version of the story that explains the ongoing custom of relay performances of Homer by rhapsodes at the Panathenaia, the Panathenaic Rule was supposedly instituted by the lawgiver Solon: {13|14}

According to my analysis, this version represents a post-sixth-century political reapplication of the mythology that motivates the Panathenaic Rule. This time, the political perspective is that of democratic Athens in the era after the tyrants, and thus the “lawgiver” credited with the ongoing custom of performing Homeric poetry at the Panathenaia of Athens is no longer Hipparkhos (or Peisistratos) but Solon, the culture hero of the Athenian democracy. The same kind of political mentality is evident in the wording of the Lycurgus passage quoted above, where the “ancestors” of the Athenians are said to have “passed a law,” νόμον ἔθεντο—in the best democratic tradition imaginable.

From a diachronic perspective, then, I suggest that both the Peisistratean and the Solonian versions of stories concerning the Panathenaic Rule have a historical validity, to the extent that both of the different versions could provide, in different {14|15} historical periods, a coherent aetiology for the evolving institution of rhapsodic performances of Homer at the Panathenaia. It is needless to assume, as some do, that one or the other version of the story must come closer to what really happened, as it were. [21]

The variant narratives in “Plato” Hipparkhos 228b–c and Dieuchidas of Megara FGH 485 F 6 (via Diogenes Laertius 1.57) concerning the Panathenaic Rule are central to my evolutionary model for the making of Homeric poetry. [22] Both versions of the story are of great historical importance, since they take it as a given that the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey are a unity, an integral whole, and that this unity is connected with rhapsodic sequencing, an institution evidently still current in the era of the author of the Hipparkhos. [23] As we have seen, the actual idea of sequencing is marked by the adverb ephexēs ‘in sequence’, as in “Plato” Hipparkhos 228c. According to the logic of these narratives, the unity of Homeric composition is a result of rhapsodic sequencing in performance. [24]

It is facile to assume that the Panathenaic Rule became a reality only when the performing rhapsodes had a written “script” that they could memorize. Granted, I do not rule out the possibility that rhapsodes had access, even as early as the sixth {15|16} century BCE (“period 3”), to transcripts of Homeric performances. [25] But the point is, I resist the assumption that the rhapsodic tradition required such a text. To assume that the rhapsodes performing at the Panathenaia needed a Homeric text is to undervalue the phenomenon of rhapsodic sequencing as I have just described it.

Rhapsodic sequencing is linked to another phenomenon, “relay mnemonics.” This phenomenon is attested already in Homeric poetry, and I propose here to analyze two attestations. On the basis of these examples, I hope to show that relay mnemonics is a principle that links the Homeric and the rhapsodic traditions—from a diachronic perspective.

The Iliad gives a stylized representation of relay mnemonics in the scene where Achilles is shown performing the epic songs of heroes, klea andrōn ‘glories of men’ at Iliad IX 189, while Patroklos is waiting for his own turn, in order to take up the song precisely where Achilles will have left off (verb lēgein ‘leave off’): I offer the following analysis of this passage:

In terms of this argument, Homeric poetics is already a matter of rhapsodic poetics—from an evolutionary point of view. Understanding “evolution” in the broader sense of explicitly including history as well as diachrony, I have already spoken of an “evolutionary model” for the making of Homeric poetry. A subset of this model is my argument for the evolution of the formal medium of this poetry, dactylic hexameter. [28] Another subset of this model is my argument for the evolution of the mediators of this medium, the rhapsodes:

So far, I have argued that the principle of relay mnemonics, as represented in the first of the two Homeric examples, fuels the dynamics of rhapsodic sequencing: each rhapsode waits for his turn to pick up the narrative where the previous rhapsode left off. I will now argue that relay mnemonics involves not only rhapsodic sequencing but also rhapsodic competition, and that the mechanism of the rhapsodic relay is by nature competitive. While the element of competition is only implicit in the first {18|19} Homeric example that we have seen, it is explicit in the second example that we are about to see, which features the words hupoblēdēn and hupoballein in two passages that I relate with one another in terms of these words. I propose that these words, the meanings of which are not clear to us in their Homeric attestations, reflected the technical language of the rhapsodes.

Before we turn to this second Homeric example, let us review the report of Dieuchidas of Megara (FGH 485 F 6 via Diogenes Laertius 1.57) about the Panathenaic Rule, which requires that the poetry of Homer “be performed rhapsodically [rhapsōideîn], by relay [ex hupobolēs], so that wherever the first person left off, from that point the next person should start.” My translation of hupobolē as ‘relay’ is at odds with the definition in the LSJ dictionary, which gives ‘prompt’ or ‘cue’. [30] These translations are based on such contexts as in Plutarch Precepts of Statecraft 814f, where actors in a theater are described as τοῦ … ὑποβολέως ἀκούοντας ‘listening to the hupoboleus’. Granted, the hupoboleus here is the practical equivalent of ‘prompter’ in theatrical terms, but I contend that the more basic function of the hupoboleus, in rhapsodic terms, is that of the continuator, the maintainer of the relay principle, the one who keeps the sequence going from the point where one actor’s “lines” end and another actor’s “lines” begin.

The translation of the rhapsodic term hupobolē as ‘relay’ meshes with the Homeric usage of hupoballein and hupoblēdēn. Let us start with an Iliadic passage featuring the word hupoballein:

Agamemnon is here speaking publicly to the assembly of warriors while remaining in a seated position (verse 77), saying that it is a good thing to listen to a man who speaks in a standing position and that it is difficult for even a good speaker to huphoballein him (ὑββάλλειν, verse 80). Achilles had just spoken to the assembly at verses 56–73, and verse 55 makes it explicit that he was standing.

The definition of hupoballein in LSJ (p. 1875), with specific reference to this passage, is “‘suggest, whisper’, as a prompter does”; building on this definition, the dictionary arrives at the interpretation ‘interrupt’ for hupoballein here, following the suggestion of the B scholia to Iliad XIX 80. Accordingly, one commentator interprets Iliad XIX 79–80 as follows: “It is good to listen to someone who is standing up <as Achilles was, whom you have just applauded; but I cannot stand, because of my wound>.” [31] This commentator, who accepts the interpretation of this compound verb hupoballein as ‘interrupt’, goes on to say: “The only other use of this compound in the sense of ‘interrupt’ was the hapax ὑποβλήδην (hupoblēdēn) at [Iliad I] 292, where Achilles rudely interrupted Agamemnon in the final exchange of the quarrel.” [32] Another commentator translates ὑποβλήδην (hupoblēdēn) at Iliad I 292 as “interruptingly.” [33] {20|21}

I agree with the two commentators’ general interpretations of these two Iliadic passages, at least in terms of the short-range meanings that they read into these passages, but I disagree with their specific interpretations of hupoblēdēn / hupoballein as ‘interruptingly’ / ‘interrupt’. Here I apply the work of Richard Martin on the performative aspect of Homeric “quotations” of heroes’ speeches. [34] As Martin has shown in detail, the speeches of Achilles and Agamemnon and other epic characters are not only “quoted” by epic performance: they become part of the epic performances, and the speakers thus become performers in their own right. [35]

At Iliad I 292, Achilles engages in verbal combat with Agamemnon not so much by “interrupting” but by picking up the train of thought exactly where his opponent left off—and out-performing him in the process. At Iliad XIX 80, Agamemnon backs off from verbal combat with Achilles, using his wound as an excuse: I can’t stand up, and therefore I can’t compete by picking up the train of thought where Achilles left off—and therefore I can’t out-perform him (and perhaps I don’t anymore have the stomach even to try to do so). [36] The successful performer remains standing, and the unsuccessful performer fails to stand up and compete by taking his turn, choosing instead to sit it out. He will still speak, but he will speak without offering any more competition. We could explore at much greater length the implications of Achilles’ besting of Agamemnon not only as hero but also as performer—and thereby insuring the perpetuity of the {21|22} epic performance tradition that glorifies him, that gives him kleos and is kleos. What matters most for the moment is simply that the competition between Achilles and Agamemnon as performers takes place within the framework of a narrative continuum. The principle of relay mnemonics, to repeat, is to compete in the process of maintaining an overall continuum.

Such a principle is evident in Plato’s Ion. This dialogue is named after a rhapsode from Ephesus who comes to Athens to compete for first prize at the Panathenaia (καὶ τὰ Παναθήναια νικήσομεν, Ion 530b2). Plato’s wording makes it explicit that the occasion for the performing of Homer by rhapsodes at the Panathenaia is in effect a competition or contest among rhapsodes, an agōn (ἀγῶνα at Ion 530a5, picked up by ἠγωνίζου and ἠγωνίσω at a8), and that the agonistic art of the rhapsōidoi ‘rhapsodes’ falls under the general category of mousikē (μουσικῆς at a7). Similarly in Isocrates Panegyricus 159 the wording specifies that Homeric performances were taking place “in contests of mousikē,” ἐν τοῖς μουσικοῖς ἄθλοις. [37]

In light of the fact that the Panathenaic event of Homeric performances by rhapsodes is designated by ancient sources in terms of an agōn or an athlon, both words meaning ‘competition’ or ‘contest’, we can see that there are really two aspects of the Panathenaic Rule: not only must the rhapsodes take turns as they perform the Iliad and Odyssey in sequence, they must also compete with each other in the process. [38]

The rhapsode Ion performs Homer not only on such major occasions as the competitions taking place at the festival of the Panathenaia. He also performs Homer on less formal occasions such as the convivial but competitive encounter dramatized in Plato’s dialogue Ion, where we see the rhapsode being challenged by Socrates to perform a given selection from the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey. {22|23}

The term “selection” is misleading, however. It implies a purely textual mentality—as if all that Ion had to do was to “quote” some passage that he had read and happened to have memorized. Even the word “quote” can mislead, since it could imply the saying of words that have already been written. In my own discussion, I continue to use “quote” only in a restricted sense, to mean the saying of words that have already been spoken. To signal this semantic restriction, I will continue to use the word “quote” only in quotes, in order to stress that I mean no implications of textuality. In the art of the rhapsode, to “quote” is not to “take” something out of a text, out of context. The rhapsodic “taking” of words requires the mnemonics of continuity. [39] What the rhapsode can do is to start anywhere in the Iliad and Odyssey and, once started, to keep going.

When Ion is challenged by Socrates to narrate the advice of Nestor to Antilokhos on the occasion of the Funeral Games for Patroklos (Ion 537a5–7), the rhapsode straightway launches into what we—in our own current scholarly synchronism—understand to be Iliad Book XXIII verses 335 and following. The wonder of it all is that the rhapsode knows exactly where to start. Starting off, he proceeds in medias res. Not only that: he evidently has the power to continue the narrative in an open-ended way, going on and on until there is some reason—internal or external—for him to stop. Socrates recognizes this early on, and he puts on the brakes before Ion gets too far into the narrative, calling out to the rhapsode: ἀρκεῖ ‘that’s enough!’ (537c1). [40] The rhapsode has not yet gone very far, reaching what we know as Iliad Book XXIII verse 340, but the point has already been made: Ion has already proved himself to be a virtuoso rhapsode with phenomenal powers of “relay mnemonics.” {23|24}

In his own turn, Socrates will make his own point. Plato’s flow of narrative will provide Socrates with the arguments he needs to undermine Ion’s defense of the rhapsode’s art or tekhnē. The Homeric content of what Ion has already performed gives Socrates ammunition for his own argumentation. In other words, Socrates actually draws on Homeric performance in order to make his argument. As we shall see in a moment, rhapsodes argue this way themselves. [41]

Not to be outdone in anything by Ion, Socrates then proceeds to show off his own rhapsodic skills. He argues against Ion’s arguments by likewise “quoting” Homer and then by engaging in a verbal commentary on his “quotations.” In order to “quote” Homer, Socrates performs Homer rhapsodically in his own right, since he too joins Homer midstream—but he does it at three different points of the narrative. In rapid succession, Socrates “quotes” a series of Homeric “passages” in order to out-argue Ion—and even to out-perform him rhapsodically (538d1–3, 539a1–b1, 539b4–d1). [42]

As we see from the Ion, then, you can tell a rhapsode where to start performing Homer just by telling him what part of the narrative you want to hear, and you can count on him to start right there. The rhapsode’s cue is not a matter of text: it is a matter of mnemonics. You cue him by giving him an idea, and that idea translates immediately into a specific point within the “stream of consciousness” that is the narrative flow of Homer—let us call it Homer’s narrative consciousness. I will argue in a moment that the rhapsodes have a word for Homer’s consciousness—dianoia. As we will see, a key passage is the beginning of {24|25} Plato’s Ion. For now, however, let me just dwell a bit further on the simple wonder of it all: the rhapsode has—or thinks he has—complete access to Homer’s stream of consciousness, to Homer’s authorial intent. By implication, the rhapsode will argue with you by joining Homer midstream at exactly the point where Homer will help him make an argument against you.

We see here the virtuosity of making mental connections in a competitive situation, that is, in an agōn. The rhapsode’s mind, I argue, is trained to connect, to make associations: the rhapsodic competitions at festivals like the Panathenaia require his readiness to take up the narrative where a competing rhapsode has left off. If this argument holds, we have here the essence of the principle of relay mnemonics in the art or tekhnē of the rhapsode. The driving force of relay mnemonics is competition.

In the staged dialogue of the Ion, Plato’s fine-tuned ear for language—not just any language but in this case the technical language of high-class artisans like rhapsodes—has I think picked up on a variety of authentic expressions and turns of phrase that echo the talk of real rhapsodes as they once upon a time practiced their art or tekhnē—and even as they once upon a time spoke about this real tekhnē. I have collected ten examples:

1. hormân + accusative, in the sense of ‘get [the performer] started, inspire’: 534c3. Plato’s ear catches the technical nature of this word, and he uses it in a technical context: the Muse ‘inspires’ various different kinds of poet to produce their various different kinds of poetry. On the surface, Plato makes it look as if only composition is involved, not performance: in the context of 534c, the Muse ‘inspires’ Homer to make epic, just as she ‘inspires’ other poets to make dithyrambs, encomia, and so on. The Homeric context of the word hormân, however, makes it clear that inspiration by the Muse happens in the context of performance, and it has to happen from the very start: the Muse has to ‘start’ the performer. At Odyssey viii 499, we see the blind singer Demodokos about to start his performance: hormētheis {25|26} theou arkheto (ὁρμηθεὶς θεοῦ ἄρχετο) ‘getting started, he began with the god’. That is, the performer got started or ‘inspired’ by the Muse and then he began his performance, starting by hymning a god. What follows this start, as we hear it paraphrased by the Odyssey, is an epic account of the Iliou Persis, the destruction of Troy (viii 500–520). (In terms of the narrative chronology of the overall narrative tradition culminating in the destruction of Troy, the performative ‘start’ here is situated near the compositional ‘conclusion’.) The wording hormētheis ‘getting started’ at 8.499 has to do with the singer’s point of departure: the verb hormân is derived from the noun hormē, aptly described as “le seul véritable dérivé de ornumi”; [43] hormē can mean ‘setting oneself in motion’, as at the start of a march (LSJ under hormē, category III); I note the compound aphormē, which actually means ‘point of departure’ (we may compare aphormēthentos at Iliad II 794, Odyssey ii 375, iv 748).
2. âidein ‘narrate’ (= ‘sing’) + accusative of a given topic, which must be named at the very beginning of the performance. The topic, signaling a given epic event or a given epic character defining the event, must be in the accusative case. When Homer or the rhapsode ‘sings’ in the accusative that given event or character, he notionally conjures them, bringing them back to life in the process of performance. (It is a common feature of oral poetics that the events mentioned in performance become part of the event that is the performance and that the characters featured in the events become members of the audience attending the performance in the here-and-now. [44] ) For example, 535b3–7 features the following “accusatives of the rhapsodic topic” following âidein (ᾄδῃς)· (1) Odysseus at the epic moment when he leaps upon the threshold, ready to shoot arrows at the suitors; (2) Achilles as he lunges at Hektor; (3) some other highlighted thing {26|27} (ti, accusative) from epic moments, as when (3a) Andromache bids farewell to Hektor, or from other similar epic moments involving (3b) Hekabe or (3c) Andromache. [45] Compare the Homeric usage of aeidein = âidein ‘narrate’ (‘sing’) + accusative of the topic, such as the anger of Achilles in Iliad I 1. Thus the rhapsode’s topics are put into the same dimension of heroic-age “reality” as Homer’s topics. The rhapsode performs as someone who is parallel to and in continuity with Homer. [46] “Homer,” of course, starts his topic at the beginning—as at Iliad I 1. As for the rhapsode, his topics can start anywhere in Homer, as we have just seen from the catalogue of heroic topics at Ion 535b3–7
3. epaineîn + Homēros (in accusative) ‘quote Homer’. (I continue to use the word “quote” without any implications of textuality.) That is, to “quote” Homer in medias res, in a specific context and for a specific purpose: Ion 536d6, 541e2 (agent noun epainetēs, 536d3, 542b4). [47] The specific purposes, as in the Ion, have to do with arguing specific points. Compare the usage of epaineîn in Lycurgus Against Leokrates 102, as quoted above, where the orator “quotes” Homer in order to make his specific case. Aside from the various specific purposes involved in this {27|28} activity of “quoting” Homer, there is of course one overriding general purpose, from an Athenian point of view: that is, the State officially “quotes” Homer to its assembled citizens on the occasion of its highest holiday, the Panathenaia, in the format of rhapsodic competitions. On this occasion, each competing rhapsode gets the chance to “quote” Homer before a general audience of 20,000 persons (535d3)—a round figure that seems notionally equivalent to the body politic of Athens. [48] In this case, to repeat, each competing rhapsode would be required to take up the Homeric narrative continuum where the previous rhapsode had left off. We may compare this rhapsodic imperative with the dramatic imperative of one actor’s picking up the dialogue where the previous actor had left off. [49] For the moment, I simply point out that this rhapsodic imperative of maintaining continuum is relevant to the etymology of epaineîn: ‘to continue [epi-] making praise [ainos] for’ (+ accusative of the laudandus as the receiver of praise or of the laudator as the ultimate giver of praise). [50] By implication, rhapsodic art is a continuation of praise poetry. [51] The idea of continuum is explicit in the epi- of epaineîn. {28|29}
4. dianoia ‘train of thought’, applying primarily to Homer’s train of thought, not to the rhapsode’s: 530b10, c3, d3. The rhapsode can enter into this train of thought at any point of the continuum that is the narrative. He can enter into it midstream, in medias res. To be able to join the Homeric narrative in progress is to know the dianoia of Homer. As such, the rhapsode is the hermēneus ‘interpreter’ of the dianoia of Homer (530c3; see no. 5 below). Since the rhapsode can become part of Homer’s train of thought, of Homer’s dianoia, he can also tell the thoughts of Homer as a verbal commentary (i.e., not necessarily a written commentary) about Homer (530c9; see no. 6 below). Such ‘commenting’ thoughts become, by extension, dianoiai as well: 530d3. On Socrates’ different ‘understanding’ of dianoia, see no. 6 below. The idea of continuum is explicit in the dia - of dianoia.
5. hermēneus ‘interpreter’, applied to the rhapsode as one who must know the dianoia of Homer on behalf of his audiences: 530c3 (τὸν γὰρ ῥαψῳδὸν ἑρμηνέα δεῖ τοῦ ποιητοῦ τῆς διανοίας γίγνεσθαι τοῖς ἀκούουσι). Here we see the essence of the rhapsode’s “hermeneutics”: everything depends on his knowing the dianoia of Homer (see no. 4). [52] There are further applications of the word hermēneus at 535a6, a9 (see also 534e4). This concept of an ‘interpreter’ or ‘go-between’ acknowledges the reality of a mental gap between Homer on one side and his audience in the here-and-now on the other side. That gap can be bridged by the rhapsode, whose mind can implicitly neutralize the distance that separates the two sides.
6. legein peri + Homēros (in genitive) ‘make a verbal commentary on Homer’: 530c9, d2–3. Here Ion is reacting to the claim of Socrates that a rhapsode is expected to be a hermēneus ‘interpreter’ of a poet like Homer, and that therefore Ion must surely know the poet’s ‘intention’, that is, his dianoia (531c). By {29|30} using the literary word “intention” here, I am seeking to find a common ground between the specialized Socratic/Platonic understanding of dianoia as ‘intellect’ (for example, Republic VI 511d) [53] and a more general understanding of the word as reflected by the primary definition in the dictionary of LSJ: “thought, i.e. intention, purpose.” [54] When Socrates uses the word dianoia here at 531c, he understands it to mean Homer’s intellectual capacity as revealed by his words (see also Aristotle Poetics 1450a6, etc.). Affirming his own rhapsodic understanding of dianoia as ‘train of thought’, Ion replies that he can indeed ‘speak’ most beautifully about Homer, more so than any of his predecessors could speak about Homer (καὶ οἶμαι κάλλιστα ἀνθρώπων λέγειν περὶ Ὁμήρου 530c; see also 533c–d), and that the dianoiai that he ‘speaks’ about Homer are more beautiful than those spoken by any of his predecessors, including Metrodorus of Lampsacus, Stesimbrotus of Thasos, Glaucon, etc. (ὡς οὔτε Μητρόδωρος ὁ Λαμψακηνὸς οὔτε Στησίμβροτος ὁ Θάσιος οὔτε Γλαύκων οὔτε ἄλλος οὐδεὶς τῶν πώποτε γενομένων ἔσχεν εἰπεῖν οὕτω πολλὰς καὶ καλὰς διανοίας περὶ Ὁμήρου ὅσας ἐγώ 530c–d). [55]
7. exēgeîsthai ‘speak authoritatively, make an exegesis’ about Homer: 531a7, b8, b9; 533b8; see also 533b1; at 531a7, the word picks up the idea of legein peri + Homēros (in genitive) at 530c9. [56] See no. 6 above.
8. diatribein ‘perform’ (that is, perform rhapsodically) at 530b8. Compare Isocrates Panathenaicus 19, where diatribē refers to the ad hoc performances of ‘sophists’ at the Lyceum who are described at 18 as ‘performing rhapsodically’ (rhapsōidountes) the poetry of Homer, Hesiod, and other poets; at 33, {30|31} Isocrates refers again to the same ‘sophists’ at the Lyceum who are ‘performing rhapsodically’ (rhapsōidountas) and who also ‘speak about’—stupidly—Homer, Hesiod, and other poets (lēreîn peri + genitive; see no. 6 above). [57] Their activity of speaking about Homer, Hesiod, and other poets is described as dialegesthai (διαλέγοιντο, 18), on which see no. 10 below.
9. mnēsthēnai (and related forms) ‘make mention’ concerning a sequence from Homer within an exegetical frame, that is, to ‘quote’ it within such a frame and also to make comments or make a commentary: for example, 532c2, 536c7. As in the case of no. 6 above, what is meant is to ‘make a verbal commentary’. [58] Where mnēsthēnai takes the accusative case, it means ‘recall’, as when Socrates is trying to recall some verses from Homer (ἐὰν μνησθῶ τὰ ἔπη 537a2). [59] The rhapsode notes that his attention is always awakened when someone mnēsthēi ‘makes commentaries’ about Homer (ἐπειδὰν δέ τις περὶ Ὁμήρου μνησθῇ 532c2). Later on in the Ion, the same theme of the rhapsode’s awakened attention is transferred from the act of making commentaries about the poet (περὶ μὲν Ὁμήρου ὅταν τις μνησθῇ 536c7) to the act of actually performing or ‘singing’ something from a poet (ἐπειδάν μέν τις ἄλλου του ποιητοῦ ᾄδῃ 536b6). [60] On ‘singing’, see no. 2 above.
10. dialegesthai in the sense of ‘engage in dialogue’ about a given poet: 532b9 (ὅταν μέν τις περὶ ἄλλου του ποιητοῦ διαλέγηται). It appears in a context that is parallel to that of mnēsthēnai at 532c. [61] See no. 9 above. {31|32}

Of these ten words, the most pertinent to Plato’s own medium is dialegesthai. This is the word appropriated by Plato’s own medium to designate itself: ‘to engage in [Socratic] dialogue’ or ‘to practice dialectic’. Here we see most clearly that the language of Plato is in direct competition with the language of the rhapsode. Moreover, dialegesthai is key to the survival of Socrates’ language and of his message.

Plato is fond of exploring the lonely feeling of helplessness on the part of any author who worries about the future life of his written words, which cannot defend themselves if they come under attack (Phaedrus 275e, 276c8). One way out is to use the tekhnē ‘art’ that Socrates calls dialectic, dialektikē (276e5). The user of this art can plant words into a receptive psukhē (e6), and these words will be fertile (277a1) and not sterile (akarpoi: a1) like the words planted on a writing surface (276c8). Unlike those written words, these dialectical words can defend not only themselves but also the one who planted them (276e8–277a1), and they can even reproduce themselves into eternity (277a2–3). The words of Socrates must not suffer the fate of written words: Socrates himself could not be saved from death, but his words must be saved, and the antidote to the death of Socratic words is dialectic, that is, Socratic dialogue: as Socrates says in the Phaedo (89b9–c1), the only death that he would mourn as a genuine extinction is the death of the logos—if it should happen that the logos cannot be resurrected (anabiōnai: 89b10). Socratic dialegesthai is vital to the words of Socrates, revitalizing them every time that the reader rereads them. Dialectic is not only the antidote to the death of the words of Socrates: it is also an antidote to the words of the rhapsode. [62] We see a rivalry here in establishing the definitive meaning of dialegesthai: rhapsodes {32|33} had their own form of dialegesthai, as we saw from the indirect testimony of Isocrates (Panathenaicus 18), and of Plato himself (Ion 532b9). [63] No wonder Plato’s Socrates does not allow the rhapsode Ion to have the last word. [64]

The Socratic dialegesthai of Plato brings back to life the words of Socrates each time they are read, but it does not bring back Socrates himself. It is not even a certainty, as we see from the Phaedo, that dialegesthai could ever bring back Socrates’ psukhē, either. So much for the various Pythagorean scenarios of immortalization for the psukhē! Rhapsodic dialegesthai, by contrast, brings back to life not only the words of Homer. It brings back Homer himself.

I find it pertinent here to recall a performatively marked saying: “He who laughs last, laughs best.” [65] If you ever succeed in saying this saying in just the right context, applying it at just the right moment, you will end up as the definitive speaker of the saying—for the moment. Of course, success will have to depend on your hearers: they have to recognize that you were right after all.

Similarly in the case of Ion as dramatized in Plato’s Ion: when the rhapsode epainei ‘quotes’ Homer in the context of a debate, applying the poet’s epē ‘words’ at a given moment, he expects to win that debate. As we have seen from the Panathenaicus of Isocrates, rhapsodes debate by “quoting” Homer. After all, the rhapsode is the definitive speaker of Homer’s words; when he speaks them, he even becomes Homer himself. [66] Of course, the rhapsode’s success depends on his hearers: he expects them to recognize that he is right in applying the {33|34} words of Homer in any debate because he is the authorized speaker of these words at the authorized occasion for speaking these words. For Athenians in the late fifth century BCE, the dramatic date of Plato’s Ion, that authorized occasion took place, on a seasonally recurring basis, at the Festival of the Panathenaia.

It was at one such occasion, shortly before the actual event of the rhapsodic competitions took place, that the rhapsode Ion met Socrates. This is the dramatic moment staged by Plato’s Ion. Of course, Plato will not let Ion win the debate with Socrates. The rhapsode’s dialectic must be defeated by the rival dialectic of Socratic dialogue. Not only that: Ion’s status as the authorized speaker of Homer’s words must be undermined. After all, Socrates too can perform Homeric poetry, and he can even out-argue the rhapsode on the basis of that poetry. Are we to conclude, then, that Socrates can replace Ion as the medium or mediator of Homer? Are the rhapsodes no longer indispensable for the mediation of Homer?

The answer, from the historical standpoint of the late fifth century BCE and even thereafter, is simple: Socrates cannot replace Ion. Nor will he ever replace him—so long as there exists a Panathenaic Festival featuring as one of its main events the performance of Homer by rhapsodes. In saying “there exists a Panathenaic Festival,” I am using the present tense to symbolize the synchronic dimension of my formulation, anchored for the moment in the historical period of the late fifth century. From a synchronic point of view, there is one thing Ion does that Socrates can never do and can never take away from Ion: Socrates can never replace Ion as an authorized performer of Homeric poetry at the Panathenaia.

Such a point of view, of course, would be a traditional one. From a more modernizing point of view, however, Socrates seems to have the last laugh on the rhapsode. Why care about performances of Homeric poetry at the Panathenaia or anywhere else? Since we have Homer in books, who needs rhapsodes in the first place? Who would possibly need Ion now? Plato’s Socrates {34|35} can read Homer for us better than Ion can. For that matter, we do not need Socrates, either, once he has liberated us from the rhapsodes: now we can read Homer on our own. Homer is there for us as a text, recorded in books, ready for us to interpret, ready for our own modern commentaries. There is no need for the rhapsode as an exegete, as a hermēneus. And we certainly do not need the rhapsode’s performance. We now have Homer in writing—or maybe we have always had Homer in writing. And surely the text of Homer is more reliable than any performance of Homer. Even the transmission of the text is surely more reliable than the transmission of the performance. Even if there is some risk that the transmission of the written texts may become corrupted, there is surely a greater risk of interference in the transmission of performance. In Plato’s Ion, the rhapsode of “today” is visualized as the last and weakest link in a long magnetic chain of successive generations of performers connected all the way back to the original magnet, Homer (533d–536d). Thanks to the text of Homer, we can now cut out that whole succession of intermediate performers. Thanks to the text, we now have direct access to Homer.

What is missing in this picture? I suggest that a diachronic perspective is needed. From such a perspective, the art of Ion actually derives from that succession of previous rhapsodes. Even the Homeric tradition derives from that succession. From a diachronic point of view, the rhapsodes’ derivation from “Homer” is itself an ongoing process of creation and re-creation. We have to take seriously the historical fact that Ion, as a rhapsode, was an authorized performer of Homer, and that the authorization of rhapsodic performances came from the authority of the Athenian State, on the authoritative occasion of the Panathenaia. [67] If we took the Panathenaia seriously as the most authoritative context for studying the transmission of the Homeric tradition, instead of Plato’s reading of the Homeric text, then Ion might after all have the last laugh. {35|36}