Published online by Cambridge University Press: 11 October 2013
It is generally agreed that the concept of inspiration is one of the most basic and persistent of Greek notions about poetry. Yet there appears to be a certain confusion on the significance of this observation. For instance, while most scholars consider that the idea is of very great antiquity in Greece, there is a recent tendency to regard the concept as a formulation of the fifth century B.C. E. A. Havelock, for example, describes the notion of poetic inspiration as an invention of fifth century philosophers, and G. S. Kirk states, without discussion, that poetic inspiration was ‘probably quite a new conception’ at the time Euripides was writing. This type of disagreement clearly relates to the more fundamental question of the meaning of the concept of inspiration itself. For although there is an apparent consensus that ancient notions of poetic inspiration correspond in some way to certain modern ideas about the nature of poetic creativity, little attention has been paid to these modern notions of inspiration. And unless such modern notions are investigated, the mere observation that there is a similarity is of little value.
1 Preface to Plato (Oxford 1963) 156Google Scholar. This and the following works are cited by author's name alone: Dodds, E. R., The Greeks and the Irrational (Berkeley 1951)Google Scholar; Harriott, R., Poetry and Criticism before Plato (London 1969)Google Scholar; Lanata, G., Poetica pre-Platonica (Florence 1963)Google Scholar; Maehler, H., Die Auffassung des Dichterberufs im frühen Griechentum (Göttingen 1963)Google Scholar.
2 The Bacchae (New Jersey 1970) 10Google Scholar.
3 Those scholars who have discussed the subject of poetic inspiration in general have confused rather than clarified the ancient position. Bowra, C. M., for example, in his Rede Lecture on Inspiration and Poetry (London 1955)Google Scholar discusses the writing habits of many modern poets and makes some interesting observations on poetic inspiration. But elsewhere he uses his knowledge of the creative processes of modern poets to make inferences about ancient poets which are purely speculative. See e.g. Pindar (Oxford 1964) 8–10, 13Google Scholar.
4 See e.g. Maehler, passim; Svenbro, J., La parole et le marbre. Aux origines de la poétique grecque (Lund 1976)Google Scholar.
5 The most important texts are: Ion passim; Ap. 22a–c; Men. 99c–e; Phdr. 245; Leg. 682a, 719c–d.
6 Archil, fr. 120 W can be related to the idea of poetic μανία, as several scholars have rightly pointed out; but perhaps one should not press Archilochus too far towards a general furor poeticus: it is the dithyramb he can create when lightning-struck by wine. The old analogy between poetry and prophecy, and in particular the use of verse as a medium for prophecy at Delphi, is also relevant to the origins of the notion furor poeticus. But the first firm evidence that we have for such a notion dates from the fifth century. See Dodds 82; Tigerstedt, E. N., ‘Furor Poeticus: Poetic Inspiration in Greek Literature before Democritus and Plato’, JHI xxxi. 2(1970) 163–78Google Scholar.
7 Die Musen: Ein Beitrag zur Inspirationstheorie (München 1968) 102Google Scholar.
8 Einführung in die antike Dichtungstheorie (Darmstadt 1973) 73–4Google Scholar.
9 156.
10 One reason for this concentration on Plato is, I suspect, that modern notions of inspiration (which are largely Romantic) bear more resemblance to the Platonic concept of inspiration than to anything which we find in the early Greek poets. Compare, for example, Socrates' well-known words about the inability of the inspired poet to understand his own creations with the following statement of Thomas Carlyle: ‘Manufacture is intelligible, but trivial; Creation is great, but cannot be understood. Thus if the Debater and Demonstrator, whom we may rank as the lowest of true thinkers, knows what he has done, and how he did it, the Artist, whom we may rank as the highest, knows not; must speak of Inspiration, and in one or other dialect, call his work the gift of a divinity.’ (Characteristics [1831] ed. Foakes, R. A., Romantic Criticism: 1800–1850 [London 1968] 145)Google Scholar.
11 See e.g. Harding, R. E. M., An Anatomy of Inspiration 2 (Cambridge 1942)Google Scholar; Ghiselin, B., The Creative Process (Berkeley 1952)Google Scholar; Press, J., The Fire and the Fountain (London 1966)Google Scholar; Vernon, P. E. (ed.), Creativity (London 1970) 53–88Google Scholar; Dick, K. (ed.), Writers at Work (Penguin 1972)Google Scholar.
12 See e.g. C. Day Lewis' account in The Listener, 28th April, 1966: ‘For me, at any rate, “inspiration” is the moment when some phrase comes to me out of the blue and offers itself as a seed from which a poem may grow. This seed, clue, donnée, whatever, as you call it, swims up into my mind, not usually as an idea, but in a form of words.'
13 See e.g., Rilke's description of the way in which his Sonnets to Orpheus were written (Briefe [Wiesbaden 1950] ii 412)Google Scholar: ‘Sie sind vielleicht das geheimste, mir selber, in ihrem Aufkommcn und sich-mir-Auftragen, rätselhafteste Diktat, das ich je ausgehalten und geleistet habe; der ganze erste Teil ist, in einem einzigen atemlosen Gehorchen, zwischen dem 2. und dem 5. Februar 1922 nieder–geschrieben, ohne dass ein wort im zweifel oder zu ändern war.’ Cf. Nietzsche's, comments on inspiration in Ecce Homo (1888) trans. Kaufmann, W. (New York 1969) 300–1Google Scholar. Sceptics may like to note Eliot's, T. S. comment in Selected Essays 3 (London 1951) 405Google Scholar.
14 A distinction between two types of inspiration is also made by Harding (n. 11) 65, and by Stephen Spender in Ghiselin (n. 11) 114–15.
15 See below, n. 17.
16 The etymology of the word μοῦσ is uncertain. See e.g. Maehler's summary of the problem, 16–17, n. 5. For general information on the Muses see e.g. Mayer, M., RE xvi (1933) 680–757;Google ScholarOtto, W., Die Musen (Darmstadt 1956)Google Scholar; Harriott 10–33.
17 50–1. For confusion over the concepts of inspiration and genius see e.g. Sikes, E. E., The Greek View of Poetry (London 1931) 20;Google ScholarGrube, G. M. A., The Greek and Roman Critics (Toronto 1965) 9;Google ScholarSperduti, A., ‘The divine nature of poetry in antiquity’, TAPA lxxxi (1950) 233Google Scholar.
18 The same idea may also be expressed at Od. viii 499: ὁ δ᾿ ὁρμηθεὶς θεοῦ ἄρχετο, φαῖνε δ᾿ ἀοιδήν. The problem is whether to take θεοῦ with ὁρμηθείς or with ἄρΧετο. See the discussions of e.g. Falter, O., Der Dichter und sein Gott bet den Griechen und Römern (Würzburg 1934) 9;Google Scholar Harriott 42. And cf. Pi.fr. 151.
19 On invocations in early Greek poetry see e.g. Falter (n. 18) 4–7, 12, 18–23, 34–50; Harriott 41–9, 72–7.
20 On this see e.g. Haüssler, R., ‘Der Tod der Musen’, AuA xix (1973) 117–45;Google ScholarCommager, S., The Odes of Horace (Indiana 1967) 2–16Google Scholar.
21 Harriott (40) appears to miss the point of these lines. The bard does not speak ‘as if his physical strength will not be equal to the long task of recounting the participants in the war’, but rather stresses that, however great his physical strength, he will not be able to recall the necessary information without the prompting of the Muses. The contrast made here for the first time between divine knowledge and human ignorance is a persistent theme in early Greek literature. See e.g. Ibyc. fr. 1. 23–6; Sol. fr. 17; Xenoph.fr. 34; Pi. N. vii 23–4, Pa. vi 50–8, viib 15–20; Snell, B., The Discovery of the Mind, trans. Rosenmeyer, T. G. (New York 1960) 136–52Google Scholar. Invocations in Homeric epic occur elsewhere at Il. i 1, ii 761, xi 218, xiv 508, xvi 112; Od. i 1. Cf. also the quasi-invocations at Il. v 703, viii 273, xi 299, xvi 692. For scholarship on Homeric invocations see Harriott 44.
22 177.
23 ‘Invocation and Catalogue in Hesiod and Homer’, TAPA xciii (1962) 190Google Scholar.
24 Poetry and Prophecy (Cambridge 1942) 41Google Scholar.
25 As e.g. Marg, W. points out, Homer über die Dichtung (Münster 1957) 10,Google Scholar the precise significance of this alternative is now lost to us. But the overlapping of the domains of Apollo and the Muses clearly stresses the importance of knowledge and truth in the poetry of this period.
26 See e.g. Latte, K., ‘Hesiods Dichterweihe’, AuA ii (1946) 159–63;Google Scholar Lanata 24–5 and bibliography there; Maehler 41; Kambylis, A., Die Dichterweihe und ihre Symbolik (Heidelberg 1965) 62–3;Google Scholar West ad loc.; Verdenius, W. J., ‘Notes on the Proem of Hesiod's Theogony’, Mnem. xxv (1972) 234–5;Google ScholarPucci, P., Hesiod and the Language of Poetry (Baltimore 1977) 9–16Google Scholar.
27 See e.g. Pi. N. vii 20–4; Heraclit. fr. 56, cf. fr. 42; Xenoph. fr. 11; Pl. Rep. 377d, and in general Mehmel, F. ‘Homer und die Griechen’ AuA iv (1954) 16–40Google Scholar. See also Maehler 41 and Verdenius (n. 26) 234.
28 113.
29 Cf. Th. 104–14; Op. 661–2.
30 Cf. e.g. Pi. O. x 1–6, xiii 93–100; Pa. viib 15–20; Ibyc. fr. 1. 23–6; Bacch. xv 47.
31 See e.g. O. iv 17–18, vi 20–1, vii 20–1, xiii 52 and P. i 86–7 on the importance of truth in general. ‘Αλάθϵια is invoked at O. x 3–4 and at fr. 205. Pindar's concern for truth is also evident in his characteristic use of arrow and javelin imagery as at e.g. O. xiii 93–5, P. i 42–5, N. i 18, vi 26–7. See further Bowra, Pindar 26–33; Harriott 69–70; Maehler 96–8.
32 See e.g. O. i 28–32, N. vii 20–3. In general on this persuasive power of poetry see e.g. Harriott 117–20; de Romilly, J., ‘Gorgias et le pouvoir de la poésie’, JHS xciii (1973) 155–62CrossRefGoogle Scholar.
33 Frr. 3, 4, 23.11, 131. The view expressed by Falter (n. 18) 40 that Empedocles'invocation to the Muse in fr. 3 is nothing but ‘poetische Einkleidung, Motiv, keineswegs aber aus wahrem Glauben erwachsen’ is rightly refuted by Verdenius, W.J., ‘The meaning of Πίστις in Empedocles’, Mnem. 4 i (1948) 10–11Google Scholar. Cf. Boyancé, P., Le culte des Muses chez les philosophes grecs (Paris 1936) 241Google Scholar. Clearly the goddess in Parmenides' proem fr. 1.22–32 also guarantees the truth of his message, but she is not identified as a Muse. See e.g. Harriott 65–7.
34 ‘Solon's Prayer to the Muses’, TAPA lxxx (1949) 65Google Scholar.
35 Th. 53–61 with West ad loc. To the references there given add Th. 915–17; PMG fr. 941; Pl. Pa. vi 54–6, viib 15–16; Pl. Theaet. 191d; Plut. Mor. 9d,frr. 215h, 217j. See further e.g. Snell, B. ‘Mnemosyne in der frühgriechischen Dichtung’, Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte ix (1964) 19–21;Google ScholarSetti, A., ‘La Memoria e il canto’, Stud. Ital. xxx (1958) 129–71Google Scholar.
36 Cf. e.g. Certamen 98; Pi. N. i 12.
37 See e.g. Duchemin, J., Pindare poète et prophète (Paris 1955) 26Google Scholar.
38 163–4.
39 100.
40 Journal de Psychologie (1959) 1–29 repr. in Mythe et pensée chez les Grecs (Paris 1974) 80–107Google Scholar. See also Detienne, M., Les maîtres de vérité dans la grèce archaïque 2 (Paris 1973) 15, 24–7, 110Google Scholar.
41 See further Snell (n. 21).
42 83 n. 9.
43 See Lanata's excellent discussion of this passage, 12–13.
44 I hope to discuss the history of this concept in a later article.
45 Cf. 1114, 1217.
46 See e.g. Rohde, E., Psyche, trans. Hillis, W. B. (London 1925) 289;Google Scholar Dodds 70.
47 ‘Mnemosyne in Oral Literature’, TAPA lxix (1938) 465–93Google Scholar.
48 See e.g. Horn. Il. vi 358; Od. viii 73, 580; xxiv 196–7; h.Ap. 298–9; Theog. 237–52; Sapph.fr. 55, cf. fr. 193; Bacch. iii 71, 90–8, ix 81–7, x 9–18; Pi. O. viii 70–80, x 86–96, P. i 93–100, iii 112–15, iv 293–9, v 45–9, vi 5–17, xi 55–64, N. vi 26–35, vii 11–16, ix 48–55, I. v 53–7, vii 16–26, viii 56–63, fr. 121; Pl. Smp. 209d–e.
49 Oral Poetry (Cambridge 1977)Google Scholar.
50 Ibid. 28, cf. 133.
51 See Parry, M., –Studies in the Epic Technique of Oral Verse-Making’, HSCP xli (1930) 77–8Google Scholar= The Making of Homeric Verse, ed. Parry, A. (Oxford 1971) 269–70;Google ScholarLord, A. B., The Singer of Tales (Cambridge Mass, 1960) 13–29;Google ScholarNagler, M. N., Spontaneity and Oral Tradition (Berkeley 1974) xxi, xxiii, 20–1Google Scholar. On the whole topic of prior composition, memorisation and performance see Finnegan (n. 49) 73–87.
52 Cf. Th. 97; Hom. Od. i 371.
53 ᾿Αναξ ᾿Απολλον, τῶν ἐπῶν τῶν ἐπῶν τῶν ῥευμάτων. καναχοῦσι πηγαί, δωδεκάκρουνον τὸ στόμα, ᾿Ιλισσὸς ἐν τῇ φάρυγι τί ἄν εἴποιμ᾿ ἔτι εἰ μὴ γὰρ ἐπιβύσει τις αὐτοῦ τὸ στόμα ἄπαντα ταῦτα κατακλύσει ποιήμασιν Cf. Ar. Eq. 526–8; Pl. Leg. 719c.
54 88–9, 124. Cf. Kambylis (n. 26) 144–6.
55 Cf. e.g. Hes. Th. 104; Pi.fr. 75; Ar. Av. 737–50 Ra. 675.
56 Cf. e.g. P. iv 1–3, N. vi 28–9.
57 Μοῦσα, σὺ μὲν πολέμους ἀπ-ωσαμένη μετ᾿ ἐμοῦ τοῦ φίλου χόρευσον, κλείουσα θεῶν τε γάμους ἀνδρῶν τε δαῖτας καὶ θαλίας μακάρων Cf. Ach. 665–75.
58 Op. cit. (n. 17) 2.
59 See above, n. 21
60 Cf. Od. i 346–7.
61 See e.g. Dodds 1–18; Lesky, A., Gödttliche und menschliche Motivation im homerischen Epos (Heidelber 1961)Google Scholar.
62 See e.g. Lanata, 13–14.
63 See e.g. Becker, O., ‘Das Bild des Weges’, Hermes Einzels. iv (Berlin 1937)Google Scholar; Harriott 64–5.
64 See e.g. Schadewaldt, W., Von Homers Welt und Werk 3 (Stuttgart 1959) 78–9;Google Scholar Dodds 10; Maehler 22–3; Harriott 92 and bibliography there.
65 See Pi. P. iv 286–7 where the free attendant (θεράπων) is contrasted with the slave (δράστας). For θεράπων of the poet see e.g. Hes. Th. 100; h. Hom. xxxii 20; Choeril. fr. 1; Ar. Av. 909. Cf. Bacch. v 192 (πρόπολος); Sapph.fr. 150 (μοισοπόλος).
66 See van Groningen, B. A., Théognis: Le premier livre (Amsterdam 1966)Google Scholarad. loc. and Silk, M. S., Interaction in Poetic Imagery (Cambridge 1974) 89CrossRefGoogle Scholar who notes that ‘Μουσῶν θεράπων is an absolutely conventional periphrasis for the poet; Μουσῶν ἄγγελος is live metaphor’.
67 Cf. Pi. Pa. vi 6; Bacch. ix 3. On προφητης see Fascher, E.ΠΡΟΦΗΤΗΣ (Giessen 1927)Google Scholar; Parke, H. W., CQ xxxiv (1940) 85;CrossRefGoogle Scholar Fraenkel on Aesch. Ag. 1099.
68 82.
69 Cf. O. i 110, N. vi 54, viii 20, fr. 122.14; Bacch. fr. 5. Cf. ἐρευνᾶν at Pa. vii b 20. And in general see Becker (n. 62) 73; Maehler 96; Harriott 60–1.
70 O. vii 7–8. Cf. N. iv 6–8; Bacch. xii 1–3, xiii 220–9.
71 156.
72 Op. cit. (n. 7) 70.
73 Op. cit. (n. 4) 5.
74 Ibid. 193. Cf. 195.
75 Ibid. 6.
76 Ibid. 193–5.
77 On the notion of poetic skill in Homer see especially Schadewaldt (n. 64) 70–5.
78 For the teaching idiom see e.g. Horn. Od.1 viii 481, 488, xvii 519, xxii 347; Hes. Th. 22, Op. 662; Sol. fr. 13.51. Cf. the idea that man learnt to sing from the birds: Democr. fr. 154; Alcm. frr. 39, 40. For οἶδα see e.g. Od. i 337; Alcm. fr. 40; Archil. fr. 120.2. For ἐπίσταμαι see e.g. Od. xi 368; Hes. Op. 107; Archil, fr. 1.2; 13.52.
79 Die Ausdrucke für den Begriff des Wissens in der vorplatonischen Philosophie (Berlin 1924) 81–3Google Scholar.
80 See Snell (n. 79) 5–7, where he gives a list of σοΦοί including seers, generals, steersmen, doctors, coach drivers, wrestlers, cooks, and farmers. For σοΦ– words of poets, see e.g. Sol fr. 13.52; Ibyc. fr. 1.23; Theog. 770, 995; Pi. O. ii 86 and other references cited by Lanata 83–5 (Pindar, of course, invests the terms σοΦός and σοθία with a new significance: in particular σοθός denotes for him a rare individual, set apart from his fellows both by his inborn nature and by his communion with the gods); Xenoph. fr. 2.12; Ar. Nu. 547, Pax 797, Lys. 368. For a detailed study of the subject see Gladigow, B., Sophia und Kosmos (Hildesheim 1965)Google Scholar.
81 Hdt. ii 53; Ar. Ach. 654. See further e.g. Harriott 93–4. Similar terminology for the poet's craft occurs in Sanskrit and other I.E. languages. See West, M., ‘Greek Poetry 2000–700 B.C.’ CQ xxiii (1973) 179CrossRefGoogle Scholar and bibliography there.
82 For a sensible discussion see Harriott 94.
83 See e.g. Bacch. V9–10, xiii 223, xix 8–10; Pi. O. vi 1–4, 86–7, P. iii 113, vi 9, N. ii 1–2, iii 4–5, I. i 14, fr. 194.
84 Op. cit. (n. 4) 178–9, 187, 168–70.
85 See Wilamowitz, Pindaros (Berlin 1922) 124;Google ScholarLefkowitz, M. R., ‘τὼ καί ἐγώ: The First Person in Pindar’, HSCP lxvii (1963) 229–32Google Scholar.
86 See the further criticisms of Fogelmark, St. in his review of Svenbro, Gnomon 1 (1978) 13–24Google Scholar.
87 Op. cit. (n. 17) 9.
88 O. ii 83–88. Cf. O. ix 100–2, N. iii 40–2.
89 81.