Aristotle
384-322 B.C.E. - Wrote in Greek
Poetics
Written 350 B.C.E
Translated by S. H. Butcher
Poetics
By Aristotle
Section 1
Part I
I propose to treat of Poetry in itself and of its various kinds, noting
the essential quality of each, to inquire into the structure of the plot
as requisite to a good poem; into the number and nature of the parts of
which a poem is composed; and similarly into whatever else falls within
the same inquiry. Following, then, the order of nature, let us begin with
the principles which come first.
Epic poetry and Tragedy, Comedy also and Dithyrambic poetry, and
the music of the flute and of the lyre in most of their forms, are all
in their general conception modes of imitation. They differ, however, from
one another in three respects- the medium, the objects, the manner or mode
of imitation, being in each case distinct.
For as there are persons who, by conscious art or mere habit, imitate
and represent various objects through the medium of color and form, or
again by the voice; so in the arts above mentioned, taken as a whole, the
imitation is produced by rhythm, language, or 'harmony,' either singly
or combined.
Thus in the music of the flute and of the lyre, 'harmony' and rhythm
alone are employed; also in other arts, such as that of the shepherd's
pipe, which are essentially similar to these. In dancing, rhythm alone
is used without 'harmony'; for even dancing imitates character, emotion,
and action, by rhythmical movement.
There is another art which imitates by means of language alone,
and that either in prose or verse- which verse, again, may either combine
different meters or consist of but one kind- but this has hitherto been
without a name. For there is no common term we could apply to the mimes
of Sophron and Xenarchus and the Socratic dialogues on the one hand; and,
on the other, to poetic imitations in iambic, elegiac, or any similar meter.
People do, indeed, add the word 'maker' or 'poet' to the name of the meter,
and speak of elegiac poets, or epic (that is, hexameter) poets, as if it
were not the imitation that makes the poet, but the verse that entitles
them all to the name. Even when a treatise on medicine or natural science
is brought out in verse, the name of poet is by custom given to the author;
and yet Homer and Empedocles have nothing in common but the meter, so that
it would be right to call the one poet, the other physicist rather than
poet. On the same principle, even if a writer in his poetic imitation were
to combine all meters, as Chaeremon did in his Centaur, which is a medley
composed of meters of all kinds, we should bring him too under the general
term poet.
So much then for these distinctions.
There are, again, some arts which employ all the means above mentioned-
namely, rhythm, tune, and meter. Such are Dithyrambic and Nomic poetry,
and also Tragedy and Comedy; but between them originally the difference
is, that in the first two cases these means are all employed in combination,
in the latter, now one means is employed, now another.
Such, then, are the differences of the arts with respect to the
medium of imitation
Part II
Since the objects of imitation are men in action, and these men
must be either of a higher or a lower type (for moral character mainly
answers to these divisions, goodness and badness being the distinguishing
marks of moral differences), it follows that we must represent men either
as better than in real life, or as worse, or as they are. It is the same
in painting. Polygnotus depicted men as nobler than they are, Pauson as
less noble, Dionysius drew them true to life.
Now it is evident that each of the modes of imitation above mentioned
will exhibit these differences, and become a distinct kind in imitating
objects that are thus distinct. Such diversities may be found even in dancing,
flute-playing, and lyre-playing. So again in language, whether prose or
verse unaccompanied by music. Homer, for example, makes men better than
they are; Cleophon as they are; Hegemon the Thasian, the inventor of parodies,
and Nicochares, the author of the Deiliad, worse than they are. The same
thing holds good of Dithyrambs and Nomes; here too one may portray different
types, as Timotheus and Philoxenus differed in representing their Cyclopes.
The same distinction marks off Tragedy from Comedy; for Comedy aims at
representing men as worse, Tragedy as better than in actual
life.
Part III
There is still a third difference- the manner in which each of
these objects may be imitated. For the medium being the same, and the objects
the same, the poet may imitate by narration- in which case he can either
take another personality as Homer does, or speak in his own person, unchanged-
or he may present all his characters as living and moving before
us.
These, then, as we said at the beginning, are the three differences
which distinguish artistic imitation- the medium, the objects, and the
manner. So that from one point of view, Sophocles is an imitator of the
same kind as Homer- for both imitate higher types of character; from another
point of view, of the same kind as Aristophanes- for both imitate persons
acting and doing. Hence, some say, the name of 'drama' is given to such
poems, as representing action. For the same reason the Dorians claim the
invention both of Tragedy and Comedy. The claim to Comedy is put forward
by the Megarians- not only by those of Greece proper, who allege that it
originated under their democracy, but also by the Megarians of Sicily,
for the poet Epicharmus, who is much earlier than Chionides and Magnes,
belonged to that country. Tragedy too is claimed by certain Dorians of
the Peloponnese. In each case they appeal to the evidence of language.
The outlying villages, they say, are by them called komai, by the Athenians
demoi: and they assume that comedians were so named not from komazein,
'to revel,' but because they wandered from village to village (kata komas),
being excluded contemptuously from the city. They add also that the Dorian
word for 'doing' is dran, and the Athenian, prattein.
This may suffice as to the number and nature of the various modes
of imitation.
Part IV
Poetry in general seems to have sprung from two causes, each of
them lying deep in our nature. First, the instinct of imitation is implanted
in man from childhood, one difference between him and other animals being
that he is the most imitative of living creatures, and through imitation
learns his earliest lessons; and no less universal is the pleasure felt
in things imitated. We have evidence of this in the facts of experience.
Objects which in themselves we view with pain, we delight to contemplate
when reproduced with minute fidelity: such as the forms of the most ignoble
animals and of dead bodies. The cause of this again is, that to learn gives
the liveliest pleasure, not only to philosophers but to men in general;
whose capacity, however, of learning is more limited. Thus the reason why
men enjoy seeing a likeness is, that in contemplating it they find themselves
learning or inferring, and saying perhaps, 'Ah, that is he.' For if you
happen not to have seen the original, the pleasure will be due not to the
imitation as such, but to the execution, the coloring, or some such other
cause.
Imitation, then, is one instinct of our nature. Next, there is
the instinct for 'harmony' and rhythm, meters being manifestly sections
of rhythm. Persons, therefore, starting with this natural gift developed
by degrees their special aptitudes, till their rude improvisations gave
birth to Poetry.
Poetry now diverged in two directions, according to the individual
character of the writers. The graver spirits imitated noble actions, and
the actions of good men. The more trivial sort imitated the actions of
meaner persons, at first composing satires, as the former did hymns to
the gods and the praises of famous men. A poem of the satirical kind cannot
indeed be put down to any author earlier than Homer; though many such writers
probably there were. But from Homer onward, instances can be cited- his
own Margites, for example, and other similar compositions. The appropriate
meter was also here introduced; hence the measure is still called the iambic
or lampooning measure, being that in which people lampooned one another.
Thus the older poets were distinguished as writers of heroic or of lampooning
verse.
As, in the serious style, Homer is pre-eminent among poets, for
he alone combined dramatic form with excellence of imitation so he too
first laid down the main lines of comedy, by dramatizing the ludicrous
instead of writing personal satire. His Margites bears the same relation
to comedy that the Iliad and Odyssey do to tragedy. But when Tragedy and
Comedy came to light, the two classes of poets still followed their natural
bent: the lampooners became writers of Comedy, and the Epic poets were
succeeded by Tragedians, since the drama was a larger and higher form of
art.
Whether Tragedy has as yet perfected its proper types or not; and
whether it is to be judged in itself, or in relation also to the audience-
this raises another question. Be that as it may, Tragedy- as also Comedy-
was at first mere improvisation. The one originated with the authors of
the Dithyramb, the other with those of the phallic songs, which are still
in use in many of our cities. Tragedy advanced by slow degrees; each new
element that showed itself was in turn developed. Having passed through
many changes, it found its natural form, and there it
stopped.
Aeschylus first introduced a second actor; he diminished the importance
of the Chorus, and assigned the leading part to the dialogue. Sophocles
raised the number of actors to three, and added scene-painting. Moreover,
it was not till late that the short plot was discarded for one of greater
compass, and the grotesque diction of the earlier satyric form for the
stately manner of Tragedy. The iambic measure then replaced the trochaic
tetrameter, which was originally employed when the poetry was of the satyric
order, and had greater with dancing. Once dialogue had come in, Nature
herself discovered the appropriate measure. For the iambic is, of all measures,
the most colloquial we see it in the fact that conversational speech runs
into iambic lines more frequently than into any other kind of verse; rarely
into hexameters, and only when we drop the colloquial intonation. The additions
to the number of 'episodes' or acts, and the other accessories of which
tradition tells, must be taken as already described; for to discuss them
in detail would, doubtless, be a large undertaking.
Part V
Comedy is, as we have said, an imitation of characters of a lower
type- not, however, in the full sense of the word bad, the ludicrous being
merely a subdivision of the ugly. It consists in some defect or ugliness
which is not painful or destructive. To take an obvious example, the comic
mask is ugly and distorted, but does not imply pain.
The successive changes through which Tragedy passed, and the authors
of these changes, are well known, whereas Comedy has had no history, because
it was not at first treated seriously. It was late before the Archon granted
a comic chorus to a poet; the performers were till then voluntary. Comedy
had already taken definite shape when comic poets, distinctively so called,
are heard of. Who furnished it with masks, or prologues, or increased the
number of actors- these and other similar details remain unknown. As for
the plot, it came originally from Sicily; but of Athenian writers Crates
was the first who abandoning the 'iambic' or lampooning form, generalized
his themes and plots.
Epic poetry agrees with Tragedy in so far as it is an imitation
in verse of characters of a higher type. They differ in that Epic poetry
admits but one kind of meter and is narrative in form. They differ, again,
in their length: for Tragedy endeavors, as far as possible, to confine
itself to a single revolution of the sun, or but slightly to exceed this
limit, whereas the Epic action has no limits of time. This, then, is a
second point of difference; though at first the same freedom was admitted
in Tragedy as in Epic poetry.
Of their constituent parts some are common to both, some peculiar
to Tragedy: whoever, therefore knows what is good or bad Tragedy, knows
also about Epic poetry. All the elements of an Epic poem are found in Tragedy,
but the elements of a Tragedy are not all found in the Epic
poem.
Part VI
Of the poetry which imitates in hexameter verse, and of Comedy,
we will speak hereafter. Let us now discuss Tragedy, resuming its formal
definition, as resulting from what has been already
said.
Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious, complete,
and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic
ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play;
in the form of action, not of narrative; through pity and fear effecting
the proper purgation of these emotions. By 'language embellished,' I mean
language into which rhythm, 'harmony' and song enter. By 'the several kinds
in separate parts,' I mean, that some parts are rendered through the medium
of verse alone, others again with the aid of song.
Now as tragic imitation implies persons acting, it necessarily
follows in the first place, that Spectacular equipment will be a part of
Tragedy. Next, Song and Diction, for these are the media of imitation.
By 'Diction' I mean the mere metrical arrangement of the words: as for
'Song,' it is a term whose sense every one understands.
Again, Tragedy is the imitation of an action; and an action implies
personal agents, who necessarily possess certain distinctive qualities
both of character and thought; for it is by these that we qualify actions
themselves, and these- thought and character- are the two natural causes
from which actions spring, and on actions again all success or failure
depends. Hence, the Plot is the imitation of the action- for by plot I
here mean the arrangement of the incidents. By Character I mean that in
virtue of which we ascribe certain qualities to the agents. Thought is
required wherever a statement is proved, or, it may be, a general truth
enunciated. Every Tragedy, therefore, must have six parts, which parts
determine its quality- namely, Plot, Character, Diction, Thought, Spectacle,
Song. Two of the parts constitute the medium of imitation, one the manner,
and three the objects of imitation. And these complete the fist. These
elements have been employed, we may say, by the poets to a man; in fact,
every play contains Spectacular elements as well as Character, Plot, Diction,
Song, and Thought.
But most important of all is the structure of the incidents. For
Tragedy is an imitation, not of men, but of an action and of life, and
life consists in action, and its end is a mode of action, not a quality.
Now character determines men's qualities, but it is by their actions that
they are happy or the reverse. Dramatic action, therefore, is not with
a view to the representation of character: character comes in as subsidiary
to the actions. Hence the incidents and the plot are the end of a tragedy;
and the end is the chief thing of all. Again, without action there cannot
be a tragedy; there may be without character. The tragedies of most of
our modern poets fail in the rendering of character; and of poets in general
this is often true. It is the same in painting; and here lies the difference
between Zeuxis and Polygnotus. Polygnotus delineates character well; the
style of Zeuxis is devoid of ethical quality. Again, if you string together
a set of speeches expressive of character, and well finished in point of
diction and thought, you will not produce the essential tragic effect nearly
so well as with a play which, however deficient in these respects, yet
has a plot and artistically constructed incidents. Besides which, the most
powerful elements of emotional interest in Tragedy- Peripeteia or Reversal
of the Situation, and Recognition scenes- are parts of the plot. A further
proof is, that novices in the art attain to finish of diction and precision
of portraiture before they can construct the plot. It is the same with
almost all the early poets.
The plot, then, is the first principle, and, as it were, the soul
of a tragedy; Character holds the second place. A similar fact is seen
in painting. The most beautiful colors, laid on confusedly, will not give
as much pleasure as the chalk outline of a portrait. Thus Tragedy is the
imitation of an action, and of the agents mainly with a view to the
action.
Third in order is Thought- that is, the faculty of saying what
is possible and pertinent in given circumstances. In the case of oratory,
this is the function of the political art and of the art of rhetoric: and
so indeed the older poets make their characters speak the language of civic
life; the poets of our time, the language of the rhetoricians. Character
is that which reveals moral purpose, showing what kind of things a man
chooses or avoids. Speeches, therefore, which do not make this manifest,
or in which the speaker does not choose or avoid anything whatever, are
not expressive of character. Thought, on the other hand, is found where
something is proved to be or not to be, or a general maxim is
enunciated.
Fourth among the elements enumerated comes Diction; by which I
mean, as has been already said, the expression of the meaning in words;
and its essence is the same both in verse and prose.
Of the remaining elements Song holds the chief place among the
embellishments
The Spectacle has, indeed, an emotional attraction of its own,
but, of all the parts, it is the least artistic, and connected least with
the art of poetry. For the power of Tragedy, we may be sure, is felt even
apart from representation and actors. Besides, the production of spectacular
effects depends more on the art of the stage machinist than on that of
the poet.
Part VII
These principles being established, let us now discuss the proper
structure of the Plot, since this is the first and most important thing
in Tragedy.
Now, according to our definition Tragedy is an imitation of an
action that is complete, and whole, and of a certain magnitude; for there
may be a whole that is wanting in magnitude. A whole is that which has
a beginning, a middle, and an end. A beginning is that which does not itself
follow anything by causal necessity, but after which something naturally
is or comes to be. An end, on the contrary, is that which itself naturally
follows some other thing, either by necessity, or as a rule, but has nothing
following it. A middle is that which follows something as some other thing
follows it. A well constructed plot, therefore, must neither begin nor
end at haphazard, but conform to these principles.
Again, a beautiful object, whether it be a living organism or any
whole composed of parts, must not only have an orderly arrangement of parts,
but must also be of a certain magnitude; for beauty depends on magnitude
and order. Hence a very small animal organism cannot be beautiful; for
the view of it is confused, the object being seen in an almost imperceptible
moment of time. Nor, again, can one of vast size be beautiful; for as the
eye cannot take it all in at once, the unity and sense of the whole is
lost for the spectator; as for instance if there were one a thousand miles
long. As, therefore, in the case of animate bodies and organisms a certain
magnitude is necessary, and a magnitude which may be easily embraced in
one view; so in the plot, a certain length is necessary, and a length which
can be easily embraced by the memory. The limit of length in relation to
dramatic competition and sensuous presentment is no part of artistic theory.
For had it been the rule for a hundred tragedies to compete together, the
performance would have been regulated by the water-clock- as indeed we
are told was formerly done. But the limit as fixed by the nature of the
drama itself is this: the greater the length, the more beautiful will the
piece be by reason of its size, provided that the whole be perspicuous.
And to define the matter roughly, we may say that the proper magnitude
is comprised within such limits, that the sequence of events, according
to the law of probability or necessity, will admit of a change from bad
fortune to good, or from good fortune to bad.
Part VIII
Unity of plot does not, as some persons think, consist in the unity
of the hero. For infinitely various are the incidents in one man's life
which cannot be reduced to unity; and so, too, there are many actions of
one man out of which we cannot make one action. Hence the error, as it
appears, of all poets who have composed a Heracleid, a Theseid, or other
poems of the kind. They imagine that as Heracles was one man, the story
of Heracles must also be a unity. But Homer, as in all else he is of surpassing
merit, here too- whether from art or natural genius- seems to have happily
discerned the truth. In composing the Odyssey he did not include all the
adventures of Odysseus- such as his wound on Parnassus, or his feigned
madness at the mustering of the host- incidents between which there was
no necessary or probable connection: but he made the Odyssey, and likewise
the Iliad, to center round an action that in our sense of the word is one.
As therefore, in the other imitative arts, the imitation is one when the
object imitated is one, so the plot, being an imitation of an action, must
imitate one action and that a whole, the structural union of the parts
being such that, if any one of them is displaced or removed, the whole
will be disjointed and disturbed. For a thing whose presence or absence
makes no visible difference, is not an organic part of the
whole.
Part IX
It is, moreover, evident from what has been said, that it is not
the function of the poet to relate what has happened, but what may happen-
what is possible according to the law of probability or necessity. The
poet and the historian differ not by writing in verse or in prose. The
work of Herodotus might be put into verse, and it would still be a species
of history, with meter no less than without it. The true difference is
that one relates what has happened, the other what may happen. Poetry,
therefore, is a more philosophical and a higher thing than history: for
poetry tends to express the universal, history the particular. By the universal
I mean how a person of a certain type on occasion speak or act, according
to the law of probability or necessity; and it is this universality at
which poetry aims in the names she attaches to the personages. The particular
is- for example- what Alcibiades did or suffered. In Comedy this is already
apparent: for here the poet first constructs the plot on the lines of probability,
and then inserts characteristic names- unlike the lampooners who write
about particular individuals. But tragedians still keep to real names,
the reason being that what is possible is credible: what has not happened
we do not at once feel sure to be possible; but what has happened is manifestly
possible: otherwise it would not have happened. Still there are even some
tragedies in which there are only one or two well-known names, the rest
being fictitious. In others, none are well known- as in Agathon's Antheus,
where incidents and names alike are fictitious, and yet they give none
the less pleasure. We must not, therefore, at all costs keep to the received
legends, which are the usual subjects of Tragedy. Indeed, it would be absurd
to attempt it; for even subjects that are known are known only to a few,
and yet give pleasure to all. It clearly follows that the poet or 'maker'
should be the maker of plots rather than of verses; since he is a poet
because he imitates, and what he imitates are actions. And even if he chances
to take a historical subject, he is none the less a poet; for there is
no reason why some events that have actually happened should not conform
to the law of the probable and possible, and in virtue of that quality
in them he is their poet or maker.
Of all plots and actions the episodic are the worst. I call a plot
'episodic' in which the episodes or acts succeed one another without probable
or necessary sequence. Bad poets compose such pieces by their own fault,
good poets, to please the players; for, as they write show pieces for competition,
they stretch the plot beyond its capacity, and are often forced to break
the natural continuity.
But again, Tragedy is an imitation not only of a complete action,
but of events inspiring fear or pity. Such an effect is best produced when
the events come on us by surprise; and the effect is heightened when, at
the same time, they follows as cause and effect. The tragic wonder will
then be greater than if they happened of themselves or by accident; for
even coincidences are most striking when they have an air of design. We
may instance the statue of Mitys at Argos, which fell upon his murderer
while he was a spectator at a festival, and killed him. Such events seem
not to be due to mere chance. Plots, therefore, constructed on these principles
are necessarily the best.
Part X
Plots are either Simple or Complex, for the actions in real life,
of which the plots are an imitation, obviously show a similar distinction.
An action which is one and continuous in the sense above defined, I call
Simple, when the change of fortune takes place without Reversal of the
Situation and without Recognition
A Complex action is one in which the change is accompanied by such
Reversal, or by Recognition, or by both. These last should arise from the
internal structure of the plot, so that what follows should be the necessary
or probable result of the preceding action. It makes all the difference
whether any given event is a case of propter hoc or post
hoc.
Part XI
Reversal of the Situation is a change by which the action veers
round to its opposite, subject always to our rule of probability or necessity.
Thus in the Oedipus, the messenger comes to cheer Oedipus and free him
from his alarms about his mother, but by revealing who he is, he produces
the opposite effect. Again in the Lynceus, Lynceus is being led away to
his death, and Danaus goes with him, meaning to slay him; but the outcome
of the preceding incidents is that Danaus is killed and Lynceus
saved.
Recognition, as the name indicates, is a change from ignorance
to knowledge, producing love or hate between the persons destined by the
poet for good or bad fortune. The best form of recognition is coincident
with a Reversal of the Situation, as in the Oedipus. There are indeed other
forms. Even inanimate things of the most trivial kind may in a sense be
objects of recognition. Again, we may recognize or discover whether a person
has done a thing or not. But the recognition which is most intimately
connected with the plot and action is, as we have said, the recognition
of persons. This recognition, combined with Reversal, will produce either
pity or fear; and actions producing these effects are those which, by our
definition, Tragedy represents. Moreover, it is upon such situations that
the issues of good or bad fortune will depend. Recognition, then, being
between persons, it may happen that one person only is recognized by the
other- when the latter is already known- or it may be necessary that the
recognition should be on both sides. Thus Iphigenia is revealed to Orestes
by the sending of the letter; but another act of recognition is required
to make Orestes known to Iphigenia.
Two parts, then, of the Plot- Reversal of the Situation and Recognition-
turn upon surprises. A third part is the Scene of Suffering. The Scene
of Suffering is a destructive or painful action, such as death on the stage,
bodily agony, wounds, and the like.
Poetics
By Aristotle
Section 2
Part XII
The parts of Tragedy which must be treated as elements of the whole have
been already mentioned. We now come to the quantitative parts- the separate
parts into which Tragedy is divided- namely, Prologue, Episode, Exode,
Choric song; this last being divided into Parode and Stasimon. These are
common to all plays: peculiar to some are the songs of actors from the
stage and the Commoi.
The Prologue is that entire part of a tragedy which precedes the
Parode of the Chorus. The Episode is that entire part of a tragedy which
is between complete choric songs. The Exode is that entire part of a tragedy
which has no choric song after it. Of the Choric part the Parode is the
first undivided utterance of the Chorus: the Stasimon is a Choric ode without
anapaests or trochaic tetrameters: the Commos is a joint lamentation of
Chorus and actors. The parts of Tragedy which must be treated as elements
of the whole have been already mentioned. The quantitative parts- the separate
parts into which it is divided- are here enumerated.
Part XIII
As the sequel to what has already been said, we must proceed to
consider what the poet should aim at, and what he should avoid, in constructing
his plots; and by what means the specific effect of Tragedy will be
produced.
A perfect tragedy should, as we have seen, be arranged not on the
simple but on the complex plan. It should, moreover, imitate actions which
excite pity and fear, this being the distinctive mark of tragic imitation.
It follows plainly, in the first place, that the change of fortune presented
must not be the spectacle of a virtuous man brought from prosperity to
adversity: for this moves neither pity nor fear; it merely shocks us. Nor,
again, that of a bad man passing from adversity to prosperity: for nothing
can be more alien to the spirit of Tragedy; it possesses no single tragic
quality; it neither satisfies the moral sense nor calls forth pity or fear.
Nor, again, should the downfall of the utter villain be exhibited. A plot
of this kind would, doubtless, satisfy the moral sense, but it would inspire
neither pity nor fear; for pity is aroused by unmerited misfortune, fear
by the misfortune of a man like ourselves. Such an event, therefore, will
be neither pitiful nor terrible. There remains, then, the character between
these two extremes- that of a man who is not eminently good and just, yet
whose misfortune is brought about not by vice or depravity, but by some
error or frailty. He must be one who is highly renowned and prosperous-
a personage like Oedipus, Thyestes, or other illustrious men of such
families.
A well-constructed plot should, therefore, be single in its issue,
rather than double as some maintain. The change of fortune should be not
from bad to good, but, reversely, from good to bad. It should come about
as the result not of vice, but of some great error or frailty, in a character
either such as we have described, or better rather than worse. The practice
of the stage bears out our view. At first the poets recounted any legend
that came in their way. Now, the best tragedies are founded on the story
of a few houses- on the fortunes of Alcmaeon, Oedipus, Orestes, Meleager,
Thyestes, Telephus, and those others who have done or suffered something
terrible. A tragedy, then, to be perfect according to the rules of art
should be of this construction. Hence they are in error who censure Euripides
just because he follows this principle in his plays, many of which end
unhappily. It is, as we have said, the right ending. The best proof is
that on the stage and in dramatic competition, such plays, if well worked
out, are the most tragic in effect; and Euripides, faulty though he may
be in the general management of his subject, yet is felt to be the most
tragic of the poets.
In the second rank comes the kind of tragedy which some place first.
Like the Odyssey, it has a double thread of plot, and also an opposite
catastrophe for the good and for the bad. It is accounted the best because
of the weakness of the spectators; for the poet is guided in what he writes
by the wishes of his audience. The pleasure, however, thence derived is
not the true tragic pleasure. It is proper rather to Comedy, where those
who, in the piece, are the deadliest enemies- like Orestes and Aegisthus-
quit the stage as friends at the close, and no one slays or is
slain.
Part XIV
Fear and pity may be aroused by spectacular means; but they may
also result from the inner structure of the piece, which is the better
way, and indicates a superior poet. For the plot ought to be so constructed
that, even without the aid of the eye, he who hears the tale told will
thrill with horror and melt to pity at what takes Place. This is the impression
we should receive from hearing the story of the Oedipus. But to produce
this effect by the mere spectacle is a less artistic method, and dependent
on extraneous aids. Those who employ spectacular means to create a sense
not of the terrible but 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 imitation,
it is evident that this quality must be impressed upon the
incidents.
Let us then determine what are the circumstances which strike us
as terrible or pitiful.
Actions capable of this effect must happen between persons who
are either friends or enemies or indifferent to one another. If an enemy
kills an enemy, there is nothing to excite pity either in the act or the
intention- except so far as the suffering in itself is pitiful. So again
with indifferent persons. But when the tragic incident occurs between those
who are near or dear to one another- if, for example, a brother kills,
or intends to kill, a brother, a son his father, a mother her son, a son
his mother, or any other deed of the kind is done- these are the situations
to be looked for by the poet. He may not indeed destroy the framework of
the received legends- the fact, for instance, that Clytemnestra was slain
by Orestes and Eriphyle by Alcmaeon- but he ought to show of his own, and
skilfully handle the traditional. material. Let us explain more clearly
what is meant by skilful handling.
The action may be done consciously and with knowledge of the persons,
in the manner of the older poets. It is thus too that Euripides makes Medea
slay her children. Or, again, the deed of horror may be done, but done
in ignorance, and the tie of kinship or friendship be discovered afterwards.
The Oedipus of Sophocles is an example. Here, indeed, the incident is outside
the drama proper; but cases occur where it falls within the action of the
play: one may cite the Alcmaeon of Astydamas, or Telegonus in the Wounded
Odysseus. Again, there is a third case- [to be about to act with knowledge
of the persons and then not to act. The fourth case] is when some one is
about to do an irreparable deed through ignorance, and makes the discovery
before it is done. These are the only possible ways. For the deed must
either be done or not done- and that wittingly or unwittingly. But of
all these ways, to be about to act knowing the persons, and then not to
act, is the worst. It is shocking without being tragic, for no disaster
follows It is, therefore, never, or very rarely, found in poetry. One instance,
however, is in the Antigone, where Haemon threatens to kill Creon. The
next and better way is that the deed should be perpetrated. Still better,
that it should be perpetrated in ignorance, and the discovery made afterwards.
There is then nothing to shock us, while the discovery produces a startling
effect. The last case is the best, as when in the Cresphontes Merope is
about to slay her son, but, recognizing who he is, spares his life. So
in the Iphigenia, the sister recognizes the brother just in time. Again
in the Helle, the son recognizes the mother when on the point of giving
her up. This, then, is why a few families only, as has been already observed,
furnish the subjects of tragedy. It was not art, but happy chance, that
led the poets in search of subjects to impress the tragic quality upon
their plots. They are compelled, therefore, to have recourse to those houses
whose history contains moving incidents like these.
Enough has now been said concerning the structure of the incidents,
and the right kind of plot.
Part XV
In respect of Character there are four things to be aimed at. First,
and most important, it must be good. Now any speech or action that manifests
moral purpose of any kind will be expressive of character: the character
will be good if the purpose is good. This rule is relative to each class.
Even a woman may be good, and also a slave; though the woman may be said
to be an inferior being, and the slave quite worthless. The second thing
to aim at is propriety. There is a type of manly valor; but valor in a
woman, or unscrupulous cleverness is inappropriate. Thirdly, character
must be true to life: for this is a distinct thing from goodness and propriety,
as here described. The fourth point is consistency: for though the subject
of the imitation, who suggested the type, be inconsistent, still he must
be consistently inconsistent. As an example of motiveless degradation of
character, we have Menelaus in the Orestes; of character indecorous and
inappropriate, the lament of Odysseus in the Scylla, and the speech of
Melanippe; of inconsistency, the Iphigenia at Aulis- for Iphigenia the
suppliant in no way resembles her later self.
As in the structure of the plot, so too in the portraiture of character,
the poet should always aim either at the necessary or the probable. Thus
a person of a given character should speak or act in a given way, by the
rule either of necessity or of probability; just as this event should follow
that by necessary or probable sequence. It is therefore evident that the
unraveling of the plot, no less than the complication, must arise out of
the plot itself, it must not be brought about by the Deus ex Machina- as
in the Medea, or in the return of the Greeks in the Iliad. The Deus ex
Machina should be employed only for events external to the drama- for antecedent
or subsequent events, which lie beyond the range of human knowledge, and
which require to be reported or foretold; for to the gods we ascribe the
power of seeing all things. Within the action there must be nothing irrational.
If the irrational cannot be excluded, it should be outside the scope of
the tragedy. Such is the irrational element the Oedipus of
Sophocles.
Again, since Tragedy is an imitation of persons who are above the
common level, the example of good portrait painters should be followed.
They, while reproducing the distinctive form of the original, make a likeness
which is true to life and yet more beautiful. So too the poet, in representing
men who are irascible or indolent, or have other defects of character,
should preserve the type and yet ennoble it. In this way Achilles is portrayed
by Agathon and Homer.
These then are rules the poet should observe. Nor should he neglect
those appeals to the senses, which, though not among the essentials, are
the concomitants of poetry; for here too there is much room for error.
But of this enough has been said in our published treatises.
Part XVI
What Recognition is has been already explained. We will now enumerate
its kinds.
First, the least artistic form, which, from poverty of wit, is
most commonly employed- recognition by signs. Of these some are congenital-
such as 'the spear which the earth-born race bear on their bodies,' or
the stars introduced by Carcinus in his Thyestes. Others are acquired after
birth; and of these some are bodily marks, as scars; some external tokens,
as necklaces, or the little ark in the Tyro by which the discovery is effected.
Even these admit of more or less skilful treatment. Thus in the recognition
of Odysseus by his scar, the discovery is made in one way by the nurse,
in another by the swineherds. The use of tokens for the express purpose
of proof- and, indeed, any formal proof with or without tokens- is a less
artistic mode of recognition. A better kind is that which comes about by
a turn of incident, as in the Bath Scene in the Odyssey.
Next come the recognitions invented at will by the poet, and on
that account wanting in art. For example, Orestes in the Iphigenia reveals
the fact that he is Orestes. She, indeed, makes herself known by the letter;
but he, by speaking himself, and saying what the poet, not what the plot
requires. This, therefore, is nearly allied to the fault above mentioned-
for Orestes might as well have brought tokens with him. Another similar
instance is the 'voice of the shuttle' in the Tereus of
Sophocles.
The third kind depends on memory when the sight of some object
awakens a feeling: as in the Cyprians of Dicaeogenes, where the hero breaks
into tears on seeing the picture; or again in the Lay of Alcinous, where
Odysseus, hearing the minstrel play the lyre, recalls the past and weeps;
and hence the recognition.
The fourth kind is by process of reasoning. Thus in the Choephori:
'Some one resembling me has come: no one resembles me but Orestes: therefore
Orestes has come.' Such too is the discovery made by Iphigenia in the play
of Polyidus the Sophist. It was a natural reflection for Orestes to make,
'So I too must die at the altar like my sister.' So, again, in the Tydeus
of Theodectes, the father says, 'I came to find my son, and I lose my own
life.' So too in the Phineidae: the women, on seeing the place, inferred
their fate- 'Here we are doomed to die, for here we were cast forth.' Again,
there is a composite kind of recognition involving false inference on the
part of one of the characters, as in the Odysseus Disguised as a Messenger.
A said [that no one else was able to bend the bow; ... hence B (the disguised
Odysseus) imagined that A would] recognize the bow which, in fact, he had
not seen; and to bring about a recognition by this means- the expectation
that A would recognize the bow- is false inference.
But, of all recognitions, the best is that which arises from the
incidents themselves, where the startling discovery is made by natural
means. Such is that in the Oedipus of Sophocles, and in the Iphigenia;
for it was natural that Iphigenia should wish to dispatch a letter. These
recognitions alone dispense with the artificial aid of tokens or amulets.
Next come the recognitions by process of reasoning.
Part XVII
In constructing the plot and working it out with the proper diction,
the poet should place the scene, as far as possible, before his eyes. In
this way, seeing everything with the utmost vividness, as if he were a
spectator of the action, he will discover what is in keeping with it, and
be most unlikely to overlook inconsistencies. The need of such a rule is
shown by the fault found in Carcinus. Amphiaraus was on his way from the
temple. This fact escaped the observation of one who did not see the situation.
On the stage, however, the Piece failed, the audience being offended at
the oversight.
Again, the poet should work out his play, to the best of his power,
with appropriate gestures; for those who feel emotion are most convincing
through natural sympathy with the characters they represent; and one who
is agitated storms, one who is angry rages, with the most lifelike reality.
Hence poetry implies either a happy gift of nature or a strain of madness.
In the one case a man can take the mould of any character; in the other,
he is lifted out of his proper self.
As for the story, whether the poet takes it ready made or constructs
it for himself, he should first sketch its general outline, and then fill
in the episodes and amplify in detail. The general plan may be illustrated
by the Iphigenia. A young girl is sacrificed; she disappears mysteriously
from the eyes of those who sacrificed her; she is transported to another
country, where the custom is to offer up an strangers to the goddess. To
this ministry she is appointed. Some time later her own brother chances
to arrive. The fact that the oracle for some reason ordered him to go there,
is outside the general plan of the play. The purpose, again, of his coming
is outside the action proper. However, he comes, he is seized, and, when
on the point of being sacrificed, reveals who he is. The mode of recognition
may be either that of Euripides or of Polyidus, in whose play he exclaims
very naturally: 'So it was not my sister only, but I too, who was doomed
to be sacrificed'; and by that remark he is saved.
After this, the names being once given, it remains to fill in the
episodes. We must see that they are relevant to the action. In the case
of Orestes, for example, there is the madness which led to his capture,
and his deliverance by means of the purificatory rite. In the drama, the
episodes are short, but it is these that give extension to Epic poetry.
Thus the story of the Odyssey can be stated briefly. A certain man is absent
from home for many years; he is jealously watched by Poseidon, and left
desolate. Meanwhile his home is in a wretched plight- suitors are wasting
his substance and plotting against his son. At length, tempest-tost, he
himself arrives; he makes certain persons acquainted with him; he attacks
the suitors with his own hand, and is himself preserved while he destroys
them. This is the essence of the plot; the rest is episode.
Part XVIII
Every tragedy falls into two parts- Complication and Unraveling
or Denouement. Incidents extraneous to the action are frequently combined
with a portion of the action proper, to form the Complication; the rest
is the Unraveling. By the Complication I mean all that extends from the
beginning of the action to the part which marks the turning-point to good
or bad fortune. The Unraveling is that which extends from the beginning
of the change to the end. Thus, in the Lynceus of Theodectes, the Complication
consists of the incidents presupposed in the drama, the seizure of the
child, and then again ... [the Unraveling] extends from the accusation
of murder to
There are four kinds of Tragedy: the Complex, depending entirely
on Reversal of the Situation and Recognition; the Pathetic (where the motive
is passion)- such as the tragedies on Ajax and Ixion; the Ethical (where
the motives are ethical)- such as the Phthiotides and the Peleus. The fourth
kind is the Simple. [We here exclude the purely spectacular element], exemplified
by the Phorcides, the Prometheus, and scenes laid in Hades. The poet should
endeavor, if possible, to combine all poetic elements; or failing that,
the greatest number and those the most important; the more so, in face
of the caviling criticism of the day. For whereas there have hitherto been
good poets, each in his own branch, the critics now expect one man to surpass
all others in their several lines of excellence.
In speaking of a tragedy as the same or different, the best test
to take is the plot. Identity exists where the Complication and Unraveling
are the same. Many poets tie the knot well, but unravel it Both arts, however,
should always be mastered.
Again, the poet should remember what has been often said, and not
make an Epic structure into a tragedy- by an Epic structure I mean one
with a multiplicity of plots- as if, for instance, you were to make a tragedy
out of the entire story of the Iliad. In the Epic poem, owing to its length,
each part assumes its proper magnitude. In the drama the result is far
from answering to the poet's expectation. The proof is that the poets who
have dramatized the whole story of the Fall of Troy, instead of selecting
portions, like Euripides; or who have taken the whole tale of Niobe, and
not a part of her story, like Aeschylus, either fail utterly or meet with
poor success on the stage. Even Agathon has been known to fail from this
one defect. In his Reversals of the Situation, however, he shows a marvelous
skill in the effort to hit the popular taste- to produce a tragic effect
that satisfies the moral sense. This effect is produced when the clever
rogue, like Sisyphus, is outwitted, or the brave villain defeated. Such
an event is probable in Agathon's sense of the word: 'is probable,' he
says, 'that many things should happen contrary to probability.'
The Chorus too should be regarded as one of the actors; it should
be an integral part of the whole, and share in the action, in the manner
not of Euripides but of Sophocles. As for the later poets, their choral
songs pertain as little to the subject of the piece as to that of any other
tragedy. They are, therefore, sung as mere interludes- a practice first
begun by Agathon. Yet what difference is there between introducing such
choral interludes, and transferring a speech, or even a whole act, from
one play to another.
Part XIX
It remains to speak of Diction and Thought, the other parts of
Tragedy having been already discussed. concerning Thought, we may assume
what is said in the Rhetoric, to which inquiry the subject more strictly
belongs. Under Thought is included every effect which has to be produced
by speech, the subdivisions being: proof and refutation; the excitation
of the feelings, such as pity, fear, anger, and the like; the suggestion
of importance or its opposite. Now, it is evident that the dramatic incidents
must be treated from the same points of view as the dramatic speeches,
when the object is to evoke the sense of pity, fear, importance, or probability.
The only difference is that the incidents should speak for themselves without
verbal exposition; while effects aimed at in should be produced by the
speaker, and as a result of the speech. For what were the business of a
speaker, if the Thought were revealed quite apart from what he
says?
Next, as regards Diction. One branch of the inquiry treats of the
Modes of Utterance. But this province of knowledge belongs to the art of
Delivery and to the masters of that science. It includes, for instance-
what is a command, a prayer, a statement, a threat, a question, an answer,
and so forth. To know or not to know these things involves no serious censure
upon the poet's art. For who can admit the fault imputed to Homer by Protagoras-
that in the words, 'Sing, goddess, of the wrath, he gives a command under
the idea that he utters a prayer? For to tell some one to do a thing or
not to do it is, he says, a command. We may, therefore, pass this over
as an inquiry that belongs to another art, not to poetry.
Part XX
Language in general includes the following parts: Letter, Syllable,
Connecting Word, Noun, Verb, Inflection or Case, Sentence or
Phrase.
A Letter is an indivisible sound, yet not every such sound, but
only one which can form part of a group of sounds. For even brutes utter
indivisible sounds, none of which I call a letter. The sound I mean may
be either a vowel, a semivowel, or a mute. A vowel is that which without
impact of tongue or lip has an audible sound. A semivowel that which with
such impact has an audible sound, as S and R. A mute, that which with such
impact has by itself no sound, but joined to a vowel sound becomes audible,
as G and D. These are distinguished according to the form assumed by the
mouth and the place where they are produced; according as they are aspirated
or smooth, long or short; as they are acute, grave, or of an intermediate
tone; which inquiry belongs in detail to the writers on
meter.
A Syllable is a nonsignificant sound, composed of a mute and a
vowel: for GR without A is a syllable, as also with A- GRA. But the investigation
of these differences belongs also to metrical science.
A Connecting Word is a nonsignificant sound, which neither causes
nor hinders the union of many sounds into one significant sound; it may
be placed at either end or in the middle of a sentence. Or, a nonsignificant
sound, which out of several sounds, each of them significant, is capable
of forming one significant sound- as amphi, peri, and the like. Or, a nonsignificant
sound, which marks the beginning, end, or division of a sentence; such,
however, that it cannot correctly stand by itself at the beginning of a
sentence- as men, etoi, de.
A Noun is a composite significant sound, not marking time, of which
no part is in itself significant: for in double or compound words we do
not employ the separate parts as if each were in itself significant. Thus
in Theodorus, 'god-given,' the doron or 'gift' is not in itself
significant.
A Verb is a composite significant sound, marking time, in which,
as in the noun, no part is in itself significant. For 'man' or 'white'
does not express the idea of 'when'; but 'he walks' or 'he has walked'
does connote time, present or past.
Inflection belongs both to the noun and verb, and expresses either
the relation 'of,' 'to,' or the like; or that of number, whether one or
many, as 'man' or 'men'; or the modes or tones in actual delivery, e.g.,
a question or a command. 'Did he go?' and 'go' are verbal inflections of
this kind.
A Sentence or Phrase is a composite significant sound, some at
least of whose parts are in themselves significant; for not every such
group of words consists of verbs and nouns- 'the definition of man,' for
example- but it may dispense even with the verb. Still it will always have
some significant part, as 'in walking,' or 'Cleon son of Cleon.' A sentence
or phrase may form a unity in two ways- either as signifying one thing,
or as consisting of several parts linked together. Thus the Iliad is one
by the linking together of parts, the definition of man by the unity of
the thing signified.
Poetics
By Aristotle
Section 3
Part XXI
Words are of two kinds, simple and double. By simple I mean those composed
of nonsignificant elements, such as ge, 'earth.' By double or compound,
those composed either of a significant and nonsignificant element (though
within the whole word no element is significant), or of elements that are
both significant. A word may likewise be triple, quadruple, or multiple
in form, like so many Massilian expressions, e.g., 'Hermo-caico-xanthus
[who prayed to Father Zeus].'
Every word is either current, or strange, or metaphorical, or ornamental,
or newly-coined, or lengthened, or contracted, or altered.
By a current or proper word I mean one which is in general use
among a people; by a strange word, one which is in use in another country.
Plainly, therefore, the same word may be at once strange and current, but
not in relation to the same people. The word sigynon, 'lance,' is to the
Cyprians a current term but to us a strange one.
Metaphor is the application of an alien name by transference either
from genus to species, or from species to genus, or from species to species,
or by analogy, that is, proportion. Thus from genus to species, as: 'There
lies my ship'; for lying at anchor is a species of lying. From species
to genus, as: 'Verily ten thousand noble deeds hath Odysseus wrought';
for ten thousand is a species of large number, and is here used for a large
number generally. From species to species, as: 'With blade of bronze drew
away the life,' and 'Cleft the water with the vessel of unyielding bronze.'
Here arusai, 'to draw away' is used for tamein, 'to cleave,' and tamein,
again for arusai- each being a species of taking away. Analogy or proportion
is when the second term is to the first as the fourth to the third. We
may then use the fourth for the second, or the second for the fourth. Sometimes
too we qualify the metaphor by adding the term to which the proper word
is relative. Thus the cup is to Dionysus as the shield to Ares. The cup
may, therefore, be called 'the shield of Dionysus,' and the shield 'the
cup of Ares.' Or, again, as old age is to life, so is evening to day. Evening
may therefore be called, 'the old age of the day,' and old age, 'the evening
of life,' or, in the phrase of Empedocles, 'life's setting sun.' For some
of the terms of the proportion there is at times no word in existence;
still the metaphor may be used. For instance, to scatter seed is called
sowing: but the action of the sun in scattering his rays is nameless. Still
this process bears to the sun the same relation as sowing to the seed.
Hence the expression of the poet 'sowing the god-created light.' There
is another way in which this kind of metaphor may be employed. We may apply
an alien term, and then deny of that term one of its proper attributes;
as if we were to call the shield, not 'the cup of Ares,' but 'the wineless
cup'.
A newly-coined word is one which has never been even in local use,
but is adopted by the poet himself. Some such words there appear to be:
as ernyges, 'sprouters,' for kerata, 'horns'; and areter, 'supplicator',
for hiereus, 'priest.'
A word is lengthened when its own vowel is exchanged for a longer
one, or when a syllable is inserted. A word is contracted when some part
of it is removed. Instances of lengthening are: poleos for poleos, Peleiadeo
for Peleidou; of contraction: kri, do, and ops, as in mia ginetai amphoteron
ops, 'the appearance of both is one.'
An altered word is one in which part of the ordinary form is left
unchanged, and part is recast: as in dexiteron kata mazon, 'on the right
breast,' dexiteron is for dexion.
Nouns in themselves are either masculine, feminine, or neuter.
Masculine are such as end in N, R, S, or in some letter compounded with
S- these being two, PS and X. Feminine, such as end in vowels that are
always long, namely E and O, and- of vowels that admit of lengthening-
those in A. Thus the number of letters in which nouns masculine and feminine
end is the same; for PS and X are equivalent to endings in S. No noun ends
in a mute or a vowel short by nature. Three only end in I- meli, 'honey';
kommi, 'gum'; peperi, 'pepper'; five end in U. Neuter nouns end in these
two latter vowels; also in N and S.
Part XXII
The perfection of style is to be clear without being mean. The
clearest style is that which uses only current or proper words; at the
same time it is mean- witness the poetry of Cleophon and of Sthenelus.
That diction, on the other hand, is lofty and raised above the commonplace
which employs unusual words. By unusual, I mean strange (or rare) words,
metaphorical, lengthened- anything, in short, that differs from the normal
idiom. Yet a style wholly composed of such words is either a riddle or
a jargon; a riddle, if it consists of metaphors; a jargon, if it consists
of strange (or rare) words. For the essence of a riddle is to express true
facts under impossible combinations. Now this cannot be done by any arrangement
of ordinary words, but by the use of metaphor it can. Such is the riddle:
'A man I saw who on another man had glued the bronze by aid of fire,' and
others of the same kind. A diction that is made up of strange (or rare)
terms is a jargon. A certain infusion, therefore, of these elements is
necessary to style; for the strange (or rare) word, the metaphorical, the
ornamental, and the other kinds above mentioned, will raise it above the
commonplace and mean, while the use of proper words will make it perspicuous.
But nothing contributes more to produce a cleanness of diction that is
remote from commonness than the lengthening, contraction, and alteration
of words. For by deviating in exceptional cases from the normal idiom,
the language will gain distinction; while, at the same time, the partial
conformity with usage will give perspicuity. The critics, therefore, are
in error who censure these licenses of speech, and hold the author up to
ridicule. Thus Eucleides, the elder, declared that it would be an easy
matter to be a poet if you might lengthen syllables at will. He caricatured
the practice in the very form of his diction, as in the verse:
"Epicharen
eidon Marathonade badizonta,
"I saw Epichares walking to Marathon,
"
or,
"ouk an g'eramenos ton ekeinou elleboron.
"Not if you
desire his hellebore. "
To employ such license at all obtrusively is, no doubt, grotesque; but
in any mode of poetic diction there must be moderation. Even metaphors,
strange (or rare) words, or any similar forms of speech, would produce
the like effect if used without propriety and with the express purpose
of being ludicrous. How great a difference is made by the appropriate use
of lengthening, may be seen in Epic poetry by the insertion of ordinary
forms in the verse. So, again, if we take a strange (or rare) word, a metaphor,
or any similar mode of expression, and replace it by the current or proper
term, the truth of our observation will be manifest. For example, Aeschylus
and Euripides each composed the same iambic line. But the alteration of
a single word by Euripides, who employed the rarer term instead of the
ordinary one, makes one verse appear beautiful and the other trivial. Aeschylus
in his Philoctetes says:
"phagedaina d'he mou sarkas esthiei podos.
"The tumor which is eating the flesh of my foot.
"
Euripides substitutes thoinatai, 'feasts on,' for esthiei, 'feeds on.'
Again, in the line,
"nun de m'eon oligos te kai outidanos kai aeikes,
"Yet a small man, worthless and unseemly, "
the difference will be felt if we substitute the common words,
"nun
de m'eon mikros te kai asthenikos kai aeides.
"Yet a little fellow,
weak and ugly. "
Or, if for the line,
"diphron aeikelion katatheis oligen te trapezan,
"Setting an unseemly couch and a meager table,
"
we read,
"diphron mochtheron katatheis mikran te trapezan.
"Setting
a wretched couch and a puny table. "
Or, for eiones booosin, 'the sea shores roar,' eiones krazousin, 'the sea
shores screech.'
Again, Ariphrades ridiculed the tragedians for using phrases which
no one would employ in ordinary speech: for example, domaton apo, 'from
the house away,' instead of apo domaton, 'away from the house;' sethen,
ego de nin, 'to thee, and I to him;' Achilleos peri, 'Achilles about,'
instead of peri Achilleos, 'about Achilles;' and the like. It is precisely
because such phrases are not part of the current idiom that they give distinction
to the style. This, however, he failed to see.
It is a great matter to observe propriety in these several modes
of expression, as also in compound words, strange (or rare) words, and
so forth. But the greatest thing by far is to have a command of metaphor.
This alone cannot be imparted by another; it is the mark of genius, for
to make good metaphors implies an eye for resemblances.
Of the various kinds of words, the compound are best adapted to
dithyrambs, rare words to heroic poetry, metaphors to iambic. In heroic
poetry, indeed, all these varieties are serviceable. But in iambic verse,
which reproduces, as far as may be, familiar speech, the most appropriate
words are those which are found even in prose. These are the current or
proper, the metaphorical, the ornamental.
Concerning Tragedy and imitation by means of action this may
suffice.
Part XXIII
As to that poetic imitation which is narrative in form and employs
a single meter, the plot manifestly ought, as in a tragedy, to be constructed
on dramatic principles. It should have for its subject a single action,
whole and complete, with a beginning, a middle, and an end. It will thus
resemble a living organism in all its unity, and produce the pleasure proper
to it. It will differ in structure from historical compositions, which
of necessity present not a single action, but a single period, and all
that happened within that period to one person or to many, little connected
together as the events may be. For as the sea-fight at Salamis and the
battle with the Carthaginians in Sicily took place at the same time, but
did not tend to any one result, so in the sequence of events, one thing
sometimes follows another, and yet no single result is thereby produced.
Such is the practice, we may say, of most poets. Here again, then, as has
been already observed, the transcendent excellence of Homer is manifest.
He never attempts to make the whole war of Troy the subject of his poem,
though that war had a beginning and an end. It would have been too vast
a theme, and not easily embraced in a single view. If, again, he had kept
it within moderate limits, it must have been over-complicated by the variety
of the incidents. As it is, he detaches a single portion, and admits as
episodes many events from the general story of the war- such as the Catalogue
of the ships and others- thus diversifying the poem. All other poets take
a single hero, a single period, or an action single indeed, but with a
multiplicity of parts. Thus did the author of the Cypria and of the Little
Iliad. For this reason the Iliad and the Odyssey each furnish the subject
of one tragedy, or, at most, of two; while the Cypria supplies materials
for many, and the Little Iliad for eight- the Award of the Arms, the Philoctetes,
the Neoptolemus, the Eurypylus, the Mendicant Odysseus, the Laconian Women,
the Fall of Ilium, the Departure of the Fleet.
Part XXIV
Again, Epic poetry must have as many kinds as Tragedy: it must
be simple, or complex, or 'ethical,'or 'pathetic.' The parts also, with
the exception of song and spectacle, are the same; for it requires Reversals
of the Situation, Recognitions, and Scenes of Suffering. Moreover, the
thoughts and the diction must be artistic. In all these respects Homer
is our earliest and sufficient model. Indeed each of his poems has a twofold
character. The Iliad is at once simple and 'pathetic,' and the Odyssey
complex (for Recognition scenes run through it), and at the same time 'ethical.'
Moreover, in diction and thought they are supreme.
Epic poetry differs from Tragedy in the scale on which it is constructed,
and in its meter. As regards scale or length, we have already laid down
an adequate limit: the beginning and the end must be capable of being brought
within a single view. This condition will be satisfied by poems on a smaller
scale than the old epics, and answering in length to the group of tragedies
presented at a single sitting.
Epic poetry has, however, a great- a special- capacity for enlarging
its dimensions, and we can see the reason. In Tragedy we cannot imitate
several lines of actions carried on at one and the same time; we must confine
ourselves to the action on the stage and the part taken by the players.
But in Epic poetry, owing to the narrative form, many events simultaneously
transacted can be presented; and these, if relevant to the subject, add
mass and dignity to the poem. The Epic has here an advantage, and one that
conduces to grandeur of effect, to diverting the mind of the hearer, and
relieving the story with varying episodes. For sameness of incident soon
produces satiety, and makes tragedies fail on the stage.
As for the meter, the heroic measure has proved its fitness by
hexameter test of experience. If a narrative poem in any other meter or
in many meters were now composed, it would be found incongruous. For of
all measures the heroic is the stateliest and the most massive; and hence
it most readily admits rare words and metaphors, which is another point
in which the narrative form of imitation stands alone. On the other hand,
the iambic and the trochaic tetrameter are stirring measures, the latter
being akin to dancing, the former expressive of action. Still more absurd
would it be to mix together different meters, as was done by Chaeremon.
Hence no one has ever composed a poem on a great scale in any other than
heroic verse. Nature herself, as we have said, teaches the choice of the
proper measure.
Homer, admirable in all respects, has the special merit of being
the only poet who rightly appreciates the part he should take himself.
The poet should speak as little as possible in his own person, for it is
not this that makes him an imitator. Other poets appear themselves upon
the scene throughout, and imitate but little and rarely. Homer, after a
few prefatory words, at once brings in a man, or woman, or other personage;
none of them wanting in characteristic qualities, but each with a character
of his own.
The element of the wonderful is required in Tragedy. The irrational,
on which the wonderful depends for its chief effects, has wider scope in
Epic poetry, because there the person acting is not seen. Thus, the pursuit
of Hector would be ludicrous if placed upon the stage- the Greeks standing
still and not joining in the pursuit, and Achilles waving them back. But
in the Epic poem the absurdity passes unnoticed. Now the wonderful is pleasing,
as may be inferred from the fact that every one tells a story with some
addition of his knowing that his hearers like it. It is Homer who has chiefly
taught other poets the art of telling lies skilfully. The secret of it
lies in a fallacy For, assuming that if one thing is or becomes, a second
is or becomes, men imagine that, if the second is, the first likewise is
or becomes. But this is a false inference. Hence, where the first thing
is untrue, it is quite unnecessary, provided the second be true, to add
that the first is or has become. For the mind, knowing the second to be
true, falsely infers the truth of the first. There is an example of this
in the Bath Scene of the Odyssey.
Accordingly, the poet should prefer probable impossibilities to
improbable possibilities. The tragic plot must not be composed of irrational
parts. Everything irrational should, if possible, be excluded; or, at all
events, it should lie outside the action of the play (as, in the Oedipus,
the hero's ignorance as to the manner of Laius' death); not within the
drama- as in the Electra, the messenger's account of the Pythian games;
or, as in the Mysians, the man who has come from Tegea to Mysia and is
still speechless. The plea that otherwise the plot would have been ruined,
is ridiculous; such a plot should not in the first instance be constructed.
But once the irrational has been introduced and an air of likelihood imparted
to it, we must accept it in spite of the absurdity. Take even the irrational
incidents in the Odyssey, where Odysseus is left upon the shore of Ithaca.
How intolerable even these might have been would be apparent if an inferior
poet were to treat the subject. As it is, the absurdity is veiled by the
poetic charm with which the poet invests it.
The diction should be elaborated in the pauses of the action, where
there is no expression of character or thought. For, conversely, character
and thought are merely obscured by a diction that is
over-brilliant
Part XXV
With respect to critical difficulties and their solutions, the
number and nature of the sources from which they may be drawn may be thus
exhibited.
The poet being an imitator, like a painter or any other artist,
must of necessity imitate one of three objects- things as they were or
are, things as they are said or thought to be, or things as they ought
to be. The vehicle of expression is language- either current terms or,
it may be, rare words or metaphors. There are also many modifications of
language, which we concede to the poets. Add to this, that the standard
of correctness is not the same in poetry and politics, any more than in
poetry and any other art. Within the art of poetry itself there are two
kinds of faults- those which touch its essence, and those which are accidental.
If a poet has chosen to imitate something, [but has imitated it incorrectly]
through want of capacity, the error is inherent in the poetry. But if the
failure is due to a wrong choice- if he has represented a horse as throwing
out both his off legs at once, or introduced technical inaccuracies in
medicine, for example, or in any other art- the error is not essential
to the poetry. These are the points of view from which we should consider
and answer the objections raised by the critics.
First as to matters which concern the poet's own art. If he describes
the impossible, he is guilty of an error; but the error may be justified,
if the end of the art be thereby attained (the end being that already mentioned)-
if, that is, the effect of this or any other part of the poem is thus rendered
more striking. A case in point is the pursuit of Hector. if, however, the
end might have been as well, or better, attained without violating the
special rules of the poetic art, the error is not justified: for every
kind of error should, if possible, be avoided.
Again, does the error touch the essentials of the poetic art, or
some accident of it? For example, not to know that a hind has no horns
is a less serious matter than to paint it inartistically.
Further, if it be objected that the description is not true to
fact, the poet may perhaps reply, 'But the objects are as they ought to
be'; just as Sophocles said that he drew men as they ought to be; Euripides,
as they are. In this way the objection may be met. If, however, the representation
be of neither kind, the poet may answer, 'This is how men say the thing
is.' applies to tales about the gods. It may well be that these stories
are not higher than fact nor yet true to fact: they are, very possibly,
what Xenophanes says of them. But anyhow, 'this is what is said.' Again,
a description may be no better than the fact: 'Still, it was the fact';
as in the passage about the arms: 'Upright upon their butt-ends stood the
spears.' This was the custom then, as it now is among the
Illyrians.
Again, in examining whether what has been said or done by some
one is poetically right or not, we must not look merely to the particular
act or saying, and ask whether it is poetically good or bad. We must also
consider by whom it is said or done, to whom, when, by what means, or for
what end; whether, for instance, it be to secure a greater good, or avert
a greater evil.
Other difficulties may be resolved by due regard to the usage of
language. We may note a rare word, as in oureas men proton, 'the mules
first [he killed],' where the poet perhaps employs oureas not in the sense
of mules, but of sentinels. So, again, of Dolon: 'ill-favored indeed he
was to look upon.' It is not meant that his body was ill-shaped but that
his face was ugly; for the Cretans use the word eueides, 'well-flavored'
to denote a fair face. Again, zoroteron de keraie, 'mix the drink livelier'
does not mean 'mix it stronger' as for hard drinkers, but 'mix it
quicker.'
Sometimes an expression is metaphorical, as 'Now all gods and men
were sleeping through the night,' while at the same time the poet says:
'Often indeed as he turned his gaze to the Trojan plain, he marveled at
the sound of flutes and pipes.' 'All' is here used metaphorically for 'many,'
all being a species of many. So in the verse, 'alone she hath no part...
, oie, 'alone' is metaphorical; for the best known may be called the only
one.
Again, the solution may depend upon accent or breathing. Thus Hippias
of Thasos solved the difficulties in the lines, didomen (didomen) de hoi,
and to men hou (ou) kataputhetai ombro.
Or again, the question may be solved by punctuation, as in Empedocles:
'Of a sudden things became mortal that before had learnt to be immortal,
and things unmixed before mixed.'
Or again, by ambiguity of meaning, as parocheken de pleo nux, where
the word pleo is ambiguous.
Or by the usage of language. Thus any mixed drink is called oinos,
'wine'. Hence Ganymede is said 'to pour the wine to Zeus,' though the gods
do not drink wine. So too workers in iron are called chalkeas, or 'workers
in bronze.' This, however, may also be taken as a metaphor.
Again, when a word seems to involve some inconsistency of meaning,
we should consider how many senses it may bear in the particular passage.
For example: 'there was stayed the spear of bronze'- we should ask in how
many ways we may take 'being checked there.' The true mode of interpretation
is the precise opposite of what Glaucon mentions. Critics, he says, jump
at certain groundless conclusions; they pass adverse judgement and then
proceed to reason on it; and, assuming that the poet has said whatever
they happen to think, find fault if a thing is inconsistent with their
own fancy.
The question about Icarius has been treated in this fashion. The
critics imagine he was a Lacedaemonian. They think it strange, therefore,
that Telemachus should not have met him when he went to Lacedaemon. But
the Cephallenian story may perhaps be the true one. They allege that Odysseus
took a wife from among themselves, and that her father was Icadius, not
Icarius. It is merely a mistake, then, that gives plausibility to the
objection.
In general, the impossible must be justified by reference to artistic
requirements, or to the higher reality, or to received opinion. With respect
to the requirements of art, a probable impossibility is to be preferred
to a thing improbable and yet possible. Again, it may be impossible that
there should be men such as Zeuxis painted. 'Yes,' we say, 'but the impossible
is the higher thing; for the ideal type must surpass the realty.' To justify
the irrational, we appeal to what is commonly said to be. In addition to
which, we urge that the irrational sometimes does not violate reason; just
as 'it is probable that a thing may happen contrary to
probability.'
Things that sound contradictory should be examined by the same
rules as in dialectical refutation- whether the same thing is meant, in
the same relation, and in the same sense. We should therefore solve the
question by reference to what the poet says himself, or to what is tacitly
assumed by a person of intelligence.
The element of the irrational, and, similarly, depravity of character,
are justly censured when there is no inner necessity for introducing them.
Such is the irrational element in the introduction of Aegeus by Euripides
and the badness of Menelaus in the Orestes.
Thus, there are five sources from which critical objections are
drawn. Things are censured either as impossible, or irrational, or morally
hurtful, or contradictory, or contrary to artistic correctness. The answers
should be sought under the twelve heads above mentioned.
Part XXVI
The question may be raised whether the Epic or Tragic mode of imitation
is the higher. If the more refined art is the higher, and the more refined
in every case is that which appeals to the better sort of audience, the
art which imitates anything and everything is manifestly most unrefined.
The audience is supposed to be too dull to comprehend unless something
of their own is thrown by the performers, who therefore indulge in restless
movements. Bad flute-players twist and twirl, if they have to represent
'the quoit-throw,' or hustle the coryphaeus when they perform the Scylla.
Tragedy, it is said, has this same defect. We may compare the opinion that
the older actors entertained of their successors. Mynniscus used to call
Callippides 'ape' on account of the extravagance of his action, and the
same view was held of Pindarus. Tragic art, then, as a whole, stands to
Epic in the same relation as the younger to the elder actors. So we are
told that Epic poetry is addressed to a cultivated audience, who do not
need gesture; Tragedy, to an inferior public. Being then unrefined, it
is evidently the lower of the two.
Now, in the first place, this censure attaches not to the poetic
but to the histrionic art; for gesticulation may be equally overdone in
epic recitation, as by Sosistratus, or in lyrical competition, as by Mnasitheus
the Opuntian. Next, all action is not to be condemned- any more than all
dancing- but only that of bad performers. Such was the fault found in Callippides,
as also in others of our own day, who are censured for representing degraded
women. Again, Tragedy like Epic poetry produces its effect even without
action; it reveals its power by mere reading. If, then, in all other respects
it is superior, this fault, we say, is not inherent in
it.
And superior it is, because it has an the epic elements- it may
even use the epic meter- with the music and spectacular effects as important
accessories; and these produce the most vivid of pleasures. Further, it
has vividness of impression in reading as well as in representation. Moreover,
the art attains its end within narrower limits for the concentrated effect
is more pleasurable than one which is spread over a long time and so diluted.
What, for example, would be the effect of the Oedipus of Sophocles, if
it were cast into a form as long as the Iliad? Once more, the Epic imitation
has less unity; as is shown by this, that any Epic poem will furnish subjects
for several tragedies. Thus if the story adopted by the poet has a strict
unity, it must either be concisely told and appear truncated; or, if it
conforms to the Epic canon of length, it must seem weak and watery. [Such
length implies some loss of unity,] if, I mean, the poem is constructed
out of several actions, like the Iliad and the Odyssey, which have many
such parts, each with a certain magnitude of its own. Yet these poems are
as perfect as possible in structure; each is, in the highest degree attainable,
an imitation of a single action.
If, then, tragedy is superior to epic poetry in all these respects,
and, moreover, fulfills its specific function better as an art- for each
art ought to produce, not any chance pleasure, but the pleasure proper
to it, as already stated- it plainly follows that tragedy is the higher
art, as attaining its end more perfectly.
Thus much may suffice concerning Tragic and Epic poetry in general;
their several kinds and parts, with the number of each and their differences;
the causes that make a poem good or bad; the objections of the critics
and the answers to these objections....
THE END
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