{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_6763/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_6763","id":"gutenberg_6763","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6763","summary":null,"tags":["Aesthetics -- Early works to 1800","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Classical Antiquity","Music -- Philosophy and aesthetics","Philosophy","Poetry -- Early works to 1800"],"text":"Produced by Eric Eldred\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nON THE ART OF POETRY\n\n\nBy Aristotle\n\n\nTranslated By Ingram Bywater\n\n\nWith A Preface By Gilbert Murray\n\n\n\n     Oxford At The Clarendon Press\n     First Published 1920\n     Reprinted 1925, 1928, 1932, 1938, 1945, 1947\n     1951, 1954, 1959. 1962 Printed In Great Britain\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIn the tenth book of the _Republic_, when Plato has completed his final\nburning denunciation of Poetry, the false Siren, the imitator of things\nwhich themselves are shadows, the ally of all that is low and weak in\nthe soul against that which is high and strong, who makes us feed the\nthings we ought to starve and serve the things we ought to rule, he\nends with a touch of compunction: 'We will give her champions, not poets\nthemselves but poet-lovers, an opportunity to make her defence in plain\nprose and show that she is not only sweet--as we well know--but also\nhelpful to society and the life of man, and we will listen in a kindly\nspirit. For we shall be gainers, I take it, if this can be proved.'\nAristotle certainly knew the passage, and it looks as if his treatise on\npoetry was an answer to Plato's challenge.\n\nFew of the great works of ancient Greek literature are easy reading.\nThey nearly all need study and comment, and at times help from a good\nteacher, before they yield up their secret. And the _Poetics_ cannot be\naccounted an exception. For one thing the treatise is fragmentary. It\noriginally consisted of two books, one dealing with Tragedy and Epic,\nthe other with Comedy and other subjects. We possess only the first. For\nanother, even the book we have seems to be unrevised and unfinished. The\nstyle, though luminous, vivid, and in its broader division systematic,\nis not that of a book intended for publication. Like most of Aristotle's\nextant writing, it suggests the MS. of an experienced lecturer, full of\njottings and adscripts, with occasional phrases written carefully\nout, but never revised as a whole for the general reader. Even to\naccomplished scholars the meaning is often obscure, as may be seen by a\ncomparison of the three editions recently published in England, all the\nwork of savants of the first eminence, (1) or, still more strikingly, by\na study of the long series of misunderstandings and overstatements\nand corrections which form the history of the _Poetics_ since the\nRenaissance.\n\n(1) Prof. Butcher, 1895 and 1898; Prof. Bywater, 1909; and Prof.\nMargoliouth, 1911.\n\n\nBut it is of another cause of misunderstanding that I wish principally\nto speak in this preface. The great edition from which the present\ntranslation is taken was the fruit of prolonged study by one of the\ngreatest Aristotelians of the nineteenth century, and is itself a\nclassic among works of scholarship. In the hands of a student who knows\neven a little Greek, the translation, backed by the commentary, may lead\ndeep into the mind of Aristotle. But when the translation is used, as it\ndoubtless will be, by readers who are quite without the clue provided\nby a knowledge of the general habits of the Greek language, there must\narise a number of new difficulties or misconceptions.\n\nTo understand a great foreign book by means of a translation is possible\nenough where the two languages concerned operate with a common stock\nof ideas, and belong to the same period of civilization. But between\nancient Greece and modern England there yawn immense gulfs of human\nhistory; the establishment and the partial failure of a common European\nreligion, the barbarian invasions, the feudal system, the regrouping\nof modern Europe, the age of mechanical invention, and the industrial\nrevolution. In an average page of French or German philosophy nearly all\nthe nouns can be translated directly into exact equivalents in English;\nbut in Greek that is not so. Scarcely one in ten of the nouns on the\nfirst few pages of the _Poetics_ has an exact English equivalent. Every\nproposition has to be reduced to its lowest terms of thought and then\nre-built. This is a difficulty which no translation can quite deal with;\nit must be left to a teacher who knows Greek. And there is a kindred\ndifficulty which flows from it. Where words can be translated into\nequivalent words, the style of an original can be closely followed;\nbut no translation which aims at being written in normal English can\nreproduce the style of Aristotle. I have sometimes played with the idea\nthat a ruthlessly literal translation, helped out by bold punctuation,\nmight be the best. For instance, premising that the words _poesis_,\n_poetes_ mean originally 'making' and 'maker', one might translate the\nfirst paragraph of the _Poetics_ thus:--\n\nMAKING: kinds of making: function of each, and how the Myths ought to be\nput together if the Making is to go right.\n\nNumber of parts: nature of parts: rest of same inquiry.\n\nBegin in order of nature from first principles.\n\nEpos-making, tragedy-making (also comedy), dithyramb-making (and most\nfluting and harping), taken as a whole, are really not Makings but\nImitations. They differ in three points; they imitate (a) different\nobjects, (b) by different means, (c) differently (i.e. different\nmanner).\n\nSome artists imitate (i.e. depict) by shapes and colours. (Obs.\nsometimes by art, sometimes by habit.) Some by voice. Similarly the\nabove arts all imitate by rhythm, language, and tune, and these either\n(1) separate or (2) mixed.\n\nRhythm and tune alone, harping, fluting, and other arts with same\neffect--e.g. panpipes.\n\nRhythm without tune: dancing. (Dancers imitate characters, emotions, and\nexperiences by means of rhythms expressed in form.)\n\nLanguage alone (whether prose or verse, and one form of verse or many):\nthis art has no name up to the present (i.e. there is no name to cover\nmimes and dialogues and any similar imitation made in iambics,\nelegiacs, &c. Commonly people attach the 'making' to the metre and say\n'elegiac-makers', 'hexameter-makers,' giving them a common class-name by\ntheir metre, as if it was not their imitation that makes them 'makers').\n\n\nSuch an experiment would doubtless be a little absurd, but it would give\nan English reader some help in understanding both Aristotle's style and\nhis meaning.\n\nFor example, their enlightenment in the literal phrase, 'how the\nmyths ought to be put together.' The higher Greek poetry did not make\nup fictitious plots; its business was to express the heroic saga, the\nmyths. Again, the literal translation of _poetes_, poet, as 'maker',\nhelps to explain a term that otherwise seems a puzzle in the _Poetics_.\nIf we wonder why Aristotle, and Plato before him, should lay such stress\non the theory that art is imitation, it is a help to realize that common\nlanguage called it 'making', and it was clearly not 'making' in the\nordinary sense. The poet who was 'maker' of a Fall of Troy clearly did\nnot make the real Fall of Troy. He made an imitation Fall of Troy. An\nartist who 'painted Pericles' really 'made an imitation Pericles by\nmeans of shapes and colours'. Hence we get started upon a theory of art\nwhich, whether finally satisfactory or not, is of immense importance,\nand are saved from the error of complaining that Aristotle did not\nunderstand the 'creative power' of art.\n\nAs a rule, no doubt, the difficulty, even though merely verbal, lies\nbeyond the reach of so simple a tool as literal translation. To say that\ntragedy 'imitates good men' while comedy 'imitates bad men' strikes a\nmodern reader as almost meaningless. The truth is that neither 'good'\nnor 'bad' is an exact equivalent of the Greek. It would be nearer\nperhaps to say that, relatively speaking, you look up to the characters\nof tragedy, and down upon those of comedy. High or low, serious or\ntrivial, many other pairs of words would have to be called in, in order\nto cover the wide range of the common Greek words. And the point is\nimportant, because we have to consider whether in Chapter VI Aristotle\nreally lays it down that tragedy, so far from being the story\nof un-happiness that we think it, is properly an imitation of\n_eudaimonia_--a word often translated 'happiness', but meaning something\nmore like 'high life' or 'blessedness'. (1)\n\n(1) See Margoliouth, p. 121. By water, with most editors, emends the\ntext.\n\nAnother difficult word which constantly recurs in the _Poetics_ is\n_prattein_ or _praxis_, generally translated 'to act' or 'action'. But\n_prattein_, like our 'do', also has an intransitive meaning 'to fare'\neither well or ill; and Professor Margoliouth has pointed out that it\nseems more true to say that tragedy shows how men 'fare' than how they\n'act'. It shows their experiences or fortunes rather than merely their\ndeeds. But one must not draw the line too bluntly. I should doubt\nwhether a classical Greek writer was ordinarily conscious of the\ndistinction between the two meanings. Certainly it is easier to regard\nhappiness as a way of faring than as a form of action. Yet Aristotle can\nuse the passive of _prattein_ for things 'done' or 'gone through' (e.g.\n52a, 22, 29: 55a, 25).\n\nThe fact is that much misunderstanding is often caused by our modern\nattempts to limit too strictly the meaning of a Greek word. Greek was\nvery much a live language, and a language still unconscious of grammar,\nnot, like ours, dominated by definitions and trained upon dictionaries.\nAn instance is provided by Aristotle's famous saying that the typical\ntragic hero is one who falls from high state or fame, not through vice\nor depravity, but by some great _hamartia_. _Hamartia_ means originally\na 'bad shot' or 'error', but is currently used for 'offence' or 'sin'.\nAristotle clearly means that the typical hero is a great man with\n'something wrong' in his life or character; but I think it is a mistake\nof method to argue whether he means 'an intellectual error' or 'a moral\nflaw'. The word is not so precise.\n\nSimilarly, when Aristotle says that a deed of strife or disaster is more\ntragic when it occurs 'amid affections' or 'among people who love each\nother', no doubt the phrase, as Aristotle's own examples show, would\nprimarily suggest to a Greek feuds between near relations. Yet some of\nthe meaning is lost if one translates simply 'within the family'.\n\nThere is another series of obscurities or confusions in the _Poetics_\nwhich, unless I am mistaken, arises from the fact that Aristotle was\nwriting at a time when the great age of Greek tragedy was long past, and\nwas using language formed in previous generations. The words and phrases\nremained in the tradition, but the forms of art and activity which they\ndenoted had sometimes changed in the interval. If we date the _Poetics_\nabout the year 330 B.C., as seems probable, that is more than two\nhundred years after the first tragedy of Thespis was produced in Athens,\nand more than seventy after the death of the last great masters of\nthe tragic stage. When we remember that a training in music and poetry\nformed a prominent part of the education of every wellborn Athenian,\nwe cannot be surprised at finding in Aristotle, and to a less extent in\nPlato, considerable traces of a tradition of technical language and even\nof aesthetic theory.\n\nIt is doubtless one of Aristotle's great services that he conceived\nso clearly the truth that literature is a thing that grows and has a\nhistory. But no writer, certainly no ancient writer, is always vigilant.\nSometimes Aristotle analyses his terms, but very often he takes them for\ngranted; and in the latter case, I think, he is sometimes deceived by\nthem. Thus there seem to be cases where he has been affected in his\nconceptions of fifth-century tragedy by the practice of his own day,\nwhen the only living form of drama was the New Comedy.\n\nFor example, as we have noticed above, true Tragedy had always taken its\nmaterial from the sacred myths, or heroic sagas, which to the classical\nGreek constituted history. But the New Comedy was in the habit of\ninventing its plots. Consequently Aristotle falls into using the word\n_mythos_ practically in the sense of 'plot', and writing otherwise in a\nway that is unsuited to the tragedy of the fifth century. He says that\ntragedy adheres to 'the historical names' for an aesthetic reason,\nbecause what has happened is obviously possible and therefore\nconvincing. The real reason was that the drama and the myth were simply\ntwo different expressions of the same religious kernel (p. 44). Again,\nhe says of the Chorus (p. 65) that it should be an integral part of the\nplay, which is true; but he also says that it' should be regarded as one\nof the actors', which shows to what an extent the Chorus in his day\nwas dead and its technique forgotten. He had lost the sense of what the\nChorus was in the hands of the great masters, say in the Bacchae or the\nEumenides. He mistakes, again, the use of that epiphany of a God which\nis frequent at the end of the single plays of Euripides, and which seems\nto have been equally so at the end of the trilogies of Aeschylus. Having\nlost the living tradition, he sees neither the ritual origin nor the\ndramatic value of these divine epiphanies. He thinks of the convenient\ngods and abstractions who sometimes spoke the prologues of the New\nComedy, and imagines that the God appears in order to unravel the plot.\nAs a matter of fact, in one play which he often quotes, the _Iphigenia\nTaurica_, the plot is actually distorted at the very end in order to\ngive an opportunity for the epiphany.(1)\n\n(1) See my _Euripides and his Age_, pp. 221-45.\n\nOne can see the effect of the tradition also in his treatment of the\nterms Anagnorisis and Peripeteia, which Professor Bywater translates\nas 'Discovery and Peripety' and Professor Butcher as 'Recognition and\nReversal of Fortune'. Aristotle assumes that these two elements are\nnormally present in any tragedy, except those which he calls 'simple';\nwe may say, roughly, in any tragedy that really has a plot. This strikes\na modern reader as a very arbitrary assumption. Reversals of Fortune\nof some sort are perhaps usual in any varied plot, but surely not\nRecognitions? The clue to the puzzle lies, it can scarcely be doubted,\nin the historical origin of tragedy. Tragedy, according to Greek\ntradition, is originally the ritual play of Dionysus, performed at his\nfestival, and representing, as Herodotus tells us, the 'sufferings'\nor 'passion' of that God. We are never directly told what these\n'sufferings' were which were so represented; but Herodotus remarks that\nhe found in Egypt a ritual that was 'in almost all points the same'. (1)\nThis was the well-known ritual of Osiris, in which the god was torn\nin pieces, lamented, searched for, discovered or recognized, and the\nmourning by a sudden Reversal turned into joy. In any tragedy which\nstill retained the stamp of its Dionysiac origin, this Discovery and\nPeripety might normally be expected to occur, and to occur together. I\nhave tried to show elsewhere how many of our extant tragedies do, as a\nmatter of fact, show the marks of this ritual.(2)\n\n(1) Cf. Hdt. ii. 48; cf. 42,144. The name of Dionysus must not be openly\nmentioned in connexion with mourning (ib. 61, 132, 86). This may help to\nexplain the transference of the tragic shows to other heroes.\n\n(2) In Miss Harrison's _Themis_, pp. 341-63.\n\nI hope it is not rash to surmise that the much-debated word\n__katharsis__, 'purification' or 'purgation', may have come into\nAristotle's mouth from the same source. It has all the appearance of\nbeing an old word which is accepted and re-interpreted by Aristotle\nrather than a word freely chosen by him to denote the exact phenomenon\nhe wishes to describe. At any rate the Dionysus ritual itself was a\n_katharmos_ or _katharsis_--a purification of the community from the\ntaints and poisons of the past year, the old contagion of sin and death.\nAnd the words of Aristotle's definition of tragedy in Chapter VI\nmight have been used in the days of Thespis in a much cruder and\nless metaphorical sense. According to primitive ideas, the mimic\nrepresentation on the stage of 'incidents arousing pity and fear' did\nact as a _katharsis_ of such 'passions' or 'sufferings' in real life.\n(For the word _pathemata_ means 'sufferings' as well as 'passions'.)\nIt is worth remembering that in the year 361 B.C., during Aristotle's\nlifetime, Greek tragedies were introduced into Rome, not on artistic but\non superstitious grounds, as a _katharmos_ against a pestilence (Livy\nvii. 2). One cannot but suspect that in his account of the purpose\nof tragedy Aristotle may be using an old traditional formula, and\nconsciously or unconsciously investing it with a new meaning, much as he\nhas done with the word _mythos_.\n\nApart from these historical causes of misunderstanding, a good teacher\nwho uses this book with a class will hardly fail to point out numerous\npoints on which two equally good Greek scholars may well differ in\nthe mere interpretation of the words. What, for instance, are the 'two\nnatural causes' in Chapter IV which have given birth to Poetry? Are\nthey, as our translator takes them, (1) that man is imitative, and (2)\nthat people delight in imitations? Or are they (1) that man is imitative\nand people delight in imitations, and (2) the instinct for rhythm, as\nProfessor Butcher prefers? Is it a 'creature' a thousand miles long, or\na 'picture' a thousand miles long which raises some trouble in Chapter\nVII? The word _zoon_ means equally 'picture' and 'animal'. Did the older\npoets make their characters speak like 'statesmen', _politikoi_, or\nmerely like ordinary citizens, _politai_, while the moderns made theirs\nlike 'professors of rhetoric'? (Chapter VI, p. 38; cf. Margoliouth's\nnote and glossary).\n\nIt may seem as if the large uncertainties which we have indicated\ndetract in a ruinous manner from the value of the _Poetics_ to us as\na work of criticism. Certainly if any young writer took this book as\na manual of rules by which to 'commence poet', he would find himself\nembarrassed. But, if the book is properly read, not as a dogmatic\ntext-book but as a first attempt, made by a man of astounding genius, to\nbuild up in the region of creative art a rational order like that\nwhich he established in logic, rhetoric, ethics, politics, physics,\npsychology, and almost every department of knowledge that existed in his\nday, then the uncertainties become rather a help than a discouragement.\nThey give us occasion to think and use our imagination. They make us, to\nthe best of our powers, try really to follow and criticize closely the\nbold gropings of an extraordinary thinker; and it is in this process,\nand not in any mere collection of dogmatic results, that we shall find\nthe true value and beauty of the _Poetics_.\n\nThe book is of permanent value as a mere intellectual achievement; as\na store of information about Greek literature; and as an original or\nfirst-hand statement of what we may call the classical view of\nartistic criticism. It does not regard poetry as a matter of unanalysed\ninspiration; it makes no concession to personal whims or fashion or\n_ennui_. It tries by rational methods to find out what is good in art\nand what makes it good, accepting the belief that there is just as truly\na good way, and many bad ways, in poetry as in morals or in playing\nbilliards. This is no place to try to sum up its main conclusions.\nBut it is characteristic of the classical view that Aristotle lays his\ngreatest stress, first, on the need for Unity in the work of art, the\nneed that each part should subserve the whole, while irrelevancies,\nhowever brilliant in themselves, should be cast away; and next, on the\ndemand that great art must have for its subject the great way of living.\nThese judgements have often been misunderstood, but the truth in them is\nprofound and goes near to the heart of things.\n\nCharacteristic, too, is the observation that different kinds of art grow\nand develop, but not indefinitely; they develop until they 'attain their\nnatural form'; also the rule that each form of art should produce 'not\nevery sort of pleasure but its proper pleasure'; and the sober language\nin which Aristotle, instead of speaking about the sequence of events\nin a tragedy being 'inevitable', as we bombastic moderns do, merely\nrecommends that they should be 'either necessary or probable' and\n'appear to happen because of one another'.\n\nConceptions and attitudes of mind such as these constitute what we may\ncall the classical faith in matters of art and poetry; a faith which is\nnever perhaps fully accepted in any age, yet, unlike others, is never\nforgotten but lives by being constantly criticized, re-asserted, and\nrebelled against. For the fashions of the ages vary in this direction\nand that, but they vary for the most part from a central road which was\nstruck out by the imagination of Greece.\n\nG. M\n\n\n\n\n\nARISTOTLE ON THE ART OF POETRY\n\n\n\n\n1\n\n\nOur subject being Poetry, I propose to speak not only of the art in\ngeneral but also of its species and their respective capacities; of the\nstructure of plot required for a good poem; of the number and nature of\nthe constituent parts of a poem; and likewise of any other matters in\nthe same line of inquiry. Let us follow the natural order and begin with\nthe primary facts.\n\nEpic poetry and Tragedy, as also Comedy, Dithyrambic poetry, and most\nflute-playing and lyre-playing, are all, viewed as a whole, modes of\nimitation. But at the same time they differ from one another in three\nways, either by a difference of kind in their means, or by differences\nin the objects, or in the manner of their imitations.\n\nI. Just as form and colour are used as means by some, who (whether by\nart or constant practice) imitate and portray many things by their aid,\nand the voice is used by others; so also in the above-mentioned group\nof arts, the means with them as a whole are rhythm, language, and\nharmony--used, however, either singly or in certain combinations. A\ncombination of rhythm and harmony alone is the means in flute-playing\nand lyre-playing, and any other arts there may be of the same\ndescription, e.g. imitative piping. Rhythm alone, without harmony, is\nthe means in the dancer's imitations; for even he, by the rhythms of his\nattitudes, may represent men's characters, as well as what they do\nand suffer. There is further an art which imitates by language alone,\nwithout harmony, in prose or in verse, and if in verse, either in some\none or in a plurality of metres. This form of imitation is to this\nday without a name. We have no common name for a mime of Sophron or\nXenarchus and a Socratic Conversation; and we should still be without\none even if the imitation in the two instances were in trimeters or\nelegiacs or some other kind of verse--though it is the way with people\nto tack on 'poet' to the name of a metre, and talk of elegiac-poets\nand epic-poets, thinking that they call them poets not by reason of the\nimitative nature of their work, but indiscriminately by reason of the\nmetre they write in. Even if a theory of medicine or physical philosophy\nbe put forth in a metrical form, it is usual to describe the writer in\nthis way; Homer and Empedocles, however, have really nothing in common\napart from their metre; so that, if the one is to be called a poet, the\nother should be termed a physicist rather than a poet. We should be in\nthe same position also, if the imitation in these instances were in all\nthe metres, like the _Centaur_ (a rhapsody in a medley of all metres) of\nChaeremon; and Chaeremon one has to recognize as a poet. So much, then,\nas to these arts. There are, lastly, certain other arts, which combine\nall the means enumerated, rhythm, melody, and verse, e.g. Dithyrambic\nand Nomic poetry, Tragedy and Comedy; with this difference, however,\nthat the three kinds of means are in some of them all employed together,\nand in others brought in separately, one after the other. These elements\nof difference in the above arts I term the means of their imitation.\n\n\n\n\n2\n\n\nII. The objects the imitator represents are actions, with agents who are\nnecessarily either good men or bad--the diversities of human character\nbeing nearly always derivative from this primary distinction, since the\nline between virtue and vice is one dividing the whole of mankind. It\nfollows, therefore, that the agents represented must be either above our\nown level of goodness, or beneath it, or just such as we are in the same\nway as, with the painters, the personages of Polygnotus are better\nthan we are, those of Pauson worse, and those of Dionysius just like\nourselves. It is clear that each of the above-mentioned arts will\nadmit of these differences, and that it will become a separate art by\nrepresenting objects with this point of difference. Even in dancing,\nflute-playing, and lyre-playing such diversities are possible; and they\nare also possible in the nameless art that uses language, prose or verse\nwithout harmony, as its means; Homer's personages, for instance, are\nbetter than we are; Cleophon's are on our own level; and those of\nHegemon of Thasos, the first writer of parodies, and Nicochares,\nthe author of the _Diliad_, are beneath it. The same is true of the\nDithyramb and the Nome: the personages may be presented in them with the\ndifference exemplified in the... of... and Argas, and in the Cyclopses\nof Timotheus and Philoxenus. This difference it is that distinguishes\nTragedy and Comedy also; the one would make its personages worse, and\nthe other better, than the men of the present day.\n\n\n\n\n3\n\n\nIII. A third difference in these arts is in the manner in which each\nkind of object is represented. Given both the same means and the same\nkind of object for imitation, one may either (1) speak at one moment in\nnarrative and at another in an assumed character, as Homer does; or (2)\none may remain the same throughout, without any such change; or (3) the\nimitators may represent the whole story dramatically, as though they\nwere actually doing the things described.\n\nAs we said at the beginning, therefore, the differences in the imitation\nof these arts come under three heads, their means, their objects, and\ntheir manner.\n\nSo that as an imitator Sophocles will be on one side akin to Homer, both\nportraying good men; and on another to Aristophanes, since both present\ntheir personages as acting and doing. This in fact, according to some,\nis the reason for plays being termed dramas, because in a play the\npersonages act the story. Hence too both Tragedy and Comedy are claimed\nby the Dorians as their discoveries; Comedy by the Megarians--by those\nin Greece as having arisen when Megara became a democracy, and by the\nSicilian Megarians on the ground that the poet Epicharmus was of their\ncountry, and a good deal earlier than Chionides and Magnes; even Tragedy\nalso is claimed by certain of the Peloponnesian Dorians. In support of\nthis claim they point to the words 'comedy' and 'drama'. Their word for\nthe outlying hamlets, they say, is comae, whereas Athenians call them\ndemes--thus assuming that comedians got the name not from their _comoe_\nor revels, but from their strolling from hamlet to hamlet, lack of\nappreciation keeping them out of the city. Their word also for 'to act',\nthey say, is _dran_, whereas Athenians use _prattein_.\n\nSo much, then, as to the number and nature of the points of difference\nin the imitation of these arts.\n\n\n\n\n4\n\n\nIt is clear that the general origin of poetry was due to two causes,\neach of them part of human nature. Imitation is natural to man from\nchildhood, one of his advantages over the lower animals being this, that\nhe is the most imitative creature in the world, and learns at first\nby imitation. And it is also natural for all to delight in works of\nimitation. The truth of this second point is shown by experience: though\nthe objects themselves may be painful to see, we delight to view the\nmost realistic representations of them in art, the forms for example of\nthe lowest animals and of dead bodies. The explanation is to be found\nin a further fact: to be learning something is the greatest of pleasures\nnot only to the philosopher but also to the rest of mankind, however\nsmall their capacity for it; the reason of the delight in seeing the\npicture is that one is at the same time learning--gathering the meaning\nof things, e.g. that the man there is so-and-so; for if one has not\nseen the thing before, one's pleasure will not be in the picture as an\nimitation of it, but will be due to the execution or colouring or some\nsimilar cause. Imitation, then, being natural to us--as also the sense\nof harmony and rhythm, the metres being obviously species of rhythms--it\nwas through their original aptitude, and by a series of improvements for\nthe most part gradual on their first efforts, that they created poetry\nout of their improvisations.\n\nPoetry, however, soon broke up into two kinds according to the\ndifferences of character in the individual poets; for the graver among\nthem would represent noble actions, and those of noble personages; and\nthe meaner sort the actions of the ignoble. The latter class produced\ninvectives at first, just as others did hymns and panegyrics. We know of\nno such poem by any of the pre-Homeric poets, though there were probably\nmany such writers among them; instances, however, may be found from\nHomer downwards, e.g. his _Margites_, and the similar poems of others.\nIn this poetry of invective its natural fitness brought an iambic metre\ninto use; hence our present term 'iambic', because it was the metre of\ntheir 'iambs' or invectives against one another. The result was that\nthe old poets became some of them writers of heroic and others of iambic\nverse. Homer's position, however, is peculiar: just as he was in the\nserious style the poet of poets, standing alone not only through the\nliterary excellence, but also through the dramatic character of his\nimitations, so too he was the first to outline for us the general forms\nof Comedy by producing not a dramatic invective, but a dramatic picture\nof the Ridiculous; his _Margites_ in fact stands in the same relation\nto our comedies as the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ to our tragedies. As soon,\nhowever, as Tragedy and Comedy appeared in the field, those naturally\ndrawn to the one line of poetry became writers of comedies instead of\niambs, and those naturally drawn to the other, writers of tragedies\ninstead of epics, because these new modes of art were grander and of\nmore esteem than the old.\n\nIf it be asked whether Tragedy is now all that it need be in its\nformative elements, to consider that, and decide it theoretically and in\nrelation to the theatres, is a matter for another inquiry.\n\nIt certainly began in improvisations--as did also Comedy; the one\noriginating with the authors of the Dithyramb, the other with those of\nthe phallic songs, which still survive as institutions in many of our\ncities. And its advance after that was little by little, through their\nimproving on whatever they had before them at each stage. It was in fact\nonly after a long series of changes that the movement of Tragedy stopped\non its attaining to its natural form. (1) The number of actors was first\nincreased to two by Aeschylus, who curtailed the business of the Chorus,\nand made the dialogue, or spoken portion, take the leading part in the\nplay. (2) A third actor and scenery were due to Sophocles. (3) Tragedy\nacquired also its magnitude. Discarding short stories and a ludicrous\ndiction, through its passing out of its satyric stage, it assumed,\nthough only at a late point in its progress, a tone of dignity; and\nits metre changed then from trochaic to iambic. The reason for their\noriginal use of the trochaic tetrameter was that their poetry was\nsatyric and more connected with dancing than it now is. As soon,\nhowever, as a spoken part came in, nature herself found the appropriate\nmetre. The iambic, we know, is the most speakable of metres, as is shown\nby the fact that we very often fall into it in conversation, whereas we\nrarely talk hexameters, and only when we depart from the speaking tone\nof voice. (4) Another change was a plurality of episodes or acts. As for\nthe remaining matters, the superadded embellishments and the account of\ntheir introduction, these must be taken as said, as it would probably be\na long piece of work to go through the details.\n\n\n\n\n5\n\n\nAs for Comedy, it is (as has been observed) an imitation of men worse\nthan the average; worse, however, not as regards any and every sort of\nfault, but only as regards one particular kind, the Ridiculous, which\nis a species of the Ugly. The Ridiculous may be defined as a mistake\nor deformity not productive of pain or harm to others; the mask, for\ninstance, that excites laughter, is something ugly and distorted without\ncausing pain.\n\nThough the successive changes in Tragedy and their authors are not\nunknown, we cannot say the same of Comedy; its early stages passed\nunnoticed, because it was not as yet taken up in a serious way. It was\nonly at a late point in its progress that a chorus of comedians was\nofficially granted by the archon; they used to be mere volunteers. It\nhad also already certain definite forms at the time when the record of\nthose termed comic poets begins. Who it was who supplied it with masks,\nor prologues, or a plurality of actors and the like, has remained\nunknown. The invented Fable, or Plot, however, originated in Sicily,\nwith Epicharmus and Phormis; of Athenian poets Crates was the first\nto drop the Comedy of invective and frame stories of a general and\nnon-personal nature, in other words, Fables or Plots.\n\nEpic poetry, then, has been seen to agree with Tragedy to this extent,\nthat of being an imitation of serious subjects in a grand kind of verse.\nIt differs from it, however, (1) in that it is in one kind of verse and\nin narrative form; and (2) in its length--which is due to its action\nhaving no fixed limit of time, whereas Tragedy endeavours to keep as far\nas possible within a single circuit of the sun, or something near that.\nThis, I say, is another point of difference between them, though at\nfirst the practice in this respect was just the same in tragedies as\nin epic poems. They differ also (3) in their constituents, some being\ncommon to both and others peculiar to Tragedy--hence a judge of good and\nbad in Tragedy is a judge of that in epic poetry also. All the parts of\nan epic are included in Tragedy; but those of Tragedy are not all of\nthem to be found in the Epic.\n\n\n\n\n6\n\n\nReserving hexameter poetry and Comedy for consideration hereafter, let\nus proceed now to the discussion of Tragedy; before doing so, however,\nwe must gather up the definition resulting from what has been said. A\ntragedy, then, is the imitation of an action that is serious and also,\nas having magnitude, complete in itself; in language with pleasurable\naccessories, each kind brought in separately in the parts of the work;\nin a dramatic, not in a narrative form; with incidents arousing pity and\nfear, wherewith to accomplish its catharsis of such emotions. Here by\n'language with pleasurable accessories' I mean that with rhythm and\nharmony or song superadded; and by 'the kinds separately' I mean that\nsome portions are worked out with verse only, and others in turn with\nsong.\n\nI. As they act the stories, it follows that in the first place the\nSpectacle (or stage-appearance of the actors) must be some part of the\nwhole; and in the second Melody and Diction, these two being the\nmeans of their imitation. Here by 'Diction' I mean merely this, the\ncomposition of the verses; and by 'Melody', what is too completely\nunderstood to require explanation. But further: the subject represented\nalso is an action; and the action involves agents, who must necessarily\nhave their distinctive qualities both of character and thought, since it\nis from these that we ascribe certain qualities to their actions. There\nare in the natural order of things, therefore, two causes, Character and\nThought, of their actions, and consequently of their success or failure\nin their lives. Now the action (that which was done) is represented in\nthe play by the Fable or Plot. The Fable, in our present sense of the\nterm, is simply this, the combination of the incidents, or things done\nin the story; whereas Character is what makes us ascribe certain moral\nqualities to the agents; and Thought is shown in all they say when\nproving a particular point or, it may be, enunciating a general truth.\nThere are six parts consequently of every tragedy, as a whole, that\nis, of such or such quality, viz. a Fable or Plot, Characters, Diction,\nThought, Spectacle and Melody; two of them arising from the means, one\nfrom the manner, and three from the objects of the dramatic imitation;\nand there is nothing else besides these six. Of these, its formative\nelements, then, not a few of the dramatists have made due use, as every\nplay, one may say, admits of Spectacle, Character, Fable, Diction,\nMelody, and Thought.\n\nII. The most important of the six is the combination of the incidents of\nthe story.\n\nTragedy is essentially an imitation not of persons but of action and\nlife, of happiness and misery. All human happiness or misery takes the\nform of action; the end for which we live is a certain kind of\nactivity, not a quality. Character gives us qualities, but it is in\nour actions--what we do--that we are happy or the reverse. In a play\naccordingly they do not act in order to portray the Characters; they\ninclude the Characters for the sake of the action. So that it is the\naction in it, i.e. its Fable or Plot, that is the end and purpose of\nthe tragedy; and the end is everywhere the chief thing. Besides this,\na tragedy is impossible without action, but there may be one without\nCharacter. The tragedies of most of the moderns are characterless--a\ndefect common among poets of all kinds, and with its counterpart in\npainting in Zeuxis as compared with Polygnotus; for whereas the latter\nis strong in character, the work of Zeuxis is devoid of it. And again:\none may string together a series of characteristic speeches of the\nutmost finish as regards Diction and Thought, and yet fail to produce\nthe true tragic effect; but one will have much better success with\na tragedy which, however inferior in these respects, has a Plot, a\ncombination of incidents, in it. And again: the most powerful elements\nof attraction in Tragedy, the Peripeties and Discoveries, are parts of\nthe Plot. A further proof is in the fact that beginners succeed earlier\nwith the Diction and Characters than with the construction of a\nstory; and the same may be said of nearly all the early dramatists. We\nmaintain, therefore, that the first essential, the life and soul, so\nto speak, of Tragedy is the Plot; and that the Characters come\nsecond--compare the parallel in painting, where the most beautiful\ncolours laid on without order will not give one the same pleasure as a\nsimple black-and-white sketch of a portrait. We maintain that Tragedy is\nprimarily an imitation of action, and that it is mainly for the sake of\nthe action that it imitates the personal agents. Third comes the element\nof Thought, i.e. the power of saying whatever can be said, or what is\nappropriate to the occasion. This is what, in the speeches in Tragedy,\nfalls under the arts of Politics and Rhetoric; for the older poets\nmake their personages discourse like statesmen, and the moderns like\nrhetoricians. One must not confuse it with Character. Character in a\nplay is that which reveals the moral purpose of the agents, i.e. the\nsort of thing they seek or avoid, where that is not obvious--hence there\nis no room for Character in a speech on a purely indifferent subject.\nThought, on the other hand, is shown in all they say when proving\nor disproving some particular point, or enunciating some universal\nproposition. Fourth among the literary elements is the Diction of the\npersonages, i.e. as before explained, the expression of their thoughts\nin words, which is practically the same thing with verse as with prose.\nAs for the two remaining parts, the Melody is the greatest of the\npleasurable accessories of Tragedy. The Spectacle, though an attraction,\nis the least artistic of all the parts, and has least to do with the\nart of poetry. The tragic effect is quite possible without a public\nperformance and actors; and besides, the getting-up of the Spectacle is\nmore a matter for the costumier than the poet.\n\n\n\n\n7\n\n\nHaving thus distinguished the parts, let us now consider the proper\nconstruction of the Fable or Plot, as that is at once the first and the\nmost important thing in Tragedy. We have laid it down that a tragedy is\nan imitation of an action that is complete in itself, as a whole of some\nmagnitude; for a whole may be of no magnitude to speak of. Now a whole\nis that which has beginning, middle, and end. A beginning is that which\nis not itself necessarily after anything else, and which has naturally\nsomething else after it; an end is that which is naturally after\nsomething itself, either as its necessary or usual consequent, and with\nnothing else after it; and a middle, that which is by nature after one\nthing and has also another after it. A well-constructed Plot, therefore,\ncannot either begin or end at any point one likes; beginning and end in\nit must be of the forms just described. Again: to be beautiful, a living\ncreature, and every whole made up of parts, must not only present a\ncertain order in its arrangement of parts, but also be of a certain\ndefinite magnitude. Beauty is a matter of size and order, and therefore\nimpossible either (1) in a very minute creature, since our perception\nbecomes indistinct as it approaches instantaneity; or (2) in a creature\nof vast size--one, say, 1,000 miles long--as in that case, instead of\nthe object being seen all at once, the unity and wholeness of it is lost\nto the beholder.\n\nJust in the same way, then, as a beautiful whole made up of parts, or a\nbeautiful living creature, must be of some size, a size to be taken in\nby the eye, so a story or Plot must be of some length, but of a length\nto be taken in by the memory. As for the limit of its length, so far as\nthat is relative to public performances and spectators, it does not fall\nwithin the theory of poetry. If they had to perform a hundred tragedies,\nthey would be timed by water-clocks, as they are said to have been at\none period. The limit, however, set by the actual nature of the thing is\nthis: the longer the story, consistently with its being comprehensible\nas a whole, the finer it is by reason of its magnitude. As a rough\ngeneral formula, 'a length which allows of the hero passing by a series\nof probable or necessary stages from misfortune to happiness, or from\nhappiness to misfortune', may suffice as a limit for the magnitude of\nthe story.\n\n\n\n\n8\n\n\nThe Unity of a Plot does not consist, as some suppose, in its having one\nman as its subject. An infinity of things befall that one man, some of\nwhich it is impossible to reduce to unity; and in like manner there are\nmany actions of one man which cannot be made to form one action.\nOne sees, therefore, the mistake of all the poets who have written a\n_Heracleid_, a _Theseid_, or similar poems; they suppose that, because\nHeracles was one man, the story also of Heracles must be one story.\nHomer, however, evidently understood this point quite well, whether\nby art or instinct, just in the same way as he excels the rest in every\nother respect. In writing an _Odyssey_, he did not make the poem cover\nall that ever befell his hero--it befell him, for instance, to get\nwounded on Parnassus and also to feign madness at the time of the call\nto arms, but the two incidents had no probable or necessary connexion\nwith one another--instead of doing that, he took an action with a Unity\nof the kind we are describing as the subject of the _Odyssey_, as also\nof the _Iliad_. The truth is that, just as in the other imitative arts\none imitation is always of one thing, so in poetry the story, as an\nimitation of action, must represent one action, a complete whole,\nwith its several incidents so closely connected that the transposal or\nwithdrawal of any one of them will disjoin and dislocate the whole. For\nthat which makes no perceptible difference by its presence or absence is\nno real part of the whole.\n\n\n\n\n9\n\n\nFrom what we have said it will be seen that the poet's function is to\ndescribe, not the thing that has happened, but a kind of thing that\nmight happen, i.e. what is possible as being probable or necessary. The\ndistinction between historian and poet is not in the one writing prose\nand the other verse--you might put the work of Herodotus into verse, and\nit would still be a species of history; it consists really in this, that\nthe one describes the thing that has been, and the other a kind of thing\nthat might be. Hence poetry is something more philosophic and of graver\nimport than history, since its statements are of the nature rather\nof universals, whereas those of history are singulars. By a universal\nstatement I mean one as to what such or such a kind of man will probably\nor necessarily say or do--which is the aim of poetry, though it affixes\nproper names to the characters; by a singular statement, one as to what,\nsay, Alcibiades did or had done to him. In Comedy this has become clear\nby this time; it is only when their plot is already made up of probable\nincidents that they give it a basis of proper names, choosing for the\npurpose any names that may occur to them, instead of writing like the\nold iambic poets about particular persons. In Tragedy, however, they\nstill adhere to the historic names; and for this reason: what convinces\nis the possible; now whereas we are not yet sure as to the possibility\nof that which has not happened, that which has happened is manifestly\npossible, else it would not have come to pass. Nevertheless even in\nTragedy there are some plays with but one or two known names in them,\nthe rest being inventions; and there are some without a single known\nname, e.g. Agathon's Anthens, in which both incidents and names are of\nthe poet's invention; and it is no less delightful on that account. So\nthat one must not aim at a rigid adherence to the traditional stories\non which tragedies are based. It would be absurd, in fact, to do so,\nas even the known stories are only known to a few, though they are a\ndelight none the less to all.\n\nIt is evident from the above that, the poet must be more the poet of his\nstories or Plots than of his verses, inasmuch as he is a poet by\nvirtue of the imitative element in his work, and it is actions that he\nimitates. And if he should come to take a subject from actual history,\nhe is none the less a poet for that; since some historic occurrences may\nvery well be in the probable and possible order of things; and it is in\nthat aspect of them that he is their poet.\n\nOf simple Plots and actions the episodic are the worst. I call a Plot\nepisodic when there is neither probability nor necessity in the sequence\nof episodes. Actions of this sort bad poets construct through their\nown fault, and good ones on account of the players. His work being for\npublic performance, a good poet often stretches out a Plot beyond its\ncapabilities, and is thus obliged to twist the sequence of incident.\n\nTragedy, however, is an imitation not only of a complete action, but\nalso of incidents arousing pity and fear. Such incidents have the very\ngreatest effect on the mind when they occur unexpectedly and at the same\ntime in consequence of one another; there is more of the marvellous in\nthem then than if they happened of themselves or by mere chance. Even\nmatters of chance seem most marvellous if there is an appearance of\ndesign as it were in them; as for instance the statue of Mitys at\nArgos killed the author of Mitys' death by falling down on him when a\nlooker-on at a public spectacle; for incidents like that we think to be\nnot without a meaning. A Plot, therefore, of this sort is necessarily\nfiner than others.\n\n\n\n\n10\n\n\nPlots are either simple or complex, since the actions they represent are\nnaturally of this twofold description. The action, proceeding in the way\ndefined, as one continuous whole, I call simple, when the change in the\nhero's fortunes takes place without Peripety or Discovery; and complex,\nwhen it involves one or the other, or both. These should each of\nthem arise out of the structure of the Plot itself, so as to be the\nconsequence, necessary or probable, of the antecedents. There is a great\ndifference between a thing happening _propter hoc_ and _post hoc_.\n\n\n\n\n11\n\n\nA Peripety is the change from one state of things within the play to its\nopposite of the kind described, and that too in the way we are saying,\nin the probable or necessary sequence of events; as it is for instance\nin _Oedipus_: here the opposite state of things is produced by the\nMessenger, who, coming to gladden Oedipus and to remove his fears as to\nhis mother, reveals the secret of his birth. And in _Lynceus_: just as\nhe is being led off for execution, with Danaus at his side to put him to\ndeath, the incidents preceding this bring it about that he is saved and\nDanaus put to death. A Discovery is, as the very word implies, a change\nfrom ignorance to knowledge, and thus to either love or hate, in the\npersonages marked for good or evil fortune. The finest form of Discovery\nis one attended by Peripeties, like that which goes with the Discovery\nin _Oedipus_. There are no doubt other forms of it; what we have said\nmay happen in a way in reference to inanimate things, even things of a\nvery casual kind; and it is also possible to discover whether some one\nhas done or not done something. But the form most directly connected\nwith the Plot and the action of the piece is the first-mentioned. This,\nwith a Peripety, will arouse either pity or fear--actions of that nature\nbeing what Tragedy is assumed to represent; and it will also serve to\nbring about the happy or unhappy ending. The Discovery, then, being of\npersons, it may be that of one party only to the other, the latter being\nalready known; or both the parties may have to discover themselves.\nIphigenia, for instance, was discovered to Orestes by sending the\nletter; and another Discovery was required to reveal him to Iphigenia.\n\nTwo parts of the Plot, then, Peripety and Discovery, are on matters of\nthis sort. A third part is Suffering; which we may define as an action\nof a destructive or painful nature, such as murders on the stage,\ntortures, woundings, and the like. The other two have been already\nexplained.\n\n\n\n\n12\n\n\nThe parts of Tragedy to be treated as formative elements in the whole\nwere mentioned in a previous Chapter. From the point of view, however,\nof its quantity, i.e. the separate sections into which it is divided, a\ntragedy has the following parts: Prologue, Episode, Exode, and a choral\nportion, distinguished into Parode and Stasimon; these two are common to\nall tragedies, whereas songs from the stage and Commoe are only found\nin some. The Prologue is all that precedes the Parode of the chorus; an\nEpisode all that comes in between two whole choral songs; the Exode\nall that follows after the last choral song. In the choral portion the\nParode is the whole first statement of the chorus; a Stasimon, a song of\nthe chorus without anapaests or trochees; a Commas, a lamentation sung\nby chorus and actor in concert. The parts of Tragedy to be used as\nformative elements in the whole we have already mentioned; the above\nare its parts from the point of view of its quantity, or the separate\nsections into which it is divided.\n\n\n\n\n13\n\n\nThe next points after what we have said above will be these: (1) What is\nthe poet to aim at, and what is he to avoid, in constructing his Plots?\nand (2) What are the conditions on which the tragic effect depends?\n\nWe assume that, for the finest form of Tragedy, the Plot must be not\nsimple but complex; and further, that it must imitate actions arousing\npity and fear, since that is the distinctive function of this kind of\nimitation. It follows, therefore, that there are three forms of Plot to\nbe avoided. (1) A good man must not be seen passing from happiness to\nmisery, or (2) a bad man from misery to happiness.\n\nThe first situation is not fear-inspiring or piteous, but simply odious\nto us. The second is the most untragic that can be; it has no one of the\nrequisites of Tragedy; it does not appeal either to the human feeling in\nus, or to our pity, or to our fears. Nor, on the other hand, should (3)\nan extremely bad man be seen falling from happiness into misery. Such\na story may arouse the human feeling in us, but it will not move us to\neither pity or fear; pity is occasioned by undeserved misfortune, and\nfear by that of one like ourselves; so that there will be nothing either\npiteous or fear-inspiring in the situation. There remains, then, the\nintermediate kind of personage, a man not pre-eminently virtuous and\njust, whose misfortune, however, is brought upon him not by vice and\ndepravity but by some error of judgement, of the number of those in the\nenjoyment of great reputation and prosperity; e.g. Oedipus, Thyestes,\nand the men of note of similar families. The perfect Plot, accordingly,\nmust have a single, and not (as some tell us) a double issue; the change\nin the hero's fortunes must be not from misery to happiness, but on the\ncontrary from happiness to misery; and the cause of it must lie not\nin any depravity, but in some great error on his part; the man himself\nbeing either such as we have described, or better, not worse, than that.\nFact also confirms our theory. Though the poets began by accepting any\ntragic story that came to hand, in these days the finest tragedies are\nalways on the story of some few houses, on that of Alemeon, Oedipus,\nOrestes, Meleager, Thyestes, Telephus, or any others that may have been\ninvolved, as either agents or sufferers, in some deed of horror. The\ntheoretically best tragedy, then, has a Plot of this description. The\ncritics, therefore, are wrong who blame Euripides for taking this line\nin his tragedies, and giving many of them an unhappy ending. It is, as\nwe have said, the right line to take. The best proof is this: on the\nstage, and in the public performances, such plays, properly worked\nout, are seen to be the most truly tragic; and Euripides, even if\nhis elecution be faulty in every other point, is seen to be nevertheless\nthe most tragic certainly of the dramatists. After this comes the\nconstruction of Plot which some rank first, one with a double story\n(like the _Odyssey_) and an opposite issue for the good and the bad\npersonages. It is ranked as first only through the weakness of the\naudiences; the poets merely follow their public, writing as its wishes\ndictate. But the pleasure here is not that of Tragedy. It belongs rather\nto Comedy, where the bitterest enemies in the piece (e.g. Orestes and\nAegisthus) walk off good friends at the end, with no slaying of any one\nby any one.\n\n\n\n\n14\n\n\nThe tragic fear and pity may be aroused by the Spectacle; but they may\nalso be aroused by the very structure and incidents of the play--which\nis the better way and shows the better poet. The Plot in fact should be\nso framed that, even without seeing the things take place, he who simply\nhears the account of them shall be filled with horror and pity at the\nincidents; which is just the effect that the mere recital of the story\nin _Oedipus_ would have on one. To produce this same effect by means\nof the Spectacle is less artistic, and requires extraneous aid. Those,\nhowever, who make use of the Spectacle to put before us that which is\nmerely monstrous and not productive of fear, are wholly out of touch\nwith Tragedy; not every kind of pleasure should be required of a\ntragedy, but only its own proper pleasure.\n\nThe tragic pleasure is that of pity and fear, and the poet has to\nproduce it by a work of imitation; it is clear, therefore, that the\ncauses should be included in the incidents of his story. Let us see,\nthen, what kinds of incident strike one as horrible, or rather as\npiteous. In a deed of this description the parties must necessarily\nbe either friends, or enemies, or indifferent to one another. Now when\nenemy does it on enemy, there is nothing to move us to pity either in\nhis doing or in his meditating the deed, except so far as the actual\npain of the sufferer is concerned; and the same is true when the parties\nare indifferent to one another. Whenever the tragic deed, however, is\ndone within the family--when murder or the like is done or meditated\nby brother on brother, by son on father, by mother on son, or son\non mother--these are the situations the poet should seek after. The\ntraditional stories, accordingly, must be kept as they are, e.g. the\nmurder of Clytaemnestra by Orestes and of Eriphyle by Alcmeon. At the\nsame time even with these there is something left to the poet himself;\nit is for him to devise the right way of treating them. Let us explain\nmore clearly what we mean by 'the right way'. The deed of horror may be\ndone by the doer knowingly and consciously, as in the old poets, and\nin Medea's murder of her children in Euripides. Or he may do it, but in\nignorance of his relationship, and discover that afterwards, as does the\n_Oedipus_ in Sophocles. Here the deed is outside the play; but it may\nbe within it, like the act of the Alcmeon in Astydamas, or that of\nthe Telegonus in _Ulysses Wounded_. A third possibility is for\none meditating some deadly injury to another, in ignorance of his\nrelationship, to make the discovery in time to draw back. These exhaust\nthe possibilities, since the deed must necessarily be either done or not\ndone, and either knowingly or unknowingly.\n\nThe worst situation is when the personage is with full knowledge on the\npoint of doing the deed, and leaves it undone. It is odious and also\n(through the absence of suffering) untragic; hence it is that no one is\nmade to act thus except in some few instances, e.g. Haemon and Creon in\n_Antigone_. Next after this comes the actual perpetration of the deed\nmeditated. A better situation than that, however, is for the deed to\nbe done in ignorance, and the relationship discovered afterwards, since\nthere is nothing odious in it, and the Discovery will serve to astound\nus. But the best of all is the last; what we have in _Cresphontes_, for\nexample, where Merope, on the point of slaying her son, recognizes\nhim in time; in _Iphigenia_, where sister and brother are in a like\nposition; and in _Helle_, where the son recognizes his mother, when on\nthe point of giving her up to her enemy.\n\nThis will explain why our tragedies are restricted (as we said just now)\nto such a small number of families. It was accident rather than art that\nled the poets in quest of subjects to embody this kind of incident in\ntheir Plots. They are still obliged, accordingly, to have recourse to\nthe families in which such horrors have occurred.\n\nOn the construction of the Plot, and the kind of Plot required for\nTragedy, enough has now been said.\n\n\n\n\n15\n\n\nIn the Characters there are four points to aim at. First and foremost,\nthat they shall be good. There will be an element of character in the\nplay, if (as has been observed) what a personage says or does reveals a\ncertain moral purpose; and a good element of character, if the\npurpose so revealed is good. Such goodness is possible in every type\nof personage, even in a woman or a slave, though the one is perhaps an\ninferior, and the other a wholly worthless being. The second point is to\nmake them appropriate. The Character before us may be, say, manly; but\nit is not appropriate in a female Character to be manly, or clever. The\nthird is to make them like the reality, which is not the same as their\nbeing good and appropriate, in our sense of the term. The fourth is to\nmake them consistent and the same throughout; even if inconsistency\nbe part of the man before one for imitation as presenting that form\nof character, he should still be consistently inconsistent. We have an\ninstance of baseness of character, not required for the story, in\nthe Menelaus in _Orestes_; of the incongruous and unbefitting in the\nlamentation of Ulysses in _Scylla_, and in the (clever) speech of\nMelanippe; and of inconsistency in _Iphigenia at Aulis_, where Iphigenia\nthe suppliant is utterly unlike the later Iphigenia. The right thing,\nhowever, is in the Characters just as in the incidents of the play to\nendeavour always after the necessary or the probable; so that whenever\nsuch-and-such a personage says or does such-and-such a thing, it shall\nbe the probable or necessary outcome of his character; and whenever\nthis incident follows on that, it shall be either the necessary or the\nprobable consequence of it. From this one sees (to digress for a moment)\nthat the Denouement also should arise out of the plot itself, arid\nnot depend on a stage-artifice, as in _Medea_, or in the story of the\n(arrested) departure of the Greeks in the _Iliad_. The artifice must\nbe reserved for matters outside the play--for past events beyond human\nknowledge, or events yet to come, which require to be foretold or\nannounced; since it is the privilege of the Gods to know everything.\nThere should be nothing improbable among the actual incidents. If it\nbe unavoidable, however, it should be outside the tragedy, like the\nimprobability in the _Oedipus_ of Sophocles. But to return to the\nCharacters. As Tragedy is an imitation of personages better than\nthe ordinary man, we in our way should follow the example of good\nportrait-painters, who reproduce the distinctive features of a man, and\nat the same time, without losing the likeness, make him handsomer than\nhe is. The poet in like manner, in portraying men quick or slow to\nanger, or with similar infirmities of character, must know how to\nrepresent them as such, and at the same time as good men, as Agathon and\nHomer have represented Achilles.\n\nAll these rules one must keep in mind throughout, and further, those\nalso for such points of stage-effect as directly depend on the art\nof the poet, since in these too one may often make mistakes. Enough,\nhowever, has been said on the subject in one of our published writings.\n\n\n\n\n16\n\n\nDiscovery in general has been explained already. As for the species of\nDiscovery, the first to be noted is (1) the least artistic form of\nit, of which the poets make most use through mere lack of invention,\nDiscovery by signs or marks. Of these signs some are congenital, like\nthe 'lance-head which the Earth-born have on them', or 'stars', such as\nCarcinus brings in in his _Thyestes_; others acquired after birth--these\nlatter being either marks on the body, e.g. scars, or external tokens,\nlike necklaces, or to take another sort of instance, the ark in the\nDiscovery in _Tyro_. Even these, however, admit of two uses, a better\nand a worse; the scar of Ulysses is an instance; the Discovery of\nhim through it is made in one way by the nurse and in another by the\nswineherds. A Discovery using signs as a means of assurance is less\nartistic, as indeed are all such as imply reflection; whereas one\nbringing them in all of a sudden, as in the _Bath-story_, is of a better\norder. Next after these are (2) Discoveries made directly by the poet;\nwhich are inartistic for that very reason; e.g. Orestes' Discovery of\nhimself in _Iphigenia_: whereas his sister reveals who she is by the\nletter, Orestes is made to say himself what the poet rather than\nthe story demands. This, therefore, is not far removed from the\nfirst-mentioned fault, since he might have presented certain tokens\nas well. Another instance is the 'shuttle's voice' in the _Tereus_ of\nSophocles. (3) A third species is Discovery through memory, from a man's\nconsciousness being awakened by something seen or heard. Thus in _The\nCyprioe_ of Dicaeogenes, the sight of the picture makes the man burst\ninto tears; and in the _Tale of Alcinous_, hearing the harper Ulysses is\nreminded of the past and weeps; the Discovery of them being the\nresult. (4) A fourth kind is Discovery through reasoning; e.g. in _The\nChoephoroe_: 'One like me is here; there is no one like me but Orestes;\nhe, therefore, must be here.' Or that which Polyidus the Sophist\nsuggested for _Iphigenia_; since it was natural for Orestes to reflect:\n'My sister was sacrificed, and I am to be sacrificed like her.' Or that\nin the _Tydeus_ of Theodectes: 'I came to find a son, and am to die\nmyself.' Or that in _The Phinidae_: on seeing the place the women\ninferred their fate, that they were to die there, since they had also\nbeen exposed there. (5) There is, too, a composite Discovery arising\nfrom bad reasoning on the side of the other party. An instance of it is\nin _Ulysses the False Messenger_: he said he should know the bow--which\nhe had not seen; but to suppose from that that he would know it again\n(as though he had once seen it) was bad reasoning. (6) The best of all\nDiscoveries, however, is that arising from the incidents themselves,\nwhen the great surprise comes about through a probable incident, like\nthat in the _Oedipus_ of Sophocles; and also in _Iphigenia_; for it was\nnot improbable that she should wish to have a letter taken home. These\nlast are the only Discoveries independent of the artifice of signs and\nnecklaces. Next after them come Discoveries through reasoning.\n\n\n\n\n17\n\n\nAt the time when he is constructing his Plots, and engaged on the\nDiction in which they are worked out, the poet should remember (1) to\nput the actual scenes as far as possible before his eyes. In this way,\nseeing everything with the vividness of an eye-witness as it were,\nhe will devise what is appropriate, and be least likely to overlook\nincongruities. This is shown by what was censured in Carcinus, the\nreturn of Amphiaraus from the sanctuary; it would have passed unnoticed,\nif it had not been actually seen by the audience; but on the stage his\nplay failed, the incongruity of the incident offending the spectators.\n(2) As far as may be, too, the poet should even act his story with the\nvery gestures of his personages. Given the same natural qualifications,\nhe who feels the emotions to be described will be the most convincing;\ndistress and anger, for instance, are portrayed most truthfully by one\nwho is feeling them at the moment. Hence it is that poetry demands a man\nwith special gift for it, or else one with a touch of madness in him;\nthe former can easily assume the required mood, and the latter may\nbe actually beside himself with emotion. (3) His story, again, whether\nalready made or of his own making, he should first simplify and reduce\nto a universal form, before proceeding to lengthen it out by the\ninsertion of episodes. The following will show how the universal element\nin _Iphigenia_, for instance, may be viewed: A certain maiden having\nbeen offered in sacrifice, and spirited away from her sacrificers into\nanother land, where the custom was to sacrifice all strangers to the\nGoddess, she was made there the priestess of this rite. Long after that\nthe brother of the priestess happened to come; the fact, however, of the\noracle having for a certain reason bidden him go thither, and his\nobject in going, are outside the Plot of the play. On his coming he\nwas arrested, and about to be sacrificed, when he revealed who he\nwas--either as Euripides puts it, or (as suggested by Polyidus) by the\nnot improbable exclamation, 'So I too am doomed to be sacrificed, as\nmy sister was'; and the disclosure led to his salvation. This done, the\nnext thing, after the proper names have been fixed as a basis for the\nstory, is to work in episodes or accessory incidents. One must mind,\nhowever, that the episodes are appropriate, like the fit of madness in\nOrestes, which led to his arrest, and the purifying, which brought about\nhis salvation. In plays, then, the episodes are short; in epic poetry\nthey serve to lengthen out the poem. The argument of the _Odyssey_ is\nnot a long one.\n\nA certain man has been abroad many years; Poseidon is ever on the watch\nfor him, and he is all alone. Matters at home too have come to this,\nthat his substance is being wasted and his son's death plotted by\nsuitors to his wife. Then he arrives there himself after his grievous\nsufferings; reveals himself, and falls on his enemies; and the end is\nhis salvation and their death. This being all that is proper to the\n_Odyssey_, everything else in it is episode.\n\n\n\n\n18\n\n\n(4) There is a further point to be borne in mind. Every tragedy is\nin part Complication and in part Denouement; the incidents before the\nopening scene, and often certain also of those within the play, forming\nthe Complication; and the rest the Denouement. By Complication I mean\nall from the beginning of the story to the point just before the change\nin the hero's fortunes; by Denouement, all from the beginning of the\nchange to the end. In the _Lynceus_ of Theodectes, for instance, the\nComplication includes, together with the presupposed incidents, the\nseizure of the child and that in turn of the parents; and the Denouement\nall from the indictment for the murder to the end. Now it is right, when\none speaks of a tragedy as the same or not the same as another, to do so\non the ground before all else of their Plot, i.e. as having the same or\nnot the same Complication and Denouement. Yet there are many dramatists\nwho, after a good Complication, fail in the Denouement. But it is\nnecessary for both points of construction to be always duly mastered.\n(5) There are four distinct species of Tragedy--that being the number\nof the constituents also that have been mentioned: first, the complex\nTragedy, which is all Peripety and Discovery; second, the Tragedy\nof suffering, e.g. the _Ajaxes_ and _Ixions_; third, the Tragedy of\ncharacter, e.g. _The Phthiotides_ and _Peleus_. The fourth constituent\nis that of 'Spectacle', exemplified in _The Phorcides_, in _Prometheus_,\nand in all plays with the scene laid in the nether world. The poet's\naim, then, should be to combine every element of interest, if possible,\nor else the more important and the major part of them. This is now\nespecially necessary owing to the unfair criticism to which the poet is\nsubjected in these days. Just because there have been poets before him\nstrong in the several species of tragedy, the critics now expect the\none man to surpass that which was the strong point of each one of his\npredecessors. (6) One should also remember what has been said more than\nonce, and not write a tragedy on an epic body of incident (i.e. one with\na plurality of stories in it), by attempting to dramatize, for instance,\nthe entire story of the _Iliad_. In the epic owing to its scale every\npart is treated at proper length; with a drama, however, on the same\nstory the result is very disappointing. This is shown by the fact that\nall who have dramatized the fall of Ilium in its entirety, and not part\nby part, like Euripides, or the whole of the Niobe story, instead of a\nportion, like Aeschylus, either fail utterly or have but ill success\non the stage; for that and that alone was enough to ruin a play by\nAgathon. Yet in their Peripeties, as also in their simple plots, the\npoets I mean show wonderful skill in aiming at the kind of effect they\ndesire--a tragic situation that arouses the human feeling in one, like\nthe clever villain (e.g. Sisyphus) deceived, or the brave wrongdoer\nworsted. This is probable, however, only in Agathon's sense, when he\nspeaks of the probability of even improbabilities coming to pass. (7)\nThe Chorus too should be regarded as one of the actors; it should be an\nintegral part of the whole, and take a share in the action--that which\nit has in Sophocles rather than in Euripides. With the later poets,\nhowever, the songs in a play of theirs have no more to do with the Plot\nof that than of any other tragedy. Hence it is that they are now singing\nintercalary pieces, a practice first introduced by Agathon. And yet what\nreal difference is there between singing such intercalary pieces, and\nattempting to fit in a speech, or even a whole act, from one play into\nanother?\n\n\n\n\n19\n\n\nThe Plot and Characters having been discussed, it remains to consider\nthe Diction and Thought. As for the Thought, we may assume what is\nsaid of it in our Art of Rhetoric, as it belongs more properly to\nthat department of inquiry. The Thought of the personages is shown in\neverything to be effected by their language--in every effort to prove\nor disprove, to arouse emotion (pity, fear, anger, and the like), or\nto maximize or minimize things. It is clear, also, that their mental\nprocedure must be on the same lines in their actions likewise, whenever\nthey wish them to arouse pity or horror, or have a look of importance or\nprobability. The only difference is that with the act the impression has\nto be made without explanation; whereas with the spoken word it has to\nbe produced by the speaker, and result from his language. What, indeed,\nwould be the good of the speaker, if things appeared in the required\nlight even apart from anything he says?\n\nAs regards the Diction, one subject for inquiry under this head is the\nturns given to the language when spoken; e.g. the difference between\ncommand and prayer, simple statement and threat, question and answer,\nand so forth. The theory of such matters, however, belongs to Elocution\nand the professors of that art. Whether the poet knows these things or\nnot, his art as a poet is never seriously criticized on that account.\nWhat fault can one see in Homer's 'Sing of the wrath, Goddess'?--which\nProtagoras has criticized as being a command where a prayer was meant,\nsince to bid one do or not do, he tells us, is a command. Let us pass\nover this, then, as appertaining to another art, and not to that of\npoetry.\n\n\n\n\n20\n\n\nThe Diction viewed as a whole is made up of the following parts:\nthe Letter (or ultimate element), the Syllable, the Conjunction, the\nArticle, the Noun, the Verb, the Case, and the Speech. (1) The Letter is\nan indivisible sound of a particular kind, one that may become a factor\nin an intelligible sound. Indivisible sounds are uttered by the brutes\nalso, but no one of these is a Letter in our sense of the term. These\nelementary sounds are either vowels, semivowels, or mutes. A vowel is a\nLetter having an audible sound without the addition of another Letter.\nA semivowel, one having an audible sound by the addition of another\nLetter; e.g. S and R. A mute, one having no sound at all by itself, but\nbecoming audible by an addition, that of one of the Letters which have\na sound of some sort of their own; e.g. D and G. The Letters differ in\nvarious ways: as produced by different conformations or in different\nregions of the mouth; as aspirated, not aspirated, or sometimes one\nand sometimes the other; as long, short, or of variable quantity; and\nfurther as having an acute grave, or intermediate accent.\n\nThe details of these matters we must leave to the metricians. (2) A\nSyllable is a nonsignificant composite sound, made up of a mute and a\nLetter having a sound (a vowel or semivowel); for GR, without an A,\nis just as much a Syllable as GRA, with an A. The various forms of the\nSyllable also belong to the theory of metre. (3) A Conjunction is (a) a\nnon-significant sound which, when one significant sound is formable out\nof several, neither hinders nor aids the union, and which, if the Speech\nthus formed stands by itself (apart from other Speeches) must not be\ninserted at the beginning of it; e.g. _men_, _de_, _toi_, _de_. Or (b)\na non-significant sound capable of combining two or more significant\nsounds into one; e.g. _amphi_, _peri_, etc. (4) An Article is a\nnon-significant sound marking the beginning, end, or dividing-point of\na Speech, its natural place being either at the extremities or in\nthe middle. (5) A Noun or name is a composite significant sound not\ninvolving the idea of time, with parts which have no significance by\nthemselves in it. It is to be remembered that in a compound we do not\nthink of the parts as having a significance also by themselves; in the\nname 'Theodorus', for instance, the _doron_ means nothing to us.\n\n(6) A Verb is a composite significant sound involving the idea of\ntime, with parts which (just as in the Noun) have no significance by\nthemselves in it. Whereas the word 'man' or 'white' does not imply\n_when_, 'walks' and 'has walked' involve in addition to the idea of\nwalking that of time present or time past.\n\n(7) A Case of a Noun or Verb is when the word means 'of or 'to' a thing,\nand so forth, or for one or many (e.g. 'man' and 'men'); or it may\nconsist merely in the mode of utterance, e.g. in question, command, etc.\n'Walked?' and 'Walk!' are Cases of the verb 'to walk' of this last kind.\n(8) A Speech is a composite significant sound, some of the parts of\nwhich have a certain significance by themselves. It may be observed that\na Speech is not always made up of Noun and Verb; it may be without a\nVerb, like the definition of man; but it will always have some part with\na certain significance by itself. In the Speech 'Cleon walks', 'Cleon'\nis an instance of such a part. A Speech is said to be one in two ways,\neither as signifying one thing, or as a union of several Speeches made\ninto one by conjunction. Thus the _Iliad_ is one Speech by conjunction\nof several; and the definition of man is one through its signifying one\nthing.\n\n\n\n\n21\n\n\nNouns are of two kinds, either (1) simple, i.e. made up of\nnon-significant parts, like the word ge, or (2) double; in the\nlatter case the word may be made up either of a significant and a\nnon-significant part (a distinction which disappears in the compound),\nor of two significant parts. It is possible also to have triple,\nquadruple or higher compounds, like most of our amplified names; e.g.'\nHermocaicoxanthus' and the like.\n\nWhatever its structure, a Noun must always be either (1) the ordinary\nword for the thing, or (2) a strange word, or (3) a metaphor, or (4) an\nornamental word, or (5) a coined word, or (6) a word lengthened out, or\n(7) curtailed, or (8) altered in form. By the ordinary word I mean\nthat in general use in a country; and by a strange word, one in use\nelsewhere. So that the same word may obviously be at once strange and\nordinary, though not in reference to the same people; _sigunos_, for\ninstance, is an ordinary word in Cyprus, and a strange word with us.\nMetaphor consists in giving the thing a name that belongs to something\nelse; the transference being either from genus to species, or from\nspecies to genus, or from species to species, or on grounds of analogy.\nThat from genus to species is eXemplified in 'Here stands my ship'; for\nlying at anchor is the 'standing' of a particular kind of thing. That\nfrom species to genus in 'Truly ten thousand good deeds has Ulysses\nwrought', where 'ten thousand', which is a particular large number,\nis put in place of the generic 'a large number'. That from species to\nspecies in 'Drawing the life with the bronze', and in 'Severing with the\nenduring bronze'; where the poet uses 'draw' in the sense of 'sever' and\n'sever' in that of 'draw', both words meaning to 'take away' something.\nThat from analogy is possible whenever there are four terms so related\nthat the second (B) is to the first (A), as the fourth (D) to the third\n(C); for one may then metaphorically put B in lieu of D, and D in lieu\nof B. Now and then, too, they qualify the metaphor by adding on to it\nthat to which the word it supplants is relative. Thus a cup (B) is\nin relation to Dionysus (A) what a shield (D) is to Ares (C). The\ncup accordingly will be metaphorically described as the 'shield _of\nDionysus_' (D + A), and the shield as the 'cup _of Ares_' (B + C). Or to\ntake another instance: As old age (D) is to life (C), so is evening (B)\nto day (A). One will accordingly describe evening (B) as the 'old age\n_of the day_' (D + A)--or by the Empedoclean equivalent; and old age (D)\nas the 'evening' or 'sunset of life'' (B + C). It may be that some of\nthe terms thus related have no special name of their own, but for all\nthat they will be metaphorically described in just the same way. Thus to\ncast forth seed-corn is called 'sowing'; but to cast forth its flame,\nas said of the sun, has no special name. This nameless act (B), however,\nstands in just the same relation to its object, sunlight (A), as sowing\n(D) to the seed-corn (C). Hence the expression in the poet, 'sowing\naround a god-created _flame_' (D + A). There is also another form of\nqualified metaphor. Having given the thing the alien name, one may by a\nnegative addition deny of it one of the attributes naturally associated\nwith its new name. An instance of this would be to call the shield not\nthe 'cup _of Ares_,' as in the former case, but a 'cup _that holds no\nwine_'. * * * A coined word is a name which, being quite unknown among\na people, is given by the poet himself; e.g. (for there are some words\nthat seem to be of this origin) _hernyges_ for horns, and _areter_ for\npriest. A word is said to be lengthened out, when it has a short vowel\nmade long, or an extra syllable inserted; e. g. _polleos_ for _poleos_,\n_Peleiadeo_ for _Peleidon_. It is said to be curtailed, when it has lost\na part; e.g. _kri_, _do_, and _ops_ in _mia ginetai amphoteron ops_.\nIt is an altered word, when part is left as it was and part is of the\npoet's making; e.g. _dexiteron_ for _dexion_, in _dexiteron kata maxon_.\n\nThe Nouns themselves (to whatever class they may belong) are either\nmasculines, feminines, or intermediates (neuter). All ending in N, P,\nS, or in the two compounds of this last, PS and X, are masculines. All\nending in the invariably long vowels, H and O, and in A among the vowels\nthat may be long, are feminines. So that there is an equal number of\nmasculine and feminine terminations, as PS and X are the same as S,\nand need not be counted. There is no Noun, however, ending in a mute\nor in either of the two short vowels, E and O. Only three (_meli, kommi,\npeperi_) end in I, and five in T. The intermediates, or neuters, end in\nthe variable vowels or in N, P, X.\n\n\n\n\n22\n\n\nThe perfection of Diction is for it to be at once clear and not mean.\nThe clearest indeed is that made up of the ordinary words for things,\nbut it is mean, as is shown by the poetry of Cleophon and Sthenelus. On\nthe other hand the Diction becomes distinguished and non-prosaic by\nthe use of unfamiliar terms, i.e. strange words, metaphors, lengthened\nforms, and everything that deviates from the ordinary modes of\nspeech.--But a whole statement in such terms will be either a riddle or\na barbarism, a riddle, if made up of metaphors, a barbarism, if made\nup of strange words. The very nature indeed of a riddle is this, to\ndescribe a fact in an impossible combination of words (which cannot be\ndone with the real names for things, but can be with their metaphorical\nsubstitutes); e.g. 'I saw a man glue brass on another with fire',\nand the like. The corresponding use of strange words results in a\nbarbarism.--A certain admixture, accordingly, of unfamiliar terms\nis necessary. These, the strange word, the metaphor, the ornamental\nequivalent, etc.. will save the language from seeming mean and prosaic,\nwhile the ordinary words in it will secure the requisite clearness. What\nhelps most, however, to render the Diction at once clear and non-prosaic\nis the use of the lengthened, curtailed, and altered forms of words.\nTheir deviation from the ordinary words will, by making the language\nunlike that in general use give it a non-prosaic appearance; and their\nhaving much in common with the words in general use will give it the\nquality of clearness. It is not right, then, to condemn these modes of\nspeech, and ridicule the poet for using them, as some have done; e.g.\nthe elder Euclid, who said it was easy to make poetry if one were to\nbe allowed to lengthen the words in the statement itself as much as\none likes--a procedure he caricatured by reading '_Epixarhon eidon\nMarathonade Badi--gonta_, and _ouk han g' eramenos ton ekeinou helle\nboron_ as verses. A too apparent use of these licences has certainly a\nludicrous effect, but they are not alone in that; the rule of moderation\napplies to all the constituents of the poetic vocabulary; even with\nmetaphors, strange words, and the rest, the effect will be the same,\nif one uses them improperly and with a view to provoking laughter. The\nproper use of them is a very different thing. To realize the difference\none should take an epic verse and see how it reads when the normal words\nare introduced. The same should be done too with the strange word, the\nmetaphor, and the rest; for one has only to put the ordinary words in\ntheir place to see the truth of what we are saying. The same iambic, for\ninstance, is found in Aeschylus and Euripides, and as it stands in the\nformer it is a poor line; whereas Euripides, by the change of a single\nword, the substitution of a strange for what is by usage the ordinary\nword, has made it seem a fine one. Aeschylus having said in his\n_Philoctetes_:\n\n _phagedaina he mon sarkas hesthiei podos_\n\nEuripides has merely altered the hesthiei here into thoinatai. Or\nsuppose\n\n _nun de m' heon holigos te kai outidanos kai haeikos_\n\nto be altered by the substitution of the ordinary words into\n\n _nun de m' heon mikros te kai hasthenikos kai haeidos_\n\nOr the line\n\n _diphron haeikelion katatheis olingen te trapexan_\n\ninto\n\n _diphron moxtheron katatheis mikran te trapexan_\n\nOr heiones boosin into heiones kraxousin. Add to this that Ariphrades\nused to ridicule the tragedians for introducing expressions unknown\nin the language of common life, _doeaton hapo_ (for _apo domaton_),\n_sethen_, _hego de nin_, _Achilleos peri_ (for _peri Achilleos_), and\nthe like. The mere fact of their not being in ordinary speech gives the\nDiction a non-prosaic character; but Ariphrades was unaware of that. It\nis a great thing, indeed, to make a proper use of these poetical forms,\nas also of compounds and strange words. But the greatest thing by far\nis to be a master of metaphor. It is the one thing that cannot be learnt\nfrom others; and it is also a sign of genius, since a good metaphor\nimplies an intuitive perception of the similarity in dissimilars.\n\nOf the kinds of words we have enumerated it may be observed that\ncompounds are most in place in the dithyramb, strange words in heroic,\nand metaphors in iambic poetry. Heroic poetry, indeed, may avail itself\nof them all. But in iambic verse, which models itself as far as possible\non the spoken language, only those kinds of words are in place which are\nallowable also in an oration, i.e. the ordinary word, the metaphor, and\nthe ornamental equivalent.\n\nLet this, then, suffice as an account of Tragedy, the art imitating by\nmeans of action on the stage.\n\n\n\n\n23\n\n\nAs for the poetry which merely narrates, or imitates by means of\nversified language (without action), it is evident that it has several\npoints in common with Tragedy.\n\nI. The construction of its stories should clearly be like that in a\ndrama; they should be based on a single action, one that is a complete\nwhole in itself, with a beginning, middle, and end, so as to enable the\nwork to produce its own proper pleasure with all the organic unity of a\nliving creature. Nor should one suppose that there is anything like them\nin our usual histories. A history has to deal not with one action, but\nwith one period and all that happened in that to one or more persons,\nhowever disconnected the several events may have been. Just as two\nevents may take place at the same time, e.g. the sea-fight off Salamis\nand the battle with the Carthaginians in Sicily, without converging to\nthe same end, so too of two consecutive events one may sometimes come\nafter the other with no one end as their common issue. Nevertheless most\nof our epic poets, one may say, ignore the distinction.\n\nHerein, then, to repeat what we have said before, we have a further\nproof of Homer's marvellous superiority to the rest. He did not attempt\nto deal even with the Trojan war in its entirety, though it was a whole\nwith a definite beginning and end--through a feeling apparently that\nit was too long a story to be taken in in one view, or if not that, too\ncomplicated from the variety of incident in it. As it is, he has singled\nout one section of the whole; many of the other incidents, however, he\nbrings in as episodes, using the Catalogue of the Ships, for instance,\nand other episodes to relieve the uniformity of his narrative. As for\nthe other epic poets, they treat of one man, or one period; or else of\nan action which, although one, has a multiplicity of parts in it. This\nlast is what the authors of the _Cypria_ and _Little_ _Iliad_ have\ndone. And the result is that, whereas the _Iliad_ or _Odyssey_ supplies\nmaterials for only one, or at most two tragedies, the _Cypria_ does\nthat for several, and the _Little_ _Iliad_ for more than eight: for an\n_Adjudgment of Arms_, a _Philoctetes_, a _Neoptolemus_, a _Eurypylus_,\na _Ulysses as Beggar_, a _Laconian Women_, a _Fall of Ilium_, and a\n_Departure of the Fleet_; as also a _Sinon_, and _Women of Troy_.\n\n\n\n\n24\n\n\nII. Besides this, Epic poetry must divide into the same species as\nTragedy; it must be either simple or complex, a story of character\nor one of suffering. Its parts, too, with the exception of Song and\nSpectacle, must be the same, as it requires Peripeties, Discoveries, and\nscenes of suffering just like Tragedy. Lastly, the Thought and Diction\nin it must be good in their way. All these elements appear in Homer\nfirst; and he has made due use of them. His two poems are each examples\nof construction, the _Iliad_ simple and a story of suffering, the\n_Odyssey_ complex (there is Discovery throughout it) and a story of\ncharacter. And they are more than this, since in Diction and Thought too\nthey surpass all other poems.\n\nThere is, however, a difference in the Epic as compared with Tragedy,\n(1) in its length, and (2) in its metre. (1) As to its length, the limit\nalready suggested will suffice: it must be possible for the beginning\nand end of the work to be taken in in one view--a condition which will\nbe fulfilled if the poem be shorter than the old epics, and about\nas long as the series of tragedies offered for one hearing. For the\nextension of its length epic poetry has a special advantage, of which it\nmakes large use. In a play one cannot represent an action with a number\nof parts going on simultaneously; one is limited to the part on the\nstage and connected with the actors. Whereas in epic poetry the narrative\nform makes it possible for one to describe a number of simultaneous\nincidents; and these, if germane to the subject, increase the body of\nthe poem. This then is a gain to the Epic, tending to give it grandeur,\nand also variety of interest and room for episodes of diverse kinds.\nUniformity of incident by the satiety it soon creates is apt to ruin\ntragedies on the stage. (2) As for its metre, the heroic has been\nassigned it from experience; were any one to attempt a narrative poem\nin some one, or in several, of the other metres, the incongruity of\nthe thing would be apparent. The heroic; in fact is the gravest and\nweightiest of metres--which is what makes it more tolerant than the rest\nof strange words and metaphors, that also being a point in which\nthe narrative form of poetry goes beyond all others. The iambic\nand trochaic, on the other hand, are metres of movement, the one\nrepresenting that of life and action, the other that of the dance. Still\nmore unnatural would it appear, it one were to write an epic in a medley\nof metres, as Chaeremon did. Hence it is that no one has ever written\na long story in any but heroic verse; nature herself, as we have said,\nteaches us to select the metre appropriate to such a story.\n\nHomer, admirable as he is in every other respect, is especially so in\nthis, that he alone among epic poets is not unaware of the part to be\nplayed by the poet himself in the poem. The poet should say very little\nin propria persona, as he is no imitator when doing that. Whereas\nthe other poets are perpetually coming forward in person, and say but\nlittle, and that only here and there, as imitators, Homer after a brief\npreface brings in forthwith a man, a woman, or some other Character--no\none of them characterless, but each with distinctive characteristics.\n\nThe marvellous is certainly required in Tragedy. The Epic, however,\naffords more opening for the improbable, the chief factor in the\nmarvellous, because in it the agents are not visibly before one. The\nscene of the pursuit of Hector would be ridiculous on the stage--the\nGreeks halting instead of pursuing him, and Achilles shaking his head to\nstop them; but in the poem the absurdity is overlooked. The marvellous,\nhowever, is a cause of pleasure, as is shown by the fact that we all\ntell a story with additions, in the belief that we are doing our hearers\na pleasure.\n\nHomer more than any other has taught the rest of us the art of framing\nlies in the right way. I mean the use of paralogism. Whenever, if A is\nor happens, a consequent, B, is or happens, men's notion is that, if the\nB is, the A also is--but that is a false conclusion. Accordingly, if A\nis untrue, but there is something else, B, that on the assumption of its\ntruth follows as its consequent, the right thing then is to add on the\nB. Just because we know the truth of the consequent, we are in our own\nminds led on to the erroneous inference of the truth of the antecedent.\nHere is an instance, from the Bath-story in the _Odyssey_.\n\nA likely impossibility is always preferable to an unconvincing\npossibility. The story should never be made up of improbable incidents;\nthere should be nothing of the sort in it. If, however, such incidents\nare unavoidable, they should be outside the piece, like the hero's\nignorance in _Oedipus_ of the circumstances of Lams' death; not within\nit, like the report of the Pythian games in _Electra_, or the man's\nhaving come to Mysia from Tegea without uttering a word on the way, in\n_The Mysians_. So that it is ridiculous to say that one's Plot would\nhave been spoilt without them, since it is fundamentally wrong to make\nup such Plots. If the poet has taken such a Plot, however, and one\nsees that he might have put it in a more probable form, he is guilty\nof absurdity as well as a fault of art. Even in the _Odyssey_ the\nimprobabilities in the setting-ashore of Ulysses would be clearly\nintolerable in the hands of an inferior poet. As it is, the poet\nconceals them, his other excellences veiling their absurdity. Elaborate\nDiction, however, is required only in places where there is no action,\nand no Character or Thought to be revealed. Where there is Character\nor Thought, on the other hand, an over-ornate Diction tends to obscure\nthem.\n\n\n\n\n25\n\n\nAs regards Problems and their Solutions, one may see the number and\nnature of the assumptions on which they proceed by viewing the matter in\nthe following way. (1) The poet being an imitator just like the painter\nor other maker of likenesses, he must necessarily in all instances\nrepresent things in one or other of three aspects, either as they were\nor are, or as they are said or thought to be or to have been, or as they\nought to be. (2) All this he does in language, with an admixture, it\nmay be, of strange words and metaphors, as also of the various modified\nforms of words, since the use of these is conceded in poetry. (3) It is\nto be remembered, too, that there is not the same kind of correctness\nin poetry as in politics, or indeed any other art. There is, however,\nwithin the limits of poetry itself a possibility of two kinds of error,\nthe one directly, the other only accidentally connected with the art. If\nthe poet meant to describe the thing correctly, and failed through\nlack of power of expression, his art itself is at fault. But if it was\nthrough his having meant to describe it in some incorrect way (e.g. to\nmake the horse in movement have both right legs thrown forward) that the\ntechnical error (one in a matter of, say, medicine or some other special\nscience), or impossibilities of whatever kind they may be, have got into\nhis description, his error in that case is not in the essentials of the\npoetic art. These, therefore, must be the premisses of the Solutions in\nanswer to the criticisms involved in the Problems.\n\nI. As to the criticisms relating to the poet's art itself. Any\nimpossibilities there may be in his descriptions of things are faults.\nBut from another point of view they are justifiable, if they serve the\nend of poetry itself--if (to assume what we have said of that end) they\nmake the effect of some portion of the work more astounding. The Pursuit\nof Hector is an instance in point. If, however, the poetic end might\nhave been as well or better attained without sacrifice of technical\ncorrectness in such matters, the impossibility is not to be justified,\nsince the description should be, if it can, entirely free from error.\nOne may ask, too, whether the error is in a matter directly or only\naccidentally connected with the poetic art; since it is a lesser error\nin an artist not to know, for instance, that the hind has no horns, than\nto produce an unrecognizable picture of one.\n\nII. If the poet's description be criticized as not true to fact, one may\nurge perhaps that the object ought to be as described--an answer like\nthat of Sophocles, who said that he drew men as they ought to be, and\nEuripides as they were. If the description, however, be neither true nor\nof the thing as it ought to be, the answer must be then, that it is in\naccordance with opinion. The tales about Gods, for instance, may be as\nwrong as Xenophanes thinks, neither true nor the better thing to say;\nbut they are certainly in accordance with opinion. Of other statements\nin poetry one may perhaps say, not that they are better than the truth,\nbut that the fact was so at the time; e.g. the description of the arms:\n'their spears stood upright, butt-end upon the ground'; for that was the\nusual way of fixing them then, as it is still with the Illyrians. As for\nthe question whether something said or done in a poem is morally right\nor not, in dealing with that one should consider not only the intrinsic\nquality of the actual word or deed, but also the person who says or does\nit, the person to whom he says or does it, the time, the means, and the\nmotive of the agent--whether he does it to attain a greater good, or to\navoid a greater evil.\n\nIII. Other criticisms one must meet by considering the language of the\npoet: (1) by the assumption of a strange word in a passage like _oureas\nmen proton_, where by _oureas_ Homer may perhaps mean not mules but\nsentinels. And in saying of Dolon, _hos p e toi eidos men heen kakos_,\nhis meaning may perhaps be, not that Dolon's body was deformed, but that\nhis face was ugly, as _eneidos_ is the Cretan word for handsome-faced.\nSo, too, _goroteron de keraie_ may mean not 'mix the wine stronger', as\nthough for topers, but 'mix it quicker'. (2) Other expressions in Homer\nmay be explained as metaphorical; e.g. in _halloi men ra theoi te kai\naneres eudon (hapantes) pannux_ as compared with what he tells us at the\nsame time, _e toi hot hes pedion to Troikon hathreseien, aulon suriggon\n*te homadon*_ the word _hapantes_ 'all', is metaphorically put for\n'many', since 'all' is a species of 'many '. So also his _oie d'\nammoros_ is metaphorical, the best known standing 'alone'. (3) A change,\nas Hippias suggested, in the mode of reading a word will solve the\ndifficulty in _didomen de oi_, and _to men ou kataputhetai hombro_.\n(4) Other difficulties may be solved by another punctuation; e.g. in\nEmpedocles, _aipsa de thnet ephyonto, ta prin mathon athanata xora te\nprin kekreto_. Or (5) by the assumption of an equivocal term, as in\n_parocheken de pleo nux_, where _pleo_ in equivocal. Or (6) by an appeal\nto the custom of language. Wine-and-water we call 'wine'; and it is\non the same principle that Homer speaks of a _knemis neoteuktou\nkassiteroio_, a 'greave of new-wrought tin.' A worker in iron we call a\n'brazier'; and it is on the same principle that Ganymede is described\nas the 'wine-server' of Zeus, though the Gods do not drink wine. This\nlatter, however, may be an instance of metaphor. But whenever also a\nword seems to imply some contradiction, it is necessary to reflect how\nmany ways there may be of understanding it in the passage in question;\ne.g. in Homer's _te r' hesxeto xalkeon hegxos_ one should consider the\npossible senses of 'was stopped there'--whether by taking it in this\nsense or in that one will best avoid the fault of which Glaucon speaks:\n'They start with some improbable presumption; and having so decreed it\nthemselves, proceed to draw inferences, and censure the poet as though\nhe had actually said whatever they happen to believe, if his statement\nconflicts with their own notion of things.' This is how Homer's silence\nabout Icarius has been treated. Starting with, the notion of his having\nbeen a Lacedaemonian, the critics think it strange for Telemachus not to\nhave met him when he went to Lacedaemon. Whereas the fact may have been\nas the Cephallenians say, that the wife of Ulysses was of a Cephallenian\nfamily, and that her father's name was Icadius, not Icarius. So that it\nis probably a mistake of the critics that has given rise to the Problem.\n\nSpeaking generally, one has to justify (1) the Impossible by reference\nto the requirements of poetry, or to the better, or to opinion. For\nthe purposes of poetry a convincing impossibility is preferable to\nan unconvincing possibility; and if men such as Zeuxis depicted be\nimpossible, the answer is that it is better they should be like that, as\nthe artist ought to improve on his model. (2) The Improbable one has\nto justify either by showing it to be in accordance with opinion, or by\nurging that at times it is not improbable; for there is a probability of\nthings happening also against probability. (3) The contradictions found\nin the poet's language one should first test as one does an opponent's\nconfutation in a dialectical argument, so as to see whether he means\nthe same thing, in the same relation, and in the same sense, before\nadmitting that he has contradicted either something he has said himself\nor what a man of sound sense assumes as true. But there is no possible\napology for improbability of Plot or depravity of character, when they\nare not necessary and no use is made of them, like the improbability\nin the appearance of Aegeus in _Medea_ and the baseness of Menelaus in\n_Orestes_.\n\nThe objections, then, of critics start with faults of five kinds:\nthe allegation is always that something in either (1) impossible, (2)\nimprobable, (3) corrupting, (4) contradictory, or (5) against technical\ncorrectness. The answers to these objections must be sought under one or\nother of the above-mentioned heads, which are twelve in number.\n\n\n\n\n26\n\n\nThe question may be raised whether the epic or the tragic is the higher\nform of imitation. It may be argued that, if the less vulgar is the\nhigher, and the less vulgar is always that which addresses the better\npublic, an art addressing any and every one is of a very vulgar order.\nIt is a belief that their public cannot see the meaning, unless they\nadd something themselves, that causes the perpetual movements of\nthe performers--bad flute-players, for instance, rolling about, if\nquoit-throwing is to be represented, and pulling at the conductor, if\nScylla is the subject of the piece. Tragedy, then, is said to be an art\nof this order--to be in fact just what the later actors were in the eyes\nof their predecessors; for Myrmiscus used to call Callippides 'the ape',\nbecause he thought he so overacted his parts; and a similar view was\ntaken of Pindarus also. All Tragedy, however, is said to stand to the\nEpic as the newer to the older school of actors. The one, accordingly,\nis said to address a cultivated 'audience, which does not need the\naccompaniment of gesture; the other, an uncultivated one. If, therefore,\nTragedy is a vulgar art, it must clearly be lower than the Epic.\n\nThe answer to this is twofold. In the first place, one may urge (1) that\nthe censure does not touch the art of the dramatic poet, but only that\nof his interpreter; for it is quite possible to overdo the gesturing\neven in an epic recital, as did Sosistratus, and in a singing contest,\nas did Mnasitheus of Opus. (2) That one should not condemn all movement,\nunless one means to condemn even the dance, but only that of ignoble\npeople--which is the point of the criticism passed on Callippides and\nin the present day on others, that their women are not like gentlewomen.\n(3) That Tragedy may produce its effect even without movement or action\nin just the same way as Epic poetry; for from the mere reading of a\nplay its quality may be seen. So that, if it be superior in all other\nrespects, this element of inferiority is not a necessary part of it.\n\nIn the second place, one must remember (1) that Tragedy has everything\nthat the Epic has (even the epic metre being admissible), together with\na not inconsiderable addition in the shape of the Music (a very real\nfactor in the pleasure of the drama) and the Spectacle. (2) That its\nreality of presentation is felt in the play as read, as well as in the\nplay as acted. (3) That the tragic imitation requires less space for\nthe attainment of its end; which is a great advantage, since the more\nconcentrated effect is more pleasurable than one with a large admixture\nof time to dilute it--consider the _Oedipus_ of Sophocles, for instance,\nand the effect of expanding it into the number of lines of the _Iliad_.\n(4) That there is less unity in the imitation of the epic poets, as\nis proved by the fact that any one work of theirs supplies matter for\nseveral tragedies; the result being that, if they take what is really\na single story, it seems curt when briefly told, and thin and waterish\nwhen on the scale of length usual with their verse. In saying that\nthere is less unity in an epic, I mean an epic made up of a plurality\nof actions, in the same way as the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ have many such\nparts, each one of them in itself of some magnitude; yet the structure\nof the two Homeric poems is as perfect as can be, and the action in them\nis as nearly as possible one action. If, then, Tragedy is superior in\nthese respects, and also besides these, in its poetic effect (since the\ntwo forms of poetry should give us, not any or every pleasure, but the\nvery special kind we have mentioned), it is clear that, as attaining the\npoetic effect better than the Epic, it will be the higher form of art.\n\nSo much for Tragedy and Epic poetry--for these two arts in general and\ntheir species; the number and nature of their constituent parts; the\ncauses of success and failure in them; the Objections of the critics,\nand the Solutions in answer to them.","title":"Aristotle on the art of poetry","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":18965}