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The Poetics.Aristotle.

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Aristotle. The Poetics.

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About the authorThe three greatest ancient Greek phi-

losophers were Aristotle, Plato (a teacherof Aristotle), and Socrates (c. 470-399BC), whose thinking deeply influencedPlato.

Among them they transformed early (now, “presocratic”)Greek philosophy into the foundations of Western philoso-phy as we know it.

Socrates—possibly as a result of the reasons articulatedagainst writing philosophy attributed to him in Plato’s dia-logue Phaedrus—wrote nothing, and his ideas come down tous only indirectly through Plato and a few other ancient writ-ers. The writings of Plato and Aristotle form the core of An-cient philosophy.

Their works, although connected in many fundamentalways, are very different in both style and substance. Platowrote several dozen philosophical dialogues—arguments inthe form of conversations, usually with Socrates as a partici-pant—and a few letters. Though the early dialogues are con-cerned mainly with methods of acquiring knowledge, and mostof the last ones with justice and practical ethics, his most

famous works expressed a synoptic view of ethics, metaphys-ics, reason, knowledge, and human life. The predominant ideaswere that knowledge gained through the senses is always con-fused and impure, and that true knowledge is acquired by thecontemplative soul that turns away from the world. The soulalone can have knowledge of the Forms, the real essences ofthings, of which the world we see is but an imperfect copy.Such knowledge has ethical as well as scientific import. Platocan be called, with qualification, an idealist and a rationalist.

Aristotle, by contrast, placed much more value on knowl-edge gained from the senses, and would correspondingly bebetter classed among modern empiricists. Thus, Aristotle setthe stage for what would eventually develop into the scientificmethod centuries later. Although he wrote dialogues early inhis career, no more than fragments of these have survived. Theworks of Aristotle that still exist today are in treatise form andwere, for the most part, unpublished texts. These were prob-ably lecture notes, or texts used by his students, and were al-most certainly revised repeatedly over the course of years. As aresult these works tend to be eclectic, dense, and difficult toread. Among the most important are Physics, Metaphysics,(Nicomachean) Ethics, Politics, De Anima (On the Soul), andPoetics.





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ContentsAristotle is known for being one of the few figures in his-tory that studied almost every subject possible at the time. Inscience, Aristotle studied anatomy, astronomy, embryology,geography, geology, meteorology, physics,and zoology. In phi-losophy, Aristotle wrote on aesthetics, economics, ethics, gov-ernment, metaphysics, politics, psychology, rhetoric, theology;also education, foreign customs, literature, and poetry. His com-bined works practically comprise an encyclopedia of Greekknowledge.

Read more about Aristotle at Wikipedia.

1. 'Imitation' the common principle of the Arts of Poetry.2. The Objects of Imitation. 3. The Manner of Imitation.4. The Origin and Development of Poetry.5. Definition of the Ludicrous, and a brief sketch of the rise of Com-

edy.6. Definition of Tragedy.7. The Plot must be a Whole. 8. The Plot must be a Unity. 9. Dramatic Unity. 10. Definitions of Simple and Complex Plots. 11. Reversal of the Situation, Recognition, and Tragic or disastrous

Incident defined and explained. 12. The 'quantitative parts' of Tragedy defined. 13. What constitutes Tragic Action. 14. The tragic emotions of pity and fear should spring out of the Plot

itself. 15. The element of Character in Tragedy. 16. Recognition: its various kinds, with examples. 17. Practical rules for the Tragic Poet. 18. Further rules for the Tragic Poet. 19. Thought, or the Intellectual element, and Diction in Tragedy. 20. Diction, or Language in general. 21. Poetic Diction. 22. How Poetry combines elevation of language with perspicuity. 23. Epic Poetry. 24. Further points of agreement with Tragedy. 25. Critical Objections brought against Poetry, and the principles on

which they are to be answered. 26. A general estimate of the comparative worth of Epic Poetry and

Tragedy.

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1.

I PROPOSE to treat of Poetry in itself and of its variouskinds, noting the essential quality of each, to inquire into thestructure of the plot as requisite to a good poem; into the num-ber and nature of the parts of which a poem is composed; andsimilarly into whatever else falls within the same inquiry. Fol-lowing, then, the order of nature, let us begin with the prin-ciples which come first.

Epic poetry and Tragedy, Comedy also and Dithyrambicpoetry, and the music of the flute and of the lyre in most oftheir forms, are all in their general conception modes of imita-tion. They differ, however, from one another in three respects—the medium, the objects, the manner or mode of imitation,being in each case distinct.

For as there are persons who, by conscious art or mere habit,

The Poetics.

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imitate and represent various objects through the medium ofcolor and form, or again by the voice; so in the arts above men-tioned, taken as a whole, the imitation is produced by rhythm,language, or ‘harmony,’ either singly or combined.

Thus in the music of the flute and of the lyre, ‘harmony’and rhythm alone are employed; also in other arts, such as thatof the shepherd’s pipe, which are essentially similar to these.In dancing, rhythm alone is used without ‘harmony’; for evendancing imitates character, emotion, and action, by rhythmi-cal movement.

There is another art which imitates by means of languagealone, and that either in prose or verse—which verse, again,may either combine different meters or consist of but onekind—but this has hitherto been without a name. For there isno common term we could apply to the mimes of Sophronand Xenarchus and the Socratic dialogues on the one hand;and, on the other, to poetic imitations in iambic, elegiac, orany similar meter. People do, indeed, add the word ‘maker’ or‘poet’ to the name of the meter, and speak of elegiac poets, orepic (that is, hexameter) poets, as if it were not the imitationthat makes the poet, but the verse that entitles them all to thename. Even when a treatise on medicine or natural science isbrought out in verse, the name of poet is by custom given tothe author; and yet Homer and Empedocles have nothing incommon but the meter, so that it would be right to call the onepoet, the other physicist rather than poet. On the same prin-

ciple, even if a writer in his poetic imitation were to combineall meters, as Chaeremon did in his Centaur, which is a med-ley composed of meters of all kinds, we should bring him toounder the general term poet.

So much then for these distinctions.There are, again, some arts which employ all the means

above mentioned—namely, rhythm, tune, and meter. Such areDithyrambic and Nomic poetry, and also Tragedy and Com-edy; but between them originally the difference is, that in thefirst two cases these means are all employed in combination, inthe latter, now one means is employed, now another.

Such, then, are the differences of the arts with respect tothe medium of imitation

2.

Since the objects of imitation are men in action, and thesemen must be either of a higher or a lower type (for moral char-acter mainly answers to these divisions, goodness and badnessbeing the distinguishing marks of moral differences), it fol-lows that we must represent men either as better than in reallife, or as worse, or as they are. It is the same in painting.Polygnotus depicted men as nobler than they are, Pauson asless noble, Dionysius drew them true to life.

Now it is evident that each of the modes of imitation above





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mentioned will exhibit these differences, and become a dis-tinct kind in imitating objects that are thus distinct. Such di-versities may be found even in dancing, flute-playing, and lyre-playing. So again in language, whether prose or verse unac-companied by music. Homer, for example, makes men betterthan they are; Cleophon as they are; Hegemon the Thasian,the inventor of parodies, and Nicochares, the author of theDeiliad, worse than they are. The same thing holds good ofDithyrambs and Nomes; here too one may portray differenttypes, as Timotheus and Philoxenus differed in representingtheir Cyclopes. The same distinction marks off Tragedy fromComedy; for Comedy aims at representing men as worse, Trag-edy as better than in actual life.

3.

There is still a third difference—the manner in which eachof these objects may be imitated. For the medium being thesame, and the objects the same, the poet may imitate by narra-tion—in which case he can either take another personality asHomer does, or speak in his own person, unchanged—or hemay present all his characters as living and moving before us.

These, then, as we said at the beginning, are the three dif-ferences which distinguish artistic imitation—the medium, theobjects, and the manner. So that from one point of view,

Sophocles is an imitator of the same kind as Homer—for bothimitate higher types of character; from another point of view,of the same kind as Aristophanes—for both imitate personsacting and doing. Hence, some say, the name of ‘drama’ is givento such poems, as representing action. For the same reason theDorians claim the invention both of Tragedy and Comedy. Theclaim to Comedy is put forward by the Megarians—not onlyby those of Greece proper, who allege that it originated undertheir democracy, but also by the Megarians of Sicily, for thepoet Epicharmus, who is much earlier than Chionides andMagnes, belonged to that country. Tragedy too is claimed bycertain Dorians of the Peloponnese. In each case they appealto the evidence of language. The outlying villages, they say, areby them called komai, by the Athenians demoi: and they as-sume that comedians were so named not from komazein, ‘torevel,’ but because they wandered from village to village (katakomas), being excluded contemptuously from the city. Theyadd also that the Dorian word for ‘doing’ is dran, and the Athe-nian, prattein.

This may suffice as to the number and nature of the vari-ous modes of imitation.

4.Poetry in general seems to have sprung from two causes,

each of them lying deep in our nature. First, the instinct of





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imitation is implanted in man from childhood, one differencebetween him and other animals being that he is the most imi-tative of living creatures, and through imitation learns his ear-liest lessons; and no less universal is the pleasure felt in thingsimitated. We have evidence of this in the facts of experience.Objects which in themselves we view with pain, we delight tocontemplate when reproduced with minute fidelity: such asthe forms of the most ignoble animals and of dead bodies. Thecause of this again is, that to learn gives the liveliest pleasure,not only to philosophers but to men in general; whose capac-ity, however, of learning is more limited. Thus the reason whymen enjoy seeing a likeness is, that in contemplating it theyfind themselves learning or inferring, and saying perhaps, ‘Ah,that is he.’ For if you happen not to have seen the original, thepleasure will be due not to the imitation as such, but to theexecution, the coloring, or some such other cause.

Imitation, then, is one instinct of our nature. Next, there isthe instinct for ‘harmony’ and rhythm, meters being manifestlysections of rhythm. Persons, therefore, starting with this natu-ral gift developed by degrees their special aptitudes, till theirrude improvisations gave birth to Poetry.

Poetry now diverged in two directions, according to theindividual character of the writers. The graver spirits imitatednoble actions, and the actions of good men. The more trivialsort imitated the actions of meaner persons, at first composingsatires, as the former did hymns to the gods and the praises of

famous men. A poem of the satirical kind cannot indeed beput down to any author earlier than Homer; though many suchwriters probably there were. But from Homer onward, instancescan be cited—his own Margites, for example, and other simi-lar compositions. The appropriate meter was also here intro-duced; hence the measure is still called the iambic or lampoon-ing measure, being that in which people lampooned one an-other. Thus the older poets were distinguished as writers ofheroic or of lampooning verse.

As, in the serious style, Homer is pre-eminent among po-ets, for he alone combined dramatic form with excellence ofimitation so he too first laid down the main lines of comedy,by dramatizing the ludicrous instead of writing personal sat-ire. His Margites bears the same relation to comedy that theIliad and Odyssey do to tragedy. But when Tragedy and Com-edy came to light, the two classes of poets still followed theirnatural bent: the lampooners became writers of Comedy, andthe Epic poets were succeeded by Tragedians, since the dramawas a larger and higher form of art.

Whether Tragedy has as yet perfected its proper types ornot; and whether it is to be judged in itself, or in relation alsoto the audience—this raises another question. Be that as itmay, Tragedy—as also Comedy—was at first mere improvisa-tion. The one originated with the authors of the Dithyramb,the other with those of the phallic songs, which are still in usein many of our cities. Tragedy advanced by slow degrees; each





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new element that showed itself was in turn developed. Havingpassed through many changes, it found its natural form, andthere it stopped.

Aeschylus first introduced a second actor; he diminishedthe importance of the Chorus, and assigned the leading partto the dialogue. Sophocles raised the number of actors to three,and added scene-painting. Moreover, it was not till late thatthe short plot was discarded for one of greater compass, andthe grotesque diction of the earlier satyric form for the statelymanner of Tragedy. The iambic measure then replaced thetrochaic tetrameter, which was originally employed when thepoetry was of the satyric order, and had greater with dancing.Once dialogue had come in, Nature herself discovered the ap-propriate measure. For the iambic is, of all measures, the mostcolloquial we see it in the fact that conversational speech runsinto iambic lines more frequently than into any other kind ofverse; rarely into hexameters, and only when we drop the col-loquial intonation. The additions to the number of ‘episodes’or acts, and the other accessories of which tradition tells, mustbe taken as already described; for to discuss them in detailwould, doubtless, be a large undertaking.

5.

Comedy is, as we have said, an imitation of characters of alower type—not, however, in the full sense of the word bad,the ludicrous being merely a subdivision of the ugly. It consistsin some defect or ugliness which is not painful or destructive.To take an obvious example, the comic mask is ugly and dis-torted, but does not imply pain.

The successive changes through which Tragedy passed, andthe authors of these changes, are well known, whereas Com-edy has had no history, because it was not at first treated seri-ously. It was late before the Archon granted a comic chorus toa poet; the performers were till then voluntary. Comedy hadalready taken definite shape when comic poets, distinctivelyso called, are heard of. Who furnished it with masks, or pro-logues, or increased the number of actors—these and othersimilar details remain unknown. As for the plot, it came origi-nally from Sicily; but of Athenian writers Crates was the firstwho abandoning the ‘iambic’ or lampooning form, generalizedhis themes and plots.

Epic poetry agrees with Tragedy in so far as it is an imita-tion in verse of characters of a higher type. They differ in thatEpic poetry admits but one kind of meter and is narrative inform. They differ, again, in their length: for Tragedy endeav-





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ors, as far as possible, to confine itself to a single revolution ofthe sun, or but slightly to exceed this limit, whereas the Epicaction has no limits of time. This, then, is a second point ofdifference; though at first the same freedom was admitted inTragedy as in Epic poetry.

Of their constituent parts some are common to both, somepeculiar to Tragedy: whoever, therefore knows what is good orbad Tragedy, knows also about Epic poetry. All the elementsof an Epic poem are found in Tragedy, but the elements of aTragedy are not all found in the Epic poem.

6.

Of the poetry which imitates in hexameter verse, and ofComedy, we will speak hereafter. Let us now discuss Tragedy,resuming its formal definition, as resulting from what has beenalready said.

Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious,complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellishedwith each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds beingfound in separate parts of the play; in the form of action, notof narrative; through pity and fear effecting the proper purga-tion of these emotions. By ‘language embellished,’ I mean lan-guage into which rhythm, ‘harmony’ and song enter. By ‘theseveral kinds in separate parts,’ I mean, that some parts are

rendered through the medium of verse alone, others again withthe aid of song.

Now as tragic imitation implies persons acting, it necessar-ily follows in the first place, that Spectacular equipment willbe a part of Tragedy. Next, Song and Diction, for these are themedia of imitation. By ‘Diction’ I mean the mere metrical ar-rangement of the words: as for ‘Song,’ it is a term whose senseevery one understands.

Again, Tragedy is the imitation of an action; and an actionimplies personal agents, who necessarily possess certain dis-tinctive qualities both of character and thought; for it is bythese that we qualify actions themselves, and these—thoughtand character—are the two natural causes from which actionsspring, and on actions again all success or failure depends.Hence, the Plot is the imitation of the action—for by plot Ihere mean the arrangement of the incidents. By Character Imean that in virtue of which we ascribe certain qualities to theagents. Thought is required wherever a statement is proved,or, it may be, a general truth enunciated. Every Tragedy, there-fore, must have six parts, which parts determine its quality—namely, Plot, Character, Diction, Thought, Spectacle, Song.Two of the parts constitute the medium of imitation, one themanner, and three the objects of imitation. And these com-plete the fist. These elements have been employed, we maysay, by the poets to a man; in fact, every play contains Spec-tacular elements as well as Character, Plot, Diction, Song, and





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Thought.But most important of all is the structure of the incidents.

For Tragedy is an imitation, not of men, but of an action andof life, and life consists in action, and its end is a mode ofaction, not a quality. Now character determines men’s quali-ties, but it is by their actions that they are happy or the reverse.Dramatic action, therefore, is not with a view to the represen-tation of character: character comes in as subsidiary to the ac-tions. Hence the incidents and the plot are the end of a trag-edy; and the end is the chief thing of all. Again, without actionthere cannot be a tragedy; there may be without character. Thetragedies of most of our modern poets fail in the rendering ofcharacter; and of poets in general this is often true. It is thesame in painting; and here lies the difference between Zeuxisand Polygnotus. Polygnotus delineates character well; the styleof Zeuxis is devoid of ethical quality. Again, if you string to-gether a set of speeches expressive of character, and well fin-ished in point of diction and thought, you will not produce theessential tragic effect nearly so well as with a play which, how-ever deficient in these respects, yet has a plot and artisticallyconstructed incidents. Besides which, the most powerful ele-ments of emotional interest in Tragedy—Peripeteia or Rever-sal of the Situation, and Recognition scenes—are parts of theplot. A further proof is, that novices in the art attain to finishof diction and precision of portraiture before they can con-struct the plot. It is the same with almost all the early poets.

The plot, then, is the first principle, and, as it were, the soulof a tragedy; Character holds the second place. A similar factis seen in painting. The most beautiful colors, laid on con-fusedly, will not give as much pleasure as the chalk outline of aportrait. Thus Tragedy is the imitation of an action, and of theagents mainly with a view to the action.

Third in order is Thought—that is, the faculty of sayingwhat is possible and pertinent in given circumstances. In thecase of oratory, this is the function of the political art and ofthe art of rhetoric: and so indeed the older poets make theircharacters speak the language of civic life; the poets of ourtime, the language of the rhetoricians. Character is that whichreveals moral purpose, showing what kind of things a manchooses or avoids. Speeches, therefore, which do not make thismanifest, or in which the speaker does not choose or avoidanything whatever, are not expressive of character. Thought,on the other hand, is found where something is proved to beor not to be, or a general maxim is enunciated.

Fourth among the elements enumerated comes Diction; bywhich I mean, as has been already said, the expression of themeaning in words; and its essence is the same both in verseand prose.

Of the remaining elements Song holds the chief placeamong the embellishments

The Spectacle has, indeed, an emotional attraction of itsown, but, of all the parts, it is the least artistic, and connected





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least with the art of poetry. For the power of Tragedy, we maybe sure, is felt even apart from representation and actors. Be-sides, the production of spectacular effects depends more onthe art of the stage machinist than on that of the poet.

7.

These principles being established, let us now discuss theproper structure of the Plot, since this is the first and mostimportant thing in Tragedy.

Now, according to our definition Tragedy is an imitation ofan action that is complete, and whole, and of a certain magni-tude; for there may be a whole that is wanting in magnitude. Awhole is that which has a beginning, a middle, and an end. Abeginning is that which does not itself follow anything by causalnecessity, but after which something naturally is or comes tobe. An end, on the contrary, is that which itself naturally fol-lows some other thing, either by necessity, or as a rule, but hasnothing following it. A middle is that which follows some-thing as some other thing follows it. A well constructed plot,therefore, must neither begin nor end at haphazard, but con-form to these principles.

Again, a beautiful object, whether it be a living organismor any whole composed of parts, must not only have an orderlyarrangement of parts, but must also be of a certain magnitude;

for beauty depends on magnitude and order. Hence a very smallanimal organism cannot be beautiful; for the view of it is con-fused, the object being seen in an almost imperceptible mo-ment of time. Nor, again, can one of vast size be beautiful; foras the eye cannot take it all in at once, the unity and sense ofthe whole is lost for the spectator; as for instance if there wereone a thousand miles long. As, therefore, in the case of ani-mate bodies and organisms a certain magnitude is necessary,and a magnitude which may be easily embraced in one view;so in the plot, a certain length is necessary, and a length whichcan be easily embraced by the memory. The limit of length inrelation to dramatic competition and sensuous presentment isno part of artistic theory. For had it been the rule for a hun-dred tragedies to compete together, the performance wouldhave been regulated by the water-clock—as indeed we are toldwas formerly done. But the limit as fixed by the nature of thedrama itself is this: the greater the length, the more beautifulwill the piece be by reason of its size, provided that the wholebe perspicuous. And to define the matter roughly, we may saythat the proper magnitude is comprised within such limits,that the sequence of events, according to the law of probabilityor necessity, will admit of a change from bad fortune to good,or from good fortune to bad.





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8.

Unity of plot does not, as some persons think, consist inthe unity of the hero. For infinitely various are the incidents inone man’s life which cannot be reduced to unity; and so, too,there are many actions of one man out of which we cannotmake one action. Hence the error, as it appears, of all poetswho have composed a Heracleid, a Theseid, or other poems ofthe kind. They imagine that as Heracles was one man, thestory of Heracles must also be a unity. But Homer, as in all elsehe is of surpassing merit, here too—whether from art or natu-ral genius—seems to have happily discerned the truth. In com-posing the Odyssey he did not include all the adventures ofOdysseus—such as his wound on Parnassus, or his feignedmadness at the mustering of the host—incidents betweenwhich there was no necessary or probable connection: but hemade the Odyssey, and likewise the Iliad, to center round anaction that in our sense of the word is one. As therefore, in theother imitative arts, the imitation is one when the object imi-tated is one, so the plot, being an imitation of an action, mustimitate one action and that a whole, the structural union ofthe parts being such that, if any one of them is displaced orremoved, the whole will be disjointed and disturbed. For a thingwhose presence or absence makes no visible difference, is notan organic part of the whole.

9.

It is, moreover, evident from what has been said, that it isnot the function of the poet to relate what has happened, butwhat may happen—what is possible according to the law ofprobability or necessity. The poet and the historian differ notby writing in verse or in prose. The work of Herodotus mightbe put into verse, and it would still be a species of history, withmeter no less than without it. The true difference is that onerelates what has happened, the other what may happen. Po-etry, therefore, is a more philosophical and a higher thing thanhistory: for poetry tends to express the universal, history theparticular. By the universal I mean how a person of a certaintype on occasion speak or act, according to the law of prob-ability or necessity; and it is this universality at which poetryaims in the names she attaches to the personages. The particu-lar is—for example—what Alcibiades did or suffered. In Com-edy this is already apparent: for here the poet first constructsthe plot on the lines of probability, and then inserts character-istic names—unlike the lampooners who write about particu-lar individuals. But tragedians still keep to real names, the rea-son being that what is possible is credible: what has not hap-pened we do not at once feel sure to be possible; but what hashappened is manifestly possible: otherwise it would not havehappened. Still there are even some tragedies in which there





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are only one or two well-known names, the rest being ficti-tious. In others, none are well known—as in Agathon’s Antheus,where incidents and names alike are fictitious, and yet theygive none the less pleasure. We must not, therefore, at all costskeep to the received legends, which are the usual subjects ofTragedy. Indeed, it would be absurd to attempt it; for evensubjects that are known are known only to a few, and yet givepleasure to all. It clearly follows that the poet or ‘maker’ shouldbe the maker of plots rather than of verses; since he is a poetbecause he imitates, and what he imitates are actions. Andeven if he chances to take a historical subject, he is none theless a poet; for there is no reason why some events that haveactually happened should not conform to the law of the prob-able and possible, and in virtue of that quality in them he istheir poet or maker.

Of all plots and actions the episodic are the worst. I call aplot ‘episodic’ in which the episodes or acts succeed one an-other without probable or necessary sequence. Bad poets com-pose such pieces by their own fault, good poets, to please theplayers; for, as they write show pieces for competition, theystretch the plot beyond its capacity, and are often forced tobreak the natural continuity.

But again, Tragedy is an imitation not only of a completeaction, but of events inspiring fear or pity. Such an effect isbest produced when the events come on us by surprise; andthe effect is heightened when, at the same time, they follows

as cause and effect. The tragic wonder will then be greaterthan if they happened of themselves or by accident; for evencoincidences are most striking when they have an air of de-sign. We may instance the statue of Mitys at Argos, which fellupon his murderer while he was a spectator at a festival, andkilled him. Such events seem not to be due to mere chance.Plots, therefore, constructed on these principles are necessar-ily the best.

10.

Plots are either Simple or Complex, for the actions in reallife, of which the plots are an imitation, obviously show a similardistinction. An action which is one and continuous in the senseabove defined, I call Simple, when the change of fortune takesplace without Reversal of the Situation and without Recogni-tion

A Complex action is one in which the change is accompa-nied by such Reversal, or by Recognition, or by both. Theselast should arise from the internal structure of the plot, so thatwhat follows should be the necessary or probable result of thepreceding action. It makes all the difference whether any givenevent is a case of propter hoc or post hoc.





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11.

Reversal of the Situation is a change by which the actionveers round to its opposite, subject always to our rule of prob-ability or necessity. Thus in the Oedipus, the messenger comesto cheer Oedipus and free him from his alarms about hismother, but by revealing who he is, he produces the oppositeeffect. Again in the Lynceus, Lynceus is being led away to hisdeath, and Danaus goes with him, meaning to slay him; butthe outcome of the preceding incidents is that Danaus is killedand Lynceus saved.

Recognition, as the name indicates, is a change from igno-rance to knowledge, producing love or hate between the per-sons destined by the poet for good or bad fortune. The bestform of recognition is coincident with a Reversal of the Situa-tion, as in the Oedipus. There are indeed other forms. Eveninanimate things of the most trivial kind may in a sense beobjects of recognition. Again, we may recognize or discoverwhether a person has done a thing or not. But the recognitionwhich is most intimately connected with the plot and actionis, as we have said, the recognition of persons. This recogni-tion, combined with Reversal, will produce either pity or fear;and actions producing these effects are those which, by ourdefinition, Tragedy represents. Moreover, it is upon such situ-ations that the issues of good or bad fortune will depend. Rec-

ognition, then, being between persons, it may happen that oneperson only is recognized by the other—when the latter is al-ready known—or it may be necessary that the recognitionshould be on both sides. Thus Iphigenia is revealed to Orestesby the sending of the letter; but another act of recognition isrequired to make Orestes known to Iphigenia.

Two parts, then, of the Plot—Reversal of the Situation andRecognition—turn upon surprises. A third part is the Sceneof Suffering. The Scene of Suffering is a destructive or painfulaction, such as death on the stage, bodily agony, wounds, andthe like.

12.

The parts of Tragedy which must be treated as elements ofthe whole have been already mentioned. We now come to thequantitative parts—the separate parts into which Tragedy isdivided—namely, Prologue, Episode, Exode, Choric song; thislast being divided into Parode and Stasimon. These are com-mon to all plays: peculiar to some are the songs of actors fromthe stage and the Commoi.

The Prologue is that entire part of a tragedy which pre-cedes the Parode of the Chorus. The Episode is that entirepart of a tragedy which is between complete choric songs. TheExode is that entire part of a tragedy which has no choric song





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after it. Of the Choric part the Parode is the first undividedutterance of the Chorus: the Stasimon is a Choric ode withoutanapaests or trochaic tetrameters: the Commos is a joint lam-entation of Chorus and actors. The parts of Tragedy whichmust be treated as elements of the whole have been alreadymentioned. The quantitative parts—the separate parts intowhich it is divided—are here enumerated.

13.

As the sequel to what has already been said, we must pro-ceed to consider what the poet should aim at, and what heshould avoid, in constructing his plots; and by what means thespecific effect of Tragedy will be produced.

A perfect tragedy should, as we have seen, be arranged noton the simple but on the complex plan. It should, moreover,imitate actions which excite pity and fear, this being the dis-tinctive mark of tragic imitation. It follows plainly, in the firstplace, that the change of fortune presented must not be thespectacle of a virtuous man brought from prosperity to adver-sity: for this moves neither pity nor fear; it merely shocks us.Nor, again, that of a bad man passing from adversity to pros-perity: for nothing can be more alien to the spirit of Tragedy;it possesses no single tragic quality; it neither satisfies the moralsense nor calls forth pity or fear. Nor, again, should the down-

fall of the utter villain be exhibited. A plot of this kind would,doubtless, satisfy the moral sense, but it would inspire neitherpity nor fear; for pity is aroused by unmerited misfortune, fearby the misfortune of a man like ourselves. Such an event, there-fore, will be neither pitiful nor terrible. There remains, then,the character between these two extremes—that of a man whois not eminently good and just, yet whose misfortune is broughtabout not by vice or depravity, but by some error or frailty. Hemust be one who is highly renowned and prosperous—a per-sonage like Oedipus, Thyestes, or other illustrious men of suchfamilies.

A well-constructed plot should, therefore, be single in itsissue, rather than double as some maintain. The change of for-tune should be not from bad to good, but, reversely, from goodto bad. It should come about as the result not of vice, but ofsome great error or frailty, in a character either such as we havedescribed, or better rather than worse. The practice of the stagebears out our view. At first the poets recounted any legend thatcame in their way. Now, the best tragedies are founded on thestory of a few houses—on the fortunes of Alcmaeon, Oedipus,Orestes, Meleager, Thyestes, Telephus, and those others whohave done or suffered something terrible. A tragedy, then, tobe perfect according to the rules of art should be of this con-struction. Hence they are in error who censure Euripides justbecause he follows this principle in his plays, many of whichend unhappily. It is, as we have said, the right ending. The best





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proof is that on the stage and in dramatic competition, suchplays, if well worked out, are the most tragic in effect; andEuripides, faulty though he may be in the general manage-ment of his subject, yet is felt to be the most tragic of thepoets.

In the second rank comes the kind of tragedy which someplace first. Like the Odyssey, it has a double thread of plot, andalso an opposite catastrophe for the good and for the bad. It isaccounted the best because of the weakness of the spectators;for the poet is guided in what he writes by the wishes of hisaudience. The pleasure, however, thence derived is not the truetragic pleasure. It is proper rather to Comedy, where those who,in the piece, are the deadliest enemies—like Orestes andAegisthus—quit the stage as friends at the close, and no oneslays or is slain.

14.

Fear and pity may be aroused by spectacular means; butthey may also result from the inner structure of the piece, whichis the better way, and indicates a superior poet. For the plotought to be so constructed that, even without the aid of theeye, he who hears the tale told will thrill with horror and meltto pity at what takes Place. This is the impression we shouldreceive from hearing the story of the Oedipus. But to produce

this effect by the mere spectacle is a less artistic method, anddependent on extraneous aids. Those who employ spectacularmeans to create a sense not of the terrible but only of the mon-strous, are strangers to the purpose of Tragedy; for we mustnot demand of Tragedy any and every kind of pleasure, butonly that which is proper to it. And since the pleasure whichthe poet should afford is that which comes from pity and fearthrough imitation, it is evident that this quality must be im-pressed upon the incidents.

Let us then determine what are the circumstances whichstrike us as terrible or pitiful.

Actions capable of this effect must happen between per-sons who are either friends or enemies or indifferent to oneanother. If an enemy kills an enemy, there is nothing to excitepity either in the act or the intention—except so far as thesuffering in itself is pitiful. So again with indifferent persons.But when the tragic incident occurs between those who arenear or dear to one another—if, for example, a brother kills, orintends to kill, a brother, a son his father, a mother her son, ason his mother, or any other deed of the kind is done—theseare the situations to be looked for by the poet. He may notindeed destroy the framework of the received legends—thefact, for instance, that Clytemnestra was slain by Orestes andEriphyle by Alcmaeon—but he ought to show of his own, andskilfully handle the traditional. material. Let us explain moreclearly what is meant by skilful handling.





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The action may be done consciously and with knowledgeof the persons, in the manner of the older poets. It is thus toothat Euripides makes Medea slay her children. Or, again, thedeed of horror may be done, but done in ignorance, and the tieof kinship or friendship be discovered afterwards. The Oedi-pus of Sophocles is an example. Here, indeed, the incident isoutside the drama proper; but cases occur where it falls withinthe action of the play: one may cite the Alcmaeon of Astydamas,or Telegonus in the Wounded Odysseus. Again, there is a thirdcase—[to be about to act with knowledge of the persons andthen not to act. The fourth case] is when some one is about todo an irreparable deed through ignorance, and makes the dis-covery before it is done. These are the only possible ways. Forthe deed must either be done or not done—and that wittinglyor unwittingly. But of all these ways, to be about to act know-ing the persons, and then not to act, is the worst. It is shockingwithout being tragic, for no disaster follows It is, therefore,never, or very rarely, found in poetry. One instance, however, isin the Antigone, where Haemon threatens to kill Creon. Thenext and better way is that the deed should be perpetrated.Still better, that it should be perpetrated in ignorance, and thediscovery made afterwards. There is then nothing to shock us,while the discovery produces a startling effect. The last case isthe best, as when in the Cresphontes Merope is about to slayher son, but, recognizing who he is, spares his life. So in theIphigenia, the sister recognizes the brother just in time. Again

in the Helle, the son recognizes the mother when on the pointof giving her up. This, then, is why a few families only, as hasbeen already observed, furnish the subjects of tragedy. It wasnot art, but happy chance, that led the poets in search of sub-jects to impress the tragic quality upon their plots. They arecompelled, therefore, to have recourse to those houses whosehistory contains moving incidents like these.

Enough has now been said concerning the structure of theincidents, and the right kind of plot.

15.

In respect of Character there are four things to be aimed at.First, and most important, it must be good. Now any speech oraction that manifests moral purpose of any kind will be ex-pressive of character: the character will be good if the purposeis good. This rule is relative to each class. Even a woman maybe good, and also a slave; though the woman may be said to bean inferior being, and the slave quite worthless. The secondthing to aim at is propriety. There is a type of manly valor; butvalor in a woman, or unscrupulous cleverness is inappropriate.Thirdly, character must be true to life: for this is a distinctthing from goodness and propriety, as here described. Thefourth point is consistency: for though the subject of the imi-tation, who suggested the type, be inconsistent, still he must





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be consistently inconsistent. As an example of motiveless deg-radation of character, we have Menelaus in the Orestes; of char-acter indecorous and inappropriate, the lament of Odysseus inthe Scylla, and the speech of Melanippe; of inconsistency, theIphigenia at Aulis—for Iphigenia the suppliant in no way re-sembles her later self.

As in the structure of the plot, so too in the portraiture ofcharacter, the poet should always aim either at the necessaryor the probable. Thus a person of a given character shouldspeak or act in a given way, by the rule either of necessity or ofprobability; just as this event should follow that by necessaryor probable sequence. It is therefore evident that the unravel-ing of the plot, no less than the complication, must arise out ofthe plot itself, it must not be brought about by the Deus exMachina—as in the Medea, or in the return of the Greeks inthe Iliad. The Deus ex Machina should be employed only forevents external to the drama—for antecedent or subsequentevents, which lie beyond the range of human knowledge, andwhich require to be reported or foretold; for to the gods weascribe the power of seeing all things. Within the action theremust be nothing irrational. If the irrational cannot be excluded,it should be outside the scope of the tragedy. Such is the irra-tional element the Oedipus of Sophocles.

Again, since Tragedy is an imitation of persons who areabove the common level, the example of good portrait paintersshould be followed. They, while reproducing the distinctive

form of the original, make a likeness which is true to life andyet more beautiful. So too the poet, in representing men whoare irascible or indolent, or have other defects of character,should preserve the type and yet ennoble it. In this way Achil-les is portrayed by Agathon and Homer.

These then are rules the poet should observe. Nor shouldhe neglect those appeals to the senses, which, though not amongthe essentials, are the concomitants of poetry; for here too thereis much room for error. But of this enough has been said in ourpublished treatises.

16.

What Recognition is has been already explained. We willnow enumerate its kinds.

First, the least artistic form, which, from poverty of wit, ismost commonly employed—recognition by signs. Of thesesome are congenital—such as ‘the spear which the earth-bornrace bear on their bodies,’ or the stars introduced by Carcinusin his Thyestes. Others are acquired after birth; and of thesesome are bodily marks, as scars; some external tokens, as neck-laces, or the little ark in the Tyro by which the discovery iseffected. Even these admit of more or less skilful treatment.Thus in the recognition of Odysseus by his scar, the discoveryis made in one way by the nurse, in another by the swineherds.





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The use of tokens for the express purpose of proof—and, in-deed, any formal proof with or without tokens—is a less artis-tic mode of recognition. A better kind is that which comesabout by a turn of incident, as in the Bath Scene in the Odys-sey.

Next come the recognitions invented at will by the poet,and on that account wanting in art. For example, Orestes inthe Iphigenia reveals the fact that he is Orestes. She, indeed,makes herself known by the letter; but he, by speaking himself,and saying what the poet, not what the plot requires. This,therefore, is nearly allied to the fault above mentioned—forOrestes might as well have brought tokens with him. Anothersimilar instance is the ‘voice of the shuttle’ in the Tereus ofSophocles.

The third kind depends on memory when the sight of someobject awakens a feeling: as in the Cyprians of Dicaeogenes,where the hero breaks into tears on seeing the picture; or againin the Lay of Alcinous, where Odysseus, hearing the minstrelplay the lyre, recalls the past and weeps; and hence the recog-nition.

The fourth kind is by process of reasoning. Thus in theChoephori: ‘Some one resembling me has come: no one re-sembles me but Orestes: therefore Orestes has come.’ Suchtoo is the discovery made by Iphigenia in the play of Polyidusthe Sophist. It was a natural reflection for Orestes to make, ‘SoI too must die at the altar like my sister.’ So, again, in the Tydeus

of Theodectes, the father says, ‘I came to find my son, and Ilose my own life.’ So too in the Phineidae: the women, onseeing the place, inferred their fate—‘Here we are doomed todie, for here we were cast forth.’ Again, there is a compositekind of recognition involving false inference on the part of oneof the characters, as in the Odysseus Disguised as a Messen-ger. A said [that no one else was able to bend the bow; ... henceB (the disguised Odysseus) imagined that A would] recognizethe bow which, in fact, he had not seen; and to bring about arecognition by this means—the expectation that A would rec-ognize the bow—is false inference.

But, of all recognitions, the best is that which arises fromthe incidents themselves, where the startling discovery is madeby natural means. Such is that in the Oedipus of Sophocles,and in the Iphigenia; for it was natural that Iphigenia shouldwish to dispatch a letter. These recognitions alone dispensewith the artificial aid of tokens or amulets. Next come the rec-ognitions by process of reasoning.

17.

In constructing the plot and working it out with the properdiction, the poet should place the scene, as far as possible, be-fore his eyes. In this way, seeing everything with the utmostvividness, as if he were a spectator of the action, he will dis-





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cover what is in keeping with it, and be most unlikely to over-look inconsistencies. The need of such a rule is shown by thefault found in Carcinus. Amphiaraus was on his way from thetemple. This fact escaped the observation of one who did notsee the situation. On the stage, however, the Piece failed, theaudience being offended at the oversight.

Again, the poet should work out his play, to the best of hispower, with appropriate gestures; for those who feel emotionare most convincing through natural sympathy with the char-acters they represent; and one who is agitated storms, one whois angry rages, with the most lifelike reality. Hence poetry im-plies either a happy gift of nature or a strain of madness. In theone case a man can take the mould of any character; in theother, he is lifted out of his proper self.

As for the story, whether the poet takes it ready made orconstructs it for himself, he should first sketch its general out-line, and then fill in the episodes and amplify in detail. Thegeneral plan may be illustrated by the Iphigenia. A young girlis sacrificed; she disappears mysteriously from the eyes of thosewho sacrificed her; she is transported to another country, wherethe custom is to offer up an strangers to the goddess. To thisministry she is appointed. Some time later her own brotherchances to arrive. The fact that the oracle for some reason or-dered him to go there, is outside the general plan of the play.The purpose, again, of his coming is outside the action proper.However, he comes, he is seized, and, when on the point of

being sacrificed, reveals who he is. The mode of recognitionmay be either that of Euripides or of Polyidus, in whose playhe exclaims very naturally: ‘So it was not my sister only, but Itoo, who was doomed to be sacrificed’; and by that remark heis saved.

After this, the names being once given, it remains to fill inthe episodes. We must see that they are relevant to the action.In the case of Orestes, for example, there is the madness whichled to his capture, and his deliverance by means of thepurificatory rite. In the drama, the episodes are short, but it isthese that give extension to Epic poetry. Thus the story of theOdyssey can be stated briefly. A certain man is absent fromhome for many years; he is jealously watched by Poseidon, andleft desolate. Meanwhile his home is in a wretched plight—suitors are wasting his substance and plotting against his son.At length, tempest-tost, he himself arrives; he makes certainpersons acquainted with him; he attacks the suitors with hisown hand, and is himself preserved while he destroys them.This is the essence of the plot; the rest is episode.

18.

Every tragedy falls into two parts—Complication and Un-raveling or Denouement. Incidents extraneous to the actionare frequently combined with a portion of the action proper,





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to form the Complication; the rest is the Unraveling. By theComplication I mean all that extends from the beginning ofthe action to the part which marks the turning-point to goodor bad fortune. The Unraveling is that which extends from thebeginning of the change to the end. Thus, in the Lynceus ofTheodectes, the Complication consists of the incidents pre-supposed in the drama, the seizure of the child, and then again... [the Unraveling] extends from the accusation of murder tothe end.

There are four kinds of Tragedy: the Complex, dependingentirely on Reversal of the Situation and Recognition; the Pa-thetic (where the motive is passion)—such as the tragedies onAjax and Ixion; the Ethical (where the motives are ethical)—such as the Phthiotides and the Peleus. The fourth kind is theSimple. [We here exclude the purely spectacular element], ex-emplified by the Phorcides, the Prometheus, and scenes laidin Hades. The poet should endeavor, if possible, to combine allpoetic elements; or failing that, the greatest number and thosethe most important; the more so, in face of the caviling criti-cism of the day. For whereas there have hitherto been goodpoets, each in his own branch, the critics now expect one manto surpass all others in their several lines of excellence.

In speaking of a tragedy as the same or different, the besttest to take is the plot. Identity exists where the Complicationand Unraveling are the same. Many poets tie the knot well,but unravel it Both arts, however, should always be mastered.

Again, the poet should remember what has been often said,and not make an Epic structure into a tragedy—by an Epicstructure I mean one with a multiplicity of plots—as if, forinstance, you were to make a tragedy out of the entire story ofthe Iliad. In the Epic poem, owing to its length, each partassumes its proper magnitude. In the drama the result is farfrom answering to the poet’s expectation. The proof is that thepoets who have dramatized the whole story of the Fall of Troy,instead of selecting portions, like Euripides; or who have takenthe whole tale of Niobe, and not a part of her story, likeAeschylus, either fail utterly or meet with poor success on thestage. Even Agathon has been known to fail from this onedefect. In his Reversals of the Situation, however, he shows amarvelous skill in the effort to hit the popular taste—to pro-duce a tragic effect that satisfies the moral sense. This effect isproduced when the clever rogue, like Sisyphus, is outwitted, orthe brave villain defeated. Such an event is probable inAgathon’s sense of the word: ‘is probable,’ he says, ‘that manythings should happen contrary to probability.’

The Chorus too should be regarded as one of the actors; itshould be an integral part of the whole, and share in the ac-tion, in the manner not of Euripides but of Sophocles. As forthe later poets, their choral songs pertain as little to the subjectof the piece as to that of any other tragedy. They are, therefore,sung as mere interludes—a practice first begun by Agathon.Yet what difference is there between introducing such choral





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interludes, and transferring a speech, or even a whole act, fromone play to another.

19.

It remains to speak of Diction and Thought, the other partsof Tragedy having been already discussed. concerning Thought,we may assume what is said in the Rhetoric, to which inquirythe subject more strictly belongs. Under Thought is includedevery effect which has to be produced by speech, the subdivi-sions being: proof and refutation; the excitation of the feel-ings, such as pity, fear, anger, and the like; the suggestion ofimportance or its opposite. Now, it is evident that the dra-matic incidents must be treated from the same points of viewas the dramatic speeches, when the object is to evoke the senseof pity, fear, importance, or probability. The only difference isthat the incidents should speak for themselves without verbalexposition; while effects aimed at in should be produced bythe speaker, and as a result of the speech. For what were thebusiness of a speaker, if the Thought were revealed quite apartfrom what he says?

Next, as regards Diction. One branch of the inquiry treatsof the Modes of Utterance. But this province of knowledgebelongs to the art of Delivery and to the masters of that sci-ence. It includes, for instance—what is a command, a prayer, a

statement, a threat, a question, an answer, and so forth. Toknow or not to know these things involves no serious censureupon the poet’s art. For who can admit the fault imputed toHomer by Protagoras—that in the words, ‘Sing, goddess, ofthe wrath, he gives a command under the idea that he utters aprayer? For to tell some one to do a thing or not to do it is, hesays, a command. We may, therefore, pass this over as an in-quiry that belongs to another art, not to poetry.

20.

Language in general includes the following parts: Letter,Syllable, Connecting Word, Noun, Verb, Inflection or Case,Sentence or Phrase.

A Letter is an indivisible sound, yet not every such sound,but only one which can form part of a group of sounds. Foreven brutes utter indivisible sounds, none of which I call aletter. The sound I mean may be either a vowel, a semivowel,or a mute. A vowel is that which without impact of tongue orlip has an audible sound. A semivowel that which with suchimpact has an audible sound, as S and R. A mute, that whichwith such impact has by itself no sound, but joined to a vowelsound becomes audible, as G and D. These are distinguishedaccording to the form assumed by the mouth and the placewhere they are produced; according as they are aspirated or





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smooth, long or short; as they are acute, grave, or of an inter-mediate tone; which inquiry belongs in detail to the writers onmeter.

A Syllable is a nonsignificant sound, composed of a muteand a vowel: for GR without A is a syllable, as also with A—GRA. But the investigation of these differences belongs alsoto metrical science.

A Connecting Word is a nonsignificant sound, which nei-ther causes nor hinders the union of many sounds into onesignificant sound; it may be placed at either end or in the middleof a sentence. Or, a nonsignificant sound, which out of severalsounds, each of them significant, is capable of forming onesignificant sound—as amphi, peri, and the like. Or, a nonsig-nificant sound, which marks the beginning, end, or division ofa sentence; such, however, that it cannot correctly stand byitself at the beginning of a sentence—as men, etoi, de.

A Noun is a composite significant sound, not marking time,of which no part is in itself significant: for in double or com-pound words we do not employ the separate parts as if eachwere in itself significant. Thus in Theodorus, ‘god-given,’ thedoron or ‘gift’ is not in itself significant.

A Verb is a composite significant sound, marking time, inwhich, as in the noun, no part is in itself significant. For ‘man’or ‘white’ does not express the idea of ‘when’; but ‘he walks’ or‘he has walked’ does connote time, present or past.

Inflection belongs both to the noun and verb, and expresses

either the relation ‘of,’ ‘to,’ or the like; or that of number, whetherone or many, as ‘man’ or ‘men’; or the modes or tones in actualdelivery, e.g., a question or a command. ‘Did he go?’ and ‘go’are verbal inflections of this kind.

A Sentence or Phrase is a composite significant sound, someat least of whose parts are in themselves significant; for notevery such group of words consists of verbs and nouns—‘thedefinition of man,’ for example—but it may dispense even withthe verb. Still it will always have some significant part, as ‘inwalking,’ or ‘Cleon son of Cleon.’ A sentence or phrase mayform a unity in two ways—either as signifying one thing, or asconsisting of several parts linked together. Thus the Iliad isone by the linking together of parts, the definition of man bythe unity of the thing signified.

21.

Words are of two kinds, simple and double. By simple Imean those composed of nonsignificant elements, such as ge,‘earth.’ By double or compound, those composed either of asignificant and nonsignificant element (though within thewhole word no element is significant), or of elements that areboth significant. A word may likewise be triple, quadruple, ormultiple in form, like so many Massilian expressions, e.g.,‘Hermo-caico-xanthus [who prayed to Father Zeus].’





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Every word is either current, or strange, or metaphorical,or ornamental, or newly-coined, or lengthened, or contracted,or altered.

By a current or proper word I mean one which is in generaluse among a people; by a strange word, one which is in use inanother country. Plainly, therefore, the same word may be atonce strange and current, but not in relation to the same people.The word sigynon, ‘lance,’ is to the Cyprians a current termbut to us a strange one.

Metaphor is the application of an alien name by transfer-ence either from genus to species, or from species to genus, orfrom species to species, or by analogy, that is, proportion. Thusfrom genus to species, as: ‘There lies my ship’; for lying at an-chor is a species of lying. From species to genus, as: ‘Verily tenthousand noble deeds hath Odysseus wrought’; for ten thou-sand is a species of large number, and is here used for a largenumber generally. From species to species, as: ‘With blade ofbronze drew away the life,’ and ‘Cleft the water with the vesselof unyielding bronze.’ Here arusai, ‘to draw away’ is used fortamein, ‘to cleave,’ and tamein, again for arusai—each being aspecies of taking away. Analogy or proportion is when the sec-ond term is to the first as the fourth to the third. We may thenuse the fourth for the second, or the second for the fourth.Sometimes too we qualify the metaphor by adding the term towhich the proper word is relative. Thus the cup is to Dionysusas the shield to Ares. The cup may, therefore, be called ‘the

shield of Dionysus,’ and the shield ‘the cup of Ares.’ Or, again,as old age is to life, so is evening to day. Evening may thereforebe called, ‘the old age of the day,’ and old age, ‘the evening oflife,’ or, in the phrase of Empedocles, ‘life’s setting sun.’ Forsome of the terms of the proportion there is at times no wordin existence; still the metaphor may be used. For instance, toscatter seed is called sowing: but the action of the sun in scat-tering his rays is nameless. Still this process bears to the sunthe same relation as sowing to the seed. Hence the expressionof the poet ‘sowing the god-created light.’ There is anotherway in which this kind of metaphor may be employed. Wemay apply an alien term, and then deny of that term one of itsproper attributes; as if we were to call the shield, not ‘the cupof Ares,’ but ‘the wineless cup’.

A newly-coined word is one which has never been even inlocal use, but is adopted by the poet himself. Some such wordsthere appear to be: as ernyges, ‘sprouters,’ for kerata, ‘horns’;and areter, ‘supplicator’, for hiereus, ‘priest.’

A word is lengthened when its own vowel is exchanged fora longer one, or when a syllable is inserted. A word is con-tracted when some part of it is removed. Instances of length-ening are: poleos for poleos, Peleiadeo for Peleidou; of con-traction: kri, do, and ops, as in mia ginetai amphoteron ops,‘the appearance of both is one.’

An altered word is one in which part of the ordinary formis left unchanged, and part is recast: as in dexiteron kata mazon,





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‘on the right breast,’ dexiteron is for dexion.Nouns in themselves are either masculine, feminine, or neu-

ter. Masculine are such as end in N, R, S, or in some lettercompounded with S—these being two, PS and X. Feminine,such as end in vowels that are always long, namely E and O,and—of vowels that admit of lengthening—those in A. Thusthe number of letters in which nouns masculine and feminineend is the same; for PS and X are equivalent to endings in S.No noun ends in a mute or a vowel short by nature. Three onlyend in I—meli, ‘honey’; kommi, ‘gum’; peperi, ‘pepper’; fiveend in U. Neuter nouns end in these two latter vowels; also inN and S.

22.

The perfection of style is to be clear without being mean.The clearest style is that which uses only current or properwords; at the same time it is mean—witness the poetry ofCleophon and of Sthenelus. That diction, on the other hand,is lofty and raised above the commonplace which employsunusual words. By unusual, I mean strange (or rare) words,metaphorical, lengthened—anything, in short, that differs fromthe normal idiom. Yet a style wholly composed of such wordsis either a riddle or a jargon; a riddle, if it consists of meta-phors; a jargon, if it consists of strange (or rare) words. For the

essence of a riddle is to express true facts under impossiblecombinations. Now this cannot be done by any arrangementof ordinary words, but by the use of metaphor it can. Such isthe riddle: ‘A man I saw who on another man had glued thebronze by aid of fire,’ and others of the same kind. A dictionthat is made up of strange (or rare) terms is a jargon. A certaininfusion, therefore, of these elements is necessary to style; forthe strange (or rare) word, the metaphorical, the ornamental,and the other kinds above mentioned, will raise it above thecommonplace and mean, while the use of proper words willmake it perspicuous. But nothing contributes more to producea cleanness of diction that is remote from commonness thanthe lengthening, contraction, and alteration of words. For bydeviating in exceptional cases from the normal idiom, the lan-guage will gain distinction; while, at the same time, the partialconformity with usage will give perspicuity. The critics, there-fore, are in error who censure these licenses of speech, andhold the author up to ridicule. Thus Eucleides, the elder, de-clared that it would be an easy matter to be a poet if you mightlengthen syllables at will. He caricatured the practice in thevery form of his diction, as in the verse:

Epicharen eidon Marathonade badizonta,I saw Epichares walking to Marathon,or,ouk an g’eramenos ton ekeinou elleboron.Not if you desire his hellebore.





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To employ such license at all obtrusively is, no doubt, gro-tesque; but in any mode of poetic diction there must be mod-eration. Even metaphors, strange (or rare) words, or any simi-lar forms of speech, would produce the like effect if used with-out propriety and with the express purpose of being ludicrous.How great a difference is made by the appropriate use of length-ening, may be seen in Epic poetry by the insertion of ordinaryforms in the verse. So, again, if we take a strange (or rare)word, a metaphor, or any similar mode of expression, and re-place it by the current or proper term, the truth of our obser-vation will be manifest. For example, Aeschylus and Euripideseach composed the same iambic line. But the alteration of asingle word by Euripides, who employed the rarer term in-stead of the ordinary one, makes one verse appear beautifuland the other trivial. Aeschylus in his Philoctetes says:

phagedaina d’he mou sarkas esthiei podos.The tumor which is eating the flesh of my foot.Euripides substitutes thoinatai, ‘feasts on,’ for esthiei, ‘feeds

on.’ Again, in the line,nun de m’eon oligos te kai outidanos kai aeikes,Yet a small man, worthless and unseemly,the difference will be felt if we substitute the common words,nun de m’eon mikros te kai asthenikos kai aeides.Yet a little fellow, weak and ugly.Or, if for the line,diphron aeikelion katatheis oligen te trapezan,

Setting an unseemly couch and a meager table,we read,diphron mochtheron katatheis mikran te trapezan.Setting a wretched couch and a puny table.Or, for eiones booosin, ‘the sea shores roar,’ eiones krazousin,

‘the sea shores screech.’Again, Ariphrades ridiculed the tragedians for using phrases

which no one would employ in ordinary speech: for example,domaton apo, ‘from the house away,’ instead of apo domaton,‘away from the house;’ sethen, ego de nin, ‘to thee, and I tohim;’ Achilleos peri, ‘Achilles about,’ instead of peri Achilleos,‘about Achilles;’ and the like. It is precisely because such phrasesare not part of the current idiom that they give distinction tothe style. This, however, he failed to see.

It is a great matter to observe propriety in these severalmodes of expression, as also in compound words, strange (orrare) words, and so forth. But the greatest thing by far is tohave a command of metaphor. This alone cannot be impartedby another; it is the mark of genius, for to make good meta-phors implies an eye for resemblances.

Of the various kinds of words, the compound are bestadapted to dithyrambs, rare words to heroic poetry, metaphorsto iambic. In heroic poetry, indeed, all these varieties are ser-viceable. But in iambic verse, which reproduces, as far as maybe, familiar speech, the most appropriate words are those whichare found even in prose. These are the current or proper, the





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metaphorical, the ornamental.Concerning Tragedy and imitation by means of action this

may suffice.

23.

As to that poetic imitation which is narrative in form andemploys a single meter, the plot manifestly ought, as in a trag-edy, to be constructed on dramatic principles. It should havefor its subject a single action, whole and complete, with a be-ginning, a middle, and an end. It will thus resemble a livingorganism in all its unity, and produce the pleasure proper to it.It will differ in structure from historical compositions, whichof necessity present not a single action, but a single period, andall that happened within that period to one person or to many,little connected together as the events may be. For as the sea-fight at Salamis and the battle with the Carthaginians in Sic-ily took place at the same time, but did not tend to any oneresult, so in the sequence of events, one thing sometimes fol-lows another, and yet no single result is thereby produced. Suchis the practice, we may say, of most poets. Here again, then, ashas been already observed, the transcendent excellence ofHomer is manifest. He never attempts to make the whole warof Troy the subject of his poem, though that war had a begin-ning and an end. It would have been too vast a theme, and not

easily embraced in a single view. If, again, he had kept it withinmoderate limits, it must have been over-complicated by thevariety of the incidents. As it is, he detaches a single portion,and admits as episodes many events from the general story ofthe war—such as the Catalogue of the ships and others—thusdiversifying the poem. All other poets take a single hero, asingle period, or an action single indeed, but with a multiplic-ity of parts. Thus did the author of the Cypria and of the LittleIliad. For this reason the Iliad and the Odyssey each furnishthe subject of one tragedy, or, at most, of two; while the Cypriasupplies materials for many, and the Little Iliad for eight—theAward of the Arms, the Philoctetes, the Neoptolemus, theEurypylus, the Mendicant Odysseus, the Laconian Women,the Fall of Ilium, the Departure of the Fleet.

24.

Again, Epic poetry must have as many kinds as Tragedy: itmust be simple, or complex, or ‘ethical,’or ‘pathetic.’ The partsalso, with the exception of song and spectacle, are the same;for it requires Reversals of the Situation, Recognitions, andScenes of Suffering. Moreover, the thoughts and the dictionmust be artistic. In all these respects Homer is our earliest andsufficient model. Indeed each of his poems has a twofold char-acter. The Iliad is at once simple and ‘pathetic,’ and the Odys-





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sey complex (for Recognition scenes run through it), and atthe same time ‘ethical.’ Moreover, in diction and thought theyare supreme.

Epic poetry differs from Tragedy in the scale on which it isconstructed, and in its meter. As regards scale or length, wehave already laid down an adequate limit: the beginning andthe end must be capable of being brought within a single view.This condition will be satisfied by poems on a smaller scalethan the old epics, and answering in length to the group oftragedies presented at a single sitting.

Epic poetry has, however, a great—a special—capacity forenlarging its dimensions, and we can see the reason. In Trag-edy we cannot imitate several lines of actions carried on at oneand the same time; we must confine ourselves to the action onthe stage and the part taken by the players. But in Epic poetry,owing to the narrative form, many events simultaneously trans-acted can be presented; and these, if relevant to the subject,add mass and dignity to the poem. The Epic has here an ad-vantage, and one that conduces to grandeur of effect, to di-verting the mind of the hearer, and relieving the story withvarying episodes. For sameness of incident soon produces sati-ety, and makes tragedies fail on the stage.

As for the meter, the heroic measure has proved its fitnessby hexameter test of experience. If a narrative poem in anyother meter or in many meters were now composed, it wouldbe found incongruous. For of all measures the heroic is the

stateliest and the most massive; and hence it most readily ad-mits rare words and metaphors, which is another point in whichthe narrative form of imitation stands alone. On the other hand,the iambic and the trochaic tetrameter are stirring measures,the latter being akin to dancing, the former expressive of ac-tion. Still more absurd would it be to mix together differentmeters, as was done by Chaeremon. Hence no one has evercomposed a poem on a great scale in any other than heroicverse. Nature herself, as we have said, teaches the choice of theproper measure.

Homer, admirable in all respects, has the special merit ofbeing the only poet who rightly appreciates the part he shouldtake himself. The poet should speak as little as possible in hisown person, for it is not this that makes him an imitator. Otherpoets appear themselves upon the scene throughout, and imi-tate but little and rarely. Homer, after a few prefatory words, atonce brings in a man, or woman, or other personage; none ofthem wanting in characteristic qualities, but each with a char-acter of his own.

The element of the wonderful is required in Tragedy. Theirrational, on which the wonderful depends for its chief ef-fects, has wider scope in Epic poetry, because there the personacting is not seen. Thus, the pursuit of Hector would be ludi-crous if placed upon the stage—the Greeks standing still andnot joining in the pursuit, and Achilles waving them back. Butin the Epic poem the absurdity passes unnoticed. Now the





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wonderful is pleasing, as may be inferred from the fact thatevery one tells a story with some addition of his knowing thathis hearers like it. It is Homer who has chiefly taught otherpoets the art of telling lies skilfully. The secret of it lies in afallacy For, assuming that if one thing is or becomes, a secondis or becomes, men imagine that, if the second is, the first like-wise is or becomes. But this is a false inference. Hence, wherethe first thing is untrue, it is quite unnecessary, provided thesecond be true, to add that the first is or has become. For themind, knowing the second to be true, falsely infers the truth ofthe first. There is an example of this in the Bath Scene of theOdyssey.

Accordingly, the poet should prefer probable impossibili-ties to improbable possibilities. The tragic plot must not becomposed of irrational parts. Everything irrational should, ifpossible, be excluded; or, at all events, it should lie outside theaction of the play (as, in the Oedipus, the hero’s ignorance asto the manner of Laius’ death); not within the drama—as inthe Electra, the messenger’s account of the Pythian games; or,as in the Mysians, the man who has come from Tegea to Mysiaand is still speechless. The plea that otherwise the plot wouldhave been ruined, is ridiculous; such a plot should not in thefirst instance be constructed. But once the irrational has beenintroduced and an air of likelihood imparted to it, we mustaccept it in spite of the absurdity. Take even the irrational inci-dents in the Odyssey, where Odysseus is left upon the shore of

Ithaca. How intolerable even these might have been would beapparent if an inferior poet were to treat the subject. As it is,the absurdity is veiled by the poetic charm with which thepoet invests it.

The diction should be elaborated in the pauses of the ac-tion, where there is no expression of character or thought. For,conversely, character and thought are merely obscured by a dic-tion that is over-brilliant.

25.

With respect to critical difficulties and their solutions, thenumber and nature of the sources from which they may bedrawn may be thus exhibited.

The poet being an imitator, like a painter or any other art-ist, must of necessity imitate one of three objects—things asthey were or are, things as they are said or thought to be, orthings as they ought to be. The vehicle of expression is lan-guage—either current terms or, it may be, rare words or meta-phors. There are also many modifications of language, whichwe concede to the poets. Add to this, that the standard of cor-rectness is not the same in poetry and politics, any more thanin poetry and any other art. Within the art of poetry itselfthere are two kinds of faults—those which touch its essence,and those which are accidental. If a poet has chosen to imitate





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something, [but has imitated it incorrectly] through want ofcapacity, the error is inherent in the poetry. But if the failure isdue to a wrong choice—if he has represented a horse as throw-ing out both his off legs at once, or introduced technical inac-curacies in medicine, for example, or in any other art—the er-ror is not essential to the poetry. These are the points of viewfrom which we should consider and answer the objections raisedby the critics.

First as to matters which concern the poet’s own art. If hedescribes the impossible, he is guilty of an error; but the errormay be justified, if the end of the art be thereby attained (theend being that already mentioned)—if, that is, the effect ofthis or any other part of the poem is thus rendered more strik-ing. A case in point is the pursuit of Hector. if, however, theend might have been as well, or better, attained without vio-lating the special rules of the poetic art, the error is not justi-fied: for every kind of error should, if possible, be avoided.

Again, does the error touch the essentials of the poetic art,or some accident of it? For example, not to know that a hindhas no horns is a less serious matter than to paint it inartisti-cally.

Further, if it be objected that the description is not true tofact, the poet may perhaps reply, ‘But the objects are as theyought to be’; just as Sophocles said that he drew men as theyought to be; Euripides, as they are. In this way the objectionmay be met. If, however, the representation be of neither kind,

the poet may answer, ‘This is how men say the thing is.’ ap-plies to tales about the gods. It may well be that these storiesare not higher than fact nor yet true to fact: they are, very pos-sibly, what Xenophanes says of them. But anyhow, ‘this is whatis said.’ Again, a description may be no better than the fact:‘Still, it was the fact’; as in the passage about the arms: ‘Up-right upon their butt-ends stood the spears.’ This was the cus-tom then, as it now is among the Illyrians.

Again, in examining whether what has been said or doneby some one is poetically right or not, we must not look merelyto the particular act or saying, and ask whether it is poeticallygood or bad. We must also consider by whom it is said or done,to whom, when, by what means, or for what end; whether, forinstance, it be to secure a greater good, or avert a greater evil.

Other difficulties may be resolved by due regard to the us-age of language. We may note a rare word, as in oureas menproton, ‘the mules first [he killed],’ where the poet perhapsemploys oureas not in the sense of mules, but of sentinels. So,again, of Dolon: ‘ill-favored indeed he was to look upon.’ It isnot meant that his body was ill-shaped but that his face wasugly; for the Cretans use the word eueides, ‘well-flavored’ todenote a fair face. Again, zoroteron de keraie, ‘mix the drinklivelier’ does not mean ‘mix it stronger’ as for hard drinkers,but ‘mix it quicker.’

Sometimes an expression is metaphorical, as ‘Now all godsand men were sleeping through the night,’ while at the same





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time the poet says: ‘Often indeed as he turned his gaze to theTrojan plain, he marveled at the sound of flutes and pipes.’‘All’ is here used metaphorically for ‘many,’ all being a speciesof many. So in the verse, ‘alone she hath no part... , oie, ‘alone’is metaphorical; for the best known may be called the onlyone.

Again, the solution may depend upon accent or breathing.Thus Hippias of Thasos solved the difficulties in the lines,didomen (didomen) de hoi, and to men hou (ou) kataputhetaiombro.

Or again, the question may be solved by punctuation, as inEmpedocles: ‘Of a sudden things became mortal that beforehad learnt to be immortal, and things unmixed before mixed.’

Or again, by ambiguity of meaning, as parocheken de pleonux, where the word pleo is ambiguous.

Or by the usage of language. Thus any mixed drink is calledoinos, ‘wine’. Hence Ganymede is said ‘to pour the wine toZeus,’ though the gods do not drink wine. So too workers iniron are called chalkeas, or ‘workers in bronze.’ This, however,may also be taken as a metaphor.

Again, when a word seems to involve some inconsistencyof meaning, we should consider how many senses it may bearin the particular passage. For example: ‘there was stayed thespear of bronze’—we should ask in how many ways we maytake ‘being checked there.’ The true mode of interpretation isthe precise opposite of what Glaucon mentions. Critics, he

says, jump at certain groundless conclusions; they pass adversejudgement and then proceed to reason on it; and, assumingthat the poet has said whatever they happen to think, findfault if a thing is inconsistent with their own fancy.

The question about Icarius has been treated in this fash-ion. The critics imagine he was a Lacedaemonian. They thinkit strange, therefore, that Telemachus should not have met himwhen he went to Lacedaemon. But the Cephallenian story mayperhaps be the true one. They allege that Odysseus took a wifefrom among themselves, and that her father was Icadius, notIcarius. It is merely a mistake, then, that gives plausibility tothe objection.

In general, the impossible must be justified by reference toartistic requirements, or to the higher reality, or to receivedopinion. With respect to the requirements of art, a probableimpossibility is to be preferred to a thing improbable and yetpossible. Again, it may be impossible that there should be mensuch as Zeuxis painted. ‘Yes,’ we say, ‘but the impossible is thehigher thing; for the ideal type must surpass the realty.’ Tojustify the irrational, we appeal to what is commonly said tobe. In addition to which, we urge that the irrational some-times does not violate reason; just as ‘it is probable that a thingmay happen contrary to probability.’

Things that sound contradictory should be examined bythe same rules as in dialectical refutation—whether the samething is meant, in the same relation, and in the same sense. We





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should therefore solve the question by reference to what thepoet says himself, or to what is tacitly assumed by a person ofintelligence.

The element of the irrational, and, similarly, depravity ofcharacter, are justly censured when there is no inner necessityfor introducing them. Such is the irrational element in the in-troduction of Aegeus by Euripides and the badness of Menelausin the Orestes.

Thus, there are five sources from which critical objectionsare drawn. Things are censured either as impossible, or irratio-nal, or morally hurtful, or contradictory, or contrary to artisticcorrectness. The answers should be sought under the twelveheads above mentioned.

26.

The question may be raised whether the Epic or Tragicmode of imitation is the higher. If the more refined art is thehigher, and the more refined in every case is that which ap-peals to the better sort of audience, the art which imitates any-thing and everything is manifestly most unrefined. The audi-ence is supposed to be too dull to comprehend unless some-thing of their own is thrown by the performers, who thereforeindulge in restless movements. Bad flute-players twist and twirl,if they have to represent ‘the quoit-throw,’ or hustle the

coryphaeus when they perform the Scylla. Tragedy, it is said,has this same defect. We may compare the opinion that theolder actors entertained of their successors. Mynniscus used tocall Callippides ‘ape’ on account of the extravagance of his ac-tion, and the same view was held of Pindarus. Tragic art, then,as a whole, stands to Epic in the same relation as the youngerto the elder actors. So we are told that Epic poetry is addressedto a cultivated audience, who do not need gesture; Tragedy, toan inferior public. Being then unrefined, it is evidently the lowerof the two.

Now, in the first place, this censure attaches not to the po-etic but to the histrionic art; for gesticulation may be equallyoverdone in epic recitation, as by Sosistratus, or in lyrical com-petition, as by Mnasitheus the Opuntian. Next, all action isnot to be condemned—any more than all dancing—but onlythat of bad performers. Such was the fault found in Callippides,as also in others of our own day, who are censured for repre-senting degraded women. Again, Tragedy like Epic poetry pro-duces its effect even without action; it reveals its power by merereading. If, then, in all other respects it is superior, this fault,we say, is not inherent in it.

And superior it is, because it has an the epic elements—itmay even use the epic meter—with the music and spectaculareffects as important accessories; and these produce the mostvivid of pleasures. Further, it has vividness of impression inreading as well as in representation. Moreover, the art attains





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its end within narrower limits for the concentrated effect ismore pleasurable than one which is spread over a long timeand so diluted. What, for example, would be the effect of theOedipus of Sophocles, if it were cast into a form as long as theIliad? Once more, the Epic imitation has less unity; as is shownby this, that any Epic poem will furnish subjects for severaltragedies. Thus if the story adopted by the poet has a strictunity, it must either be concisely told and appear truncated; or,if it conforms to the Epic canon of length, it must seem weakand watery. [Such length implies some loss of unity,] if, I mean,the poem is constructed out of several actions, like the Iliadand the Odyssey, which have many such parts, each with acertain magnitude of its own. Yet these poems are as perfect aspossible in structure; each is, in the highest degree attainable,an imitation of a single action.

If, then, tragedy is superior to epic poetry in all these re-spects, and, moreover, fulfills its specific function better as anart—for each art ought to produce, not any chance pleasure,but the pleasure proper to it, as already stated—it plainly fol-lows that tragedy is the higher art, as attaining its end moreperfectly.

Thus much may suffice concerning Tragic and Epic poetryin general; their several kinds and parts, with the number ofeach and their differences; the causes that make a poem goodor bad; the objections of the critics and the answers to theseobjections....





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coradella collegiate bookshelf editions. · 6. definition of tragedy. 7. the plot must be a whole....

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