The Greek View of Poetry

E.E. Sikes

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781317244820
• Edition: 1
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Ancient History
• Index: History

The Greek View of Poetry details critical theories and the appreciation of poetry by the ancient Greeks. Originally published in 1931, this text deals with a whole range of Greek critics from very early criticism to Longinus and his views on Homer in an attempt to provide a historical view of the importance of poetry to Greek society. This title will be of interest to students of Classics.

Chapter IV
Aristotle

§ 1. General Principles of Poetry

PLATO, theoretically, had banished the poets; but poetry is a natural instinct, and the Greeks knew (as well as Horace) that Nature, even if expelled with a pitchfork, will return. Here, at least, it is not surprising that Plato's pupil deserted his master. But there is an apparent paradox in the fact that the earliest Apology for Poetry came, not from a poet—Aristotle's ode to Virtue can hardly entitle him to that name—but from a philosopher, a traitor in the Platonic camp.¹ To Aristotle, however, there could be no question of treachery—the ancient quarrel was meaningless. The truth of philosophy—including what we should call science—was not antagonistic to the truth of poetry. His defence was no less effective because he showed so little of the poet in his own attitude. If he felt the devotion of a Sidney or Shelley, he was at pains to conceal it. At the time, the cause of poetry was best served by meeting Plato on his own ground; and Aristotle's poetic position was the direct outcome of his main metaphysical departure from Platonism. In his model of the universe he had rejected the theory of Ideas, substituting the formula of Becoming in place of abstract Being; and this principle not merely explained the existence of poetry, but gave it a high philosophic value. As knowledge of the universal could only be attained by a study of particulars, it followed that all processes of Becoming must be observed, whether in the physical world or in the spiritual life of man. In the latter sphere, both history and poetry had their proper place, and, as between the two, Aristotle's well-known preference for poetry is of course perfectly logical: history is less "universal," since what has happened is particular, what may happen is universal. Such universal have a real existence, but not in the supra mundane sense of the Platonic Ideas. They exist as concrete and objective things in our own world. They are common to many individuals, and are therefore more worthy of philosophic study than the character of a single individual.¹ If we apply this premiss in considering the relative values of history and poetry, it is evident that Alcibiades is less "universal" and "necessary "than Achilles. "History describes events in which the necessary sequence of effect on cause is obscured by a thousand casual interventions; poetry, and particularly tragedy, depict the inevitable dependence of destiny on character." ² Aristotle allows that a historical subject can be treated by a poet.³ He could have said no less, in view of the general belief that the persons in the Trojan or Theban myths were historical. But his philosophic reason is that "there is nothing to prevent some events which have actually happened from conforming to probability and inevitability "—a statement, or understatement, of (no doubt) unconscious humour. Agamemnon was a real person; the poet, however, does not report his words on a given occasion —" if so "(Aristotle might have said)" the less poet he "—but gives the words and actions typical of the person. The type, in fact, is essential to poetry. Herein, Aristotle not only draws the logical conclusion from his general theory of universals, but correctly interprets the genius of Greek epic and drama—the two Forms which are his main standards of poetry, since they show "universality" in the highest degree. As applied to poetry, the universal is concerned only with human action—a broad term, indeed, as "action" includes the passions which lead to, or are consequent on action—but still exclusive of mere moods or passive frames of mind.¹

The particular stress on "men in action" is thoroughly Greek. Gorgias had already defined poetry as concerned with πράγματα, and Plato's theory of mimetic referred specially to the epic and drama as dealing with human action, whether narrated or represented.² Aristotle starts with the Platonic definition, and, as usual, finds it unsatisfactory. For his master had spared the narrative part of epic, reserving his chief censure for the imitation of tragedy, whereas Aristotle sees equal poetic value in both Forms. This broad-mindedness is not extended, apparently, to lyric, or at least to the lyrical parts of tragedy. His silence, in the Poetics, about this branch of art has been variously explained. He probably regarded lyric as bound up with the music, a mere "accessory" to the drama, in which only the action and the story mattered.¹ But, besides this practical reason, in the special sphere of drama, Aristotle's definition of poetry in general would hardly have allowed him to rate lyrism at its full value, in modern estimation. Pindar's epinikian odes might possibly conform to his theory of action; but how could Sappho satisfy his formula? Being both a Greek and himself a lyrist (of a sort) Aristotle would not have denied that her love-songs were beautiful, but he probably regarded them as trifles, unworthy to be classed with the serious Forms of the art. Later critics made ample amends for this neglect; but no Greek approached the modern attitude towards the "personal" lyric—so often regarded as the fittest expression of a poet. To the ancients, of course, the need of "self-expression" would have seemed almost meaningless. Still less would the Greeks have understood a modern extension of that theory, in which a poet believes himself, or is believed by others, to be content with self-expression without an audience. As an historical fact, the sixth century, often called the great age of lyric, might equally well be called the age of poetic personality. Before Sappho, Alcman had already gloried in revealing his personal experience, even putting into the mouths of a feminine chorus his defence against a charge of low birth, or—in other "maiden-songs "— boasting of his gluttony, or complaining that old age excluded him from the dance.² But the natural Greek habit of thought was to regard the poet—even when most personal—as having a message to communicate, and hence his work was almost entirely viewed in relation to its effect on the audience. Indeed, the most serious defect of the theory of Imitation is that it led the critics to regard poetry as external to the poet, not as the expression of his personality.¹ It can hardly be denied that the Aristotelian definition of poetry leaves Sappho out of account; and, as we have no evidence that Aristotle broadened it to include her, we are forced to assume that he classed love-poetry as of no philosophic importance, or, at any rate, as far below the Epic and dramatic Forms.

Poetry, then, deals with universals by imitation. Here, again, Aristotle is working on Platonic lines— while he turns Mimesis from an antagonist into an ally of philosophy. Art imitates characters, emotions and actions, and music is the most imitative of all the arts— a thoroughly Greek conception, which should have itself dispelled any false view of Mimesis as mere copying.² Plato had already held that music is an imitation of character, and indeed this view was unchallenged until the Epicureans denied the moral influence of that art.³ In poetry, as in other arts, it is the" likeness "that gives pleasure, but this likeness may represent men either as better than they are (in Homer and Sophocles) or worse, or as they are.⁴ As to the nature of æsthetic satisfaction, Aristotle brings it heavily to earth from the heaven in which Plato had placed his architypal Beauty. The pleasure lies simply in observing the likeness—" that is he." This explanation at least accounted for the fact that objects (such as corpses), which we see with pain, give pleasure when represented by art. The cause of the pleasure is purely intellectual, depending on the recognition of the likeness, although Aristotle seems dimly to feel that this philosophic satisfaction is not quite adequate, so that he is forced to add that, if you have not seen the original, the pleasure will be due to the execution, or the colour, or some such cause.¹ But this is merely a passing suggestion; as far as possible, æsthetic pleasure must be rooted in the intellect.

If poetry is a form of intellectual pleasure, it follows that the poet must be fully conscious of his own meaning. Aristotle implicitly throws over the whole Platonic theory of the poet's ignorance and his transient "possession." The doctrine of inspiration—it is true—had become so traditional, that Aristotle himself appears to accept it, without qualification, in one passage of the Rhetoric,² But, in the Poetics, his more considered judgment is that poetry is the product of natural ability (εὐφυΐα) or ecstasy,³ and the whole treatise really rests on the former alternative. The "mania" is no temporary enthusiasm, but permanent and conscious ability. Dryden was no doubt unscholarly—according to modern canons of scholarship—in correcting Aristotle's or to not (ἤ to oὐ); ⁴ but he probably did the philosopher no injustice, for the "wit" of English Augustans is exactly what Aristotle demanded as the manifestation of natural ability, wholly removed from enthusiasm.

Poetry, then, is the art of evoking the emotions (or certain emotions) which must be checked by reason. The tragic poet knows what he feels, putting the scene before his eyes, and even acting the story with his own gestures—advice which had become a commonplace by the time of Horace.¹ He is an imitative artist in the medium of words. But, as all arts are imitative, in different ways and degrees, it remained for Aristotle to define the specific character of poetry. It springs from two causes, of which one (imitation) is an instinct shared by the whole class, while the other (common also to the allied arts of music and dancing) is the instinct for rhythm.² In stressing this second cause, he agrees with Plato, who had held that the perception of rhythm and harmony was a divine gift, not shared by low...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Original Title
• PREFACE
• Contents
• I. EARLY CRITICISM
• II. ARISTOPHANES
• III. PLATO
• IV. ARISTOTLE
• V. ARISTOTLE (continued)
• VI. ALEXANDRINE CRITICISM
• VII. GRÆCO-ROMAN CRITICISM
• VIII. LONGINUS
• INDEX