Summary
Aristotle addresses a number of the criticisms that can be leveled against
poetry. First among these is the accusation that the events depicted are
impossible. This criticism can fall under two categories. Less grave describes
the event if the impossibility arises from a lack of technical knowledge on the
part of the poet. For instance, he may describe a horse galloping with both
front legs thrown forward, not realizing that horses do not move like this. More
grave describes the situation if the impossibility arises from the poet's
inability to give an accurate description of something he knows quite well.
Aristotle answers that, often, impossible events—such as Homer's
description of Achilles' pursuit of Hector in the
Iliad—serve to heighten the astonishment and
excitement of the story. When the poet can achieve similar effects while staying
within the realm of possibility, however, this route should be preferred.
Aristotle lays out the general principle that a poet should always aim for a
convincing impossibility in favor of an unconvincing possibility.
Further, not all poetry is meant to describe things as they are. Some poets
describe things as they ought to be, and others write to accord themselves with
popular opinion rather than realism. For instance, Sophocles
claimed that while Euripides portrayed people as they are, he
portrayed them as they ought to be. Other poets stay true to popular myths
rather than realism when depicting the gods.
As for events that are not impossible but merely improbable, the poet must show
either that they accord with opinion or that the events are not as improbable as
they may seem.
Aristotle also discusses contradictions the poet might make in language, but
this discussion is very difficult to follow without a knowledge of ancient
Greek. Basically, Aristotle suggests that what may at first seem to be a
contradiction in language may result from a metaphorical usage or some other
poetic device.
While many errors are excusable or explainable, Aristotle asserts that the only
excuse for an improbable plot or unattractive characterization is if they are
necessary or are put to good use. Otherwise, they should be avoided at all
costs.
In Chapter 26, Aristotle addresses the question of which is the higher form,
tragedy or epic poetry. The argument in favor of epic poetry is based on the
principle that the higher art form is less vulgar and addressed toward a refined
audience. Tragedy is performed before large audiences, which results in
melodramatic performances or overacting to please the crowds. Epic poetry is
more cultivated than tragedy because it does not rely on gesture at all to
convey its message.
Aristotle answers this argument by noting that the melodrama and overacting are
faults of the performance and not of the tragic poet himself. The recital of
epic poetry could similarly be overdone without reflecting poorly on the poet.
Further, not all movement is bad—take dance, for instance—but only
poorly executed movement. Also, tragedy does not need to be performed; it can be
read, just like epic poetry, and all its merits will still be evident.
Further, he advances several reasons for considering tragedy superior. First, it
has all the elements of an epic poem and has also music and spectacle, which the
epic lacks. Second, simply reading the play without performing it is already
very potent. Third, tragedy is shorter, suggesting that it is more compact and
will have a more concentrated effect. Fourth, there is more unity in tragedy, as
evidenced by the fact that a number of tragedies can be extracted from one epic
poem.
Analysis
There are some seeming contradictions in Aristotle's view regarding impossible
or improbable events. On the one hand, he claims that they can enhance a story
by making it more astonishing. He warns that they can strain a story's
credibility if overdone, but he does seem to applaud their prudent application.
On the other hand, Aristotle is firmly insistent on the unity of plot, which
demands that events be connected by a probable or necessary causal sequence.
How, then, can improbable, or even impossible, events be an acceptable part of
this sequence? In Chapter 24, Aristotle asserts that a story should never
contain improbable events. If a plot would be ruined by removing these
improbable events, then that just reflects poorly on the plot. If the improbable
events can be removed, then it is absurd to include them in the first place.
A clue to solving this problem lies in a claim Aristotle makes just before the
passage alluded to in Chapter 24, and again near the end of Chapter 25: a
convincing impossibility is preferable to an unconvincing possibility. The key,
it seems, is not so much that the sequence of the plot be true to life but that
it be plausible. When Aristotle condemns improbable events, he is primarily
concerned with events in the plot that seem out of place. Provided the plot
maintains its own internal logic, it can get away with depicting the improbable.
We might link this discussion of plot to what Aristotle says about inconsistency
in character: a character may behave inconsistently provided he is consistent in
his inconsistency. That is, we should be able to perceive an internal logic that
drives the character to irrational behavior. Similarly, a plot may be improbable
provided it is convincing in its improbabilities. All good science fiction
writers know that they can depict the improbable provided they do so in a
consistent and convincing manner.
Aristotle's argument in Chapter 26 that tragedy is superior to epic poetry comes
in three waves. First, he lists all the arguments given in favor of epic poetry.
Second, he cancels all these arguments out, mostly by showing that they are
leveled against the performance of tragedy rather than anything in the genre
itself. Third, he lists the advantages that tragedy has over epic poetry, which
can be boiled down to two main points: (1) tragedy has all the elements of epic
poetry and then some, and (2) tragedy is more condensed and so has a more
concentrated effect.
These two points are quite valid when we bear in mind that both tragedy and epic
poetry aim at arousing the emotions of pity and fear. Music and spectacle can
certainly add to emotional effect, which gives tragedy an edge that epic poetry
lacks. Also, if the effect of tragedy is more concentrated, it can provide a
more powerful emotional punch. Abraham Lincoln's
Gettysburg Address is so powerful partly because it is so short: there are no
boring bits, and the effect is immediate. We might say the same thing about the
brevity of the Poetics itself: it's a far better read than lengthy
manuals on literary theory.
On the other hand, we might question Aristotle's dismissal of the arguments in
favor of epic poetry. Granted, they are all directed against the performance of
tragedy while Aristotle is more interested in the poetry itself. But we might
ask to what extent the performance can be distinguished from the poetry. That
is, if there is better epic poetry around than tragedy, what meaning is there in
arguing that tragedy is an inherently better genre? For instance, we could make
a number of arguments in favor of comic books as a genre. Just as tragedy has
all the elements of epic poetry and then some, comics have all the elements of
prose fiction (words) and then some (they have pictures as well). Comics are
also usually much shorter than books, meaning that they should be able to back a
more concentrated punch. There are many more arguments we could make in favor of
comics as a genre, but the fact remains that very few comics approach the
sophistication or quality of a good novel. This should not reflect poorly on
comics as a genre, but it might lead us to question how valuable it is to praise
a genre in the abstract without looking at the products of that genre.
Of course, the fact is, Greek tragedy has produced a number of masterworks, and
posterity suggests that no Greek epic poet after Homer approached the great
tragedians in terms of quality. But this seems to be more of an argument in
favor of the tragedies that have been written rather than favoring the genre in
the abstract.
