on the four things producing an effect of wonder according to aristotle

7/29/2019 On the Four Things Producing an Effect of Wonder According to Aristotle

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On the Four Things Producing an Effect of

Wonder According to Aristotle

(c) 2013 Bart A. Mazzetti

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Introduction

In my preceding paper,1 I have argued that the last discrete section of Chapter 9 should

come right after the treatment of the right size for the plot; then gave a reason why the pre-ceding part, on the task of the poet, would come next; then, in a final note, qualified that

judgment by pointing out that an additional passage concerning what produces an effect of

wonder found in our Chapter 24 may be fitted between the two, a subject to which I nowturn.

In what follows, I shall begin with what the last section of my reordered text, followed bythe passage from Chapter 24 (itself requiring a single reordering of its parts), before appen-

ding certain notes explaining their interrelations.

1 Perfect and Whole: Aristotle on the Structure of the Plot (Papers In Poetics 1).

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REORDERED TEXT FROM CHAPTERS 9 & 24

1.Poetics ch. 9 (1452a 2-11):

But since tragedy is not only the imitation of a perfect action, but also of things evokingfear and pity, but they become such to the greatest extent when, contrary to expectation, they

are accomplished through each other [para ten doxan di allela], . For then they will have more of the wonderful [thau-

maston] than if by chance and luck, since even in things broughtabout by luck, these seem most wonderful whenever they appear to have been accomplished

as though [10] by design [hsper epitdes phainetai gegonenai], as, for instance, the statueof Mitys of Argo killed the man responsible for Mitys death, falling upon him while he was

looking at it; for such things seem not to have happened at random. And so such plots of

necessity are more beautiful.1

2.Poetics ch. 24 (1460a 13-18; 1460a 27-1460b 1):

It is necessary therefore in tragedies to produce thewonderful, but what is irrational [a-logos],2through which the wonderful itself chiefly comes about, is more permissible in epic

because one does not behold the person doing something; seeing that [15] the circumstances

concerning the pursuit of Hector [Hektoros dioxis],3 if they were accomplished on the stage,

would appear laughablethese men standing around and not pursuing, but ges-

turing but they escape notice in verses.

Now on the one hand, those things that are impossible but likely are preferable to those

that are possible but incredible;4 but on the other, the stories should not be constructed from

irrational parts, but to the greatest extent possible they should have nothing irrational. If

not, at least they should be outside the plot as represented [exo tou muthematos], such as

Oedipus not knowing how Laius died; but not within [30] the drama itself, as in the Electra,

the one giving an account of the Pythian games, 5or in the Mysians, the man who came toMysia from Tegea without making a sound.6

1 By way of anticipating our argument below, that such things are possible is clear since, if they were not,

they would not have happened. Nevertheless, they are quite unlikely, and therefore difficult to believe. Cf.

Aristotles remark below on the assigning of names in tragedy, as opposed to the practice of comic poets.2 Cf.Phys., VIII. 1 (252a 10-23) where Aristotle explains that, since nature is a principle of order in things,

nothing disordered is natural. But that which is unnatural by having no order has no logos orratiothat is, it

is alogos or irrational. Hence, inasmuch as the comparison of one thing with another is the proper and con-

natural act of reason (cf. S.Th., Ia-IIae, q. 32, art. 8, c.), whatever does not admit of such comparison will bedeemed irrational; that is, what is without reason, or inexplicable, or unaccountable, or illogical.3 Cf.Il.22. 205.4 That is, unbelievable [apithanon]; a remark making it clear that the unlikely and the incredible are, in some

sense at least, interchangable. Note also that the examples he gives here illustrate something irrational in thecomposition of the incidents precisely because they involve something impossible, thereby rendering them

errors against the poetic art as such, as I explain in my separate treatment of Chapter 15.5

Cf. the note ad loc. by W. H. Fyfe (cf. Aristotle.Aristotle in 23 Volumes, Vol. 23, translated by W. H. Fyfe.

Cambridge and London, 1932): In Sophocles'Electra the plot hinges on a false story of Orestes' death by an

accident at the Pythian games. Presumably the anachronism shocked Aristotle. That is to say, the games had

not yet been established.6

Cf. Malcolm Heaths note (cf. Aristotle: Poetics [London, 1996. Penguin Classics]), p. 60: Aeschylus

and Sophocles both wrote a play entitled Mysians, concerned with Telephus; because of the blood-guilt in-

curred by the killing of his uncle, he could speak to no one in the course of his lengthy journey.

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And so to say that the plot would be ruined [ifthe irrational things were removed] is laugh-

able: for such things ought not to be composed in the first place.

But if [35] be laid down, and it appear that it could have been worked

out more in accord with reason, it will also be absurd [atopon],1 since the irrational thingsin the Odysseyabout the manner of exposure2would clearly be intolerable

if a bad poet will have produced them. [1460b] As it is, the poet conceals the absurdity by

rendering it pleasing through other excellences.

3.Poetics ch. 24 (1460a 18-26):

The wonderful, however, pleases. Its sign is that all men recount a deed by adding to it in

order to gratify [their hearers].3

But Homer chiefly taught others how one must tell a lie. And this is [20] paralogism [false

reasoning]. For men suppose that, this existing or being done when that is or is done, if what

comes after is, the first also is or comes to be; but this is false. The reason is that, even if the

first is false, still, when the thing that comes after exists, it is supposed mustexist or be done. For when we know this is true, our souls falsely reason [sc. paralogize] that

the first is also true. An example of this is the Washing [25] [i.e. the Bath-Scene in the

Odyssey].4

N.B. For the connections the following passage has the preceding, see further below.

1Cp. Proclus Diadochus, Commentaries of Proclus on the Timaeus of Plato (1829 Vol. 1). Translated by

Thomas Taylor. p. 67:

But the word surprising (atopon) manifests that which happens contrary to expectation, as in the

Gorgias, It is surprising, O Socrates, (atopa ge w Swxrathj); or that which is paradoxical, as in

the Crito, What a surprising dream, Socrates; (wj atopon enupion Swxrathj); or the wonderful,

as in the Theaetetus, And it is not surprising, but it would be much more wonderful, if it were not a

thing of this kind. (kai ouden ge atopon, allal polu qaumasstoteron ei mh toiotoj en. )

2 I.e. since he had been set down asleep on the shore of Ithaca. Cf. Fyfes note ad loc.: Hom. Od. 13.116ff.It seemed to the critics inexplicable that Odysseus should not awake when his ship ran aground at the harbourof Phorcys in Ithaca and the Phaeacian sailors carried him ashore.3 But what men add is to muthodes, fabulous or incredible marvels, as with mythical creatures like the cen-

taur or chimera, or mythologems like the divine descent of Achilles or Herakles, for which see my discussion

below. And note here that, as will be explained below, the rationale producing this species of the wonderful

consists in what is not only impossible but also unlikely, being impossible to nature as such, rather than just

to human nature, as one grants the existence of the Land of Oz or the Wonderland of the Alice books, and so

differs from the preceding case. Cf. the next note.4

Cf. Fyfes note ad loc.:

Odyssey 19. Odysseus tells Penelope that he is a Cretan from Gnossus, who once entertained O. on

his voyage to Troy. As evidence, he describes O.'s dress and his companions (Hom. Od. 19.164-260).

P. commits the fallacy of inferring the truth of the antecedent from the truth of the consequent: If hisstory were true, he would know these details; But he does know them; Therefore his story is true.

The artist in fiction uses the same fallacy, e.g.: If chessmen could come to life the white knightwould be a duffer; But he is a most awful duffer (look at him!); Therefore chessmen can come to

life. He makes his deductions so convincing that we falsely infer the truth of his hypothesis.

Note that Fyfes example from Through the Looking-Glass belongs rather to the preceding case inasmuch as

the antecedent is impossible to nature as such, but the consequent is made to appear to follow, whereas one

paralogizes when the antecedent is possible but the consequent does not follow (being what logicians call the

fallacy of the consequent, as Fyfe notes).

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CONTINUATION

4.Poetics ch. 9 (1451a 361451b 33) (tr. B.A.M.):

But it is also apparent from what has been said that the task of the poet is to relate, not

what has happened,1 but the sort of thing that might happen [hoia an genoito]that is,

what is possible in accordance with likelihood ornecessity [kai ta dunata kata to eikos to

anankaion]. For the historian and the poet differ not by [the one] speaking in verse [and the

other] not, [1451b] (for Herodotus put in verse would be no less a historian in verse than notin verse), but they differ in this, namely, that the one relates what has happened [5], but the

other the sort of thing that might happen [ti ton men ta genomena legein, ton de hoia angenoito]. For this reason, poetry is more philosophical and more serious than history; for

poetry relates rather the universal [poisis mallon ta katholou], whereas history, the par-

ticular [h d' historia ta kath' hekaston legei]. But universal, in fact, is the sort of thing a

certain sort of man happens to say or do according to what is likely or necessary [ estin de

katholou men, ti poii ta poia atta sumbainei legein prattein kata to eikos to anan-

kaion], and [10] poetry aims at this sort of thing when it assigns names; but particular [ to

de kath' hekaston] is what Alcibiades did or suffered.

But in comedy this has already become clear. For, having constructed plots from things

that are likely [dia ton eikoton], they thus suppose any chance names and do not, like thecomposers of iambos, make them about a particular [15] man. But in tragedy they hold to

names that have already occurred. The reason is that the possible is believable. Things that

have not happened, in fact, we are not apt to believe possible; but it is obvious that what has

already happened is possible; for if it were impossible it would not have happened.Now, although in tragedies one [20] or two names are more known [or famous], the

others are made up; but in certain [works] none of them [are known,] as in the Antheus of

Agathon. For in a like manner in this [work] the things done as well as the names are made

up, and nevertheless they give pleasure. For this reason, one must not seek to adhere entirelyto the traditional stories, which tragedies [25] are about. For it is ridiculous to seek this out

since such known names are known to few, yet they give pleasure to everyone.

So it is clear from these things that a poet [or maker] ought to be the poet [or maker]of plots rather than of verses, since he is a poet according to imitation, and what he imitates

are actions. Therefore, although one fashion things that have occurred, [30] he is no less a

poet; for nothing prevents certain things that have happened from being the sort of things

that are likely to happen, and according to this he is their poet.

N.B. I turn now to my notes explaining the foregoing rationales.

1 Cf. the example of the statue of Mitys in the first excerpted passage of our reordered text; the anecdote con-

cerning it, as noted above, being an example of something that has happened but which is highly unlikely.But here in the present passage, Aristotle argues that such occurrences are not the concern of the poet as

such, but rather the sort of thing that mighthappen in accordance with what is either necessary or likely. Onthe other hand, as the Philosopher also points out in Chapter 18 (cf. 1456a 24-25), even unlikely things have

a certain likelihood of happening, so that even seldom-occurring events such as the death of Mitys murderer

may come under the rationale of the poetic, for which reason no contradiction arises. Hence we observe the

intimate connection between these passages (both transmitted as parts of Chapter 9, but in the wrong order),

the unity of which is not impaired by the intervening treatment of three additional cases of what produces an

effect of wonder but merely momentarily delayed, for which reason it is at least possible that they were or-

iginally found together. See our final section below.

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The four rationales producing the wonderful according to Aristotle

1. The division of what produces an effect of wonder:

N.B. Inasmuch as every primary division is into two or three, but the number of rationalesat which we have arrived above is four, there must be a more basic division presupposed to

them. In this regard, cf. Aristotle, Mechanical Problems (847a 11-24) (tr. W. S. Hett; rev.

B.A.M.):

Remarkable things [or things to be wondered at, thaumazetai] happen in accordance with

nature, the cause of which is unknown, and others occur contrary to nature, which are

produced by skill for the benefit of mankind. For in many cases nature produces effects

against [15] our advantage; for nature is always disposed in the same way and simply, but

our advantage changes in many ways.When, then, we have to produce an effect contrary to nature, we are at a loss, because of

the difficulty, and stand in need of skill. Therefore we call that part of skill which assists

such difficulties, a device. [20] For as the poet Antiphon wrote, this is true:

We by skill gain mastery over things in which we are conquered by nature.

Of this kind are those in which the lesser master the greater, and things possessing little

moment move great weights, and all similar devices which we name mechanical problems.

Division of remarkable things (= things to be wondered at):

a. Things which happen according to nature, but whose causes remain hiddenb. Things which happen contrary to nature, but are the result of skill (caused by

man for his own benefit)

2. The four things producing an effect of wonder according to the foregoing principles:

(a) Things which happen according to nature, but whose causes remain hidden:

(1) What is possible but unlikely, and hence incredible (rational, but appearing irration-

al insofar as one cannot account for what happens: such things happening unex-

pectedly but on account of each other, thepara tes doxan di allela): ch. 9 (1452a 2-11)

(b) Things which happen contrary to nature, but are the result of skill (caused by man):

(2) What is impossible but likely, and hence credible (irrational insofar as the antece-

dent is impossible, but the consequent follows as if it were true: the composing of

the impossible): ch. 24 (1460a 13-18; 1460a 27-1460b 1)(3) What is both impossible and unlikely, and hence incredible, but given belief inas-

much as the effect of wonder it produces is pleasing: what the poet adds in order to

gratify his hearers1 (irrational insofar as the antecedent is impossible and the con-sequent is granted simply because it makes a good story): ch. 24 (1460a 11)

1 As with tall tales about witches and centaurs and chimerae and the like. For the justification of my formula-

tion, cf. the excerpt from Donald Lemen Clark below.

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(4) What is possible, but untrue (= what is credible, and hence deemed likely) (irration-

al insofar as the antecedent is possible, but the consequent does not follow; theright way for a poet to tell a lie, false reasoning, orparalogismos): ch. 24 (1460a

19-26)

3. On producing the wonderful by composing what is impossible but likely:

Cf. Aristotle,Poetics ch. 24 (1460a 26-1460b 5):

Now on the one hand, those things that are impossible but likely [adunata eikota] are prefer-

able to those that are possible but incredible [dunata apithana]; but on the other hand, the

stories should not be constructed from irrational parts, but to the greatest extent possible they

should have nothing irrational.

Cf. Aristotle,Poetics ch. 25 (1461b 10-11):

For with respect to the making of poetry, a credible impossibility is preferable to one that is

incredible, yet possible.

Cf. Aristotle,Poetics ch. 25 (1460b 22-30):

First, then, impossible things that have been composed according to the art itself are errors,

but those things correctly which attain the end of the art; for we have

[25] stated the end, if in this way itself or any other part be made more striking

[ekplektikoteron]; for example, the pursuit of Hector [Hektoros dioxis]. If, however, the end

could have been brought about as well or better according to the art concerning these things,

incorrectly; for, if possible, one must err [30] wholly not at all.

Cf. Rhetoric and Poetry in the Renaissance: A Study of Rhetorical Terms in English Re-

naissance Literary Criticism, Donald Lemen Clark, Ph.D. Assistant Professor of Englishin Columbia University. 1922. Chapter II. Classical Poetic. 1. Aristotle:1

Aristotle goes so far as to say that probability, not actuality, controls the structure of a narra-

tive or dramatic plot in that, what follows should be the necessary or probable result of the

preceding action,23 even to the extent that the poet should prefer probable impossibilities toimprobable possibilities, for by a logical fallacy even an irrational premise in an action may

seem probable provided that the conclusion is logical and made to seem real. 24 For instance,

the irrational elements in the Odyssey are presented to the imagination with such vividness

and coherence that the impossible becomes plausible; the fiction looks like truth.25 Such a

result occurs only when the characters and action are made real. We believe that which we

see, even though we know in our hearts that it is not so.

23.Ibid., X, 3. [presumably Chapter IX, not X is meant (B.A.M.)]

24. Ibid., XXIV, 9-10. [That is to say, the antecedent is impossible, but the consequent ismade to appear to follow. (B.A.M.)]

25. Butcher, op. cit. p. 392. [see the next entry (B.A.M.)]

Cf. also S. H. Butcher, Aristotles Theory of Poetry and Fine Art (London, 1911; rpt.

Dover, 1951), pp. 172-173:

1 (http://library.beau.org/gutenberg/1/0/1/4/10140/10140-h/10140-h.htm [2/21/05])

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At the outset the poet must be allowed to make certain primary assumptions and create his

own environment. Starting from these poetic datathe presuppositions of the imagination

he may go whither he will, and carry us with him, so long as he does not dash us against the

prosaic ground of fact.1 He [172-173] feigns certain imaginary persons, strange situations,

incredible adventures. By vividness of narrative and minuteness of detail, and, above all, by

the natural sequence of incident and motive, things are made to happen exactly as they

would have happened had the fundamental fiction been fact. The effects are so plausible, so

life-like, that we yield ourselves instinctively to the illusion, and infer the existence of the

supposed cause. For the time being we do not pause to dispute the prw=ton yeu=doj ororiginal falsehood on which the whole fabric is reared.

Cf. Thomas Twining, Aristotles Treatise on Poetry (London, 1815), excerpt from Note

222, pp. 486-488:

The similitude of the logical and poetic sophism appears to me to be this. It is not merely,

that, where there is a mixture of history and fiction, the truth makes the fiction pass; but the

comparison, I think, relates to the connection between the fictions of the Poet, considered as

cause and effect, as antecedent and consequent. The Poet invents certain extraordinary

characters, incidents, and situations. When the actions and the language of those characters,

and, in general, the consequences of those events, or situations, as drawn out into detail by

the Poet, are such as we know, or think, to be truethat is to say, poetically true, ornatural;such, as we are satisfied must necessarily, or would probably, follow, if such characters and

situations actually existed; this probability, nature or truth, of representation, imposes on us,

sufficiently for the purposes of Poetry. It induces us to believe, with hypothetic and

voluntary faith, the existence of those false events, and imaginary personages, those, a)dun-

ata, a)loga, yeudhthose marvellous and incredible fictions, which, otherwise managed,

we should have rejected: that is, their improbability, or impossibility, would have so forced

themselves upon our notice, as to destroy, or disturb, even the slight and willing illusion of

the moment.Whenever, says the philosopher, supposingsuch a thing to be, it would certainly be fol-

lowed by such effects; if we see those effects, we are disposed to infer the existence of the

cause. And thus, in Poetry, and all fiction, this is the logic of that temporary imposition on

which depends our pleasure. The reader of a play, or a novel, does not, indeed, syllogize, andsay to himselfSuch beings are here supposed, had they existed, must have acted and

spoken exactly in this manner; therefore I believe they have existed:but hefeels the truth

of the premises, and he consents to feel the truth of the conclusion; he does not revolt from

the imagination of such beings. Everything follows so naturally, and, even, as it seems, so

necessarily, that the probability and truth of nature, in the consequences, steals, in a manner,

from our view, even the impossibility of the cause, and flings an air of truth over the whole.

With respect to fact, indeed, all is equally yeu=doj; for if the causes exist not, neither can

the effects. But the consequent lies are so told, as to impose on us, for the moment, the belief

of the antecedent, or fundamental lie.d

d Hobbes, with his usual acuteness, observes, that probable fiction is similar to reasoning

rightly from a false principle.p. 13, of his works, Sect. 9.

N.B. I will return to the poetic paralogism below, but will treat the preceding case first.

1Cp. C.S. Lewis, On Science Fiction (1955), in On Stories and Other Essays on Literature, ed. Walter

Hooper (New York, 1966), p. 65, who, speaking of instances of fantastic fiction, remarks, In all these the

impossibility is, as I have said, a postulate, something to be granted before the story gets going. Within that

frame we inhabit the known world and are as realistic as anyone else.

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4. On what is added to a story in order to gratify ones hearers:

On the narration of things happening unexpectedly but because of each other, cf. Aristotle,

Rhet.,I. 11,(1371a 31-33) (tr. B.A.M.):

And since learning [manthanein] and wondering [thaumazein] are pleasing, such things as

works of imitation must also be pleasing; for instance, the arts of painting and sculpture and

the poetic art, and everything well imitated, even if what is imitated itself is not pleasing; for

it is not such a thing that causes pleasure, but there is a syllogizing [sc. drawing inferences]that this is that, and thus it happens that one learns something. And reversals [i.e. sudden

turns of fortune] and hairs-breadth escapes from danger [are pleasing]; for all such thingsare to be wondered at [thaumasta].

Cf.Rhet., III. 2 (1404b 9-10) (tr. B.A.M.):

For the way in which men in regard to strangers and fellow-citizens, so also do they

feel in regard to language. And so one should make his language strange [or unfamiliar,

zenon], for men wonder at things remote, but the wonderful [tothaumaston] is pleasing.

Cf. Aristotle,Poetics ch. 24 (1460a 17-18) (tr. B.A.M.):

But the wonderful [to thaumaston] is pleasing. Its sign is that all men recount a deed byadding to it [prostithentes] it in order to gratify [charizomenoi, sc. their hearers].

Cf. Origen, Contra Celsum, ANF Vol. 4 (Buffalo, 1886) (tr. Frederick Crombie), I. 42 :

Before we begin our reply, we have to remark that the endeavour to show, with regard to

almost any history, however true, that it actually occurred, and to produce an intelligent con-

ception regarding it, is one of the most difficult undertakings that can be attempted, and is insome instances an impossibility. For suppose that someone were to assert that there never

had been any Trojan war, chiefly on account of the impossible narrative interwoven there-

with, about a certain Achilles being the son of a sea-goddess Thetis and of a man Peleus, or

Sarpedon being the son of Zeus, or Ascalaphus and Ialmenus the sons of Ares, or Aeneasthat of Aphrodite, how should we prove that such was the case, especially under the weight

of the fiction attached, I know not how, to the universally prevalent opinion that there was

really a war in Ilium between Greeks and Trojans? And suppose, also, that someone disbe-

lieved the story of Oedipus and Jocasta, and of their two sons Eteocles and Polynices,

because the sphinx, a kind of half-virgin, was introduced into the narrative, how should we

demonstrate the reality of such a thing? And in like manner also with the history of the Epi-

goni,1 although there is no such marvellous event interwoven with it, or with the return of

the Heracleidae,2 or countless other historical events.

But he who deals candidly with histories, and would wish to keep himself also from being

imposed upon by them, will exercise his judgment as to what statements he will give his

1 That is, a recounting of the expedition of the sons of the seven against Thebes and the sack of Troy.2

Cf. Mosaics of Grecian History by Marcius Willson and Robert Pierpont Willson (New York, 1883), p.

127:

About twenty years after the Thessalian conquest, the Dorians, who had frequently changed their

homes, and had finally settled in a mountainous region on the south of Thessaly, commenced a migra-

tion to the Peloponnesus, accompanied by portions of other tribes, and led, as was asserted, by de-

scendants of Hercules, who had been deprived of their dominions in the latter country, and who had

hitherto made several unsuccessful attempts to recover them. This important event in Grecian history

is therefore called the Return of the Heraclid.

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assent to, and what he will accept figuratively, seeking to discover the meaning of the

authors of such inventions, and from what statements he will withhold his belief, as having

been written for the gratification of certain individuals.1 And we have said this by way of

anticipation respecting the whole history related in the Gospels concerning Jesus, not as

inviting men of acuteness to a simple and unreasoning faith, but wishing to show that there is

need of candour in those who are to read, and of much investigation, and, so to speak, of

insight into the meaning of the writers, that the object with which each event has been

recorded may be discovered.

For an additional rendering, cf. Origen, Contra Celsus I. 42 (tr. Robert Lamberton):

He who approaches the stories generously and wishes to avoid being misled in reading them

will decide which parts he will believe, and which he will interpret allegorically, sear-ching

out the intentions of the authors of such fictions [to boulemeuna ereunon ton ana-

plasamenon], and which he will refuse to believe, and will consider simply as things written

to please someone [pros tinas charin anangegrammenois]. And having said this, we have

been speaking in anticipation, about the whole story of Jesus in the Gospels. We do not urge

the intelligent in the direction of simple and irrational faith, but wish to advise them thatthose who are going to read this story need to be generous in their approach and will require

a great deal of insight and, if I may call it that, power of penetration into the meaning of the

Scriptures in order that the intention with which each passage was written may be dis-covered.

Note the division Origen makes:

what is to be believed: i.e. history

what is to be interpreted allegorically or figuratively: i.e. enigmatic myth

what is not to be believed, but has been written in order to gratify someone: i.e. to

muthodes (the fabulous or mythical), comprising an impossible narrative, as

with epic poems recounting the divine parentage of heroes like Achilles and

Aeneas, and the Sphinx in the tale of Oedipus (= what is impossible, as well as

unbelievable to some, but nevertheless taken on faith by the many)

As noted above, such things come under the rationale of what is impossible as well as in-credible, but admitted by the hearer inasmuch as it makes a good story (as if one were to

say, thus runs the tale, etc.; sc. things men say, such as about the gods, Poet. 25, 1460b

35-61a 1). In my view, myth properly so called embraces the last two members of this

division: the first member being history; the second member, what I have called enig-

matic myth; that is, the symbolic representation of the wonders of nature (= an untrue

story illustrating a truth; the third member being to muthodes, comprising the fanciful

embellishment char-acteristic of popular myth, fable, and legend.

5. On the practice of Homer as representative of the poets desire to gratify his hearers, cf.Strabo, Geogr., 1.2.9 (tr. Horace Leonard Jones), pp. 71-72:

1Cp. David Hume, Of Tragedy (1757):

We find that common liars always magnify, in their narrations, all kinds of danger, pain, distress,

sickness, deaths, murders, and cruelties; as well as joy, beauty, mirth, and magnificence. It is an ab-

surd secret, which they have for pleasing their company, fixing their attention, and attaching them to

such marvellous relations, by the passions and emotions, which they excite.

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9. Now inasmuch as Homer referred his myths to the province of education, he was wont

to pay considerable attention to the truth. And he mingled therein [Il. 8. 14 ] a false ele-

ment also, giving his sanction to the truth, but using the false to win the favour of the popu-

lace and to out-general the masses. [71-72] And as when some skilful man overlays gold

upon silver, [Od. 6. 232] just so was Homer wont to add a mythical element [prosetithai

muthon] to actual occurrences [alethesi peripiteias, = really occurring reversals or

dramatic turns of events which have happened], thus giving flavour and adornment to his

style [hedonon kai kosmon ten phasin, lit. giving pleasure and ornamentation to what is

said]; but he has the same end in view as the historian or the person who narrates facts. So,for instance, he took the Trojan war, an historical fact [gegonota], and decked it out with his

myths [ekosmese tais muthopoiias, = adorned it with story-telling, or myth-making]; andhe did the same in the case of the wanderings of Odysseus; but to hang an empty story of

marvels [kenon teratologian] on something wholly untrue is not Homers way of doing

things. For it occurs to us at once, doubtless, that a man will lie [pseudoito] more plausibly

[pithanoteron] if he will mix in some actual truth [alethinon], just as Polybius says, when heis discussing the wanderings of Odysseus. This is what Homer himself means when he says

of Odysseus: So he told many lies in the likeness of truth; for Homer does not say all but

many lies; since otherwise they would not have been in the likeness of truth. Accord-

ingly, he took the foundations of his stories from history.

For an additional rendering, cf. Strabo, Geogr., 1.2.9 (In: Roos Meijering, Literary andRhetorical Theories in Greek Scholia (Groningen, 1987). p. 60:

It was because Homer regarded his fables as educative that he thought so much of the truth,

while also placing therein some falsehoods. The truth he himself accepted; the false heused to manage and command the multitude. Like a man that covers silver with gold,

Homer added fable to real events, embellishing and adorning his style, but looking to the

same end as the historian or the dealer in facts. Thus he added fabulous elements to the real

event of the Trojan war, and so also with Odysseus wanderings.

Cf. Strabo, Geogr., 1.2.15, (apudPolybius, The Histories. LCL, Harvard, 1917):

Having thus prepared his way, he does not allow us to treat Aeolus and the whole of thewanderings of Ulysses as mythical, but he says, that while some mythical elements have

been added, as in the case of the Trojan war, the main statements about Sicily correspond to

those of the other writers who treat of the local history of Italy and Sicily. Neither does heapplaud the dictum of Eratosthenes that we may find out where Ulysses travelled when we

find the cobbler who sewed the bag of the winds.

On the Odyssey in this regard:

Cf. Homer: The Odyssey. Translated by S. H. Butcher and A. Lang. With Introduction and

Notes. New York, Collier, [1909] The Harvard classics v. 22:

Introduction: Composition and Plot of the Odyssey

The Odyssey is generally supposed to be somewhat the later in date of the two most

ancient Greek poems which are concerned with the events and consequences of the Trojan

war. As to the actual history of that war, it may be said that nothing is known. We may

conjecture that some contest between peoples of more or less kindred stocks, who occupied

the isles and the eastern and western shores of the Aegean, left a strong impression on the

popular fancy. Round the memories of this contest would gather many older legends, myths,

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and stories, not peculiarly Greek or even Aryan, which previously floated unattached, or

were connected with heroes whose fame was swallowed up by that of a newer generation. It

would be the work of minstrels, priests, and poets, as the national spirit grew conscious of

itself, to shape all these materials into a definite body of tradition. This is the rule of

developmentfirst scattered stories, then the union of these into a NATIONAL legend. The

growth of later national legends, which we are able to trace, historically, has generally come

about in this fashion. To take the best known example, we are able to compare the real

history of Charlemagne with the old epic poems on his life and exploits. In these poems we

find that facts are strangely exaggerated, and distorted; that purely fanciful additions1

aremade to the true records, that the more striking events of earlier history are crowded into the

legend of Charles, that mere fairy tales, current among African as well as European peoples,are transmuted into false history, and that the anonymous characters of fairy tales are

converted into historical personages. We can also watch the process by which feigned

genealogies were constructed, which connected the princely houses of France with the

imaginary heroes of the epics.2 The conclusion is that the poetical history of Charlemagnehas only the faintest relations to the true history. And we are justified in supposing that, quite

as little of the real history of events can be extracted from the tale of Troy, as from the

Chansons de Geste.

By the time the Odyssey was composed, it is certain that a poet had before him a well-

arranged mass of legends and traditions from which he might select his materials. The authorof theIliadhas an extremely full and curiously consistent knowledge of the local traditions

of Greece, the memories which were cherished by Thebans, Pylians, people of Mycenae, of

Argos, and so on. The Iliadand the Odyssey assume this knowledge in the hearers of the

poems, and take for granted some acquaintance with other legends, as with the story of the

Argonautic Expedition. Now that story itself is a tissue of popular tales,still current in

many distant lands,but all woven by the Greek genius into the history of Iason.

The history of the return of Odysseus as told in the Odyssey, is in the same way, a tissue ofold mrchen.3 These must have existed for an unknown length of time before they gravitated

into the cycle of the tale of Troy. The extraordinary artistic skill with which legends and

myths, originally unconnected with each other, are woven into the plot of the Odyssey, so

that the marvels of savage and barbaric fancy become indispensable parts of an artisticwhole, is one of the chief proofs of the unity of authorship of that poem.

1 Purely fanciful additions being equivalent to my understanding of to muthodes as what is added to an

account in order to gratify its hearers.2 Note that it is this practice which Greek historians like Herodotus, Ephoros, and Thucydides had foremost

in their minds, a concern coincident with Aristotles and Origens examples of the divine descent of heroes: it

being just such components of supposedly fact-based accounts (as with the Trojan War in the Iliad) that

raised red flags among sophisticated readers.3

Cf. Andrew Lang, Introduction to Cinderella: Three Hundred and Forty-five Variants, by Marian Roalfe

Cox (London, 1893), p. xvi: OurOdyssey is notoriously a tissue ofmrchen. But it must be recognized that

the series of episodes properly so callednamely, the Great Wanderingsdoes not constitute the essence

of the poem, but only a part (as Langs preceding comment accurately reflects). Cf. also Stith Thompson,

The Folktale, p. 3: Odysseus entertains the court of Alcinous with the marvels of his adventures. One mustconsider here Aristotles statement of the poems plot in universal form (Poet. ch. 17, 1455b 16-23):

For the story of the Odyssey is not long: a certain man having wandered for many years, and per-

secuted by a god, and alone; but in the possessions of his household [standing] thus, that his goods are

consumed by suitors and his son made to suffer plots; but he arrives storm-tossed, and making himself

known to some and attacking others [i.e. the suitors], is himself saved, but destroys his enemies.

In this outline the words, a certain man having wandered for many years, contain merely potentially the

tissue ofmrchen comprising the folktale elements.

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6. Other authors on the mythical (to muthikon) or fabulous (to muthodes) as some-

thing added to an account:

On enigmatic myth, cf. Strabo, Geogr., 10.3.23 (= The Geography of Strabo, tr. Horace

Leonard Jones, LCL, 1924):

[23] I have been led on to discuss these people rather at length, although I am not in theleast fond of myths [hekista philomuthontes], because the facts in their case border on the

province of theology [theologikou]. And theology as a whole must examine early opinions

and myths [doxas kai muthous], since the ancients expressed enigmatically [ainit-tomenon]

the physical notions [ennoias phusikas] which they entertained concerning the facts and

always added the mythical element to their accounts [kai prostithenton aei tois logois ton

muthon].

N.B. Notice that what is added to an account here is the mythical component of enigmaticmyth, rather than the fabulous or mythical added by the storyteller solely for the sake of

the pleasure it affords. For the case of history in regard to the mythical or fabulous, cf. Jack

Goody and Ian Watt, The Consequences of Literacy, in Jack Goody, ed., Literacy in

Traditional Societies (Cambridge, 1968), p. 45:

Hecataeus, for example, proclaimed at about the turn of the century, What I write is the

account I believe to be true. For the stories the Greeks tell are many and in my opinion

ridiculous (Jacoby [F. Jacoby, Die Fragmente der Griechischen Historiker, I, Genealogie

und Mythographie, Berlin, 1923]), and offered his own rationalizations of the data on family

traditions and lineages which he had collected.

Cf. Lawrence Kim, Hecataeus of Miletus and Palaephatus on the Past: Complicating the

Ancient Rationalization of Myth:

Hecataeus opening words, I write the things that seem true to me; for the stories of the

Greeks, as they appear to me, are numerous and ridiculous (FGrH1 F 1), are customarily

taken to represent one of the earliest instances of the Greek skeptical attitude toward theirtradition (e.g., Derow in Hornblower (ed.) Greek Historiography (Oxford, 1994)). The frag-

ment is thus seen as a programmatic statement for Hecataeus historical method, to recover

the truth by eliminating the fantastic elements from myths.

This method has come to be known as rationalization (see De Sanctis, RFC11 (1933);

Nenci,Rend. Lincei 8.6 (1951); Fertonani, PP22 (1952); and the survey by Nicolai, QUCC

84 (1997)), and is illustrated, for instance, in a passage where Hecataeus moves Geryon from

Iberia (which seemed too far away for Heracles to drive cattle to Eurystheus in Mycenae) to

somewhere in the region of Ambracia and Amphilochia (F 26).

Cf. Thucydides,History of the Peloponnesian War, I, 22. 4 (tr. Charles Foster Smith):

And it may well be that the absence of the fabulous [to me muthodes] from my narrative will

seem less pleasing to the ear; but whoever shall wish to have a clear view both of the events

which have happened and of those which will some day, given human nature, happen again

in the same or a similar wayfor these to adjudge my history profitable will be enough for

me. And, indeed, it has been composed, not as a prize-essay to be heard for the moment, but

as a possession for all time.

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N.B. Whereas the Philosopher states that those recounting a deed add something in order

to gratifythat is, pleasetheir hearers, Thucydides remarks that his omission of tomuthodes, the fabulous or mythical element, will displease his hearers, implying that its

presence would please them.

Additionally, cf. Plutarch,Lives, Life of Theseus, 1. 4-5 (In: Tim Duff,Plutarchs Lives:

Exploring Virtue and Vice [Oxford, 1999], p. 18):

May it therefore be possible for me to cleanse the mythic [ to muthodes] and make it obey

reason and take on the appearance of history [historias opsin].

7. On Homeric dramatic composition1 as entering into poetic license (and hence consideredin relation to history and myth)

Cf. Strabo, Geogr. 1.2.17, (tr. Horace Leonard Jones), pp. 91-92:

Furthermore, the facts about Meninx,1 agree with what Homer says about the Lotus-Eaters.But if there be some discrepancy we must ascribe it to the changes wrought by time, or to

ignorance, or to poetic license which is compounded of history, rhetorical composition,

and myth [sunesteken ex historias kai diatheseus kai muthon]. But the aim of history is truth,as when in the Catalogue of Ships the poet mentions the topographical peculiarities of eachplace, saying of one city that it is rocky, of another that it is on the uttermost border, of

another that it is the haunt of doves, and of still another that it is by the sea; the aim of

rhetorical composition is vividness, as when Homer introduces men fighting; the aim of

myth is to please and [91-92] to excite amazement [hedonen kai ekplexin]. But to invent a

story outright [to de panta plattein, lit. to feign everything] is neither plausible [ou pitha-

non] nor like Homer;2 for everybody agrees that the poetry of Homer is a philosophic pro-

ductioncontrary to the opinion or Eratosthenes, who bids us not judge the poems with

reference to their thought, nor yet to seek history in them. And Polybius says it is more

plausible to interpret the poets words, thence for nine whole days was I borne by baneful

winds, as applying to a restricted area (for baneful winds do not maintain a straight course),

than to place the incident out on Oceanus, as though the phrase had been fair winds con-tinually blowing.

1 The island of Jerba, off the northern coast of Africa.

Note that Strabo says that the aim ofdiathesis is enargeiathat is, the end of disposition

is vividness, which is a kind of activity, or being in act. Compare the following:

Cf. Aristotle,Rhet., II. 8 (1386a 24-1386b1) (tr. W. Rhys Roberts):

Also we pity those who are like us in age, character, disposition, social standing, or birth; for

in all these cases it appears more likely that the same misfortune may befall us also. Here too

we have to remember the general principle that what we fear for ourselves excites our pity

when it happens to others.

Further, since it is when the sufferings of others are close to us that they excite our pity

(we cannot remember what disasters happened a hundred years ago, nor look forward to

1 In the following excerpt this principle is named rhetorical composition; elsewhere, it is translated dispo-

sition; the underlying Greek, as indicated, being diathesis.2 Notice the points of agreement both the passage from Origen as well as the passage from Strabo excerpted

above, namely, the first and the third members of this enumeration.

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what will happen a hundred centuries hereafter, and therefore feel little pity, if any, for such

things): it follows that those who heighten the effect of their words with suitable gestures,

tones, dress, and dramatic action generally, are especially successful in exciting pity: thus

they put disasters before our eyes, and make them seem close to us, just coming or just past.

Anything that has just happened, [1386b] or is going to happen soon, is particularly piteous:

so too therefore are the tokens and the actions of sufferersthe garments and the like of

those actually sufferingof those, for instance, who are on the point of death. Most piteous

of all is it when, in such times of trial, the victims [5] are persons of noble character: when-

ever they are so, our pity is especially excited, because their innocence, as well as the settingof their misfortunes before our eyes, makes their misfortunes close to ourselves.

8. On the poetic paralogism or fallacy of the consequent:

Cf. Aristotle,Poetics ch. 24 (1460a 19-26) (tr. B.A.M.)supra.

On the technique as proper to the art of rhetoric, cf. Aristotle, Rhet. III, 16 (1417a 36-1417b 6) (tr. W. Rhys Roberts):

Again, you must make use of the emotions. Relate the familiar manifestations of them, and

those that distinguish yourself and your opponent; for instance, he went away scowling at

me. So Aeschines described Cratylus as hissing [1417b] with fury and shaking his fists.

These details carry conviction: the audience take the truth of what they know as so much

evidence for the truth of what they do not. Plenty of such details may be found in Homer:

[5] Thus did she say: but the old woman buried her face in her hands:1

a true touch people beginning to cry do put their hands over their eyes.

1Odyssey, xix. 361

Cf. D. S. Margoliouth, The Poetics of Aristotle. Translated from the Greek into English

and from Arabic into Latin, with a revised text, introduction, commentary, glossary andonomasticon (London, New York, Toronto, 1911), pp. 24-25:

In 24 Homer is said to have taught other poets how to romance: the process is illusion.

When the existence or occurrence of one thing is regularly accompanied by the existence or

occurrence of another, people, if they find the second, suppose also the first to be real or

actual: which is a fallacy. If, therefore, the first be a fiction, but were it real, it would by law

of nature be attended by the existence or occurrence of something else, add that other thing;

for the mind, knowing the law to be true, falsely supposes that the first is real. Example:

That1 in the Bath-scene. The Bath-scene occupies more than 150 lines of Odyssey xix;

how are we to know which line furnishes the example? The formula of the quotation implies

that the example is known, and the teacher will know it, because the rest of the passage

occurs in the Rhetoric, bk. iii [1417b 5. The correct interpretation is given by Victorius]. Thesame precept is given to the romancing orator, and Homer quoted. The precept is to give

plenty of detail, because what people know is a sign to them of the truth of what they do notknow: numerous examples are to be got from Homer, and the example of the Bath-scene

adducedThus spake she, and the old dame held her face with her hands, and shed hot

tears for those who are about to weep take hold of their eyes. [Od. xix. 361]

This example takes us to a passage of the Sophistici Elenchi [172a 23], where the process

is still further explained. It is there shown that the amateur can detect the charlatan by the

consequences, which are such that a person may know them without knowing the science,

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yet cannot know the science without knowing them. He can detect the charlatan; but he

cannot make sure of the expert. Similarly here what we know is neither that Euryclea shed

tears, nor that she put her fingers to her eyes; what we do know is the law of nature whereby

those who are going to do the first do the second. Homer, by introducing the detail, satisfies

the amateurs test; he has let something known to be true accompany his statement, whence

the mind falsely concludes the truth of the statement.

1 The reading of B toutou to is evidently right.

For a more general application of this method, cf. Rhys Carpenter, Folk Tale, Fiction, and

Saga in the Homeric Epics (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1958), pp. 31-32:

It is this direct borrowing from the poets own experience and from his own surrounding

material world that I am terming Fiction. It is this which makes his re-creation of the heroic

past seem so immediately present and so vivid. Indeed, since it is fiction which imparts

verisimilitude to his scenes, we may say without fear of paradox that the more real they seem

[31-32] the more fictional they are. We may even make of this a theorem to assert that the

more an oral poet seems to know about a distant event the less he really knows about it and

the more certainly he is inventing. The Greek historian Ephoros understood and formulated

this principal very satisfactorily when he declared,

In the case of contemporary happenings we think those witnesses the most reliable who

give the greatest detail, whereas in the case of events long ago we hold that those who

thus go into detail are the least to be believed, since we consider it highly improbable that

the actions and words of men should be remembered at such length.

Herein lies a most vital distinction between saga and fiction. The one derives from the

past, while the other is mainly dependent on the present. The one is received from afar by

relay from generation to generation and grows progressively vaguer, more confused, lessaccurate; the other is created directly out of immediate experience and visible environment,

and if is altered, may thereby become yet the more up-to-date and real.

To an Ionian poet living in the ninth or eighth century B.C. the appearance and behavior of

the Mycenaean culture was hearsay, oral tradition three or four or five hundred years oldwhat I am calling Saga. We may well be skeptical of the extent or accuracy of anything such

Saga had to tell, particularly when we have once observed the use that oral literature gener-

ally makes of its saga material. Certain great events, certain picturesque or important per-

sons, the leading drift and trend of the times, with here and there some poignant detail still

adheringthese might properly have been the sum and substance of its information. When a

poet used such tradition for plot or setting of his verses, he would have to make its shadowy

remoteness present and vivid by filling in its details and dcorand illuminating its dark un-

substantiality with the sharply clear world of his own experience and time.

9. On adhering to the truth of nature while making the uncommon believable:

Cf. Thomas Hardy, Notebook entry (July 1881), from The Early Life of Thomas Hardy,1840-1891, Chapter xi:

[T]he real, if unavowed, purpose of fiction is to give pleasure by gratifying the love of the

uncommon in human experience1

1 Which is why all men recount a deed by adding to it in order to gratify [their hearers], as Aristotle

pointedly says.

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The writers problem is, how to strike the balance between the uncommon and the ordinary

so as on the one hand to give interest, on the other hand to give reality.

In working out the problem, human nature must never be made abnormal, which is

introducing incredibility. The uncommonness must be in the events, not in the characters; 1

and the writers art lies in shaping the uncommonness while disguising its unlikelihood, if it

be unlikely.2

Cf. Thomas Hardy, Notebook entry (23 February 1893), from The Later Years of Thomas

Hardy, 1892-1928 (1930), Chapter ii:

The whole secret of fiction and the dramain the constructional partlies in the adjustmentof things unusual to things eternal and universal. The novelist who knows exactly how

exceptional, and how non-exceptional, his events should be made, possesses the key to the

art.

N.B. Hardy explains why in the skillful composition of imaginative fiction what is impos-sible seems almost inevitable; this end being attained by the solution to the writers prob-

lem, namely, how to strike the balance between the uncommon and the ordinary so as on

the one hand to give interest, on the other hand to give reality; a procedure involving a

faithful representation of human nature combined with an inventive use of the extra-ordinary in the makeup of the incidents. A strikingly similar, but more detailed, account

anticipating Hardys solution will be found in the following:

Cf. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelly, Preface to Frankenstein, Or the Modern Prometheus

(1817):

Preface

The event on which this fiction is founded has been supposed, by Dr. Darwin and some of

the physiological writers of Germany, as not of impossible occurrence.3 I shall not be sup-

posed as according the remotest degree of serious faith to such an imagination; yet, in

assuming it as the basis of a work of fancy, I have not considered myself as merely weavinga series of supernatural terrors. The event on which the interest of the story depends is ex-

empt from the disadvantages of a mere tale of spectres or enchantment. It was recommended

by the novelty of the situations which it develops, and however impossible as a physical fact,affords a point of view to the imagination for the delineating of human passions more com-

prehensive and commanding than any which the ordinary relations of existing events can

yield.

I have thus endeavoured to preserve the truth of the elementary principles of human nature,

while I have not scrupled to innovate upon their combinations. TheIliad, the tragic poetry of

Greece Shakespeare in the Tempestand Midsummer Nights Dream and most especially

Milton in Paradise Lostconform to this rule; and the most humble novelist, who seeks to

confer or receive amusement from his labours, may, without presumption, apply to prose

1 Cp. Aristotle, Poet. ch. 15, on the resolution of plots needing to arise from their construction rather thanfrom the character. Cf. our paper on Plot Construction.2 But, as we have seen, this uncommonness lies in making the impossible believable in the several ways

outlined above.3 That is, according to her Introduction of 1831: Perhaps a corpse would be re-animated; galvanism had

given token of such things: perhaps the component parts of a creature might be manufactured, brought to-

gether, and endured with vital warmth. On the assumption of the first idea, one wonders where the need lies

for the second; the reanimation of an already complete body promising to be the far easier task.

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fiction a license, or rather a rule, from the adoption of which so many exquisite combinations

of human feeling have resulted in the highest specimens of poetry. The circumstance on

which my story rests was suggested in casual conversation. It was commenced partly as a

source of amusement, and partly as an expedient for exercising any untried resources of

mind. Other motives were mingled with these as the work proceeded. I am by no means

indifferent to the manner in which whatever moral tendencies exist in the sentiments or

characters it contains shall affect the reader; yet my chief concern in this respect has been

limited to the avoiding the enervating effects of the novels of the present day, and to the

exhibition of the amiableness of domestic affection, and the excellence of universal virtue.The opinions which naturally spring from the character and situation of the hero are by no

means to be conceived as existing always in my own conviction; nor is any inference justlyto be drawn from the following pages as prejudicing any philosophical doctrine of whatever

kind.

It is a subject also of additional interest to the author that this story was begun in the majesticregion where the scene is principally laid and in society which cannot cease to be regretted. I

passed the summer of 1816 in the environs of Geneva. The season was cold and rainy, and in

the evenings we crowded around a bluing wood fire and occasionally amused ourselves with

some German stories of ghosts which happened to fall into our hands. These tales excited in

us a playful desire of imitation. Two other friends (a tale from the pen of one of whom

would be far more acceptable to the public than anything I can ever hope to produce) andmyself agreed to write each a story founded on some supernatural occurrence.

The weather, however, suddenly became serene; and my two friends left me on a journey

among the Alps and lost, in the magnificent scenes which they present, all memory of their

ghostly visions. The following tale is the only one which has been completed.

Marlow, September1817

For a comparable account in regard to the composition of lyric poetry, cf. Samuel Taylor

Coleridge,Biographia Literaria XIV (London, 1817):

Occasion of the Lyrical Ballads, and the objects originally proposedPreface to the secondeditionThe ensuing controversy, its causes and acrimonyPhilosophic definitions of a

poem and poetry with scholia.

During the first year that Mr. Wordsworth and I were neighbours, our conversations turned

frequently on the two cardinal points of poetry, the power of exciting the sympathy of the

reader by a faithful adherence to the truth of nature, and the power of giving the interest of

novelty by the modifying colours of imagination. The sudden charm, which accidents of

light and shade, which moon-light or sun-set diffused over a known and familiar landscape,

appeared to represent the practicability of combining both. These are the poetry of nature.

The thought suggested itself (to which of us I do not recollect) that a series of poems mightbe composed of two sorts. In the one, the incidents and agents were to be, in part at least,

supernatural; and the excellence aimed at was to consist in the interesting of the affectionsby the dramatic truth of such emotions as would naturally accompany such situations,

supposing them real.1 And real in this sense they have been to every human being who, fromwhatever source of delusion, has at any time believed himself under supernatural agency.

For the second class, subjects were to be chosen from ordinary life; the characters and

incidents were to be such, as will be found in every village and its vicinity, where there is a

1 This is to make things impossible to nature believable, and therefore comes under the third rationale of what

produces an effect of wonder, as discussed above.

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meditative and feeling mind to seek after them, or to notice them, when they present

themselves.

In this idea originated the plan of the Lyrical Ballads; in which it was agreed, that my

endeavours should be directed to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic,

yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance of truth

sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief for

the moment, which constitutes poetic faith. Mr. Wordsworth on the other hand was to

propose to himself as his object, to give the charm of novelty to things of every day, and toexcite a feeling analogous to the supernatural, by awakening the minds attention from the

lethargy of custom, and directing it to the loveliness and the wonders of the world before us;an inexhaustible treasure, but for which in consequence of the film of familiarity and selfish

solicitude we have eyes, yet see not, ears that hear not, and hearts that neither feel nor

understand.

With this view I wrote the Ancient Mariner, and was preparing among other poems, the

Dark Ladie, and the Christabel, in which I should have more nearly realized my ideal,

than I had done in my first attempt. But Mr. Wordsworths industry had proved so much

more successful, and the number of his poems so much greater, that my compositions,

instead of forming a balance, appeared rather an interpolation of heterogeneous matter. Mr.

Wordsworth added two or three poems written in his own character, in the impassioned,lofty, and sustained diction, which is characteristic of his genius. In this form the Lyrical

Ballads were published; and were presented by him as an *experiment*, whether subjects,

which from their nature rejected the usual ornaments and extra-colloquial style of poems in

general, might not be so managed in the language of ordinary life as to produce the

pleasurable interest, which it is the peculiar business of poetry to impart.

N.B. On this point, see also Wordsworths Preface to the Lyrical Ballads, as well as his

poem, The World is Too Much With Us.

For a similar argument made with respect to fairytales and romance, cf. Andrew Lang,

Modern Fairy Tales,Illustrated London News, December 3, 1892:

The fashion in fairy tales changes, not for the better. Every Christmas sees a flock of new

fairy books, which all follow two paths to the uninteresting. Their peculiarity is that they

have no touch of human interest. In the old stories, despite the impossibility of the inci-dents, the interest is always real and human. The princes and princesses fall in love and

marrynothing can be more human than that. Their lives and loves are crossed by human

sorrows. In many the lover and his lady are separated by a magical oblivion: someone has

kissed the prince, and he instantly forgot his old love, and can only be recovered by her

devotion. This is nearly the central situation of the Volsunga Saga, though there it ends

tragically, whereas all ends well in a fairy tale. The hero and heroine are persecuted and

separated by cruel step-mothers or enchanters; they have wanderings and sorrows to suffer;

they have adventures to achieve and difficulties to overcome. They must display courage,

loyalty, and address, courtesy, gentleness, and gratitude. Thus they are living in a real humanworld, though it wears a mythical face, though there are giants and lions in the way. The old

fairy tales, which a silly sort of people disparage as too wicked and ferocious for the modern

nursery, are really full of matter, and unobtrusively teach the true lessons of our wayfaring

in a world of perplexities and obstructions.

Cf. Andrew Lang,Essays in Little (London, 1891), The Sagas:

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These legends deal little with love. But in the Volsunga Saga the permanent interest is the

true and deathless love of Sigurd and Brynhild: their separation by magic arts, the revival of

their passion too late, the mans resigned and heroic acquiescence, the fiercer passion of the

woman, who will neither bear her fate nor accept her bliss at the price of honour and her

plighted word.

The situation, the nodus, is neither ancient merely nor modern merely, but of all time.

Sigurd, having at last discovered the net in which he was trapped, was content to make the

best of marriage and of friendship. Brynhild was not. The hearts of women are the hearts ofwolves, says the ancient Sanskrit commentary on the Rig Veda. But the she-wolfs heart

broke, like a womans, when she had caused Sigurds slaying. Both man and woman facelife, as they conceive it, with eyes perfectly clear. The magic and the supernatural wiles are

accidental, the human heart is essential and eternal.

10. An elaboration of the foregoing technique as being proper to the poetic art as such:

A careful consideration of Aristotles remarks in Chapter 24 to the effect that Homer

taught others how to lie, in which he lays out the form of the poetic paralogism, contains

in principle his account of the rationale of the poetic as such: When the poet wishes to getthe audience to accept something as true that is not true, he provides the consequences

that is, he provides thesequelae, or circumstances that follow upon, some fact; the hearer,

knowing the relation in question, falsely reasons to the truth or existence of the antecedent:So Homer (Od., xix. 361) describes the nurse Euryclea as breaking out in tears when she is

directed by Penelope to wash the feet of the stranger. We know, says Aristotle (Rhet., III.

16, 1471b 5-6), that persons about to cry put their hands over their eyes. Hence, the

audience take the truth of what they know as so much evidence for the truth of what theydo not (ibid. 1417b 4). The same process occurs in the composition of poetry itself: When

the poet wishes the hearer to believe that such and such a person, would, do, say, or suffer

such and such a thing, in such and such a way, etc. he shows the antecedents and conse-quences of these sorts of thing. Hence the hearer reasons to the existence of such persons

and deeds; the antecedent sometimes being impossible, whether to human nature, as with

the second rationale we have determined about, or impossible to nature as such, as with thethird. But so doing is to create an effect that is vivid or striking, thereby being the sort of

thing arousing wonder, as Strabo, Geogr. 1.2.17, on poetic license, explained above.

N.B. Having adequately explained the four rationales in question, I turn now to the wholewhich results from the integration of these passages into the text at this point.

11. The order of the text in sum:

In my preceding paper, I offered the following outline of the course of the argument to that

point:

I. What pertains to order(sections 1 through 5):

1. Being perfect and whole, having a certain size, manifesting the way inwhich the plot is one: Section 1

2. Being one: the way in which the plot is notone manifesting when it is

so, and thus continuous: Section 2

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3. (a) Being continuous and one, which is to have its parts so constructed

that, the one thing being done, it is [e]ither necessary or likely that theother come about (this being the plots defining characteristic); the plot

then being divided:

(i) with respect to quantity into what has a beginning, a middle, and anend (a division of its composing parts into species) and so pos-

sessing the first form of the beautiful, namely, order: Section 3

(ii) with respect to quality into what is either simple or complex (adivision of the plot itself into species): Section 44. (b) Being neither continuous nor one, the connection of the episodes

being distorted, from which it follows that, simply speaking, of plots and

actions, the episodic are the worst: Section 5

II. What pertains tosymmetry: Having not just any chance size but a determinate

one, being neither too small to be seen nor too big to be grasped as a whole, andthus composed of parts possessing symmetry, which attribute is the second of

the three greatest forms of the beautiful: the first part of Section 6

III. What pertains to the limited or definiteness, which has to do with the plots

being perfect in magnitude (the last part of Section 6, as well as Section 7):

1. With respect to its dimensive quantity: when the plot has attained the limit

of its size: the last part of Section 6

2. With respect to its quantity of virtue orexcellence: when the plot has at-tained the limit of its power; both attributes coming under the third of the

three greatest forms of the beautiful, the limitedordefiniteness: Section 7

The additional passages will be seen to belong to this final member as a fourfold divisionof it, which division is itself brought under the two principles taken from Aristotles Me-

chanics, summarized on page 6, section n. 1 above. Their connection with the following

text on the task of the poet is also evident: all four rationales having to do with the makeupof the incidents producing its characteristic effect in the most powerful way possible,

whereas the first member of the fourfold division, being concerned with what has hap-

pened for the least part, connects with the following passage, which treats of what mighthappen, in accordance with the necessity or likelihood, as has been explained above (cf.

footnote, p. 5). Considered in their own right, however, the interpolated passage intro-

duces a new consideration of its own, namely, the construction of a plot out of irrational

parts; it being evident that such things, considered from a certain point of view, are alsoimpossible, and consequently liable to the charge of being essential errors in the poetic art,

a matter I discuss elsewhere.1

On the Four Things Producing an Effect of WonderAccording to Aristotle (Papers In Poetics 2)

2013 Bart A. Mazzetti. All Rights Reserved.

1 Cf. Problems and Solutions in the Poetic Art:Poetics Chapter 25 (Papers In Poetics 5).

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See also:

Perfect and Whole: AristotlesPoetics on the Structure of the Plot (Papers In Poetics 1)

On Plot Construction and the Portrayal of Character: Poetics Chapter 15 and Associ-ated

Texts (Papers In Poetics 3)

Excursus On Myth: A Series of Notes

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on the four things producing an effect of wonder according to aristotle

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