Twice in the Poetics Aristotle contrasts
poetry with history. Whatever its didactic value, the contrast has not seemed to readers
of special philosophical interest. The aim of this paper is to show that this contrast is
philosophically significant not just for our understanding of tragedy but also for the
light it sheds on Aristotle's overall methodology. It is often noticed that Aristotle's
own philosophical works do not generally follow the logically demonstrative method that he
sketches in his Analytics. My concern here is to explore one methodological alternative
that he does use. I shall show how he uses the method sketched in the Topics to define a
tragedy and explain why the same method will not define a history.
I
Aristotle claims that the art of dialectic sketched in the Topics contributes to
philosophical knowledge because it can be used to find indemonstrable first principles
from common opinions: "for, being capable of examining, dialectic has a path to the
principles of all disciplines" (õB¤ £œŸæ›à¤) (I.2.101b3-4).
Scientific knowledge of a subject consists of grasping its principles and demonstrating
its essential attributes from them. How does one come to know the first principles?
Obviously, they cannot be demonstrated from prior principles; they are first principles.
As such, they are somehow determined by dialectic. Thus, dialectic transforms what we can
call, for lack of a better term, a "subject matter" into a science. What is the
state of this subject matter before dialectic discovers its principles? It is clear from
our Topics text that this examination will look for common opinions, and it is well
recognized that Aristotle's actual inquiries often begin from common opinions.(1)
So the pre-scientific subject matter must contain common opinions about its facts.
Aristotle has a name for such a setting out of facts: in the Prior Analytics, he speaks of
deriving the principles of each field from experience and he refers to the account of the
phenomena of a field as a "history" (Èóõ¦òå˜) (46a17-27). Evidently,
"history" precedes "science," and transition is effected by dialectic.
Aristotle has much to say about how knowledge is derived from sensation and experience,
but he never explains how (or whether!) his many remarks fit together into a single
process. I suggest the following: individual universals come directly from sensation and
experience (An. Po. II.19); they are combined by experience and common opinions about them
formed; these common opinions are examined by the method of the Topics to determine
whether their components are always conjoined; and definitions are finally determined by
the method of An. Po. II.13. The middle stage, the formation of common opinions, is the
"history." We can see what it can include from the History of Animals. This is a
preliminary collection of facts that is to be followed by a treatment of the same subject
through causes (H.A. I.6.491a7-14), that is, by the properly scientific treatment in the
Parts of Animals (see I.1, e.g. 639b5-10). Along these lines, think of the first books of
the Physics and the De Anima and the first two books of the Politics: there is no
definition until the second or third books. The first books cannot quite count as science.
Each is rather a preliminary sorting-through of common opinions and aporiai—a
"history," though quite different from the History of Animals. In general, then,
history is a preliminary to science.
What, though, about the discipline that is not the "history of X" but just
history, the discipline that the Poetics contrasts with poetry? Does it share anything in
common with other histories, aside from its name? Is it, perhaps, a preliminary to a
science of history? Aristotle never mentions a science of history; rather, he claims that
history concerns the particular rather than the universal (9.1451b6-7), a sure indication
that it is not a science, for science is of the universal. History would seem to be
well-named: it is indeed an Èóõ¦òå˜ and unlike other histories it is never
transformed into a science. Aristotle sees the discipline of history as a chronicle of
human events that are intrinsically particular and, consequently, never the subject of
scientific knowledge.(2)
With the evident failure of recent attempts at formulating historical laws, most
contemporary readers are not likely to feel uncomfortable with Aristotle's understanding
of history. But it should have been problematic for him, for in Metaphysics A he speaks of
successive discoveries of first causes as a necessary development and suggests that it
will be followed by decline and later rediscoveries along the same lines. That is, when
Aristotle does say something that resembles history he advances a necessary and universal
cycle. And how, we might ask, could there be particulars that do not admit of universals?
So the particularity of history remains puzzling.(3)
If history is peculiar in not being a preliminary for some science, then poetry is
peculiar in not having a preliminary treatment of common opinions. The Poetics begins by
listing the topics that need to be treated in this "discipline"
(£œŸæ›¦ô— 1447a8-14), using the same term that the Topics had used
for the result of dialectic (I.2.101b3-4). There is, to be sure, what is typically called
a "history" of poetry in chapters 4-5, Aristotle offers this account to
distinguish difference of "manner" and it bears no resemblance to the setting
out of common opinion that we typically find in the first books of his work.(4)
Apparently, poetics is already a discipline without a prior dialectic. How can it forgo
"history"?
II
The Poetics begins by identifying tragedy and other arts as imitations (1447a13-16) and
by distinguishing matter, object, and manner of imitation (a16-18). Imitation is the genus
and these latter are ways of differentiating it. Aristotle proceeds in the first three
chapters to characterize the distinctive matter ("in which"), object, and manner
of tragedy by contrasting them with those of other arts. These part of the definition are
the principles that dialectic should aim to uncover. Though they have seemingly been
uncovered without dialectic, we can still inquire whether there is any hint of the
techniques sketched in the Topics.
We need to read between the lines here to seek what went into the construction of what
is presented to us as a finished discipline. But there are hints in the text. Aristotle
simply announces that imitation is the genus under which tragedy and other arts fall
(1447a13-16). Yet, if we consider the text that follows, we see that an alternative genus
is, in effect, proposed and that Aristotle defends imitation. Shortly after introducing
the genus, he remarks that there is no name common to poetic works that use language alone
with or without meter, nor would there be a name common to mimes of Sophron and Xenarchus
and Socratic dialogues even if they were all written in a single type of meter
(1147a28-b13). However, some people, "attaching the term `poet' to the meter, speak
of an `elegiac poet' or an `epic poet,' not terming them poets in respect of imitation but
by what is common in respect of the meter" (1147b13-16). The consequence of their
thinking is that someone who writes a work of medicine or science in meter counts as a
poet; but, Aristotle declares, there is nothing in common between Homer and Empedocles
except the meter (1447b16-20). Further, someone who mingled different meter forms would
still be called a poet (1447b20-23).
Those who use "poet" to refer to a meter do not use the term to refer to
imitations. They have, in effect, proposed "having meter" as an alternative to
imitation as the genus of poetry. If having meter makes a work poetry, then Empedocles'
physics counts along with the Iliad as poetry because both have meter and a Socratic
dialogue would also count as a poetry if it had meter, whereas mimes could not be poetry
because they lack meter.
It need scarcely be said that, though we do restrict "poetry" to what has
meter, no Greek would accept such a restriction for poesis, any more than we would so
restrict the application of the phrase "fine arts." Even so we may well wonder
whether Aristotle addresses the objection to imitation as the genus adequately by simply
insisting that Homer and Empedocles have nothing in common and that mimes and Socratic
dialogues would not have the same name—read, belong to the same genus—even if
they were both in meter. And what could be wrong with mixing meter if poetry is
characterized by meter?
His objections are, however, readily intelligible if we look to the Topics. The first
topic he mentions there under "genus" is to consider whether the things that
fall under the genus do not also fall under what is proposed (IV.1.120b15-20); in our
case, mimes, recognized as poetic works, do not fall under writings with meter. Similarly,
Aristotle's claim that Empedocles is more a physicist than a poet (1447b18-20) amounts to
objecting to the proposed genus on the ground that it would include something that does
not belong in the genus, a example of second topic of the Topics' "genus"
section (120b21-29). Works that combine meters would seem unable to belong to any of the
species of a genus of poetry defined by its meter, an instance of still another topic
(121a27-39). That is, if the genus of poetry were characterized by meter, then its proper
differentiae would have to be types of meter; and works that mix meter would fall under
more than one species. If characterizing the genus as meter results in some of its content
not falling under any species of the genus, the characterization must be wrong. I could go
on: often a single argument can be seen as an instance of more than one topic. But the
point is clear: Aristotle relies upon distinctions and topics like those he expounds in
the Topics to reject implicitly the meter as the genus of poetry.
Since meter is not the genus, it is reasonable to take it as a differentiating poetry
into a species. Some poetry is in meter, other in written or spoken language; still other
in song or dance: all these media mark species of poetry. The proposal that meter is the
genus of poetry amounts to a confusion of a differentia for a genus. Further, insisting
that there would be no common name for mimes and dialogues even if they were written in
the same meter, Aristotle is claiming, in effect, that the species "poetry that
imitates in meter" cannot be further differentiated by distinguishing the various
subjects treated. Distinctions of content cannot differentiate a type of meter; for they
are not proper differentiae, and the same differentiae would reappear under other species
of poetry.
In short, in the course of examining the various materials in which poetry could be
made, Aristotle implicitly considers whether meter is not the best definition of this
genus and rejects it. In the process we come to understand what does constitute the genus
of poetry and what some of its differentiae are, namely, differentiae that are the matter
"in which" the imitation is made.
Let us turn now to the second differentia, the object to be imitated. This Aristotle
divides into good, bad, and average characters, and imitations of these types can appear
in different materials. That is, the object imitated and the first differentia, that
"in which" the imitation is made, combine. Since the same object can be imitated
in several materials, the second differentia serves to differentiate several coordinate
species of poetry. This is contrary to Metaphysics Z.12's doctrine of proper
differentiation: each differentia belongs in one species or, anyway, in one line of
differentiation and, therefore, implicitly includes the higher species that it
differentiates. Obviously, this specification is impossible if the same differentia falls
under different coordinate species.(5) But such
differentiation is understandable in light of Metaphysics H.2's recommendation to define
artifacts and natural composites by giving both form and matter. In such cases, the
differentia does not suffice because it could be present in different matters. So, too,
the same object could be imitated in different matter; to define a species of poetry, it
is necessary to mention both object and kind of matter.
The third differentia, the manner (narrative or dramatic), must also be added to
distinguish some species of poetry, in particular, tragedy and epic. Though the last and
narrowest differentia, manner is not the most characteristic and important, as we might
have expected, but relatively unimportant; for Aristotle declares that the poetic effect
can be achieved with or without a performance (6.1450b15-20).
III
These three differentiae form the basis for the definition of tragedy that Aristotle
offers in chapter 6. The definition is:
Tragedy is the imitation of serious and complete action having magnitude in
pleasing speech, with each of the kinds of speech used separately in its parts, dramatized
rather than narrated, and accomplishing through pity and fear the purgation of these
emotions. (1449b24-28)
Aristotle goes on to explain that "pleasing speech" refers to rhythm and song
and that "the kinds of speech [being] used separately" refers to some parts
having only meter and others also song (1449b28-31; cf. b33-34). In other words, the
"in which" is divided into the song and diction—the choral and spoken parts
of the tragedy. Further, the "manner" is now termed the spectacle. The
"object imitated" is most properly a noble action and the imitation of it is the
plot; the action stems from the character and thoughts of the agents. Thus, the initial
three differentiae are refined into six parts of the tragedy: spectacle, song, diction,
thought, character, and plot.
What is particularly puzzling about these six parts and the complex definition of
tragedy is their multiplicity. In the Topics Aristotle declares that "for each being
the essence (õh œÏ¤˜ j§œò eóõå¤) is one" (VI.4.141a35).
He uses this principle to exclude the possibility of multiple definitions of the same
thing (141a35-b1), and it is the basis for a lengthy presentation of topics pertinent to
definitions that contain a plurality of parts (VI.13-14).
It is just this sort of problem that Aristotle addresses in Metaphysics H.3. Recall
that in the preceding chapter he had recommended defining certain entities, artifacts and
natural composites, by both form and matter; for example, a house by its function of
providing shelter and also by its being boards and bricks. In H.3 he claims that we cannot
think of these (the boards and brick and their position) as if they were coordinate
components (1043b4-6). If they were, there would have to be something besides them to
unify them—and this most important constituent would have been left out of the
definition (1043b11-13). It is rather the case that one component is form and the other
matter (1043b30-32). The point is that the form is not like the material constituents, but
something of a different sort—the principle that unifies the material parts (cf.
Z.17). An artifact is, thus, to be defined by its material constituents and the
organization or function that serves as their principle of unity.
When we bring this lesson from the Topics and Metaphysics back to the text of Poetics
6, Aristotle's remarks about the definition suddenly make sense. First, his claim that
"plot is principle and soul of tragedy" (1450a38-39) is not the throw-away
comment it seemed: soul is the form of body and plot is the principle of tragedy in the
sense that it is the formal cause. As the form, plot can provide unity to the other five
parts, and Aristotle seems intent on showing that that is the case. Thus, the arguments to
show that plot ("the structure"—óçóõ˜ó ô) is more important
than character (1450a15-38) have the effect of assigning the job of unification to plot
rather than to character. Both character and thought are justifications for the actions of
the protagonists; the tragedian wants characters who are either habituated to do what he
wishes them to do in the tragedy or who can be led to do certain actions through reasons.
In either case, it is the action to be performed that is primary and the character or
reasoning are formulated to justify the action. Hence, plot unifies thought and character.
When Aristotle discusses these parts later (chs. 14, 19), he emphasizes in more detail how
they contribute to plot.
There is significantly less discussion of the material elements of tragedy in the
Poetics, but at every turn Aristotle subordinates them to plot: Plots should be summarized
first and only then brought to completion through speech (ch. 17), and elaborate speech
should not obscure character or thought (24.1460b2-5). Likewise, the chorus (song) should
be part of the whole and contribute to the performance (18.1456a25-27). Spectacle is
artless, belonging partly to the designer; it should serve plot (6.1450b16-20).
In sum, plot is the formal principle of unity of the formal parts, thought and
character; and the material parts are appropriately used when they contribute to the plot.
Plot itself ought to be a unity (ch. 7). This is best done not by making plot simple but
by organizing many events. In brief, the plot is one if it imitates a single action, and
many events count as a single action when they share a single end. Determining what counts
as a single action is a central problem of the Poetics. For present purposes, the details
of this discussion need not concern us; what is important for us to realize is the
significance unity of the plot has for Aristotle.
Approaching the Poetics with the criterion of the Topics in mind enables us to see that
the character that would allow tragedy to be defined, the unity of its parts, is a major
theme of the work. What might have seemed to be scattered remarks can now be understood to
contribute toward the task of showing that tragedy admits of definition and, consequently,
of being known.
Claims about the unity of tragedy's parts function normatively as well as
descriptively. Aristotle aims, after all, not only to describe good tragedy but also to
explain what makes it be so. In a word, the more a tragedy is one, the better it is as a
tragedy. It is not any conjunction of plot, character, etc. that makes a tragedy; the
tragedy exists only if the plot functions to unify the other parts. Only then is the
tragic effect achieved. Aristotle satisfies the criterion set out in the Topics with a
move that parallels that of Metaphysics H.3. The dialectic of the Topics is not an
explicit concern here, but it is presupposed at every juncture.
IV
Let us now return to the points of contrast between poetry and history. Recall that
there are two. First, poetry represents universals and history particulars, a difference
that makes poetry more philosophical than history (9.1451a38-b7). Second, whereas poems
(specifically, tragedies and epics) imitate a single, complete and whole action, a history
concerns all the events in a single time that happened to one or more people and that
relate to each other at random and have no single end (23.1459a17-30). Since a universal
is a kind of unity (see Met. ƒ.26.1023b29-32), both contrasts are ways of saying that
poems are unities and histories are not or are much less so. Aristotle compares the
tragedy or epic to an animal (23.1459a20; also 7.1450b34-1451a6); he means to say that its
parts have an organic unity in contrast with the events of history.
Whereas tragedy can be defined because it is made one by plot, history has no such
unity. It is intrinsically undefinable, intrinsically particular, intrinsically
unphilosophical. Yet both passages contrasting poetry and history are followed immediately
by injunctions to tragedians to draw upon history as their source material (9.1451b15-32;
23.1459a30-b7). Both tragedy and history concern human actions. Tragedy draws upon
history.
The historian aims to gather all the particulars. Were he to organize them into
necessary or probable causal sequences, as the poet does, his subject would universal and
definable; but he would no longer be doing history. That is to say, history stands to
poetry just like the Èóõ¦òå˜ of physics (Physics ˆ) stands to the rest of
the Physics, just like the Èóõ¦òå˜ of the soul (De Anima I) stands to the rest
of the De Anima. In each case, a history is the essential preliminary that occurs before
there is a definition. But only in the case of history proper does attaining the
definition transform the inquiry into a completely different discipline.
We can appreciate how strange and troubling such a connection is by recalling
Aristotle's claims that poetry originates from a natural tendency to imitate (4.1448b4-9)
and that we find this pleasurable partly because of what we learn from it (b9-17). A
representation draws attention to salient details. That is the reason that it is easier to
learn anatomical details by first studying diagrams: under a high powered microscope or in
nature the salient details are present with too many other details to grasp them clearly.
So, too, the tragedy or the epic does not present all the actions or characters that
occurred in a time period—that would be history—but only those pertinent to a
single sequence of events. From it we learn the event's causes. Poetry is, in effect, a
science of human action, and history the material from which it is derived.
Trouble is, poetry is fictional. Why can there not be a scientific history that studies
the true universal causes of human actions? Aristotle's answer has been clear all along:
there are no universal in human actions; tragedy creates universals and causes. But how
could a discipline that imitates human action, tragedy, have more universality, more
unity, than what it imitates?
There is no way to resolve these puzzles entirely, but three points, all observations
about science and definitions go some way toward making Aristotle's thought intelligible.
First, "history" as Aristotle understands it is not simply the setting out of
facts; it also involves making connections and drawing conclusions—we need only look
at a "history" that precedes an Aristotelian science to appreciate what it can
achieve. Second, Aristotelian science requires an essence. The point of showing that the
tragedy is one and, thereby, definable is to show that it has an essence. There is an
essence of human action, but it is treated in Ethics and Politics. These consider the
generation and destruction of definable conditions, happiness and the state; but such
developments follow a regular path that depends upon the condition realized. The details
of history are simply accidental to such processes. Finally, concerned with essences,
Aristotelian sciences are atemporal. Poetics contains temporal action, but this action
imitates the atemporal because it comes to a completion because it contains an end. It
imitates not human action but, as we said, good character or, rather, flawed good
character. Poetic action is complete when such character gets what it deserves. History,
alas, does not work that way.
To conclude, the definition of tragedy advanced in the Poetics presupposes a dialectic
but unlike other Aristotelian sciences it does not emerge from a history. History proper,
the preliminary to poetics, does not admit of scientific treatment because it contains no
essential unities. Poetics, on the other hand, is not seeing unity in human events but
creating a unity that is not there. The method at work in the opening of the Poetics is
dialectic.
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