# Aristotle/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.
Aristotle’s ‘Rhetoric’ and ‘Art of Poetry.’
We have seen how Aristotle, when a young man, during his first residence at Athens, opened a school of Rhetoric, in rivalry to the veteran Isocrates. During his second residence, he presided over a school, not of Rhetoric alone, but of Philosophy and of all knowledge. Yet it is said that in the Peripatetic school “Rhetoric was both scientifically and assiduously taught.” Rhetoric had now, however, become for Aristotle merely one in that wide range of sciences, each of which he had set himself, as far as possible, to bring to perfection. He turned to it, in due course, from his achievements in Logic, and produced his great treatise on this subject. Goethe said of his ‘Faust’ that “he had carried it for twenty years in his head, till it had become pure gold.” The first part of the ‘Rhetoric’ of Aristotle bears marks of having gone through a similar process. The outlines of its arrangement are characterised by luminous simplicity, the result of long analytic reflection; the scientific exposition is made ​in a style which is, for Aristotle, remarkably easy and flowing; and each part of the subject is adorned with a wealth of illustration which indicates the accumulation of a lifetime.
Several treatises on Rhetoric had appeared in Greece before Aristotle sat down to write about it. Only one of these, but perhaps the best of them, has come down to us. Curiously enough it has been preserved among the works of Aristotle, as if it had been written by him, and it goes by the name of the ‘Rhetoric addressed to Alexander,’ having a spurious dedication to Alexander the Great tacked on to it. It is believed by scholars to be the work of Anaximenes of Lampsacus, an eminent historian and rhetorician contemporary with Aristotle. It is entirely practical in its aim, but it bears traces of the sophistical leaven, and deals overmuch in those tricks of argument and disputation which got the Sophists their bad name. The other lost systems of Rhetoric by Corax, Tisias, Antiphon, Gorgias, Thrasymachus, and others, appear to have been all strictly practical. Aristotle complains that they confined themselves too much to treating of forensic oratory, and to expounding the methods best adapted for working on the feelings of a jury. His own aim is broader and more philosophical: while he defines Rhetoric as “the art of seeing what elements of per​suasion attach to any subject,” he traces out these “elements of persuasion” to their root in the principles human nature.
The “sources of persuasion” Aristotle reduces to three heads: first, the personal character which the orator is able to exhibit or assume; second, the mood into which he is able to bring his hearers; third, the arguments or apparent arguments which he can adduce. That this is a correct division, we can see in a moment by applying it to any great piece of oratory in ancient or modern times. For instance, take the speech of Antony over the body of Julius Cæsar, as imagined by Shakespeare,—here the orator’s first object evidently is to inspire belief in himself as “a plain, blunt man,” with no ulterior purposes, merely devoted to his friend, bewildered by the death of that friend, unable to understand how confessedly “honourable” men should have brought it about. Accordingly, in the first pause of the speech the citizens say to each other:—
“2d Cit. Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weeping. 3d Cit. There’s not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.”
The second object is to produce in the hearers a frame of mind favourable to the designs of the orator, who accordingly awakens in them the passions of gratitude and love towards the memory of Cæsar by the recital of his good deeds, then leads them on to pity and indignation at the thought of the injustice done to him, and finally rouses them to horror and rage by the actual sight of his wounded corpse. Besides this assumption of a particular character, and these appeals to the pas​sions, there are intellectual arguments running through the speech, to the effect that Cæsar was unjustly accused of ambition, and unjustly put to death. And the practical conclusion is urged on the hearers by all these various means—that they should rise in revolt and avenge the death of Cæsar upon his murderers.
This imaginary speech belongs, of course, to the class of deliberative oratory, the object of which is to recommend some course of action. This kind, says Aristotle, deals with the future; while judicial oratory, in criminal or civil cases, endeavours to give a certain complexion to the transactions of the past. And there is a third kind, the oratory of display, which, in proposing toasts and the like, deals chiefly in descriptions of the present. In each of the three kinds of oratory, the three “sources of persuasion” above noted, must be employed. But in order to exhibit the features of a particular character the orator must know the moral nature of man in its various phases; and, in order to work upon the feelings, he must know, so to speak, the inner anatomy of the feelings. A knowledge of human nature is, of course, essential for producing persuasion in the minds of men, and Aristotle thus says that Rhetoric is a compound of Logic and Moral Philosophy. In this treatise he supplies a rich fund of psychological remarks on the various passions and characteristics of men. In the condensed knowledge of the world which it displays the ‘Rhetoric’ might be compared with Bacon’s ‘Essays.’ It might be compared also with them in this respect—that a bad and Machiavellian use might certainly be made of some of the suggestions which it contains, ​though. Aristotle professes to give them solely to be used in the cause of truth and justice.
With regard to the third “source of persuasion”—the arguments used by an orator must not be scientific demonstrations, nor even dialectical syllogisms, but rhetorical arguments, such as the conditions and circumstances of oratory will admit. For the orator is not like the scientific demonstrator before his pupils, nor is he like the dialectician with his respondent, who will grant him the premisses of his argument. The orator has to address a crowd of listeners, with whom as yet he is not in relation; he has to catch, without fatiguing, their attention, and to suggest conclusions without going through every step of the inference. All reasoning, however, must be either inductive or deductive, and the arguments of Rhetoric must each belong to one of these two forms. Aristotle, adapting special names for the purpose, says that the enthymeme of Rhetoric answers to the syllogism of Logic, and that the example of Rhetoric answers to the induction of Logic.
The word “enthymeme” seems to mean etymologically “a putting into one’s mind,” or “a suggestion.” It is a rhetorical syllogism with premisses constructed out of “likelihoods,” or “signs.” Some critics consider that it was essential to the “enthymeme” to have one of its premisses suppressed; but Aristotle only says (‘Rhet.’ I. ii. 13) that this was frequently the case. The real characteristic of the “enthymeme” was its suggestive, but non-conclusive, character; for the premisses, even if expressed in full, would not be sufficient to enforce the conclusion which is pointed at. The “enthymeme” ​argues either from a “likelihood,” that is—a cause which might produce a given effect, though it is not certain to do so; or else from a “sign,” that is—an effect which might have been produced by a given cause, though it might also have been produced by something else. To prove that A murdered B, you may argue from the “likelihood” that he would do so, because he was known to have been at feud with him; or from the “sign” that A had blood upon him. Let us observe some of the “enthymemes” in the speech of Antony:—
| (1.) | “He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious? |
| (2.) | When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. |
| (3.) | You all did see, that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?” |
These three arguments are based on “signs;” acts of Cæsar are adduced as showing in him a disinterestedness, a tenderness of heart, and a modesty which would be incompatible with selfish ambition. But the reasoning is not conclusive, since the acts mentioned might have flowed from other sources than good qualities of the heart—they might have been done “with a motive.” However, there is fully as much cogency here as can ordinarily be expected to be found in the deductions of an orator. The only inductive reasoning of which oratory is capable is the “example,” or historical instance. Instead of gathering sufficient instances to establish a ​law, which would be the scientific method, the orator quotes one instance pointing in the direction of a law. Thus “Dionysius, in asking to be allowed a body-guard, aims at establishing a tyranny;—did not Pisistratus do just the same?” The “example” is, of course, an arguing by analogy, and the question must always be whether the cases compared with each other are really analogous, or whether there is any essential difference in the circumstances. Aristotle says that some orators deal more in examples, others more in enthymemes. He is inclined to think that in obtaining applause the enthymemes are the more successful.
After thus setting forth the general framework of oratory, Aristotle proceeds to make suggestions with regard to the matter of speeches. This will naturally be different in kind for the three different kinds of oratory. Him who is to practise deliberative oratory, Aristotle advises to study and make himself well acquainted with five points relative to the State to which he belongs: its finance; its foreign relations; the state of its defences; its imports and exports; and its system of law. In reference to the last of these, Aristotle recommends the comparative study of political constitutions, and for that end that the accounts of travellers should be read. He adds that for political debate in general a knowledge of the works of historians is a valuable preparation.
These, however, are mere hints, directing the student to funds of information which lie outside of the art of ​Rhetoric. Aristotle proceeds to furnish. the orator with definitions and theories which he considered (at all events when he was writing this treatise) to belong to Rhetoric itself, though it would have perhaps been a better classification of science if he had merely indicated that a knowledge of these matters was necessary, and had referred the student to Moral Philosophy for full particulars with regard to them. The result is that he gives a brilliant summary by anticipation of a considerable portion of his ‘Ethics.’ As in the ‘Topics’ he thought it necessary to make long lists of commonplaces for the use of the dialectician, so here he gives lists of heads to be borne in mind by the deliberative orator. It is not necessary for us to follow Aristotle in anticipating his theory of morals. It need only be mentioned that, after premising that the idea of obtaining personal good, or happiness, is what actuates men in deliberation,—he proceeds to give what may be called a provisional theory of happiness and its component parts; he then specifies thirty different grounds on which a thing might be recommended as good, and forty other grounds upon which a thing might be shown to be comparatively good, or better than something else. He winds up his instructions for the deliberative orator with brief remarks on the scope and character of different forms of government, which are afterwards fully expanded in the ‘Politics.’
The oratory of display deals especially with praise and eulogy, as we know from the specimens of it most familiar to us—the funeral oration, and the postprandial speech. The orator in this kind must have ​before him a clear idea of what constitutes virtue, and of what is, or is considered, most honourable among men. And for his benefit Aristotle inserts a chapter on these subjects, though they more properly belong to moral science. He adds, however, some hints on the rhetorical device of amplification in laudatory, or other, statements. He appends the remark that a knowledge of the theory of virtue is necessary for the deliberative orator also, for the purposes of exhortation and advice. He thus would evidently class hortative addresses, like the modem sermon, under the head of deliberative oratory.
For the use of the forensic orator, who has to argue in accusation or defence, the following equipment of knowledge is provided by Aristotle: 1st, A brief summary of the motives of human action; 2d, An analytical account of pleasure and things pleasurable—for these figure most prominently among human motives; 3d, An analysis of the moods of mind in which men commit injustice; 4th, A distinction between different kinds of law and right ; 5th, Remarks on degrees of guilt; and, 6th, Hints for dealing with statutes, documents, and the evidence of witnesses whether these be for or against the orator. Under the 4th head, Aristotle has some fine remarks on the universal law of nature, and on equity. As a specimen the latter may be quoted:—
“It is equity to pardon human feelings, and to look ​to the lawgiver, and not to the law; to the spirit, and not to the letter; to the intention, and not to the action; to the whole, and not to the part; to the character of the actor in the long-run, and not in the present moment;—to remember good rather than evil, and good that one has received, rather than good that one has done; to bear being injured; to wish to settle a matter by words rather than by deeds; lastly, to prefer arbitration to judgment, for the arbitrator sees what is equitable, but the judge only the law, and for this an arbitrator was first appointed, in order that equity might flourish.”
So much for the materials of oratory. In making use of them, it will be further necessary for the orator to be acquainted with the leading passions and dispositions of men, in order that he may successfully appeal to the feelings of his hearers. Accordingly, the second book of the ‘Rhetoric’ supplies him with a treatise on the characteristics of Anger, Placability, Friendliness, Hatred, Fear, Shame, Gratitude, Pity, Indignation, Envy, and Emulation; of the three stages of human life—Youth, Maturity, and Old Age; and of the three social conditions—Rank, Wealth, and Power. In these disquisitions there is, probably, embodied much of the collective wisdom of Greece; but there is, doubtless, also a great deal of original analysis, worked out by Aristotle himself once for all, and which has remained valid ever since. Such, for instance, are his six points of contrast between Anger and Hatred (‘Rhet.’ II. iv. 30):—
​“1st, Anger rises out of something personal to ourselves; Hatred is independent of this. We may hate a man merely because we conceive him to be of a certain description. 2d, Anger is invariably against individuals; Hatred may embrace whole classes. 3d, Anger is to be remedied by time; Hatred is incurable. 4th, Anger wishes to inflict pain, so that its operation may be felt and acknowledged, and thus satisfaction obtained; Hatred wishes nothing of this kind—it merely wishes that a mischief may be done, without caring that the source of it be known. 5th, Anger is a painful feeling; but Hatred not. 6th, Anger, when a certain amount of pain has been inflicted upon its object, may easily turn into pity; Hatred, under all circumstances, is incapable of this,—it desires nothing less than the absolute destruction and non-existence of its object.”
With all his subtlety and knowledge of the world, Aristotle does not exhibit any of the cynicism of Hobbes or Rochefoucauld. He is far from denying the existence of disinterested and noble feelings. Thus, for instance, he defines friendly feeling to consist in “the wishing a person what we think good, for his sake and not for our own, and as far as is in our power, the exerting ourselves to procure it.” Pity he defines to be “a sort of pain occasioned by the appearance of a hurtful or destructive ill (such as one’s self or one’s connections might possibly have to endure) happening to one who does not deserve it.” Here fellow-feeling is mentioned as necessary for realising the ills which ​excite our pity, but that by no means reduces pity to a mere selfish apprehension on our own account. “The essence of pity,” says Aristotle elsewhere (‘Poet.’ xxv.), “is that it is caused by the sight of undeserved calamity.” Thus it proceeds from a sense of moral justice arising in the heart. Aristotle does not regard men as the natural enemies of each other; on the contrary, he thinks benevolent feelings to be natural, and to play a considerable part in the organisation of society. He defines “kindness” to be “that quality by which one does a service to him who needs it, not in return for anything, nor in order that one may get anything one’s self, but simply to benefit the recipient.” He considers human nature to be capable of great moral elevation in the persons of the wise and good; at the same time he regarded the majority of mankind as poor creatures, though rather weak than wicked. Thus (‘Rhet.’ II. v. 7), he says,“the majority of men are timid and corruptible,” and in ‘Eth.’ VII. vii. 1, it is said that “most men are in a state between continence and incontinence, but rather verging towards the worse side.”
We may conclude our extracts from the second book of the ‘Rhetoric’ with Aristotle’s remark on the prime of life, which Dr Arnold of Eugby used to be fond of ​quoting: “The body,” says Aristotle, “is in its prime from the age of thirty to thirty-five, and the mind about the age of forty-nine.” It has been observed that university undergraduates are apt to consider these ages as set too high, while senior tutors have been known to complain of them as only applicable to precocious southern nations.
From what we have indicated it will be seen that the first two books of the ‘Rhetoric’ consist mainly of observations on human nature. Towards the close of them Aristotle fell upon the subject of fallacious “enthymemes,” and this led him to suspend the work he had in hand, and to write that treatise on “Sophistical Confutations,” or “Fallacies,” of which we have already given an account. After which he wrote his ‘Ethics,’ until the subject of “Justice” turned up, and he then went on to discuss the bases of this quality in his ‘Politics.’ The subject of “Education” seems to have led Aristotle off from the completion of the last-named treatise to write his ‘Art of Poetry,’ which naturally involved the discussion of rules of style; and this, by an equally natural transition, suggested the completion of the ‘Rhetoric,’ by the addition of a third book on Style and Arrangement.
This book has of course not quite so universal an interest as the former ones. The interest attaching to it is necessarily to some extent antiquarian—as, for instance, when Aristotle details the five points on which an idiomatic style in Greek depends,—viz., a proper use of connective particles; and of specially appropriate instead of general words; constructing the ​sentence so as to avoid ambiguity; using right genders; and right numbers. The specification of the latter points (as well as similar injunctions in the ‘Art of Poetry’) show in how infantile a condition. the science of Grammar was in Aristotle’s time. He lays down here some of the things which “every schoolboy knows.”
The book is not only a good deal limited to the instruction of Greek readers belonging to the fourth century b.c., but it also deals a good deal in allusions which such readers would perfectly understand, but which are obscure for us. Instead of quoting at some length the beauties of oratory, it frequently indicates passages by merely mentioning a single word out of them. There is generally speaking an air of scientific dryness in its treatment even of the most poetical metaphors. For instance, we are told that it is far better to call Aurora the “rosy-fingered” than the “purple-fingered,” and still more so than to call her the “red-fingered.” But charms of style from the Greek writers appear in this book like moths and butterflies pinned on to corks in the collection of an entomologist. Aristotle’s fondness for classification seems carried too far here; he incessantly analyses and enumerates, as for instance when he tells us that there are four ways by which “flatness” in a speech is produced. The principles laid down are of course sound and sensible—as, for example, that “the chief merit of style is clearness,” that the orator must not use poetical language, and that his sentences must be rhythmical, without falling into metre. Aristotle ​objects to having a sentence ended with a short syllable, because the voice cannot rest on it so as to mark a stop; he thinks that the end of each sentence should be marked out by the rhythm, so as not to need punctuation. He recommends the use of the pæon, a foot consisting of three short syllables and one long syllable (as ănăchrŏnīsm), for the rhythmical finish of sentences. The point, however, is not gone into with any exactness; and we are left in doubt as to the proportion which accent bore to “quantity” in ancient Greek oratory. On the one hand we know that accent has had such a firm hold on the Greek language as in the course of time utterly to overpower and eliminate quantity. Thus modern Greek is spoken entirely according to accent without regard to quantity. On the other hand ancient Greek poetry must have been read almost entirely in reference to the quantity of the syllables, without regard to accent. How it stood with ancient Greek rhythmical prose, is a question which Aristotle does not help us to solve. In fact there is a certain matter-of-fact bluntness, and a want of the delicacy and humour of genius, pervading his criticisms. And it is remarkable that his illustrations are more drawn from poetry than from prose—apparently more from books than from living sources,—and that he never mentions with appreciation the oratory of Demosthenes. Some of the greatest speeches of Demosthenes. especially his Olynthiac orations, had been spoken at Athens when Aristotle was little more than thirty years of age, just about the time when he was attempting to rival Isocrates in the teaching of Rhetoric. ​It would be extraordinary if these splendid harangues made no impression upon him. But it must be observed that he does not pass any general criticism upon Pericles, or any other orator. And it is possible also that a fear of offending the Macedonian royal family may have prevented Aristotle from praising the anti-Macedonian statesman, though he was the greatest orator among the ancients.
After treating of style, Aristotle briefly discusses arrangement. He divides a speech into exordium, statement, proof, and peroration, and says something on the points to be aimed at in each. He adds some shrewd advice on the use that may be made of putting adroit questions to an opponent; and he mentions with approval the maxim of Gorgias that “when your adversary is earnest you should silence him with ridicule, and when he tries ridicule you should silence him with earnestness.” He neatly winds up his ‘Rhetoric’ with the specimen of a peroration: “I have spoken—you have heard. You have the matter before you—judge of it.”
Aristotle’s little treatise called ‘Poetic,’ or the ‘Art of Poetry,’ is very interesting, but it does not take the modern or romantic view of Poetry. Aristotle does not seek to find here—
“The light that never was, on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet’s dream.”
He simply defines poetry as one of the imitative arts, “such as dancing, flute-playing, painting,” &c.: these different arts, he says, have each their own in​strument of imitation, and poetry uses words and metre. However, not all metrical composition is poetry; the verses of Empedocles are philosophy rather than poetry,—they lack the quality of being imitative,—that is to say, it is not their chief object to depict. Aristotle attributes the genesis of poetry, not to any divine impulse, but to those imitative instincts of man, which are exhibited from earliest childhood, and to the intellectual pleasure which we feel in seeing a good imitation even of a painful subject, and in recognising that “this is that.” Poetry then is imitation, and according to this theory the merit of a good poem would be the same as the merit of a good photograph,—exact and mechanical resemblance. Aristotle, however, is not consistent to this view; he evidently admits the idea of some creativeness in the poet,—for instance, he says that some poets represent men as better than they really are; and he applauds the practice of Zeuxis, who, in painting his Helen, combined the beauties out of several fair faces. He seems to approach the modern point of view when he says (xvii. 2) that “Poetry is the province of a genius or a madman;” for the one can feign and the other feels stormy passions. But it must be observed that the word for “a genius” here, is merely “well-natured”—a word elsewhere used for one who has a good moral disposition, and generally for one who has natural gifts. In fact, the philosophy of the imagination was a part of psychology not at all worked out in the time of Aristotle; there was as yet no word to express what we mean by “imagination.” When Aris​totle uses the word phantasia, he means by it, not the creative faculty, but an image before the mind’s eye. While the Greeks were the most imaginative of peoples, they had not as yet analysed the processes of imagination. And the want of a terminology connected with this subject is felt throughout the ‘Poetic’ of Aristotle.
​Aristotle’s account of Tragedy is a profound piece of æsthetic philosophy. By implication he defends Tragedy against Plato, who had wished to banish the drama from his ideal republic, as tending to make men unmanly. Aristotle defines Tragedy as the “imitation of some noble action, great and complete in itself; in melodious diction; with different measures to suit the different parts; by men acting, and not by narration; effecting through pity and fear the purging of such feelings.” The latter words contain the office and the justification of Tragedy. Men’s minds are prone to be haunted by the feelings of pity and fear, and these are apt to degenerate into sentimentality. Tragedy offers noble objects whereon these feelings may be exercised; and by that exercise the feelings not only receive a right direction, but also are relieved, being removed, so to speak, for the time from the system. After much discussion on the subject in Germany, there is now no doubt that in using the term ‘purging’ in the above passage Aristotle was employing a medical metaphor. This is borne out by two passages of the 'Politics’ (II. vii. 11; VIII. vii. 5), which both refer in similar terms to the relief of the passions procured by indulging them. He promised a fuller explanation of his theory on this subject, but unfortunately has never given it. However, we are perhaps safe in understanding that, while Plato objected to Tragedy as tending to make men soft by the excitement of their sympathetic feelings, Aristotle said “No—those feelings ​will be purged and carried off from the system by the operation of Tragedy.”
As to the means by which Tragedy is to excite pity and terror, Aristotle says that it will not do to exhibit a purely good man falling into adversity—that would be rather horrible than tragic; nor, on the other hand, would the representation of a villain receiving the retribution due to his crimes be a tragical story, however moral it might be. We require the element of undeserved calamity; and yet there must be some justice, too, in the course of events, so that, while we feel sorrow for what occurs, we shall feel also that things could not have been otherwise. The tale of Œdipus is often mentioned by Aristotle as a perfect subject for Tragedy. We may add that Mr Tennyson’s ‘Harold’ exhibits in this respect the same qualities; we see in it a noble character borne along to an undeserved and calamitous doom; and yet there is a sense that this is, partly at all events, the result of his own doing. Aristotle is not in favour of a tragedy ending happily. He says that poets sometimes make happy endings out of concession to the weakness of the spectators, but that this is quite a mistake, and that such endings are more suitable to comedy. He praises Euripides as the “most tragic of the poets,” on account of the doleful terminations of his plays, “though in other respects he did not manage well.”
Much stress has been laid, especially by the French, on “the unities” of the drama, as supposed to be prescribed by Aristotle’s ‘Poetic.’ But in reality he attaches no importance to the external unities of time ​and place. In enumerating the differences between tragedy and epic poetry, he says (v. 8) that “the one generally tries to limit its action to a period of twenty-four hours, or not much to exceed that, while the other is unlimited in point of time.” But he does not lay this down as a law for Tragedy. The peculiarity of the Greek drama, in which a chorus remained constantly present and the curtain never fell, almost necessitated “the unities;” but Aristotle only concerns himself with internal unity, which he says (viii. 4) that Tragedy must have, in common with every other work of art, and which consists in making every part bear an organic relation to the whole, so that no part could be altered or omitted without the whole suffering. This principle, far more valuable than that of “the unities,” would seem to need reassertion, for we might almost say that it is habitually violated by writers of fiction in the present day,—at all events by all but the very few who may be placed in the first class.
The ‘Poetic’ gives many notices of the rise and progress of the Greek drama, and the modifications which tragedy and comedy went through, and much information as to the technical divisions of a play, and other such matters; but all these points have become the property of manuals of “Greek Antiquities.” Aristotle notes a decadence of the drama in his own day: he complains of authors spoiling their plays by introducing episodes merely to suit particular actors: he considers that spectacle is carried too far, and that it is a mistake to aim at producing tragical effect by ​elaborate and expensive scenery and apparatus: he also thinks that acting is overdone. Aristotle shows an extensive acquaintance with dramatic literature; and, by mentioning it, he makes us regret the loss of ‘The Flower,’ a play by Agathon, which seems to have been entirely original, and not based on any traditional story.
The remarks here made on Epic poetry are comparatively brief. Aristotle considers it of less importance than Tragedy. He says that every merit which the Epic possesses is to be found in Tragedy. Like Tragedy, the Epic must possess unity of plot, but it may indulge to a greater extent in episodes. Aristotle never loses an opportunity of praising Homer, whom he considers to be the author, not only of the ‘Iliad’ and ‘Odyssey,’ but also of a comic poem called ‘Margites.’ He especially commends the art of Homer in making the action of the ‘Iliad’ and ‘Odyssey’ respectively circle round definite central events. Although it is a narrative, Epic poetry will always be distinct from history: the one has an artistic unity which is wanting to the other; the one describes what might have been, the other what has been; the one deals in universal, the other in particular, truth. The result of this whole comparison is, that “Poetry is more philosophical and more earnest than History.”
The ‘Poetic’ branches off, towards its close, into an immature disquisition on style, which led Aristotle to go back to his ‘Rhetoric,’ and write the third book thereof. Here he even lays down some of the elements of grammar, and enumerates the parts of speech. He ​adds a curious chapter (xxv.) on Criticisms, and how to answer them, in which the spirit of the dialectician is very apparent. All this shows that Aristotle was only gradually feeling his way to the division of sciences. He wrote, as it were, under pressure, on one great subject after another, and the light only dawned on him as he went along. Could he have rewritten his works, probably all would have been brought into lucid order. But it is clear that the little treatise called ‘Poetic’ not only was never rewritten, but was never finished as its author intended it to be.
* ↑ Professor Jebb’s ‘Attic Orators,’ ii. 431. See Diog. Laert., V. i. 3.
* ↑ There was another System of Rhetoric, which, perhaps, should not be included in this number—namely, the ‘Rhetoric of Theodectes,’ which Aristotle refers to in his third book (III. ix. 10), as containing a classification of prose periods. There was a tradition that Aristotle contributed an introduction to the ‘Rhetoric of Theodectes.’
* ↑ The same points are specified in the advice given by Socrates to a young politician—Xenophon ‘Memorab.’ iii. 6.
* ↑ Epieikeia,—that quality which Mr Matthew Arnold defines as “a sweet reasonableness.”
* ↑ Charis, a word which can hardly be translated, as it means not only kindness, grace, or favour, but also the reciprocal feeling of gratitude for kindness. The Charites or Graces were the Greek personifications of reciprocal feelings of kindness. Hence the temple of the Graces symbolised the mutual services of men to each other, on which society depends (see ‘Eth.’ V. v. 7).
* ↑ See ‘Aristotle über Kunst, besonders über Tragödie,’ von Dr Reinkens (Vienna, 1870), p. 70-167.