Introduction

Aristotle had an argument with young actors that possibly made him the subject of some lampooning. For young actors are the type of men who are fond of fun and, as history suggests, their lack of refinement can take stage as well-bred insolence. Now the great philosopher’s argument makes example of such performers by name in this rediscovered speech on the question of which is the higher form of art—Tragedy or Epic Poetry? That influential speech will once again provoke lampooners, albeit for a very different and obvious reason. For it and another ancient treatise on the art of poetry were very likely entangled and published for generations as the single, highly valued, work entitled ‘Poetics’. That prized progeny has thus been divided into pieces to publish the case now before you—a literary resolution that even Solomon might think unwise.

Most will find this rendering of two books from one ludicrous at first.

Yet it is quite possible that, based on the evidence presented, this rhetorical discourse by Aristotle on a question concerning the relative merit of two modes of imitation was amalgamated with an unattributed work providing general instruction on the art of poetry. The possibility that some unknown interloper would choose to literally join Aristotle’s persuasive critique to the beginning of a longer treatise is not hard to understand given the pedestal on which the Greek philosopher has been placed in history. This other surprising painterly work, a poet’s guide per se, from the outset presents no argumentation and instead systematically defines principles and classifies all kinds of things related to producing proper poetic works. It is practical not rhetorical in mode.

In contrast, the speech has all the hallmarks of rhetorical expression according to the principles set out by Aristotle himself in his own instructive treatise entitled ‘Rhetoric’. He follows that method of course; firstly by stating or framing the case in certain terms, then secondly by arguing in terms of example and enthymeme to reach the final conclusion that “Tragedy is the higher art, as attaining its end more perfectly”. It is an exceptionally well structured speech that, in Platonic manner, is informative about the nature of imitative art rather than being instructive on how to go about making a drama or epic poem.

Hopefully these few introductory words will now persuade you to give fair hearing to the case, as Aristotle would expect of us, before deciding what is the more likely form of his work. Certainly, one might argue he could have authored both works but, if that were true, one would have to come up with a plausible argument as to why Aristotle would intentionally fuse the two clearly distinctive styles of writing and uncharacteristically confuse his objectives and thus attentive audience. It is also possible Aristotle should not be given credit for either.

So what to do?

Well, rest your feet, open your mind, and read the superlative speech for the pleasure of learning something new and definitely tragic about our imitative selves.

(the further content of Book 1 is omitted from this preview)

Introduction

There is a painting, by Raphael, of Apollo seated on Mount Parnassus surrounded by the nine muses which tells you everything you need to know about the place of poetry in Western culture.

For on the left side of the large mural, the poet Homer faces out blindly while on the right side, Calliope, the muse of epic poetry faces away to mirror the Greek poet’s impiety—thus establishing a balanced perspective on the Olympian vanishing point. The mouths of the masks held by Thalia and Melpomene, representing ancient comedy and tragedy, are covered. Terpsichore sits tired of dancing to Apollo’s melody while the delightful Euterpe, resting a long flute on her thigh, turns a deaf ear to the oracular god who is humbly bowing out of the picture. Urania as guide to the heavens points upwards to God, providing a discrete gesture to the spiritually bewildered Calliope. Meanwhile Clio, also at finger point with the history book in hand, turns a cold shoulder to the earthbound deity. Close by, in complementary position, Erato clutches to Polyhymnia to show the poetic struggle to remain pure of heart while in the arms of earthly desire. Notably on the far left Sappho, a lyric poet, appears as a leggy tenth muse seated as the extension of Homer’s right hand; while on the far right, in contraposition, a bearded man resembling Homer looks across in consternation and catches the subtle eye of the distracted Calliope.

Certainly, Parnassus is represented in this Italian Renaissance fresco of the sixteenth century as a popular destination, a place of heightened amusement where many poets have been received as great champions.

Yet in the lower foreground a group of figures stands to the left of a larger Sappho now reclining. She again appears in opposition to the distinctively bearded man who—one can imagine in terms of approach—might be Archilochus. Significantly he, the poet who spoke truth to beauty, is providing guidance by sending those wearing wreaths of honour on their way, and pointing a telling finger to where an observer of the fresco would be standing in awe of the scene.

So what does the ancient treatise about the traditional art of poetry—the ‘Poet’s Guide’ presented here—have to do with the subject of this Renaissance painting?

Well, the instructional part of ‘Poetics’ itself sets the parallel with the art of painting. For in explaining the key principles, an analogy to painting is made: plot, as “the soul of a tragedy” is likened to “the chalk outline of a portrait”, whereas character is likened to the “most beautiful colours” which although eye-catching may confuse the beholder of a poorly rendered outline. Furthermore, the classical work written by an unknown author provides perspective on the whole issue of composition—albeit with an unruly line of points. Again a painter is likened to a poet who “must of necessity imitate one of three objects—things as they were or are, things as they are said or thought to be, or things as they ought to be.” Words which concisely explain the meaning of the beautiful scene which adorns a wall in the Vatican palace.

Therefore, the allegorical painting in censuring poetic art, the traditional subject of the treatise, is actually conforming to the very principles espoused in the instructional text. For the religiously inspired painting is an artful portrayal of three idealized objects—things as they once were, as currently thought to be, and as surely ought to be.

More significantly, the fresco as an object itself is located in the Stanza della Segnatura, the room of the Segnatura, that is located in the papal palace. The Tribunal of the Segnatura is the supreme judicial authority, after the Pope, which administers justice in the Roman Catholic Church. The room in question was vacated as the office of the tribunal when Pope Julius II commissioned the young Raphael to paint its walls. A patron of the arts, the knowledgeable Pope probably had a great deal of input into the themes and style of the devotional works which were to grace the appropriated chamber. Alas time has reversed those intentions and now, after many centuries, the room is part of a public reception suite that essentially serves as an art gallery.

Thus, ironically, a place of judgement has, as the nature of mimesis is want to do, turned the judgement against itself to reflect the enduring and universal principles of poetry —as witnessed by tour groups now finding their way to and from ‘the Parnassus’.

So where does Aristotle fit in the picture?

Well, in terms of his speech on the pleasure of tragedy, not in this scene. In fact, quite literally, Aristotle is of central importance in another fresco by Raphael, entitled ‘School of Athens’, on an adjacent wall of the Stanza della Segnatura. There, one can imagine, he is arguing rationally about the nature of things… including poetics.

(the further content of Book 2 is omitted from this preview)